More than a hundred years ago, on her maiden voyage from the United Kingdom to New York, the “unsinkable” RMS Titanic collided with an iceberg in the North Atlantic and sank. Of the 2,208 people aboard the ship, 1,496 passengers and crew died, and 712 survived. Hundreds of books and articles, memoirs and interviews, two formal inquiries, several lawsuits, many movies and 10 suicides followed. It is a tragedy that has become a legend, a myth and a “synonym for catastrophe.” Is there still more to say?

In The Ship of Dreams, British historian Gareth Russell chronicles six passengers’ histories and fates, putting such a human face on the disaster—from the shipyard workers building the Titanic in Belfast, Ireland, to the grieving crowds in New York awaiting the survivors’ arrival aboard the SS Carpathia—that he proves Titanic’s story is very much worth rediscovering.

Because the Titanic carried many elite passengers, including British nobility and an American movie star, in addition to a global mix of immigrants in “steerage,” the ship has always conjured issues of class extremes. The Edwardian era, ending with the death of Edward VII and the ascension of George V, saw literal changes in the landscapes of England and Scotland, as centuries of landed gentry gave way to leaner, feistier times in an industrialized economy. Nevertheless, on the Titanic, kings of commerce like John Jacob Astor, John Thayer and Isidor Straus; a countess; and the “celluloid celebrity” Dorothy Gibson all sailed with the abundant trappings of the rich and famous, including one Pekingese dog named after China’s first president, Sun Yat-sen.

Russell concentrates on six such figures, colorfully detailing their wardrobes, meals and pastimes. Through survivors’ recollections, he follows the despairing Thomas Andrews as the ship he’d dreamed of and built surrendered to the sea, and leaves open to speculation exactly what Captain Edward Smith’s last words may have been. He also rigorously debunks darker rumors, painstakingly refuting, for example, the myth that stairways were blocked to prevent third-class passengers from reaching what few lifeboats were available. Russell even reaons that having more lifeboats may not have mattered after all.

Bacteria on the ocean floor may soon finish off the wreckage of Titanic, but her story, like Celine Dion’s Oscar-winning song from the movie, will go on. Gareth Russell does his best to tell it truly.

The legacy of Christianity is ambiguous at best. Followers of the Christian traditions espouse unconditional love of others as the central tenet of their faith, but violent acts against those outside the faith are frequently undertaken in the name of Christianity. As Tom Holland illustrates in Dominion: How the Christian Revolution Remade the World, this tension between universalism (loving your neighbor as yourself) and exclusivism (shunning anyone who doesn’t embrace the Christian faith) lives at the heart of Christianity, resulting in the proliferation of various groups that all claim to be Christian.

In his sprawling and detailed look at the ways that Christianity grew to be such a powerful force in the Western world, Holland traverses widely over time and space to narrate the rise of Christianity, its adaptation of ideas from already existing religions, its fitful origins as a small group, its eventual official acceptance by the Roman Empire and its development of creeds, a canon of scripture and orthodoxy. Holland explores the ideas of early Christian thinkers such as Augustine, Origen and Irenaeus as they struggle to capture the duality of the Christian faith—the goodness manifested in God and Christ versus the evil manifested in the devil and his minions; the goodness associated with living spiritually (spirit) versus the evil of living materially (flesh). Holland follows Christianity though the Middle Ages and into the Reformation, when various factions of Christians evolved and held, often tenaciously, to their own versions of what it means to be a Christian. Additionally, Holland shows that Western culture in the 21st century—whether it claims to embrace Christianity or not—is thoroughly imbued by the language, thought and theology of a religious tradition that shuttles between universalism and exclusivism.

Holland’s writing energetically conducts us through some often-dull history and ponderous concepts to demonstrate just how insidious Christian beliefs are in modern culture.

Opening with a striking scene from Petrograd, Russia, at the Tsar’s estate in the winter of 1917, Crucible: The Long End of the Great War and the Birth of a New World, 1917–1924, is a fascinating gallop through interwar Europe, told chronologically through the eyes of some of the era's most radical figures.

Dan Jones, author of The Templars, returns to dazzle readers with a fascinating look at the Crusades. And lest you hesitate because events that took place a thousand years ago appear irrelevant, rest assured: This is no dry, boring tome. Entering the world of Crusaders: The Epic History of the Wars for the Holy Lands is a bit like plunging into the political machinations of the fight for the Iron Throne of Westeros, only in this case all the players and events are real.

Like “Game of Thrones,” this epic tale is peopled with a large cast. Helpfully, Jones begins with a chart of major characters (17 pages’ worth). The book also boasts several maps, copious source notes, lists of major rulers in the appendix and, of course, an extensive bibliography. In other words, even neophytes will feel well armed to appreciate the journey.

And what a journey (or rather journeys) it is. The book is organized into three parts, with the first section devoted to the personalities and events that birthed the crusader movement from the 1060s forward; the second takes place in the 12th century and focuses on crusader states in Syria and Palestine; and the third covers the events that precipitated the Second and Third Crusades in 1144 and 1187.

Jones’ focus on human characters and his strength as a storyteller are what make Crusaders a success. Vivid descriptions and the use of primary source quotes help readers span the centuries. The book begins, for instance, with a colorful scene between a Norman count reacting to advice from his courtiers: “Count Roger of Sicily lifted his leg and farted. ‘By the truth of my religion,’ he exclaimed, ‘there is more use in that than in what you have to say!’ ”

In a thought-provoking epilogue, Jones brings his narrative into the present day. For while the Crusades are part of history, violent conflicts between Christians and Muslims continue to shadow the 21st century. “The Crusades are over,” Jones notes in a final thought. “But as long as there are crusaders—real or imaginary—in the world, the war goes on and on.”

Maggie Paxson is an anthropologist who uses analytical methods to see how groups of people click. In her fieldwork, Paxson has seen countless examples of conflict and violence—so many, in fact, that she didn’t want to study war no more (as the old spiritual goes). She wanted to study peace. But instead of going “down by the riverside,” Paxson went to a plateau: the Plateau du Vivarais-Lignon in southern France.

The people of the plateau are extraordinary. They have provided refuge to the hunted and unwanted for centuries. Yad Vashem, Israel’s official memorial to the victims of the Holocaust, honored the plateau village of Le Chambon as “Righteous Among Nations” for their aid to Jewish refugees. Daniel Trocmé, who was a distant relative of Paxson, died in a concentration camp because he refused to abandon his Jewish students. Even now, the plateau continues to welcome and protect refugees. Here, Paxson thought, was the perfect laboratory for determining how peace can be created by a community. The Plateau is the result.

Paxson soon discovered that, unlike the individual acts of violence that make up a war, peace cannot be counted. Peace is not linear but is the result of the deliberate interaction of the past with the present to create a future. Consequently, Paxson’s book is also nonlinear. She pieces together her own memories, observations from her life among the inhabitants of the plateau and, especially, the details of Daniel Trocmé’s life and death. Paxson’s beautiful writing threads these stories together so exquisitely that at times I had to stop and take a breath, even cry, before carrying on.

Although it has elements of memoir, biography and anthropological fieldwork, The Plateau is more than the sum of its parts. It’s a complex portrait of a place whose inhabitants have made a commitment to loving the stranger who arrives at their door, even when to do so demands the greatest sacrifice. Paxson acknowledges the difficulty and danger that this kind of love demands, but ultimately The Plateau demonstrates that it isn’t an impossible ideal to achieve. It is real and attainable, because it has been and continues to be practiced on the plateau.