Since the early-2000s there has been an increasing amount of research on connections between the Nazi regime and the Arab world largely spurred by scholars of Germany. One of the key contributions of this scholarship has been the argument that historic links between National Socialism and Islam, in particular the connection between National Socialist racial ideology and contemporary anti-Semitism in the Middle East, persisted into the post-war period and crucially shaped Middle Eastern politics and policies. This approach is represented in this review in the studies by Matthias Küntzel, Jeffrey Herf, Klaus-Michael Mallmann and Martin Cüppers and Barry Rubin and Wolfgang Schwanitz, who all – in various ways – suggest that there is a direct line of continuity between National Socialism, the Muslim Brotherhood and the rise of al-Qaeda. By calling attention to the role of National Socialism, these studies challenge what has hitherto been the dominant historiography of the modern Middle East, which contextualises the rise of anti-Semitism in the region within a broader analysis of Arab nationalism, anti-imperialism and anti-Zionism. The debate on the importance of National Socialism in the Arab world continues to develop. Recent books by historians David Motadel and Stefan Ihrig return the focus from the Middle East to Nazi policy in the region allowing them to place the Nazi regime within a longer history of Western misapprehensions of the ‘Muslim’ world. Placing these two approaches side by side allows us to evaluate the historical evidence of collaboration between Nazism and radical Islam and thereby assess the extent to which Nazi racial ideology penetrated the Arab world.

Secrecy has unintended consequences. The release on 9 December 2014 of the US Senate Intelligence Committee's report on the torture of terrorism detainees focused public attention on the secret activities of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). Regrettably, lost amidst debate over justifying or condemning state-sponsored torture is a more basic concern, the issue of state secrecy, which underlies the discussion of how governments promote national ends. Only two days after the issuance of the Senate Intelligence Committee's report, the US House of Representatives adjourned without taking action on the Freedom of Information Act reform bill – despite receiving unanimous approval in both houses. This bill would not have required complete openness, but it would have eliminated many of the arbitrary mechanisms that enable the CIA and other governmental agencies to suppress requests for information. Although the House Republican leadership failed to put the act on the legislative calendar, the Obama administration's Department of Justice also deserves opprobrium for surreptitiously opposing the act behind the scenes. The US government's disregard for establishing reasonable rules of transparency virtually guarantees that the CIA will continue to suppress its records, and thus public scrutiny of its unchecked activities, for a very long time to come.

The past decade has seen an explosion of scholarly work on the European Community (EC)’s attempts to develop an international role during the ‘long 1970s’. This is hardly surprising: historians tend to follow the opening of the archives, and now is the best moment to examine primary sources from the period. There are, however, two further reasons for this growing interest in European integration during the 1970s. Firstly, writing in the aftermath of the crisis in relations between the United States and Europe provoked by the US's global war on terrorism and at the height of the European financial crisis, many scholars – historians and political scientists alike – have looked back at the crisis of the 1970s, searching for precedents, similarities and differences. Secondly, thanks to the number of studies now available, the decade is widely recognised as a pivotal period of global transformation – a period in which new global dynamics produced radical change for Europe and for the international system as a whole. In many ways, this decade represented a crisis of modernity that saw the emergence of new actors and processes. Cold War categories became too rigid to usefully define – or even explain – an increasingly pluralistic world, in which new international actors, ranging from transnational grassroots movements to international institutions and regular international summits, began to play major roles. The oppressive but unambiguous Cold War order started to crumble, and a new one, characterised by ‘interdependence’ and ‘globalisation’, began to emerge. The effects of this transformation were particularly dramatic for Europe: it was in the seventies that Europe ‘entered a different world’.

In a 2004 review essay on transnational history published in the pages of this journal, Akira Iriye discussed the ‘internationalisation of scholarship’ and concluded that ‘historians easily cross oceans and traverse national boundaries’. The books under review here offer a striking example of this internationalisation, not only in their geographical remit but equally in the transnational interests and collaboration of their authors. Three of them are edited volumes – which, in their showcasing of different approaches, methodologies and topics, are particularly suited to addressing the hybrid nature of cultural diplomacy. Their rich variety of case studies reveals the interplay of micro and macro history, as well as the complex relations between local, national and transnational, as well as between governmental and non-governmental historical actors. The fourth volume is a jointly authored work by François Chaubet and Laurent Martin that presents a synthetic approach to cultural exchange, the relations between culture and policy and cultural globalisation. Together these recent books represent the evolution of a cultural approach to diplomatic history and international relations, epitomised by an interest in ‘soft power’ and closely shaped by the development of transnational history, entangled history (histoire croisée) and the study of cultural transfers. As such, they allow a more cumulative consideration of the roles and meanings of cultural diplomacy in twentieth-century Europe.

In the late 1970s scholars of Europe and its colonies began probing the relationship between medicine and empire. In the decades since, following the cue of Steven Feierman, John Janzen, Megan Vaughan and Randall Packard, the literature has demonstrated that colonial medicine constructed an African ‘other’ and greatly contributed to harmful practices that did not improve the overall health and welfare of the local populations European administrations claimed to be civilising. Through the 1990s, scholarship concentrated primarily on local agency and socio-economic and political factors that furthered our understanding of how medicine and health care operated in a colonial context. These foundational studies have enabled the most recent wave of research in the history of medicine to turn its attention to questions of public health, especially as it relates to the politics of development, nationalism, and decolonisation. Historians, including Sunil Amrith and Clifford Rosenberg, have emphasised the significant role medicine has played in projecting state power in European colonies and have shown how international organisations became prominent agents in shaping national and global health policies. However, their important work has left unanswered questions about the intellectual networks that formed the elite scientific and medical minds of the day and the legacies of health policies under colonial rule.

Written seven years after the fall of the Berlin Wall, as the shockwaves of the Yugoslav wars still reverberated through the continent, Ugrešić’s essays spoke to a period of European history in which the West's lack of familiarity with the East was particularly marked. In part owing to this Western incomprehension, the period of the 1990s were a rich one for theoretical discussions within the field of Eastern European Studies, as scholars sharing Ugrešić’s concerns turned their attention to the ways in which Eastern Europe had come to be imagined as that great blank space beyond the wall.

‘What exactly is the history of emotions?’ This question, often still encountered by historians working in the field, suggests that the history of emotions is difficult to understand yet hard to ignore. Historians active in other areas may have noticed the recent founding (and funding) of emotions research centres by Queen Mary, University of London, the Max Planck Society and the Australian Research Council. Yet the emergence of a critical mass of emotions researchers has not altogether dispelled concerns that emotions are not really accessible to the historian or worthy of sustained and serious consideration. Even a pioneer of the once dubious field of cultural history such as Peter Burke has wondered about the history of emotions’ viability while recognising its promise. As he sees it, if historians regard emotions as stable across time (and thus pre-cultural, it seems) then all they can do is chart changing attitudes to these constant emotions. This leaves historians writing intellectual history but not the history of emotions. If historians, by contrast, treat emotions as historically variable then they may deliver more innovative work, but they may also end up struggling to find evidence for their conclusions. Taking anxiety as an example, Burke asks pointedly how ‘could a historian possibly find evidence to establish’ whether people were more anxious in a given historical period than another, rather than simply being affected by different anxieties. The books under review here represent the latest generation of historians’ efforts to answer Burke's questions and examine whether and how fundamental changes in the history of emotions can be charted.

In an article published in September 1939, in the very eye of the storm of twentieth-century Europe's ‘age of extremes’, the British historian Christopher Dawson attempted to get to grips with the temper of his times. Opining on what he saw as the failure of nineteenth-century liberal individualism and its deleterious encroachment on spiritual values, he wrote:

In many respects, and certainly with regard to his educational ideas, Rudolf Steiner was a child of his time. Trust in the natural goodness of the child that became more and more central, belief in an evolutionist development of both individuals and humanity as a whole, the emphasis on a holistic education realised through a community of teachers, parents and children; all of these were ideas that Steiner shared with other key figures of the progressive education movement, which began in the late nineteenth century. In line with the existing historiography on progressive education (Reformpädagogik) in general, historical research on the figure of Steiner, and particularly on the development of the schools and the educational system named after him, is characterised by paying considerable attention to the years of foundation in the interwar period on the one hand and to current practices on the other, in that way largely neglecting the developments during the second half of the twentieth century.

Why did the Soviet Union disintegrate? What made the 1989 revolutions in ‘Eastern Europe’ possible and why were they not crushed? What appeared as the logical consequence of Gorbachev's perestroika to many observers at the time – and has indeed been painted as such by quite a few historians – turns out on closer inspection to have been far more complex.

After a drought of more than a decade, a substantial group of recent works has begun revisiting Weimar gender history. The fields of Weimar and Nazi gender history have been closely linked since the field was defined thirty years ago by the appearance of the anthology When Biology Became Destiny: Women in Weimar and Nazi Germany. Following a flurry of pioneering work in the 1980s and early 1990s, few new monographs were dedicated to investigating the questions posed in that formative moment of gender history. Kathleen Canning, the current main commentator on Weimar gender historiography, in an essay first published shortly before the works under review, found that up to that point the ‘gender scholarship on the high-stakes histories of Weimar and Nazi Germany has not fundamentally challenged categories or temporalities’. Weimar gender, meanwhile, has been intensively analysed in the fields of cultural, film, and literary studies. The six books discussed in this essay reverse these trends, picking up on the central question of how gender contributed to the end of the Weimar Republic and the rise to power of National Socialism. In addition, four of the books concentrate solely on reconstructing the dynamics of gender relations during the Weimar period itself in their discussions of prostitution, abortion and representations of femininity and masculinity. Is emerging gender scholarship now shaping larger questions of German early twentieth-century history? How are new scholars revising our view of the role of gender in this tumultuous time?

In the preface to the 1941 edition to his 1908 novel, The War in the Air, H. G. Wells wrote: ‘I told you so. You damned fools’. The books discussed here illustrate how, in the few intervening decades, air war moved from a fearful vision into reality, and detail the varied experiences and consequences of the aerial bombardment of cities and civilians. The histories of air power and the aerial bombardment of cities have centred on the Second World War, moving from the humanising endurance of Londoners during the Blitz to the entirely dehumanised horror of the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The texts reviewed here extend the histories of air war and highlight the city and the home as a target for bombing while remaining the place where people carried on their daily lives.

Writing in 1997, Britain's leading historian of tourism John K. Walton lamented that ‘tourism has not been accepted into the charmed circle of acceptable themes in European history’. While it would be premature to suggest that tourism has now been welcomed into this select inner circle on equal terms with more traditional fields of research, there is nevertheless much for historians of tourism to be positive about. Over the course of the last two decades, a growing body of scholarship has demonstrated not only that tourism needs to be taken seriously as a factor that shaped the modern world but also that the study of tourist practices has the potential to shed new light on seemingly familiar historical issues and debates. The complex range of factors that have enabled and hindered tourism's rise towards respectability within historical studies have been discussed in detail elsewhere by prominent exponents of the genre and will not be reiterated here. However, three flourishing and interconnected fields of historical inquiry, to which historians of tourism are making valuable contributions, deserve particular mention. Each of the works discussed below can be situated broadly within these three historiographical trends.

Historians of sexuality are uniquely placed to act the flâneur. Loitering in an archive's seedier or more obscure files, they tour the marginal landscapes of the past. They can vicariously experience deviant activity while maintaining historical detachment, writing histories which titillate as much as educate. Fun though this may be, there is the danger that producing such texts benefits only the writers themselves. Michel Foucault famously suggested that writing about the history of sexuality occurs purely for the ‘speaker's benefit’. Historians have thus sought to prove that ‘marginal’ histories are of true academic, not just voyeuristic, significance. This quest has been particularly fruitful for histories of sexuality – stories which are fascinating not least because they are simultaneously marginal, or unspeakable, and utterly central to human life.

Germans have long been part of the multi-ethnic and multicultural histories that shaped the territory between the Oder and the Urals. The presence of Germans, however, was seldom the same as ‘a German presence’ nor has it always been clear who the ‘Germans’ might be, or might have been. During the medieval period, for example, as Roger Bartlett and Karen Schönwälder reminded us more than a decade ago, a German in eastern Europe ‘might be one who came from a core German territory, spoke a Germanic language, or to whom German law applied; but none of these criteria was necessarily decisive or historically unambiguous’. That equivocality proved tenacious, and consequently the clichéd polarity of Teuton and Slav has frequently obscured the ‘fluidity of identity and multiplicity of interaction’ that remain ‘crucial’ to understanding the history of this region, where ‘impulses of culture, religion, political and economic interest, whether uniting or dividing, have often cut across linguistic or ethnic differences’.

The extent to which European dictatorships of the twentieth century enjoyed popular support is one of the most contested and difficult questions in international contemporary history. In the case of Italian Fascism, two opposing points of view continue to hold sway. The first, orthodox viewpoint was established before 1945, and holds that the majority of the Italian population rejected Mussolini's regime, making widespread repression of the ubiquitous antifascist resistance essential for maintaining Mussolini's claim to power. A second, revisionist opinion first gained ground in the 1960s, and asserts that large segments of the population consented to the rule of regime, but that Fascist Italy was harmless compared to the dictatorships of Stalin and Hitler. It is only in recent years that an anti-revisionist, and, in certain cases, post-revisionist school of thought has been established. The five publications discussed in this article are representative of this new line of thinking. I argue that some of these publications are best characterised as anti-revisionist, as they focus predominantly on overturning the thesis of consensus. By contrast, only three of these works exhibit a truly post-revisionist perspective that attempts to combine both narratives into a new synthesis.