100 Books Like Columbus

Wilson-Lee’s brilliant book is not strictly about Columbus, but about his youngest son Hernando Colón and the extraordinary library that he created in Seville.

However, it sheds much light on Columbus and his world. And (to paraphrase what I wrote when I listed this as one of my three “Favorite reads in 2023”), the book is not only a contribution to Columbus studies, but also an absolute pleasure to read.

It is erudite and scholarly, and Wilson-Lee shows a keen eye for fascinating digressions. Yet he also writes with wit and elegance, maintaining subtle narrative tension and effortlessly bringing the reader deep into the eccentric world of Hernando and his many books.

Among the great many books that simply narrate the Columbus story, this one stands out for its engaging writing style and—above all—for its interweaving of the Columbus story into the parallel (and, Boyle argues, closely overlapping) stories of Cabot and Vespucci. I found it a fun and fascinating reading.

That said, I do think Boyle deploys his imagination a little too freely at times. Some of the old myths and misconceptions about Columbus are nestled in here as facts—which is very much part of the Columbus tradition—and Boyle even adds some new ones. And yet that use of speculation and imagination is central to what makes the book so enjoyable. 

If I want to read a more recent narrative of the Four Voyages, without caring if its details are well-evidenced or drawn from Columbiana mythology, I’ll turn to a lively book like Lawrence Bergreen’s Columbus.

But for one that finds a middle ground between Bergreen and Fernández-Armesto, telling a good tale while also paying close attention to historical evidence, I turn to this book by the Phillipses.

I especially value and enjoy how the authors emphasize and explain Columbus’s contexts, bringing us along with Columbus into the worlds of Genoa, Portugal, Spain, and then the Caribbean. I also appreciate how hard the Phillipses try to avoid overtly condemning or defending Columbus in a general way—not an easy path to stay on!  

As my own book seeks to show, there are so many ways to approach the larger topic of Columbus and his worlds (or “Columbiana,” as I call it), and so many stories to tell that go beyond the well-known tale of his voyages. This book tells the story of the 1992 Quincentennial (or Quincentenary), crucial to understanding the relationship between the historical Columbus of five centuries earlier, and the controversial Columbus of today.

Although this is a scholarly book, and as such I found it impeccably researched and carefully written, I also thoroughly enjoyed its clear and engaging prose—spiced with dabs of dry wit. The twists and turns of the story are well introduced, as are the contrasts between how the Quincentennial is treated in different countries.

If you want to understand how both South America and the New World were “discovered” by Europeans, which had nearly the same effect on Native Americans that a meteor did on the dinosaurs, there’s no better way to understand it than to journey along on Columbus’ four voyages and be there when he and his crew set ashore. Columbus set foot on the northern part of South America on his third voyage, visiting the coast of what is now Venezuela. Bergreen’s book does an admirable job of introducing you to the man whose voyages would ultimately affect millions of people. This is the closest anyone will ever get to being on board as an entirely New World first hove into sight.

I can’t stop going back to this book, which I have read in various translations under various titles. No book I know better documents the transformation of a human being. Abandoned, shipwrecked, and enslaved, Cabeza de Baca, a conquistador in the model of Cortez, begins a barefoot trek across the American Southwest as one kind of man and ends it as the opposite of the man who started out.

His memoir has the shape and structure of an adventure novel, and, truly, this narrative is where American literature begins. He leaves me in awe of his will to survive, his capacity for adaptation, and his compassion and love for the native world that he had come to the continent’s shores to subjugate.

In 1507, the cartographer Martin Waldseemuller published a world map with a new continent on it which he called ‘America', after the explorer and navigator Amerigo Vespucci. The map was a huge success and when Mercator's 1538 world map extended the name to the northern hemisphere of the continent, the new name was secure, though Waldseemuller himself soon realised he had picked the wrong man. This is the story of how one side of the world came to be named not after its discoverer Christopher Columbus, but after his friend and rival. A fabulous historical detective story.

Nansen, ‘the father of polar exploration’ (and a great fan of Rae) was not just the first man to cross Greenland, to endure an intentional two-year drift towards the North Pole in an ice-locked ship and to turn skiing into a popular sport, but he was also a heartthrob diplomat, a founder of independent Norway, the first to introduce a tractor to Russia and a mediator in the enforced mass migrations of millions of displaced people. Did you know, for example, that while Robert Falcon Scott was discovering he’d been beaten to the Pole, his wife Kathleen was sharing a bed with Nansen in a Berlin hotel? The span of this book is immense and the fascination of its subject - an early sex symbol and media superstar - won’t disappoint.

Elizabeth Rush is a beautiful, meditative writer, but she also knows how to swear, which I appreciate. After loving her first book, Rising: Dispatches from the New American Shore, I was delighted to find her next book was about Antarctica.

In a deeply immersive narrative that follows a 2019 research voyage to the Thwaites ‘Doomsday’ Glacier on the American ship Nathaniel B. Palmer, Rush writes honestly and seriously about climate change and how Antarctic ice melt is contributing to global sea level rise, but she’s also hopeful and positive about the future.

There is a parallel narrative thread about motherhood, birth, and her own plans to get pregnant. Unexpected bonus content (and spoiler!)—the book contains probably the best and most honest account of giving birth I’ve ever read. 

I love books that engage in a literary conversation with writers from a previous era, and Mat Johnson’s novel does just that—it’s both a homage and a critique of Edgar Allan Poe’s sole novel, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, itself a hodgepodge of gothic elements and maritime adventure. It’s also horrifyingly racist with its depictions of black-skinned islanders.

Johnson inverts and reframes these uncomfortable racial dynamics to glorious effect. It is both a raucous satire and full-throttle adventure story, as Johnson’s hero, Chris Jaynes, leads an all-black crew to the South Pole—into the center of whiteness—to discover what may be on the last bastion of the African Diaspora. From there, it only gets weirder and funnier.