By E. Phillips Oppenheim. Introduction by Colin Heston.

When E. Phillips Oppenheim published The Golden Beast in 1926, he was already firmly established as the "Prince of Storytellers," a title earned by his uncanny ability to blend high-society glamour with the cold mechanics of crime. This novel, however, stands as a particularly striking waypoint in the history of the genre, moving beyond the simple "whodunnit" to explore the darker, more systemic shadows of the human psyche. For the modern reader, and especially for the student of criminology, the book serves as a fascinating precursor to contemporary theories on the intersection of power, wealth, and deviance.

The narrative significance of the work lies primarily in its early exploration of the "Power Elite" as a distinct criminal class. Long before modern criminology formalized the study of white-collar crime and corporate sociopathy, Oppenheim was illustrating how extreme financial leverage could create a vacuum of accountability. The "Beast" of the title is not merely a man, but a symbol of the socio-economic predator who views the law as an inconvenience to be bypassed rather than a boundary to be respected. This mirrors modern discussions on "moral insanity" in elite spaces, where the perpetrator’s perceived status grants them a psychological immunity to the social contract.

Furthermore, The Golden Beast captures a pivotal moment in forensic evolution. Written during a decade of rapid scientific advancement, the plot reflects the transition from Victorian-era intuition to the more clinical, methodical approach of forensic science. Oppenheim flirts with themes of biological erasure and chemical disposal, tapping into the 1920s anxiety that science, in the wrong hands, could facilitate the "perfect crime." It also ventures into early criminal profiling, as the narrative shifts focus from the physical evidence of the crime to the warped mental architecture of the criminal.

By examining the concept of the "disappearing victim," Oppenheim also prefigures modern victimology. He explores how a sophisticated offender can manipulate social structures to make an individual vanish not just physically, but legally and socially. This focus on the systemic nature of crime—how it is hidden, how it is financed, and how it is rationalized by the perpetrator—makes the novel an enduring piece of literature that remains relevant to our current understanding of the psychology of the super-criminal. It is a cautionary tale of a world where the law is always one step behind the man with the means to reinvent it.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2026. p.255.

By Francis Beeding. Introduction by Colin Heston.

In the shadows of a Europe still scarred by the Great War, a new and more terrifying conspiracy awakens. When Thomas Preston arrives in Geneva, he expects nothing more than a quiet diplomatic mission. Instead, he is thrust into a lethal game of cat-and-mouse after stumbling upon the secrets of the "Seven Sleepers"—a clandestine cabal of German industrialists and embittered generals plotting to shatter the fragile peace of the League of Nations.

Equipped with a terrifying hidden technology and a ruthless determination to rewrite the Treaty of Versailles, the Sleepers have already set their clock for a second global cataclysm. Preston’s only hope lies with the enigmatic Colonel Alastair Granby of British Intelligence. From high-speed chases across the continent to the inner sanctums of hidden laboratories, they must race to dismantle the conspiracy before the world is plunged back into the abyss of total war.

Originally published in 1925, The Seven Sleepers is the pulse-pounding debut of Francis Beeding’s most famous hero. It is a classic of the "clubland" thriller era, blending atmospheric suspense with the high-stakes espionage that defined a generation.

NU. Little Brown & Co. 1925.. New York-Philadelphia-Australia.. Read-Me.Org Inc. 2026. 182p.

By A. S. M. Hutchinson. Introduction by Colin Heston.

When If Winter Comes appeared in 1921, it entered a literary moment marked by exhaustion, reassessment, and a profound unease about the moral and emotional consequences of the First World War. Written by A. S. M. Hutchinson, the novel achieved immediate popularity on both sides of the Atlantic, resonating with readers who recognized in its restrained drama a faithful portrait of postwar disillusionment. Today, the book stands as one of the most representative middle-class English novels of the early 1920s, combining psychological realism with a quietly devastating critique of social conformity.

At the center of If Winter Comes is Mark Sabre, a man neither heroic nor villainous, but painfully ordinary—an embodiment of the conscientious, educated Englishman caught between private integrity and public expectation. Sabre’s tragedy unfolds not through sensational events but through accumulated compromises: the erosion of affection within marriage, the pressures of respectability, and the moral cowardice of a community that prizes appearances above truth. Hutchinson’s great achievement is to dramatize these pressures with such precision that the reader comes to see how social cruelty can be enacted without overt malice, simply through silence, gossip, and moral indifference.

The novel reflects a society struggling to redefine itself after catastrophe. Although the war remains largely offstage, its psychological presence is unmistakable. Characters speak and act as if something fundamental has been broken: faith in institutions, confidence in moral authority, and trust in traditional roles. Hutchinson does not frame this as a generational revolt, as some of his modernist contemporaries did, but rather as a slow moral suffocation. The England of If Winter Comes is orderly, polite, and profoundly unforgiving—a place where deviation from accepted norms is punished less by law than by social annihilation.

Stylistically, Hutchinson occupies a middle ground between Edwardian realism and the emerging psychological novel. His prose is clear, controlled, and often deceptively simple. Sentiment is present, but carefully disciplined; emotional climaxes arise organically from character rather than authorial intrusion. This restraint partly explains the book’s enduring power. Hutchinson trusts the reader to perceive the cruelty embedded in everyday interactions and to grasp the cumulative weight of small injustices. The result is a novel that feels at once intimate and inexorable.

Equally important is Hutchinson’s treatment of marriage and masculinity. Mark Sabre is not undone by vice or ambition but by a moral rigidity that prevents him from acting decisively in his own defense. In this sense, If Winter Comes anticipates later twentieth-century explorations of male emotional paralysis. Sabre’s passivity—his belief that decency alone will protect him—proves to be a fatal misconception. Hutchinson exposes how a culture that rewards restraint and silence can become complicit in personal destruction.

Upon publication, the novel’s success was amplified by its adaptation into a widely seen stage play and later film versions, cementing its reputation as a defining postwar narrative. Yet its popularity should not obscure its seriousness. Beneath its accessible surface lies a sharp moral inquiry into responsibility, courage, and the cost of social obedience. Hutchinson does not offer easy consolation; the title itself suggests a stoic endurance rather than renewal, implying that survival may require a reckoning with loss rather than its denial.

Read today, If Winter Comes remains strikingly contemporary. Its depiction of reputational ruin, public shaming, and institutional indifference speaks to modern anxieties about social judgment and moral isolation. Hutchinson’s novel reminds us that cruelty need not be loud to be lethal, and that the gravest tragedies often occur not in moments of drama but in the long, quiet seasons of neglect. As such, this book endures not merely as a historical artifact of postwar Britain, but as a timeless study of how societies fail their most conscientious members when compassion yields to convention.

By Frederic F. Van de Water. Introduction by Graeme R. Newman

When Grey Riders appeared in 1922, Frederic F. Van de Water was already emerging as one of the most capable interpreters of American frontier mythology. A journalist, historian, and novelist, he had spent years documenting the enduring tensions between law, order, memory, and violence in the development of the Atlantic seaboard. Grey Riders stands as one of his most vivid contributions to that project: a narrative history and interpretive reconstruction of the Border Riders—Vermont and New York militiamen, irregulars, and informal vigilante bands who policed, contested, and sometimes exploited the wilderness regions between the American colonies and British Canada during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries

Van de Water had a journalist’s fascination with complexity, and Grey Riders is at its strongest when it illuminates the contradictions inherent in a frontier culture that simultaneously demanded firmness of justice and tolerated the improvisational violence of irregular policing. In his account, the riders are men shaped by hardship—farmers, Loyalists, deserters, Yankee patriots, trappers, smugglers, and opportunists—who alternately defended and defied the emerging legal structures of the early United States. Their world was one where the line between protector and predator was always negotiable.

The book’s historical frame—stretching most visibly from the late Revolutionary era through the War of 1812—allows Van de Water to explore how unresolved grievances, economic scarcity, and geopolitical rivalry produced a frontier culture that did not neatly conform to the nation-state boundaries we take for granted today. The riders themselves were products of this ambiguity. While some acted as scouts and auxiliaries for the Continental Army or state militias, others drifted into banditry, smuggling, or private vengeance. Van de Water refuses to simplify this ambiguity; instead, he constructs a narrative that emphasizes how the frontier’s conditions forged men who were, by necessity, adaptable to both moral clarity and moral shade.

For the modern reader, Grey Riders also holds value as part of the broader early-twentieth-century reconsideration of American origins. The 1920s were a period of heightened nostalgia, cultural nationalism, and renewed interest in the country’s formative conflicts. Van de Water, however, avoids sentimentalism. His frontier is not a place of heroic inevitability but a zone of tension where identity, loyalty, and legitimacy are constantly renegotiated. In this respect, the book anticipates the more critical frontier historiography that would emerge later in the century.

Contemporary scholars may also find in Grey Riders an instructive account of how local communities develop security practices when state institutions are weak, distant, or contested—an issue that remains resonant in discussions of borderlands worldwide. The riders, as Van de Water portrays them, are precursors to many modern forms of irregular security actors: militias, local auxiliaries, self-appointed protectors, and armed community defense groups. Their actions demonstrate both the necessity and danger of such formations, especially when scarcity and political friction define daily life.

This new edition returns readers to a moment when questions of national boundaries, informal justice, and community resilience are central to global debate. Van de Water’s riders, moving through a grey zone of legality and identity, offer a powerful reminder that the frontier has never been a simple place—and that the forces shaping it never truly disappeared.

Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2025. p.188.

By Frances Parkinson Keyes

Came a Cavalier by Frances Parkinson Keyes is a sweeping historical romance set against the backdrop of two world wars. The novel explores themes of resilience, identity, and the transformative power of love. At its heart is Constance “Connie” Galt, a young woman whose life is reshaped by personal betrayal and the chaos of global conflict. Her journey begins with heartbreak, which propels her into service with the American Red Cross in France during World War I. This experience becomes a crucible for her character, forcing her to confront suffering and loss while discovering inner strength and purpose.

The story delves deeply into the theme of personal growth through adversity. Connie’s evolution from a disillusioned college student to a confident, compassionate woman mirrors the broader societal shifts of the early twentieth century. Her relationships—first with Duncan Craig, an American doctor, and later with Tristan de Fremond, a French cavalry officer—highlight the tension between security and passion, as well as the cultural contrasts between America and Europe during wartime.

Historically, the novel captures the atmosphere of wartime France with vivid detail, from the scarcity and danger of the front lines to the elegance and traditions of the French aristocracy. It reflects the impact of war on both individuals and nations, portraying how global upheaval can dismantle old social orders while creating new opportunities for connection and renewal. The narrative also touches on themes of honor and duty, embodied in Tristan’s role within the prestigious Cadre Noir, and contrasts these ideals with the pragmatic realities of survival and love in times of uncertainty.

Ultimately, Came a Cavalier is not just a romance but a meditation on courage, endurance, and the human capacity for reinvention. It situates personal drama within the grand sweep of history, offering readers both an intimate love story and a rich portrait of a world in transition.

Julian Messner, Inc. NY. 1947. Read-Me.Org Inc. New York-Philadelphia-Australia. 2025. 437p.

By Erskine Caldwell. Designed and Edited with an Introduction  by Colin Heston

When All Night Long appeared in 1942, Erskine Caldwell was already one of the most widely read—and most controversial—American novelists of his generation. Known primarily for his unsparing portrayals of poverty, violence, and moral stress in the American South, Caldwell here turned his attention outward, to a global conflict unfolding at unprecedented scale. Subtitled A Novel of Guerrilla Warfare in Russia, All Night Long represents Caldwell’s direct literary engagement with the Second World War at the moment when its outcome remained deeply uncertain and when the Soviet Union, newly allied with the United States, had become a central symbol of resistance to fascist aggression.

Caldwell’s Russia is not a romanticized abstraction nor a detailed ethnographic portrait. Instead, it functions as a stark moral landscape shaped by occupation, deprivation, and constant threat. Villages, forests, and frozen terrain become arenas of endurance rather than scenery. The emphasis falls on night operations, secrecy, hunger, exhaustion, and the psychological toll of living in a perpetual state of danger. The title itself—All Night Long—signals this temporal and emotional register: war as an unbroken vigil, a continuous strain that erodes the boundary between action and survival.

For modern readers, the novel occupies an intriguing position in Caldwell’s body of work and in twentieth-century war literature more broadly. It stands apart from his Southern novels in geography but not in theme. As in Tobacco Road or God’s Little Acre, Caldwell examines how extreme conditions strip life down to its essentials and expose the structures—economic, political, or military—that govern human behavior. In All Night Long, the setting is international, but the underlying concerns remain consistent: power, exploitation, resilience, and the cost of endurance.

Read today, All Night Long also invites reflection on the evolving representation of guerrilla warfare itself. Long before such conflicts became a dominant feature of late-twentieth- and early-twenty-first-century military discourse, Caldwell recognized the strategic and moral complexity of irregular resistance. His novel anticipates later debates about asymmetrical warfare, civilian involvement, and the blurred lines between combatant and noncombatant—issues that continue to shape global conflicts.

Ultimately, All Night Long is less a novel about Russia per se than a novel about resistance under occupation. It captures a historical moment when global war demanded new forms of solidarity and new narrative frameworks to explain them. Caldwell’s achievement lies in his ability to translate that vast struggle into an intimate, unrelenting account of human persistence, sustained through darkness, danger, and the long hours of night.

NY.Book League of America. 1942. Read-Me.Org Inc. Australia, New York & Philadelphia. 2025. 161p.

Edited by Tamari Kitossa

This collection invites us to think about how African-descended men are seen as both appealing and appalling, and exposed to eroticized hatred and violence and how some resist, accommodate, and capitalize on their eroticization. Drawing on James Baldwin and Frantz Fanon, the contributors examine the contradictions, paradoxes, and politico-psychosexual implications of Black men as objects of sexual desire, fear, and loathing. Kitossa and the contributing authors use Baldwin’s and Fanon’s cultural and psychoanalytic interpretations of Black masculinities to demonstrate their neglected contributions to thinking about and beyond colonialist and Western gender and masculinity studies. This innovative and sophisticated work will be of interest to scholars and students of cultural and media studies, gender and masculinities studies, sociology, political science, history, and critical race and racialization. Foreword by Tommy J. Curry.

Contributors: Katerina Deliovsky, Delroy Hall, Dennis O. Howard, Elishma Khokhar, Tamari Kitossa, Kemar McIntosh, Leroy F. Moore Jr., Watufani M. Poe, Satwinder Rehal, John G. Russell, Mohan Siddi

Alberta: University of Alberta Press, 2021

By David de Boer

For victims of persecution, attracting international awareness of their plight is often a matter of life and death. This book uncovers how in seventeenth-century Europe, persecuted minorities first learned how to use the press as a weapon to combat religious persecution. To mobilize foreign audiences, they faced an acute dilemma: how to make people care about distant suffering? This study argues that by answering this question, they laid the foundations of a humanitarian culture in Europe. The book reveals how, as consuming news became an everyday practice for many Europeans, the Dutch Republic emerged as an international hub of printed protest against religious violence. It traces how a diverse group of people, including Waldensian refugees, Huguenot ministers, Savoyard officeholders, and many others, all sought access to the Dutch printing presses to raise transnational solidarity for their cause. By examining their publicity strategies, this study deepens our understanding of how people tried to confront the specter of religious violence that had haunted them for generations.

UA Open. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2023. 225p.

By Hsuan L. Hsu

Perhaps the most popular of all canonical American authors, Mark Twain is famous for creating works that satirize American formations of race and empire. While many scholars have explored Twain’s work in African Americanist contexts, his writing on Asia and Asian Americans remains largely in the shadows. In Sitting in Darkness, Hsuan Hsu examines Twain’s career-long archive of writings about United States relations with China and the Philippines. Comparing Twain’s early writings about Chinese immigrants in California and Nevada with his later fictions of slavery and anti-imperialist essays, he demonstrates that Twain’s ideas about race were not limited to white and black, but profoundly comparative as he carefully crafted assessments of racialization that drew connections between groups, including African Americans, Chinese immigrants, and a range of colonial populations. Drawing on recent legal scholarship, comparative ethnic studies, and transnational and American studies, Sitting in Darkness engages Twain’s best-known novels such as Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, as well as his lesser-known Chinese and trans-Pacific inflected writings, such as the allegorical tale “A Fable of the Yellow Terror” and the yellow face play Ah Sin. Sitting in Darkness reveals how within intersectional contexts of Chinese Exclusion and Jim Crow, these writings registered fluctuating connections between immigration policy, imperialist ventures, and racism.

New York: NYU Press.2015.

By Markus Nehl

Markus Nehl focuses on black authors who, from a 21st-century perspective, revisit slavery in the U.S., Ghana, South Africa, Canada and Jamaica. Nehl’s provocative readings of Toni Morrison’s »A Mercy«, Saidiya Hartman’s »Lose Your Mother«, Yvette Christiansë’s »Unconfessed«, Lawrence Hill’s »The Book of Negroes« and Marlon James’ »The Book of Night Women« delineate how these texts engage in a fruitful dialogue with African diaspora theory about the complex relation between the local and transnational and the enduring effects of slavery. Reflecting on the ethics of narration, this study is particularly attentive to the risks of representing anti-black violence and to the intricacies involved in (re-)appropriating slavery's archive.

Bielefeld, Germany: transcript Verlag, 2016. 213p.