Books like Ivanhoe

Speaking of books, I love The Saxon Tales, or as you TV plebs will know it, The Last Kingdom, which is absurdly good. I love the TV show (on Netflix), but the books are next-level.

Uhtred, son of Uhtred, raised by Danes but Saxon by blood fights to regain his blood right and the home that was stolen from him. Cornwell writes the best battle scenes in all of literature, and these books are full of them. I loved them so much that I styled the fighting in my own books after Cornwell’s battle scenes in this series. 

When I first learned the subject of this hot-selling book, the building of a medieval cathedral, my first thought was blah.

I mean, how interesting could the decades-long construction of a massive church be? Boy, was I wrong. Follett makes the story so compelling, personal, and moving; I couldn’t stop reading. I got so invested in the characters and the tale that I wished there were more, even after 1008 pages. Yeah.

Thankfully, Follett wrote four more books in the Cambridge series, and yes, I’ve read them all. There is a reason why Pillars of the Earth is the bestselling historical novel of all time.

Do we need architects for our homes? Well, it seems that in the past they often failed to be there. Bernard Rudovsky, who was himself an architect, featured in 1964 an exhibition dedicated to the topic at the New York MoMA. The related catalogue, Architecture Without Architects, has since then turned into an iconic book. A beautiful set of black and white pictures that describes a primitive state of the art in which skilled but anonymous builders applied throughout the planet the laws of nature giving birth to what is presently labeled as vernacular styles. No names survived despite the talents, in this collection featuring the first steps of architecture, but rationality and functionality are already there, long before Modernism would make them its core principles. It was a pleasant surprise to discover in this book some kind of credit to my belief that medieval castles may have inspired… show more.

“When K looked at the castle he sometimes thought he saw someone sitting quietly there, looking into space, (…) as if he were alone and no one was observing him…” 

It seems that castles are watching us, with some kind of emotional detachment. This impression is described in this famous Kafka novel featuring a traveler stranded in a remote Mitteleuropa village who despite his tenacity fails to reach the castle that overlooks the place. Apart from the usual kafkaesque absurdity, this unfinished novel brings to mind the feeling of oddness that someone often goes through when approaching a castle, facing its uncanny presence. Even more, it conveys the strange fact that the path that leads to them, probably because of their unusual scale, seems always endless.

I had already included some Spanish castles in my project when I heard about the Reinhard Wolf book and discovered his unsettling pictures. This German artist had photographed the same castles half a century before me, using the same analogic films and the same traditional view cameras, composing frames that I had reproduced without knowing his work. It seems that buildings, like human beings, have a good profile which a photographer cannot miss. The other surprise came from the unexpected feeling that my photographs had been shot prior to Reinhart Wolf’s. Because the castles had meantime been restored, their walls being refreshed, the course of time seemed reversed: they appeared in an earlier condition through my camera than photographed 50 years before, when partly ruined. Having in mind that photography is much about time and traces, the discovery was puzzling. By chance the scope of my personal project was not… show more.

What does a castle and Noah’s ark have in common? What is a castle, if not an over-dimensioned hull? In Globes, part of his Sphere trilogy, the philosopher Peter Sloterdijk brings architecture to its anthropological origin, the necessity to regain the initial womb’s protection, a shared comfort zone confronting exterior threats. Like the mythical cities in which history always start by a ground delimitation, the castles are erecting their walls and closing their gates to preserve the interior world and its coherence from the exterior chaos. In an analogy to the Middle Age, gated communities reproduce in a regressive way this reality. Only the privileged will be saved.

Is Undine Spragg Edith Wharton’s least admiral protagonist? Perhaps. But as well, she is her most beguiling.

With her modest mid-western roots and her hunger for something more, she personifies the American dream, only she incarnates its less noble form. Cunning and beautiful, she uses her every charm exclusively in service to her ambition.

There is something thoroughly modern about her self-belief, her perpetual reinvention. It’s impossible to look away as she ruthlessly forges her own future, defying expectations and conventions time and again. 

They say what goes around comes around; but when it comes to Undine Spragg we are constantly left wondering if the truism can hold.

I still remember the day I bought Kaufman’s book in a London bookstore near Westminster Abbey—a girl disguises herself as a boy in medieval England and goes in search of the king, so her estate can be restored. Sign me up! It was my first encounter with the magic of historical fiction, the best of which is immersive and alive, without dull data dumps or jarring anachronisms. This wonderful (and, for me, life-changing) story ticks all my boxes: smart heroine; rich, real characters; scenery that doesn’t creak; and a thumping good romance. Last, but absolutely not least, The Shield of Three Lions is stuffed with hilarious lines and scenes. An author who can make me laugh? Her price is far above rubies.

As an author of Regency romances, I think of Forester’s Hornblower novels as the guy-friendly equivalents, and I tried and tried to get my son to read these. Sigh. The series follows a Royal Navy man during the Napoleonic Wars, from his days as a lowly midshipman to his zenith as an admiral, and every last book in the series is so stinking good. Forester writes the most bang-up action scenes and has researched the heck out of everything, without ever bludgeoning you over the head with it. His characters are alive—flawed and fascinating and funny. In short, if this man weren’t dead for the last sixty years, I would marry him.

Technically speaking, this isn’t historical fiction because, when Trollope wrote it, it was contemporary (Victorian) fiction. But if you love Austen adaptations or anything set in later periods where people wore fancy, constrictive clothing, this book is for you. Barchester is a cathedral town getting a new bishop, and, oh, man, is everyone in a tizzy. Every cleric is angling for a promotion, simultaneously falling at the feet of the exotic Signora Madeline Vesey Neroni while refusing to bow the knee to the new powers that be. And if you have a soft spot for henpecked husbands, Trollope wrote one for the ages, with wife Mrs. Proudie stealing every scene. For my money, with his keen eye and wicked humor, Trollope is the true heir to Jane Austen.