100 Books Like Guided by a Stone-Mason

Mary Hoffman has said that what she likes best when writing historical fiction is plenty of facts but a great big gap at the centre. That’s how she came to write about Gabriele, her imagined model for Michelangelo’s iconic sculpture.

Renaissance Florence is full of rivalries, intrigues, and conflicts, into which this unworldly youth is plunged, at first manipulated, later learning to find his way and decide where his loyalties lie. With a strong narrative pace and sumptuous detail of fashionable Florentine society, the story creates a believable background to one of the world’s most famous and recognisable masterpieces. 

I love Sue Gee’s writing; she is such a keen observer of the natural world and of the complexities and nuances of human relationships. This, set in the years following the First World War, concerns a group of artists who meet at the Slade School of Art, then form enduring relationships.

Painter Walter Cox and wood-engraver Sarah are joined by sculptor Euan, whose carvings explore the deep trauma of warfare and loss; watching him work in stone, Walter knows: ‘This was the real thing...a marriage between man and material which felt entire, complete.’

Sue Gee’s characters are so real that we feel thoroughly immersed in the period and their lives, both in the London art scene and in the Kentish countryside.

Burntcoat is the name of the home, a converted warehouse, of sculptor Edith Harkness’s home, and also of a Japanese technique she’s mastered in which wood is almost destroyed by fire, then charcoal is scraped off to reveal the beauty of the grain beneath.

The story is set in a pandemic, of a disease more rampant and deadly than the recent COVID-19, and Edith is working on a monumental piece to commemorate those lost. Her character blends defiance and acceptance; her story of intense physical love and searing loss, moving back and forth in time, is told with measured calmness. Although this is a relatively short novel, it feels big and expansive.

This book includes one of the most famous portrayals of a sculpture on stage, and is one of my favorite Shakespeare plays. One of his later works, it combines a story very like the tragedy of Othello with a second half that has an entirely different mood of youth and hope, love, and redemption.

In the play’s final scene (spoiler alert!), a party including King Leontes and his newly-found daughter, Perdita, gathers to admire the work of a celebrity sculptor, Julio Romano. The statue perfectly depicts Leontes’ wronged wife, Hermione, whom he believed dead.

In this glorious moment, Hermione comes back to him in the form of a living statue stepping down from its pedestal. There’s a delightful ballet version of the play, too.

I love this book, and not just because it is one of the few church archaeology books to mention graffiti. This book takes a very different approach to churches than most volumes you will have come across, as it quite literally strips them back to their bare bones. This is the deep history of the parish church, laid bare in the stones. Rodwell is a recognised expert in his field, and understands churches in ways that few others do - and after reading this you will never look at a medieval church in quite the same way again. 

David Phillipson is an archeologist who has excavated – and shown me round – sites at Axum and other places. Here he guides us through the early history of the church from the 4th to 15th centuries by showing the wonderful photos, descriptions, and plans of the main church sites, supplemented by historical and geographical essays. A tour of the buildings is a clear and perceptive introduction to this tradition – as well as being a breath-taking journey through some of the more important historic centres of this ancient civilisation.

Definitely not as grim as the title might suggest. All churches are crammed full of memorials to the dead, and many dozens of books have been written that focus upon the people who lie in these tombs, or beneath the elegant grave slabs. However, sometimes little attention has been given to these memorials themselves, and the craftspeople who made them. This book is the culmination of a lifetime's research and will fascinate anyone who has an interest in church decoration - or dead people.

For years, I used to walk past the statues of St. Wenceslaus, František Palacký, and other Czech national heroes without giving them much thought. After reading this book, I came to appreciate how much Prague’s monuments can tell us about the city’s history. Their creators offered a variety of interpretations over the meaning of “Czechness”, and these monuments have inspired passionate debates about nationhood and religion ever since. The book also made me think about ways that monuments can exclude others and inspire hatred, and not just in Prague. Consider, for example, statues celebrating the Confederacy erected by white supremacists decades after the end of the Civil War. Many still dot my part of the country.

Today surviving medieval church wall paintings are a bit of a rarity in England, but during the Middle Ages every church, almost without exception, would have been an absolute riot of colour, with saints, angels, and demons battling their way across the walls. What Rosewell's book does is allow you to understand not just what you are seeing, but how and why they were made in the first place. It explains the way in which the pigments were made, who painted them, and even who paid for them. It also contains an absolutely fantastic selection of images, that bring to life just how vibrant the walls of our churches once were. A gem.

This was difficult to do well, but Ackroyd makes it work–and he makes it look easy: One half of the story is told in a very idiosyncratic version of early eighteenth-century English (the other half in contemporary English). The level of sheer craftsmanship is impressive.

The story gripped me: a serial killer mystery with touches of the occult and supernatural. London is a haunted place in this story, but not only the victims of the past but also the killers are still with us today. We come to understand that our entire world is built on the flawed achievements of the past.