100 Books Like A Dominant Character

As someone more drawn to writing and literature during my college years, I was fascinated to discover that science has a history. I had once thought of science as objective—distinct from liberal arts and social science disciplines in that it consisted of facts that could be proved. I came to understand that it’s just another field of human endeavor filled with flaws like any other. Sometimes, scientists cheat, lie, favor certain facts over others, or knowingly publish false results. It can become a cultural and political battleground—and to refer to something as “pseudoscience” is like calling a work of art you don’t like “pseudo-art” or a piece of music you don’t enjoy “pseudo-music.”

As someone more drawn to writing and literature during my college years, I was fascinated to discover that science has a history. I had once thought of science as objective—distinct from liberal arts and social science disciplines in that it consisted of facts that could be proved. I came to understand that it’s just another field of human endeavor filled with flaws like any other. Sometimes, scientists cheat, lie, favor certain facts over others, or knowingly publish false results. It can become a cultural and political battleground—and to refer to something as “pseudoscience” is like calling a work of art you don’t like “pseudo-art” or a piece of music you don’t enjoy “pseudo-music.”

As someone more drawn to writing and literature during my college years, I was fascinated to discover that science has a history. I had once thought of science as objective—distinct from liberal arts and social science disciplines in that it consisted of facts that could be proved. I came to understand that it’s just another field of human endeavor filled with flaws like any other. Sometimes, scientists cheat, lie, favor certain facts over others, or knowingly publish false results. It can become a cultural and political battleground—and to refer to something as “pseudoscience” is like calling a work of art you don’t like “pseudo-art” or a piece of music you don’t enjoy “pseudo-music.”

I used to think that most nonhuman animals do not have minds in any rich sense of that word. After publishing a book about some influential philosophers who articulate and defend that view, I was pushed by a very good friend to get curious about what nonhuman creatures do. That led to years of reading, reflecting, teaching college courses, and eventually admitting that I had been profoundly wrong. My change of mind culminated in the publication of a book that explores the idea that plants have minds. The books on this list helped me tremendously along the way, and my students have also learned much from them. 

My lifelong search for how contemporary architecture can be as loved and graceful as the buildings and environments of our heritage have made me create numerous books, lectures, and films on matters I find crucial. But every new text seems to create more questions than answers. Perhaps it is better to build the talk? Architecture has dimensions, such as time, that make the reading richer than most books. But that brings you back to interpretation. It seems as books and buildings will be impossible to separate. At least for me.

I grew up on Chicago’s home front during WW2. President Roosevelt wanted everyone—adults and children—to do their part for the war effort. So we neighborhood kids formed a Victory club, where we marched around singing, “Let’s Remember Pearl Harbor,” and other patriotic songs. And though we had fun, we understood the meaning of the gold stars in the windows, and knew that terrible things were happening on the other side of the world. There are so many wonderful books set during this time period, and I can never read enough of them. These books, along with my memories, are what inspire me to write historical fiction of my own.

I have loved visiting country houses ever since I was a child. There is something unique about the combination of art, architecture, and people. Over my lifetime, I have been privileged to visit all sorts of houses and castles. I used to work at Christie’s and during that time I visited many country houses, some of which were completely private. It was a natural progression when I moved to Goodwood and became the curator of the art collection, enjoying the house as part of my daily life. The view from my office looks out through the columns of the portico, across the park, with the sea glinting in the distance. What could be better?  

I grew up in historic old houses. They were haunted too. (Think things that went bump in the night and were rife with the unexplained.) My imagination didn’t stand a chance and caught on fire. Later, I chose history as a career path with research as the job—which is really just solving mysteries. My fiction writing naturally extended from these beginnings and remains heavily influenced by the past. A bonus to the mix is the Celtic storytelling DNA coursing through my veins. I read and write stories that blend the mysterious with the historic and am especially inspired by all things gothic. I'm the author of The Spinster’s Fortune and Campbell’s Boy.

Bertrand Russell wrote that: “Mathematics, rightly viewed, possesses not only truth, but supreme beauty – a beauty cold and austere, like that of sculpture, without appeal to any part of our weaker nature, without the gorgeous trappings of painting or music, yet sublimely pure, and capable of a stern perfection such as only the greatest art can show.” I agree. Math is, however, a human thing, all tangled up with the nature of human personality and the history of our civilizations. Well-written biographies of great mathematicians put that “stern perfection” in a proper human context.

I spent 40 years as a soldier studying war. After graduation from Royal Military College, I joined the Armoured Corps. Throughout history, we have regaled each other with stories of war. From Greek myths to Norse sagas to modern movies, we cannot seem to get enough of war stories. And yet, we know that war is inherently a bad idea. It is evil. It is a form of collective madness. War is destructive and cruel, unworthy of our better selves. To paraphrase Abraham Lincoln, war breaks the bonds of our affection and does not speak to our better angels. I study it in order to better understand this madness.