Books like Death at a Shetland Festival — picked by fans

Naomi Reed is the author I find most helpful in thinking about my faith. I love the way she challenges me to consider where I get my sense of identity and my sense of home/belonging. This book helped me feel so much more grounded during uncertain times.

The artist, Charles Tunnicliffe, writes so enthusiastically about the countryside that it really encouraged me to look at nature in a new way. I especially appreciated the way he could see beauty even in mundane things like a muddy puddle! It's a really joyful, uplifting book, to be savoured.

This book completely reframed how I see the world. Perez dives into the pervasive gender data gaps that impact everything from workplace policies to public health. Her meticulous research and compelling examples made me realize how much of our world is designed without women in mind. It’s equal parts infuriating and enlightening, and it left me determined to question systems that perpetuate inequality.

This book is a must-read for anyone who wants to understand the hidden ways gender bias shapes our lives.

My mother had every one of Georgette Heyer’s regency novels, and I inherited them. They are witty, romantic, and satisfying. When I feel sad I dive beneath their covers and lose myself in them. I also remember my mum. The Grand Sophy was her favourite, it is the story of an extraordinary young woman who has a gift for sorting out other people’s problems – whether they want her to or not!

To be honest, I could have completed this list with just Mary Stewart titles alone!

No one does lush, atmospheric suspense like she does. I discovered her books as a lonely teenager dreaming of escape, and her rich, immersive writing has inspired me not only to follow in her footsteps as an author but also to travel on “book pilgrimages” to find the settings of her wonderful stories.

And I don’t just mean ticking off a tourist spot with an Instagram selfie—I mean hours building an itinerary with guidebooks, Google Maps, and her novels to find the exact beach in southern Crete or the exact village in Provence that her heroines visited. 

What I love the most is the settings woven into the plot, so that the stories couldn’t have happened anywhere else, and so vivid that they are a character in their own right. In The Moonspinners, for… show more.

This was the first book I read on women’s suffrage, and it was a revelation. I’d had a hazy impression of cartwheel-hatted women in London chaining themselves to railings as a protest. Huge marches, campaigners travelling round the country, ink in pillar boxes and acid on golf greens, forcible feeding and vigils outside prisons defiantly singing Scots wha hae (can’t be arrested for singing the national anthem!), census refusal—the courage and determination of my countrywomen left me breathless with admiration.

When she died in 1917, Dr. Elsie Inglis was given a memorial service in Westminster, with columns of press tributes to one of Scotland’s first women doctors, and the leader of WWI frontline hospitals staffed entirely by women. ‘Go home and be still,’ the male doctors said when she suggested it, so she went to the women’s suffrage societies for funds. Her doctors, nurses, orderlies, and ambulance drivers chanted ‘Go home and be still’ gleefully to each other under fire and on retreats with the allied army in France, Serbia, Romania, and Russia. Somehow, whatever the difficulty, if Dr. Inglis said it had to be done, it was. An inspirational leader and a truly remarkable woman.

These women did know their place – they’d measured it out, filled in the claim forms, assembled their tiny wood shack cabin or turf –roofed dugout, sewn their corn and dug their vegetable patch. The usual picture of pioneer women is as the mother of the family, but a staggering 12% of those Wild West pioneering homesteaders were single women or widows, and this is the story of over twenty of them. After introductory chapters, it’s told in their voices, through magazine articles, letters back home and memoirs written later. We learn about how they set out on their adventure, the reality of farming and how they coped, and their triumph as they won their claim. Fascinating.

Stumbling on the fishing hut of Thuridor Einarsdottir, 1777 – 1863, ’one of Iceland’s greatest fishing captains’ set Margaret Willson off on a quest to find out more about the women who flourished in this traditionally male industry. She found a number of them, not just historical women like Thuridor’s contemporaries Kristin and Ingibjorg, farmhands who were expected by the farmer to go to sea, but also their modern counterpart, Vally the farmer/seawoman, along with Hulda the housewife, Jonina, Gudrun, Bylgja and Vigdis. Grey pages spread through the book are short interviews with them; the rest is a lyrically written account of the fishing and social history of Iceland through the experiences of women. A delight to read.

Through Covid I revisited childhood favourites, and found I still loved this series. Cathy has grown up in a Birmingham orphanage, and the only clues to her identity are a locket with a portrait of a Highland lady and a torn luggage label. She escapes north, where she meets Ian and Sovra. They spend their time messing about in their boat on the loch or camping in a remote bothy. Their determination to help Cathy gets them all into trouble, but it’s Cathy’s own character that gives her the chance of a happy ending.