Of all the horrors of this benighted century, the genocide of the Yazidis at the hands of ISIS a decade ago stands out for its extreme brutality and inhumanity. At the time, few people outside the region were aware of the group’s existence; as non-Muslims (Yazidism has pre-Zoroastrian roots), Yazidis were specifically targeted. The world has by now, alas, largely moved on to other atrocities.

A forgery can be a laborious undertaking, requiring resources, labor, and knowledge. A literary forgery or hoax is categorically different from thoughtlessly plagiarized text. Indeed, if a plagiarized work steals the words and ideas of others, a forged work studiously invents words and ideas while misattributing authorship. Both plagiarism and forgery are deceptive, but forgery creates even as it deceives. It is generative. In The Forger’s Creed: Reinventing Art History in Early Modern China, JP Park shows how a 17th-century painting catalogue recording details of a non-existent collection generated further forgeries and misattributions and bolstered apocryphal art historical lineages. The history of Chinese art, Park argues, was never the same.

In 1968, Mao Zedong launched the Cultural Revolution, asserting his control of China 15 years later, Deng Xiaoping launched the reform and opening up period, putting China on the path to becoming an economic powerhouse. But what happens in between these two critical periods of Chinese history? How does China go from Mao’s Cultural Revolution to Deng’s embrace of reforms?

Yu Hua, one of China’s most-acclaimed contemporary novelists, leapt to prominence, in English as well as Chinese, some three decades ago with his novels To Live and Chronicle of a Blood Merchant, both of which were made into well-received films. Both novels, about ordinary people struggling with extraordinary hardships, were notable for their matter-of-fact, slice-of-life rendering of their characters’ tribulations. Although his next novel, Brothers, a decade or so later, made more explicit use of farce and satire, in City of Fiction, Yu Hua seems to have returned to his roots.

If you only read one book by the prolific and (now) venerable John Man, it should perhaps be this one, literally so for it “revises and condenses” several chapters in his other books Genghis Khan, The Terracotta Army, Barbarians at the Wall, The Great Wall and Xanadu. It is, as one might expect from Man, a very readable amalgam of history, storytelling and travel-writing.

Despite the last decade’s increase in the amount of Japanese fiction being translated into English, several genres remain underrepresented. While English-speakers get access to a number of critically acclaimed literary titles, science fiction and romance, for example, are largely neglected despite their popularity in Japan. Historical samurai fiction, which maintains high Japanese readership, in particular, rarely makes it into English. This trend may be shifting, however, with the recent publication of Shuhei Fujisawa’s Semishigure and the upcoming release of a new, three-volume, translation of Eiji Yoshikawa’s Musashi, which was previously available only in abridged form.

Chris Stowers, longtime photographer, credits a fellow journalist for the title of his latest memoir, Shoot, Ask … and Run. The journalist’s advice to a young Chris, just starting out, went like this. Shoot: Take the photo when the opportunity arises. Then, if someone notices that you took a photo, “ask” for permission to use the photo. Finally, if the subject seems annoyed, “run” … particularly if he or she has a gun.