In a year defined by geopolitical fracture and personal tragedy, Nachman Oz delivers a reading list that refuses to offer easy comfort, instead demanding a confrontation with the brutal realities of history and the fragile nature of peace. This is not a curated escape; it is an intellectual inventory of a world where the "Eastern Front" is no longer just a historical metaphor but a visceral reality for those living through modern conflict.
The Weight of the Present
Oz opens not with a literary critique, but with a direct appeal for aid following the Bondi Massacre, grounding his entire year's reflection in immediate human loss. He writes, "Yaacov Levitan was killed at the Bondi Massacre. Our sons are friends and classmates. He leaves behind a wife and 4 kids." This stark introduction sets a somber tone that permeates the rest of the piece, forcing the reader to acknowledge that the pursuit of knowledge happens against a backdrop of active violence. Oz admits the year ended poorly, noting, "Well that was a miserable end to the year," before reflecting on his earlier optimism: "You don't want to wait for an illness or some other calamity to strike you or a loved one to realise how good you have it. And besides — at least you're not on the Eastern Front."
The irony, as Oz points out, is that for many, that historical comparison has become literal. He observes that for some, "it may as well have been the Eastern Front," a line that carries the weight of the thousands of pages he has read on the subject. This framing is effective because it refuses to let the reader treat history as a distant academic exercise; the past is a mirror for the present. While Oz focuses on his own writing impact, noting his essays on Australia have sparked discourse on bureaucracy and identity, the underlying current is a search for stability in a volatile world. Critics might note that the focus on Australian identity can sometimes feel insular compared to the global scale of the tragedy he references, yet Oz bridges this by connecting local political stirrings to broader historical currents.
Hold your loved ones. I wish you peace and prosperity for 2026.
The Architecture of Power and Failure
Oz's book selections reveal a deep fascination with how institutions rise, how they fail, and how individuals navigate the machinery of power. His review of The Power Broker by Robert Caro is particularly sharp, serving as a counterpoint to his own observations on Australian infrastructure. He draws a parallel to the Six-Day War context, where the rapid mobilization of resources and the sheer scale of human ambition are tested against reality. Oz highlights the contrast between the grand visions of leaders and the often brutal outcomes, noting in his review of Richard Nixon's memoir: "I find the idea of presidential disgrace fascinating. A man can reach the highest peaks, accomplish much, and still end his days embittered."
This theme of the gap between ambition and outcome is further explored in his take on Harry Truman. Oz writes, "FDR really did do an Alexander the Great, leaving an iron-grip presidency without a political heir," a vivid historical analogy that underscores the difficulty of succession and the burden of legacy. He notes that Truman, despite the odds, "did oversee the implementation of the Marshall Plan, established NATO, and navigated the Berlin embargo without getting into nuclear war." This reference to the Berlin Blockade serves as a crucial historical anchor, reminding the reader that the Cold War was a time when the world hovered on the edge of annihilation, much like today's geopolitical tensions. Oz's choice to highlight these moments of restraint suggests a deep appreciation for the quiet, unglamorous work of governance that prevents catastrophe.
However, Oz is not uncritical of the systems he admires. When discussing the Federalist Papers and the American Revolution, he points out the performative nature of political power: "[E]very woman who attended the ball was presented with a fan prepared in Paris, with ivory frame, and when opened displayed a likeness of Washington in profile." This detail, seemingly trivial, exposes the theatricality of nation-building. Oz's commentary on the Gulag Archipelago and the Eastern Front literature further cements his view that the machinery of the state can easily turn against its own people. He notes that Fussell is "seriously underrated," suggesting that the human cost of war is often obscured by grand strategic narratives.
The Search for Meaning in a Fractured World
Perhaps the most striking aspect of Oz's year-end review is his engagement with theology and philosophy as a lens for understanding human suffering. He finds profound insight in Yoram Hazony's work, stating, "Yoram Hazony is one of the most insightful writers alive today. He packs profound insights on the human condition into restrained, lyrical prose." Oz is particularly moved by Hazony's interpretation of the Book of Job, writing, "I think about Job's defeat of God often, and of this sublime passage every few weeks: 'Nothing in nature looks like cloud by day and fire by night except a volcano. The depth of the Lord God's compelling but contradictory power is well evoked by the extraordinary image of a volcano brought into a tent… The volcano has come to live in the tent because the tent was built by the volcano's friend.'"
This metaphor of the volcano in the tent is powerful; it suggests that the very structures we build for safety and community are often inhabited by the forces that could destroy them. It is a fitting reflection on a year marked by the sudden eruption of violence in places like Bondi. Oz also touches on the personal cost of this search for meaning, noting his hesitation to write about Breaking Bad given the current events: "Honestly, I'm not sure how I feel about writing right now. Feels a bit obscene to start posting about Breaking Bad given what's going on." This admission of writer's block in the face of tragedy is a rare moment of vulnerability that grounds his intellectual rigor in human empathy.
Yet, Oz does not shy away from the difficult questions. He critiques the "two state delusion" in his review of Benny Morris's One State, Two States, calling it a "clinical evisceration." He also questions the style of other works, dismissing Tim Mackintosh-Smith's Arabs as "disappointing. Too meandering, low insight density." This critical eye ensures that his recommendations are not just a list of popular titles, but a curated selection of works that demand engagement. He even finds a dark humor in history, quoting a 1969 prediction about CO2 levels with a simple "Lol," highlighting the long-standing awareness of environmental threats that often goes unheeded.
Bottom Line
Nachman Oz's 2025 review is a masterclass in connecting the personal to the historical, using a vast array of reading to make sense of a world in crisis. Its greatest strength lies in its refusal to separate intellectual curiosity from moral responsibility, forcing the reader to confront the human cost of the events they study. The piece's vulnerability is its occasional reliance on the reader's familiarity with niche historical contexts, but the emotional core remains universally accessible. As the world moves into 2026, Oz's final message is clear: the pursuit of knowledge is essential, but it must be tempered by a deep, abiding commitment to the people we love and the peace we strive to protect.