77 Books Like Frog Music

I don’t often read nonfiction, but Kate Summerscale’s meticulously researched book, with all the gritty details about a Victorian-era matricide, reads like a suspenseful novel.

The discussions of views about insanity, criminality, penny dreadfuls (or penny bloodies as some called them), and treatment of criminals and the insane at the time absolutely fascinated me. Summerscale follows Robert Coombes, who was only 13 when the crime was committed, from his childhood into adulthood.

I found this book a completely edifying experience—by the end of the story, I felt like I knew Robert, even if I couldn’t understand his crime.

I can’t help myself—I’m an author: I love an elegantly structured novel.

Ariel Lawhon’s novel is so entertaining and so well-paced that it was easy to lose myself in it. It all starts with the 1930 disappearance of Justice Joseph Crater.

Then we get chapters told from the points of view of his wife, maid, and mistress, with the chapters alternating and dovetailing in such a way as to provide a fascinating peek into the lives of the characters who revolve around the judge.

When I reached the final chapter, I felt like a big Rubik’s cube had clicked into place. 

I love an atmospheric read, and this one is Gothic and foreboding.

It’s 1889 Liverpool, and Constance Sullivan has been accused of murdering her husband, a chronic consumer of arsenic. At the time, arsenic was thought to have many health benefits.

Mitchell’s novel kicks off with the arrest of Constance and then unfolds into a back-and-forth narrative about their marriage and her trial. I wondered at every turn how Constance could be guilty. Even though she claims she’s innocent, I couldn’t see how she could possibly overcome all the testimony against her.

I was drawn in from the first page and could hardly put the book down.

Everyone knows how the story of Bonnie and Clyde ends, but I loved how this novel delved into Bonnie’s background and life both before and after she met Clyde.

Bonnie grew up in a chaotic home, and when she met Clyde her whole life changed. She was so smitten with the charming Clyde that she just wanted to be with him—and that included tagging along on robberies and other ill-fated capers.

This novel doesn’t romanticize Bonnie and Clyde. It left me reflecting on the differences between male and female criminals—and the reasons they resort to crime.

I can’t describe this book better than the author describes it: “While the American Revolution may have defined the era for history, epidemic smallpox nevertheless defined it for many of the Americans who lived and died in that time” (p. 273, 275).

Most of what I thought I knew about the Revolutionary War period ended up adjusted after reading this book. In straightforward prose that still manages to be poetic, Pox Americana forced me to examine both my educational history and the ways I had ingested and processed my education. 

This is a little historical gem. The author was the wife of the British consul to Constantinople in 1718 and wrote copious letters home detailing her travels and her life in the Ottoman Empire’s capital. She describes the exoticism, the requirement that women be veiled in public (which she saw as freeing), the sumptuous jewels and wealth, the admiration of pregnant women (and the pressure to be pregnant to prove you were still young).   

Her description of smallpox ‘parties’ is particularly interesting. These gatherings were held annually to inoculate children by using a tiny amount of smallpox pus scratched into the forearm. A survivor of smallpox herself, Mary had her own small son successfully inoculated and brought the knowledge back with her to England, but it was not until Edward Jenner introduced a vaccine later in the century that a treatment became more widely known.

This book is an optimistic narration about one of the most amazing and important achievements in medical history.

It is written by Donald Henderson, the doctor who led the eradication campaign against the arguably most severe and incurable disease in history. Smallpox killed or disabled hundreds of millions of people and remains so far the only virus to have been deliberately eradicated globally.

This story is an ode to the unlimited power of science, education, and multilateralism. It shows how, led by a few people and a lot of positive stamina, the world got together and overcame all hurdles despite technical challenges and political division in a highly fragmented post-war world.

Echoing recent events with Covid – and hopefully providing a blueprint for tackling climate change – it shows how we can stand together when circumstances require it and achieve what seemed for ages completely impossible. An inspiring example for… show more.

This 1974 book, by the founder of one of the world’s great picture libraries, was a real eye-opener to me when I first read it. We are all nostalgic and look at the past through rose-tinted glasses, and so do I. But then we forget about the hunger and the crime, tuberculosis, smallpox and heaps of trash on the streets, the child labor, and the despair of the aged. This richly illustrated book, with its multitude of stories, set me straight. For instance, did you know that New York had 150,000 horses in 1900, each producing around 20 pounds of manure a day? The past stank. It makes you deeply grateful for science, technology, and economic growth.

Reading just one newspaper advertisement for a runaway slave makes New York slavery real. Reading an entire book filled with more than 750 advertisements haunted me, especially when I found notices written by my own Dutch ancestors, like Coxsackie’s Hendrick Hoeghtelen, who in 1761 advertised for a man named Anthony, who spoke good Spanish, had one eye, and was marked with smallpox. Whatever became of Anthony? I wish I knew.

The combination of actual copies of the ads alongside transcription added to the power of the book. I come back to its pages again and again. 

This evocative book addresses the conundrum of writing about an Indigenous place barely mentioned in narratives foundational to U.S. history. For Fenn, this was the ancestral homeland of the Mandan of the Northern Plains, once a flourishing hub of Native life.

This is history-writing at its finest, expertly braided from threads of archaeological, climatic, geological, epidemiological, and ethnographic evidence and enriched by Fenn’s eye-opening journey to North Dakota. Neither denying the impacts of European-American settler expansion nor portraying the Mandan merely as passive victims, the book led me on a journey of discovery that revealed complex interrelationships of colonialism, geography, and Indigenous persistence.