Elizabeth Reed Aden's favorite books where curiosity sparks important insights

I picked up The Hot Zone at 9pm and put it down at sunrise.

What gripped me wasn't just the terror—it was knowing every word is true. I found myself genuinely afraid in a way fiction has never affected me. Preston made me feel the fragility of the invisible line between a remote African cave and my own neighborhood.

I loved how the scientists became real people—flawed, brave, and completely unprepared for what they were facing—Ebola virus. When I wrote my own fact-based medical thriller, I strove to create a fact-based thriller using prescription drugs to create the relevance I found in The Hot Zone.

The book is still timely and relevant. It puts biological risk into perspective and highlights both human vulnerability and courage under extraordinary pressure.

I approached this book with dread and finished it with gratitude.

I didn't expect to enjoy a book about cancer, but I did. I loved how the book drew me into the morass of medical research. I felt disappointment with every setback and triumph with each breakthrough during a century of desperate and often futile efforts to tame cancer. At the end, I understood how science zigzags through obsession, heartbreak, and hope. I had these same experiences doing my fieldwork in Melanesia on Hepatitis B virus.

Reading The Emperor of All Maladies reinforced that my struggles are integral to science and gave me the confidence to tell my mistakes and what I learned from them to bring new light to the natural history of Hepatitis B virus and novel ways to reduce its transmission.

I've read a lot of anthropology and had my own experience in the Field.

I was impressed that Mead had the courage to share these letters that were intimate and which resonated with me as very real experiences. I appreciate how vividly she captures the blend of intellectual curiosity, persistence, and personal growth that comes from living in another culture.

The book reinforced that science is not only about data—it is also about the people, experiences, and relationships that shape our understanding of the world and bring nuance to science. Mead’s letters paved the road for me to share my letters and the courage to show my vulnerability and naiveté.

As an anthropology graduate student, I’d uncovered the story of Henrietta Schmerler’s murder by investigating an oblique reference to a student of Ruth Benedict’s who was murdered by the Apache.

No professor ever talked about the dangers of fieldwork and the risks of getting romantically involved with the people being studied. I toyed with this taboo while doing my fieldwork, like a moth to a flame, and fortunately survived.

I was thrilled when her nephew published the book detailing the complexities and nuances of her murder. I was troubled by the reflexive self-protection reaction of her sponsoring anthropology department—filled with professors who were famous pioneers in anthropology.

Henrietta’s story is complicated, and the retelling is honest and forthright—it was a model that I tried to honor in recounting my romantic experiences during fieldwork.

Feynman reinforced my belief that curiosity is a superpower.

Relentlessly asking "why" and refusing to pretend I understand something I don’t is how I’ve lived my life. I never expected a Nobel laureate in physics to champion “fun." I felt vindicated by his willingness to question assumptions, challenge conventions, and loved that he followed his interests wherever they led.

As a learning curve junkie, I found a soul-mate in his curiosity-driven discovery and love of learning. I enjoyed that he approached complex problems with humor, creativity, and a refusal to take himself too seriously. His book reinforced my belief that some of the best insights come from asking unexpected questions and exploring beyond traditional boundaries, which I captured in the Lessons Learned after each chapter of my book.