Paperbacks: Postwar<br/> <br/>Peacock <br/>Back To The Badlands <br/>Mishima's Sword <br/>1491 <br/>Mother's Milk <br/>The Successor

Postwar, by Tony Judt (PIMLICO £10.99 (933pp))

Stupendous in scale, trenchant in style and handsomely produced, this epic account of Europe since 1945 contains insights not just on every page but every paragraph. All the big events are here, of course. We learn that the Yalta agreement of 1945 was "a striking study in misunderstanding". As a result, Stalin regained the eastern territories ceded under the Nazi-Soviet pact. "For the Poles then and since, this was a betrayal of the very purpose of the war." An expert on France, Judt is particularly revealing about De Gaulle. His explanation of how the general reversed French "steady decline since at least 1871" by shaping the "European project into the service of French goals" is deft and revealing. But Judt, born in 1948, also recognises the significance of Sixties culture in changing Europe. Discussing The Beatles and their imitators, he notes: "The content of popular music mattered quite a lot, but its form counted for more... It was insubordinate in tone, in the manner of its performance." Judt also recognises when a cultural phenomenon does not merit investigation. Princess Diana, for example, appears only in a footnote. "The bizarre outpouring of public grief [for Diana] was a strictly British affair." This fresh-minted, brilliantly-crafted narrative is more engaging than most novels. CH

Peacock, by Christine E Jackson (REAKTION £12.95 (192pp))

The latest addition to Reaktion's excellent animal series begins with both "Natural History" (On the wing, the bird can make the same speed as a pheasant") and "Unnatural History": "In Britain there is a common superstition that it is unlucky to have the eyed train feathers in the house." This view was not apparently held by Lady Curzon, Viceraine of India, who is pictured in a gown entirely covered in peacock feathers, or St Michael, equipped with peacock feather wings by the artist Hans Memling. Winging round the globe, Jackson explores the bird's remarkable associations, from Persia to Whistler. CH

Back to the Badlands, by John Williams (SERPENT'S TAIL £8.99 (273pp))

The cover - a Las Vegas hearse - suggests that this newly extended collection of interviews with American crime writers will be the darkest noir, but several encounters are more hilarious than hard-boiled. Williams meets James Ellroy: "The longer you spend with him the less there seems to be to say." James Lee Burke continues weight-training during the interview. "Somewhat disconcerting," says Williams. Kinky Friedman fails to recognise him. "You've given quotes for my books," pleads Williams. "We've met before." "Goddammit. It's too damn hot," says Friedman. CH

Mishima's Sword, by Christopher Ross (HARPER £7.99 (262pp))

This curious mosaic of a book cross-cuts between the seppuku (ritual suicide) of the novelist Yukio Mushima and Ross's obsession with Japanese martial arts. (He was Robert Twigger's flatmate, described in Angry White Pyjamas.) Ranging from the traditional method for testing swords on dead bodies to his own eerie daydreams, Ross probes Mishima's predestined demise. A rare lighter moment concerns a visit to an S&M parlour patronised by Mishima. "I sat down on a stool after unscrewing the detachable dildo." Intelligent, but sometimes disturbing. CH

1491, by Charles C Mann (GRANTA £10.99 (465pp))

Lively and endlessly curious, Mann is the ideal guide to the great American cusp. His account of pre-Columbian societies is alive with detail - ancient Peruvians grew cotton in irrigated fields, modern maize evolved from complex biological manipulation 6,000 years ago, bison were imported from west to east by North American Indians - while querying accepted wisdom. Human sacrifice in Mexico involved proportionately fewer deaths than executions in European countries. Mann suggests that in terms of personal liberty, we have more in common with the North Americans of 1491 than our own ancestors. CH

Mother's Milk, by Edward St Aubyn (PICADOR £7.99 (279pp))

St Aubyn's Booker-shortlisted novel, the last in a trilogy about the once-rich and now terminally struggling Melrose family, is a pure delight. It's a caustically witty portrait of mid-life fear and self-loathing, complete with affairs, depression and drink. It's also a touching portrayal of the miraculous bond between mother and child. St Aubyn has a slight tendency to veer into caricature, but it's so funny, you don't care. CP

The Successor, by Ismail Kadare (CANONGATE £6.99 (207pp))

The chosen "Successor", heir to the tyrannical "Guide", is suddenly found dead. Murder, or suicide? Long after the fall of Hoxha's bizarre regime, Ismail Kadare - half Kafka, and half Orwell - still transforms the woes and riddles of his native Albania into masterly parables of power, secrecy and survival, sinister but blackly comic. Translated with gusto by David Bellos, this grippingly strange 2003 novel conjures up chilly Tirana and its fog of paranoia, but should be read in tropical Havana. BT

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