This thirteenth episode in what I have found to be a thoroughly compelling saga more or less wraps up the story arc from the previous two volumes and also sets the stage for what is to come.

It’s pointless to try to recapitulate the story so far, or even to provide very much description of the world shared by humans and atevi, except to say that Cajeiri, the young heir to the ajinate, has become a major player (I suspect the author will have him succeeding to his father’s job before she wraps up this epic, if she ever does) and that the cringe-worthy domestic crisis we saw coming is resolved very neatly (for the moment, anyway) in a way that may catch you off-balance. With Bren Cameron, the paidhi-ajii, now back in his apartments in the Bujavid, and his own staff returned after three long years from the space station, there’s not much shooting and running for cover this time. But there’s plenty of tension, much of it of the diplomatic variety, as we discover some of what’s been happening behind the scenes. The Assassins Guild, which is the closest thing the atevi have to an apolitical police force (as well as a judge and jury system), turns out to have been not so removed from politics after all, and that’s definitely not a good thing.

I’m aware that this sort of psychological-sociological-intellectual plotline will not appeal to certain readers, especially younger ones. This isn’t Star Wars. And that’s okay. But for those of us who do get off on long, fascinating discussions of alien political intrigue and who enjoy second-guessing non-human reactions to events (and you can do that with some success if you’ve been reading this series all along), the “Foreigner” saga is one of the very best things out there. If it ever ends, I shall certainly roll up my mental sleeves and start all over again at the beginning.

This is the seventh in the series featuring the brilliant but difficult-to-live-with Detective Inspector John Rebus of the Edinburgh CID, and I think it’s best in the series to this point.

The story starts very much in media res, with Rebus and his boss, DCI Lauderdale, in high-speed pursuit of a couple of young suspected kidnappers in the dead of a frozen, icy winter, a chase that comes to an abrupt and violent end on the approach to the Firth of Forth Bridge. Shortly after that, a recently released convict commits suicide by shotgun in front of a city councilor and no one can figure out why. The images of what he has witnessed on the bridge haunt Rebus and propel him into investigating the suicide, even though it isn’t actually a crime, because the two events seem to him to be connected. And it quickly becomes clear that various individuals and interests among the city’s (and the country’s) social, economic, and political elites want to discourage his interest. But the readers of this series know that’s never going to work. Try to push Rebus away and he’ll fasten his teeth into the case harder than ever. This one is almost pure police procedural, with Rebus and his associates following clues, talking to people, and thinking hard about what they turn up. It’s the best sort of mystery writing and I recommend it strongly.

Yes, Virginia, there was alternate history before Turtledove. I acquired this volume at a used bookstore in high school, back around 1960, and it’s what made me a lifelong fan of “what if” speculative writing.

As the Introduction says, “There is no action or event, great or small, . . . which might not have happened differently, and, happening differently, have perhaps modified the world’s history for all time.” The eleven contributors include some of the leading literary lights of the time: G. K. Chesterton (on the marriage of Mary Queen of Scots), Hendrik Van Loon (the Dutch hang on to New Amsterdam), Andre Maurois (Louis XVI didn’t panic), Hilaire Belloc (Louis XVI again, but this time he escaped to England), Harold Nicolson (Byron becomes king of Greece), Winston S. Churchill (the American novelist, that is, on Lee not winning at Gettysburg — yes, a double twist), and Emil Ludwig (Frederick the Great survives to old age). A couple other authors, now long forgotten, consider the Moors retaining Spain, Napoleon escaping to America after Waterloo, and Booth missing his shot at Lincoln (a what-if that has seen relatively heavy use compared to most others in this book). Squire himself proposes that Francis Bacon is proved to have written the plays of Shakespeare, and what that entails for Bacon’s own literary efforts.

If asked to propose a what-if, most of us would probably first posit that the South won the Civil War or that Germany won World War II. The latter was not available when this volume was put together, obviously, but those two alternatives do account, in one form or another, for a large proportion of alternative history fiction. Which is why, given my strong background in history, I have always enjoyed rereading the essays in this volume; they aren’t retreads of the same old ideas. And, given the general quality of the contributors, all of them are very much worth the reading. While it has been reprinted several times, this book nevertheless has been out of print for more than forty years and I wish someone would pick it up again.

Marcus Tullius Cicero (the Victorians called him “Tully”) was best known to generations of Latin students as the essayist and orator most to be emulated, but he was also a very successful courtroom lawyer and politician

– at least until Mark Antony got into power after Caesar’s assassination and had Marcus and his brother, Quintus, executed on trumped-up charges. Quintus was the practical one and acted as campaign manager when Marcus stood for the consulship in 64 BC, writing his brother letters filled with instructions and advice. Both the Cicero brothers were intelligent and highly educated but they lacked the noble birth that would have eased access to the highest levels of society, so Marcus had to appeal to the masses — and Quintus understood just how to do that. “You must diligently cultivate relationships with . . . men of privilege. Both you and your friends should work to convince them that you have always been a traditionalist. Never let them think you are a populist.” That wouldn’t be out of place in a smoke-filled room today. Quintus also noted that “running for office can be divided into two kinds of activity: securing the support of your friends and winning over the general public.” Which applies equally to today’s primary contest and general election system in the U.S. This is not a lengthy read, only a little over eighty pages, with the original Latin and a new, rather colloquial English rendition on facing pages. If you’re a student of the language, it’s a great text for study. If you’re interested in political science and sociology, you’ll find out just how little things have changed.

Edinburgh’s International Festival of Drama and Music brings in several hundred thousand visitors every summer, making it an important contribution to the local economy, but to DI John Rebus, the Festival is a guaranteed P.I.T.A.

The local thugs and estate-based gangs prey on the crowds of out-of-towners, parking places disappear entirely, and there’s sure to be a leavening of violent crime he will have to deal with. In this case, a young guy is discovered in an Old Town cellar undergoing renovation, dangling from a meat hook and having received a “six-pack” — pistol shots through both knees, elbows, and ankles, plus, this time, an extra shot in the head. It’s a combination punishment and warning to others favored by the IRA, as Rebus recognizes from his stint in the army in Belfast. This gets him started in an investigation of ethnic terrorist groups operating in Scotland, mostly in support of one side or the other in Northern Ireland — but it doesn’t take him long to suspect he’s being led astray.

Rankin’s Edinburgh is far from the city depicted by Alexander McCall Smith and sectarian conspiracy and violence is a part of their history and culture even most residents of the city would rather not think about. The author, however, tells an exciting and suspenseful story.

I’ve read several purported travel guides to various periods in history and they generally come off as too “cute” and trying too hard. This one is different.

The author (who has a Ph.D. in Roman history from Oxford) jumps right in with the first page of the Introduction, telling the traveler how to find a ship, what it’s likely to cost and how long the journey will take from various parts of the empire to the Eternal City (two days minimum from North Africa, more than a week from Gibraltar), and why you should dock at Puteoli, down the coast a bit, rather than directly at Rome’s port of Ostia (so you can see the sights along the Appian Way on your way into town). And where do you stay when you get there? Ah! That’s why you always offer hospitality to visitors from Rome in your own town, because then they’re obligated to return the favor. Actually, it’s a bit more complicated than that and the author explains the system of favor-for-favor accurately and succinctly. You’ll learn about the sorts of neighborhoods to be found on each of the seven hills and in the flat land beyond, and why you want to locate yourself near one of the public baths. You’ll learn the protocol of dining out as a guest in someone’s home, and what to wear in various situations, and where to shop and when (the small daily markets are quite different from the larger, every-nine-days markets). There’s an excellent chapter on “The Social Order” and the place of the family, and of slavery in Roman society (it was viewed as simply a misfortune that might strike anyone), and another on crime and the courts and public punishment (which should not only be seen to be done but should also be as messy as possible for the criminal). And then there’s religion, and entertainment (whether gladiators or Greek theater), and finally a series of walks through all parts of the city, from the Forum (“Romanorum,” since there were several others) to the grave of St. Peter on Vatican Hill.

The putative date for the city in the book as Matyszak describes it is about AD 200, shortly after the Arch of Septimus Severus was dedicated, but he strays from the time-travel conceit occasionally to tell you what will happen to certain temples and other buildings in later centuries. (The Renaissance has a lot to answer for in this regard.) And throughout you will find scattered quotes and excerpts from the classical Roman authors, always relevant to the topic at hand. The author’s sly wit adds a nice leavening, too. Matyszak has done a similar book for classical Athens, which I’m obviously going to have to hunt up.

If we didn’t know for sure that Alexander of Macedon was really and truly an actual person, one could be forgiven for imagining he was a mythological hero. And Renault examines both his real and his quasi-mythological nature.

This is the first book in a trilogy about the quintessential conqueror, opening with the little boy at four, trying manfully to balance out the demands of his father, Philip II, who eventually brought nearly all of Greece under his rule, and his mother, Olympias, a real piece of work who constantly worked her passive-aggressive wiles on her son and may well have been involved in her husband’s assassination. Fifteen years later, Alexander is still trying to be the very different son each of them demands. Alexander was never more than middling size but his personality commanded any room he entered. Macedon was still “barbaric” by the lights of the city-states of southern Greece, and a boy didn’t reach manhood until he had killed a man in battle. Alexander managed it at age twelve. At sixteen, he was commanding a cavalry unit, and by eighteen he was a thoroughly experienced campaigner whose soldiers adored him. And then Philip was murdered (for personal reasons, apparently) and his son had to take over both the kingdom and the planned-for liberation of the Greek cites of Asia that were under Persian control.

Renault’s style is low-key and ruminative, describing events and mostly letting the reader draw his own conclusions. The character of Hephaistion, Alexander’s closest friend and supporter as well as lover, is perhaps even more finely drawn. If you enjoyed The King Must Die, about another hero, you’ll love this.

Even though his novels might be set in space, I always think of the late great Clifford Simak as a “pastoral” science fiction author, because of the simplicity of his settings. His characters seem simple, too, at first, but then their complexities blossom in the narrative.

This is certainly the case with Enoch Wallace, veteran of Gettysburg, now living in a particularly isolated corner of Wisconsin, near the Mississippi. Yes, he’s more than 120 years old, and still looks about thirty. He stays in or near his house (built by his father) at all times, a mystery to his few neighbors. His only outside contact is the mailman, who also runs occasional small errands for him. But Enoch gets all his other supplies from his employer, the Galactic Council. Because his house is impregnable and is not at all what it seems. As his first off-planet visitor explained to him back around 1870, “Think of it this way. This is just another railroad and the Earth is just another town and this house will be the station for this new and different railroad. The only difference is that no one on Earth but you will know the railroad’s here.” While Wallace is a natural loner — that’s largely why he was recruited — he also subscribes to numerous magazines and journals and buys many books by mail. He keeps up with things, especially in the sciences. But again, most of the things that really interest him come by way of his frequent alien visitors, transported by a machine whose operation Enoch doesn’t begin to understand. Some of those visitors are humanoid, some are extremely alien, but to him, they’re all just people.

And then, as he feared would one day happen, a passing government agent hears rumors about the undying recluse and begins poking around, and soon Enoch has company he definitely doesn’t want. And then the watchers become meddlers and suddenly Earth is in greater danger than anyone but Enoch could possibly understand.

It’s a quiet, very humane story and I’ve read it probably half a dozen times over the years. Simak won the International Fantasy Award for City, but this won won the Hugo and I think it’s by far his best book.

When someone asks Detective Harry Bosch, homicide specialist with the LAPD, how long he’ll stay on the job, he replies, “As long as they’ll let me.” In any event, he’s in his sixties now and took delayed retirement so he could come back on contract and work for the cold-case squad.

And his current case, on the twentieth anniversary of the post-Rodney King riots, is a homicide that took place at that time (one of many that weekend) and on which he had actually been the first, very hurried investigator. The victim was a Danish photojournalist apparently covering the riots and who was shot execution-style in an alley. The case was never solved but Bosch is determined to do it right this time. And so, in his trademark uncompromising way, he begins picking at the thin, dusty reports, re-examining the handful of personal possessions from the property archives, hunting down those who were present twenty years ago and their associates. And as he begins to unravel the story of what happened, it takes him far afield from both L.A. and the riots.

Connelly does first-rate procedural mysteries and this one is no exception, following the cops as they try to think their way through a very cold case and skirt the edge of the law to get things to break their way. And to complicate his life, Harry also has a much younger lieutenant on his back who wants to force him into permanent retirement with an Internal Affairs complaint. Well, he’s survived a lot of those in his career, so he figures he can deal with one, too. Maybe. Also, Harry’s various personal relationships — with his partner, David Chu, with his teenage daughter, Maddie, and with his possibly-serious lady friend — have largely been shifted to the back burner this time in favor of the whodunit plotline. But it works.

Bosch has maybe four years left before he has to pack it in for good. I have a feeling we’re going to see at least a couple more books in the series before that happens. I’ll be waiting, not so patiently.

When last we saw Keller — whose name is one letter away from his occupation — he had been forced to go on the run by an ex-employer cleaning house and had ended up in a completely new life (and with a new name) in New Orleans, doing construction work. I sort of thought that was the end of his career, that Block was sending him into a pleasant retirement, but I guess you just can’t keep a good hit man down.

Actually, with the collapse of the post-Katrina rebuilding boom, Keller is feeling the need for other sources of revenue, if only to keep from spending the capital in his offshore accounts on his stamp collection. And there’s always a need for a trained professional among those in politics and big business, not to mention the divorced wealthy set. So off he goes, first to Dallas, then to Wyoming, then on a Caribbean cruise, and so on. And philately is often an important theme, which makes it even more fun for a long-time collector like me. Each episode is really a standalone short story (I know “Keller in Dallas” has been previously published) but the volume as a whole is a great way to waste a weekend.