Books like Henrietta Schmerler and the Murder that Put Anthropology on Trial — picked by fans

I picked up The Hot Zone at 9pm and put it down at sunrise.

What gripped me wasn't just the terror—it was knowing every word is true. I found myself genuinely afraid in a way fiction has never affected me. Preston made me feel the fragility of the invisible line between a remote African cave and my own neighborhood.

I loved how the scientists became real people—flawed, brave, and completely unprepared for what they were facing—Ebola virus. When I wrote my own fact-based medical thriller, I strove to create a fact-based thriller using prescription drugs to create the relevance I found in The Hot Zone.

The book is still timely and relevant. It puts biological risk into perspective and highlights both human vulnerability and courage under extraordinary pressure.

Feynman reinforced my belief that curiosity is a superpower.

Relentlessly asking "why" and refusing to pretend I understand something I don’t is how I’ve lived my life. I never expected a Nobel laureate in physics to champion “fun." I felt vindicated by his willingness to question assumptions, challenge conventions, and loved that he followed his interests wherever they led.

As a learning curve junkie, I found a soul-mate in his curiosity-driven discovery and love of learning. I enjoyed that he approached complex problems with humor, creativity, and a refusal to take himself too seriously. His book reinforced my belief that some of the best insights come from asking unexpected questions and exploring beyond traditional boundaries, which I captured in the Lessons Learned after each chapter of my book.

I approached this book with dread and finished it with gratitude.

I didn't expect to enjoy a book about cancer, but I did. I loved how the book drew me into the morass of medical research. I felt disappointment with every setback and triumph with each breakthrough during a century of desperate and often futile efforts to tame cancer. At the end, I understood how science zigzags through obsession, heartbreak, and hope. I had these same experiences doing my fieldwork in Melanesia on Hepatitis B virus.

Reading The Emperor of All Maladies reinforced that my struggles are integral to science and gave me the confidence to tell my mistakes and what I learned from them to bring new light to the natural history of Hepatitis B virus and novel ways to reduce its transmission.

I've read a lot of anthropology and had my own experience in the Field.

I was impressed that Mead had the courage to share these letters that were intimate and which resonated with me as very real experiences. I appreciate how vividly she captures the blend of intellectual curiosity, persistence, and personal growth that comes from living in another culture.

The book reinforced that science is not only about data—it is also about the people, experiences, and relationships that shape our understanding of the world and bring nuance to science. Mead’s letters paved the road for me to share my letters and the courage to show my vulnerability and naiveté.

I’m recommending this book because of its subject matter. A virus. After what’s happened in the world recently with Covid, why not believe this could happen? A disease that makes you think someone is trying to kill you, so you have to kill them first. It’s similar to being paranoid. The author of this book has written a few sequels that follow the main character’s journey. A journey that took the person from working a normal day to thinking people were now the enemy. 

Erik Hickey is the pioneer in serial killer research. His renowned book is the gold standard for those wishing to gather the facts about serial murderers, their crimes, and their victims. He does not include “gore” (his word) in his writings. His work is methodical, evidence-based, and respectful, and his results have been consistently replicated by my team and others. With respect to my recommendation theme, in this book, Hickey describes his lengthy research on both male and female serial killers and emphasizes that the crimes of male serial killers (MSKs) are starkly different than those of FSKs. I know him to be a great supporter of other researchers in their empirical pursuits. His book is a must-have for scholars and students of psychology and criminal justice interested in this topic.

As a Harvard undergrad, Cooper hears a story about an anthropology professor who murdered a female graduate student with whom he was having an affair, burning her body with cigarette butts and surrounding her in red ochre.

This “macabre legend” illustrates a common critique of true crime—a victim provided no name and no identity beyond the way she was brutalized. A former New Yorker editorial staff member, Cooper performed meticulous research on the 1969 murder, debunking the affair rumor and instead exploring a more interesting story about memory, institutional power, and misogyny in academia.

She also excavates the story of the crime’s victim, 23-year-old Jane Britton. Full of twists and turns, this real-life whodunit provides an exacting portrait of who Jane was and what her loved ones lost.

This book wrecked me; it’s such a deep dive into the lives of the woman brutally murdered by Jack the Ripper. Rubenhold reconstructs their lives with great empathy, bringing them to the forefront of the story. The five were real women who felt love, pain, and hope—not faceless victims of sensationalized murder.

These women are often portrayed as “five prostitutes” in pop culture, but Rubenhold shows that there is no evidence of sex work for most of the women. This book pulls back the curtain on the tension, violence, poverty, and heartbreak in Victorian London. This book brought me to absolute tears. 

I have long enjoyed Gregg Olsen's books for their empathetic and well-researched narratives. In this book, he teams up with journalist Rebecca Morris to recount the details surrounding Susan Cox Powell's disappearance.

The authors detail the search for the young mother and the grisly aftermath that ensues over the years following her disappearance, culminating in the deaths of her two young children and her husband. This story is full of unexpected twists and heartbreaking accounts that I still remember long after reading the final page. 

Writing about crime is understandably fraught. Some true crime stories are told with genuine care and attention to impact, while others are definitely…not.

In Jane, Nelson finds a way to grapple with the death of her aunt and the impact it is had on her and her family. It was a guiding light for me when I thought about ways to tell an unwieldy story about murder.

Nelson leans on honesty, compassion, and curiosity to stay safely away from the most common true crime traps, and the result is a wonderful, affecting book.