100 Books Like Poets In A Landscape

Although I had become interested in Roman history at a very early age, this was the first full ancient text that, at about fourteen years old, I read about the Roman emperors. I was immediately taken by Tacitus’ serious tone and the immediacy of his narrative.

His near-contemporary account of (at least part of) the reigns of Tiberius, Claudius, and Nero sounded, for all that it was written almost two thousand years before, very modern. After reading it, I bought as many of the (purple) Latin and (brown) Greek Penguin translations of classical literature–history, poetry, and drama–as were available.

I think it was the first biography I ever purchased. At age ten or eleven, I read in it, but now I’m reading it all the way through, and I’m pleased to say that even at that tender age, I gravitated to the best!

Fraser stops the narrative when she wants to discourse upon a particular issue or attribute and always considers her own take on events and characters worthy of elegant interjection.

She’s not afraid to discuss relevant but not strictly solemn issues, such as whether Mary was considered beautiful and the tragic queen’s love of dancing and cross-dressing. 

Behrman emerged in the 1920s as one of America’s most original playwrights, peopling his drawing-room comedies with a cross-section of archetypal American cultural and political viewpoints.

In 1960’s Portrait of Max, he bends genres, combining biography and personal memoir as he recounts his friendship with Max Beerbohm, master drama critic and humorist, who was then living in retirement in Italy.

It's not strictly a biography, but it might as well be one. A brilliant stylist, Breslin creates a fictionalized dramatization that has the unerring ring of Runyon’s truth.

His chronicling of the raffish world of Broadway and adjacent side streets was the basis for the musical Guys and Dolls. Breslin uses copious dialogue and minutely observed incidents to flesh out things that happened or may very well have happened.

Biographers customarily make some psychological observations, but Dr. Kaplan, both author and practicing psychiatrist, had the training and the daring to go further. A suicide at seventeen, Chatterton’s presentation of his own poetry as the creation of an invented 15th-century monk proved his undoing.

Freud’s theory of adolescent development and “Family Romances” guides Dr. Kaplan as she ties the universal patterns of adolescence to Chatterton’s individual needs and drives, analyzing what led him to recklessly defraud the literary public. 

Because I was not a Classicist when I went to university, I spent the first two years of my three-year BA course reading Medieval and Modern, not Ancient, History when I went to university. One part of the syllabus was Tudor England, and a key personality was Thomas Cromwell, chief minister of Henry VIII.

Elton’s book was the main recommended modern study. I was wholly convinced by his revisionist interpretation of Cromwell: not a villain but the honest servant of a tyrannical monarch. The book made me see that to be interesting pre-modern history depends very much on a readiness to be imaginative in the interpretation of the usually scanty sources.

In this respect, significantly, Elton’s book became the (not always appreciated) basis of Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall trilogy.

Laslett’s book taught me the value of comparative material in studying Ancient History. Another part of the Medieval and Modern History syllabus was seventeenth-century England. Teaching was dominated by the Civil War, emphasizing its socio-economic aspects.

This book had just appeared, and I drew on it enthusiastically for my essays. It dealt with the only period of English pre-industrial history for which original documentation allows some meaningful, detailed study of ordinary life. This is not possible for Roman history, even through archaeology, but the experience of later times can be considered in studying Roman society.

For example, Laslett explored precisely how upper-class and merchant families were not nuclear but made up of a large number of near and distant relatives, servants, employees and apprentices: not unlike the traditional Roman familia, except that the latter included slaves.

When I was finally allowed to specialize in Ancient History in the third year of my BA degree, this included a survey of Ancient Greece, supervised by no less a figure than Professor (later Sir) Moses Finley.

One of his recommendations for reading was Adkins' book, listed here, a key point of which is that virtue is not absolute but depends on a society's socio-economic development level. In Archaic Greece, the "good" man was not the one whom later Greeks, and ourselves, would call "good" by virtue of moral rectitude but the one who could, by brute force if necessary, protect his family and community in troubled times: a telling corrective to historical "presentism."

Barry Lopez and his 40 plus contributors dive deep into the language of the land, providing colorful, literary, and sometimes opinionated definitions for more than 850 landscape terms, many of which owe their existence to geology, such as ‘a’a, erg, slickrock, and yardang. The book is an essential and timely contribution to the myriad ways that geology affects not only place but language as well. This is a book for anyone who wants to learn more about America, the nature of its landscape, and its history, and to develop a better connection to place. Or for anyone who wants to use correctly such fine terms as chickenhead, nubble, boondocks, and thank-you ma’am.

This was the first Anthony Doerr book I read—the literary equivalent of eating dessert first. I’ve since savored his novels, but this irresistible feast of delicious morsels of Italian life lingers in my mind. Doerr doesn’t show you Rome. He invites you to live in it with him—during his sleepless nights, in the company of his twin babies, as a beloved Pope lies dying and the seasons bring new enchantments. 

I can’t say whether I love this book more for the writing or for its tender portrait of Rome. Read it for the double pleasures of exquisitely crafted vignettes and a virtual visit to a city that eternally surprises and seduces visitors.