66 Books Like Hearts and Bones

I love Lidie Newton. She is a newlywed who accompanies her abolitionist husband from Illinois to Kansas Territory, at a time when the territory is mired in partisan rage and violence. Lidie narrates the story, and her straightforward, often insightful accounts pulled me in immediately. I was right there with her as she forged her way through numerous exploits, some humorous, others heart-breaking. The story is populated with characters who are both colorful and believable, and I came away with a heightened understanding of the role played by events in Kansas and Missouri during the frightening months leading up to the Civil War.

I love this book because it breathes WWII in a way I’ve never read. This book is a story about the siege of Leningrad. I loved the imagery captured by a curator of the Hermitage, skillfully interwoven with a back story in the United States.

As the Hermitage is dismantled in anticipation of the German bombs, the women commit the placement of the precious artwork to memory in images and story form. The tension rises with the scarcity of food and fuel and the loss of friends.

It is a love story told in imagery and heartbreak: an excellent emotional capture and an example for Sixty Blades of Grass.

I was initially reluctant to read a novel about Nazi Germany, but I’m so glad I did. Shattuck introduces us to three women—Marianne, Benita, and Ania. Each has a uniquely compelling story, and I came to care about them all. These characters brought me a new understanding of how German women dealt with the Nazi era and its terrible aftermath. And importantly, Shattuck brings compassion to the three women, each of whom was striving to find a way through a treacherous and sometimes soul-warping period. Ultimately, the author leaves us with insights into our own often frightening times.

Nobilissima swept me into a time of historical upheaval--the disintegration of the Western Roman Empire. And I watched events unfold through the eyes of a real historical figure, Placidia, sister to the outrageously incompetent Roman emperor, and an influential leader in her own right. This fast-paced, well-researched novel begins with the city of Rome encircled by Germanic invaders. Soon, Placidia is abducted by the Goths, with astonishing consequences. Bedford portrays Placidia as a warm person, loyal to her friends and followers, but also as a leader capable of making hard decisions, and I cheered for her as she steered a survival course for her beloved Roman Empire. By the end, I couldn’t help wishing that history might have turned out differently.

This book is one of the reasons why I became a historian.

Ulrich uncovered the nearly illegible diary of an eighteenth-century midwife in Maine and included excerpts of the original at the start of each chapter. When I read the excerpts, I thought: How could these possibly be significant and what do they mean, anyway?

And then, like a detective, a gifted mind-reader, and a learned botanist all rolled into one, Ulrich unpacked each entry, weaving each snippet into the fabric of a wide textile of social history that includes reproductive history, gender and marital relations, local economies, political conflicts, and religion.

Abortion and abortifacients play a marginal role in the story Ulrich tells, but the history of midwifery and reproductive health are central to it. 

Being British I dislike reading books where we come off second best. The American Revolution (more accurately, The Anglo-American Civil War) is a classic example. Much of my, and I suspect most people’s view of the war, comes from American films and TV programmes. So, why did I read The Fort? Well I love Bernard Cornwell’s style of writing: he manages to bring a lot of background information and knowledge without you noticing what he has done.

The Fort is about American incompetence during said war and shows just how much of their written history is, in fact, inaccurate legend. 

Reading it led me to buy and read textbooks about the war and learn just what it was all about and just how wrong American propaganda on the topic is.

Roberts wrote many better-known novels—e.g. Northwest Passage and Rabble in Arms. Few people remember this wonderful adventure, which takes young Steven Nason on Benedict Arnold’s doomed expedition up the Kennebec River to assault Quebec. (Arundel is a town in southern Maine.) Exuberant writing, great historical detail, and a wonderful depiction of New England Indian life. A classic.

Megan has been transparent about the fact that Behind the Red Door is not the most popular of her books, but it’s my personal favorite!

Fern Douglas is out of the loop: a missing woman shows up on the news whose famous kidnapping two decades ago—and subsequent return—everyone seems to have heard about. But Fern has no memory of that story; she only knows that she has seen the woman’s face before, and she comes to fear that she might have somehow been involved in what happened to her.

This book has one of the best portrayals of chronic anxiety I’ve read, and one of the most twisted and f-ed up stories, which I absolutely tore through. Read it, and prepare to be chilled to the bone.

I love The Frozen River by Ariel Lawhon because even though it’s fiction, the main character is based on a real midwife who kept a diary of the happenings in a small town in Maine.

During the time in the 19th century when women’s everyday life was a struggle, I found Martha Ballard inspiring as someone who challenged the patriarchal order of the day by searching for the truth behind a murder despite the serious threats to her safety and well-being.

I was fascinated by the vivid details portraying daily life for women in a harsh physical environment constantly hemmed in by even stricter limitations on what women were allowed to do, to be, and to say. 

No one wrote better than E. B. White, and no one captured the essence of daily life on the home front better than White in this collection of essays. “This is my country and my night,” he wrote from his farm in Maine, “this is the blacked-out ending to the day, the way they end a skit in a revue.” Yet White acknowledged that it was nearly impossible for him or anyone else to truly convey all the ways that the war was changing ordinary Americans. “You write something that sounds informative, throwing the words around in the usual manner, then the thing explodes in your hands, and you look down at your hands,” he explained. “As though you had crushed a light bulb and were bleeding slightly.”