Books like In the Shadow of the Past — picked by fans

This book takes the often stuffy genre of historical war fiction and turns it inside out. It opens in London in 1947, when the rubble is cleared, but familiar buildings are still missing windows, and the characters feel untethered from life and from all they’ve lost.

The story moves backward three years at a time to the decisions that set them on these paths. Three queer women are at its center, their lives intersecting in the literal and metaphorical dark, trying to survive air raids, and taking care of the fallen.

I’m always attracted to novels that start in the aftermath and ask “how did we get here?” and I loved this fragmented look backwards through the war.

A book with disturbing lessons for our time. This book charts the lives of three women during the 1930s and 40s as the Nazis rise to power and use book burning as a tool to destroy culture and freedom of expression. I adored and was completely captivated by the clever way the author wove a complicated story between three women in three different cities and times. 

Almost a character in itself is the spectre of book censorship and the damage it can inflict on society. This book has some very moving scenes–a burgeoning lesbian love affair, a children's game amid the horror of war, a finale that had me reaching for the tissues, and more. The amount of research in this book is incredible!

This was an automatic read for me. E.V. Bancroft always writes a great slow burn, but the fact that this was set amongst the women pilots of the ATA in WW2 was the cherry on top.

The bravery of those women–and all despite the prejudices of the day–makes an extraordinary background to a moving love story. For me, Odette's character is beautifully crafted. This was a tale that stuck with me for a long time.

As a well-established writer of steamy but compelling sapphic romances, Emma Nichols is another auto-read on my list. This book is set in Berlin and rural France during the early 1940s, and its two main characters are studies of resilience in the face of overwhelming darkness. In the character of Johanna, Nichols examines the agony of how to be, how to love, and what to do when a good-hearted person finds themselves on the wrong side of a war simply because of their country's politics.

In the role of the oppressed and downtrodden, we meet an absolute savior–a woman who is prepared to risk everything for love and the women she holds dear. This is a difficult read at times, but ultimately a beautiful one, as love and goodness triumph at the end. 

I read this book as a boy, and I couldn’t put it down. It’s the story of American PT boats in the South Pacific during World War II, and the story behind the title captivated me. Every soldier knows that he or she might be sacrificed by a commander to gain time for a retreat or as part of a super-dangerous mission.

The sailors on the boats in White’s story were living examples of how they could be expendable. Even as a boy, this book made me grateful for what I had and grateful to the members of the uniformed services who protected us. That they would make such a commitment makes me love America even more. 

James Jones's brilliant debut novel must have had a great effect on me because I admit, in many ways, my book covers the same ground – how does a man maintain honor and dignity when constrained to live his life by the choices of other, and much more powerful men? I suppose the difference between our two themes is that the question in my book is about those same choices but wrapped in the question of race. Jones’s characters, while in the military, were dealing with personal issues. My Corporal Buck is dealing with an issue about which all of America is on fire.

From Here to Eternity is 70 years old. I read it in 1969, an eternity ago and it has lasted with me from there to here.  When I was in the Marine Corps I knew everything that was happening to me. But I didn’t know what… show more.

This book takes the lives of very ordinary Canadians and throws them into the maelstrom of war. I love that it carefully sets up a world few know about—Toronto in the 1930s—and shows the ambiguity of the times, how anti-Semitism was at home as well as across the water in Europe.

I so enjoyed the Romeo and Juliet love affair at the novel's heart, and I was moved by the trials love is subjected to—as well as shocked by excellent descriptions of war's brutality.

Todd Bowden, a middle-class boy, has everything good going for him until he meets Kurt Dussander, a man who was the pure embodiment of evil during Hitler’s Nazi regime, now living in America under the assumed name, Arthur Denker. Todd figures out who “Arthur Denker” is from crime magazines his father had kept in a trunk in the garage.

Todd’s curiosity for violence rises to the surface. He is increasingly drawn down into darkness, blackmailing Mr. Dussander to tell him what went on in the concentration camps.

Born in 1934 in Berchtesgaden, in the shadow of Hitler’s Eagles Nest, Irmgard Hunt witnessed the growth of fascist ideology among the people she loved during an otherwise idyllic childhood. As the shadow of World War II fell over the mountain, however, Hunt began to question and then disavow the Nazi doctrines she had accepted as a young child. As time went on and the regime crumbled literally before her eyes, she was vocal in confronting her country’s criminal past and in championing the democratic principles her elders had so easily dismissed.

Kristóf (1935-2011) was a Hungarian writer who fled to Switzerland during the war and wrote in French.

The Notebook (the first in the trilogy) is currently number one on my list of all-time favourites. It has all the elements of storytelling that I love: deep, psychological insight into the human heart; adroit use of archetypes, which give the book a timeless, folkloric feel; concision (no waffling) and a poetic, pared-back language that creates a sense of startling immediacy.

Kristóf writes about World War II through the eyes of two young brothers in a Nazi-occupied country (unnamed), and she shocks us awake not through sensationalised violence but through matter-of-fact narration.

It reads like a cross-between dramatic monologue and biblical parable – she stretches the novel form and opens up new possibilities for writing.