Books like Renaissance Woman — picked by fans

This older, quieter novel by Sarah Dunant has stayed with me over the years. It tells the story of a young Italian woman forced into a convent after a clandestine love affair. This was the fate of thousands of Renaissance women, whether or not they had a religious vocation: convents were repositories for “surplus” women who couldn’t be respectably married off.

I appreciate how this book focuses on the surprising complexity of the cloister, from the friendships and enmities among the nuns to their incredible knowledge and expertise in music and medicine.

Dunant’s books about Renaissance Italy are always well-researched, and she has a flair for integrating small details that bring this hidden world to life.

I always appreciate a book that connects Renaissance history to present-day issues – like the never-ending pressure for women to fit a particular standard of beauty. Like us, Renaissance women obsessed over how they looked, how they smelled, their weight, their hair, their makeup (which somehow makes them seem like people we might have been friends with 500 years ago!).

Burke looks at Renaissance beauty culture through the lens of a historian, using sixteenth-century how-to manuals, poems, letters, diaries, and art to think about the impact of Renaissance ideas about beauty and the enduring connection between cosmetics and gender, misogyny, and power.

It’s an entertaining read that’s backed by serious research.

I really enjoyed Leah Chang’s beautifully written Young Queens. It adds a new twist to the “royal biography” genre by tracing the interconnected lives of three women – Catherine de’ Medici, Elisabeth de Valois, and Mary, Queen of Scots – from childhood into adulthood.

Chang has a gift for bringing history to life, interweaving her sources with a sweeping narrative so that you feel like you can hear these women speaking in their own voices. She shows the paradox at the heart of their lives: even at the height of power, these queens were measured by their gender and their bodies, seen as vessels for the future of the state. It’s an important counterbalance to the usual narrative of royal history.

I wanted to include this book because it focuses not only on women in the Renaissance but on the particular experience of a Jewish woman living and writing in seventeenth-century Venice.

Even though the Venetian republic proclaimed justice and equality, those ideals did not extend to women nor to the thousands of Jews and other non-Christians who made their home in the city. As a Jewish woman, Sarra Copia Sulam had to navigate prejudice and suspicion on two fronts, yet she courageously defended herself and her faith in print.

The book does a wonderful job of showing how Sulam used her dexterous pen to take on her critics, and Westwater’s account reveals new biographical information about Sulam, her family, and Jewish life in the Renaissance.

A quirky and brilliantly insightful book which is now, unfortunately, out of print. But do snap it up if you chance upon it in a second-hand bookshop or can find a copy online. It is deceptively modest-looking: a slender paperback, with only a handful of illustrations. My hunch is that it will change the way you think about paintings, sculptures, and buildings in the works of Shakespeare, Spenser, Donne, and their contemporaries. Certainly, that is the effect it had on me.

When I was first attracted to exploration history, I was mostly interested in the 19th and 20th centuries, but wanting to understand its pedigree, I searched back to the great voyages of the Renaissance and kept running into books by Parry. He’s everywhere, and always insightful.

His most widely read book is The Age of Reconnaissance: Discovery, Exploration, and Settlement, 1450-1650. But despite its clunky title, Establishment is my favorite because it distills the whole story – its events, its technology, its intellectual foundations – into almost crystalline form. A wonderful place to begin, or to return to and consolidate whatever else you’ve learned.

Here’s the one to get to introduce your children to Leonardo da Vinci – a pop-up book with gloriously beautiful drawings and 3D models of Leonardo’s inventions, which included airplanes, a submarine, a parachute, helicopter, armoured vehicle, and a crossbow-machine gun.

Aside from the renovation of the sewers and plumbing of a Florentine church, none of Leonardo’s technological designs are ever known to have been built and tested, which leaves us with the question of whether he was more of a dreamer than a doer. I think this would work for 6-12-year-olds.

While The Swerve is not exactly a book about posterity, it nonetheless provides a wonderful case study of a text that remained on the verge of destruction for centuries, before going on to play a tremendously influential role in shaping our modern world. This book is none other than On The Nature of Things by Lucretius –one of the foundational texts of Western culture, whose impact was postponed to the fifteenth century, as it would not have seen the light of day without its serendipitous rediscovery in a German monastery by Poggio Bracciolini (1380-1459). This gripping work offers a fascinating example of the delayed reception of a prominent cultural object, a proof of its extraordinary resilience, and, at the same time, an illustration of the role played by chance and accidents on the transmission of texts to posterity. 

Mary Laven’s readable academic book Virgins of Venice is the definitive resource on the topic of nuns in Renaissance Venice. She explores every aspect of what it was like to be and live as a nun during a roughly two-hundred-year period, when most convents were filled with high-status women of no religious calling, forced to live there by their fathers and the strict social conventions of the time.

This book presents six vignettes of sex and violence plucked by Thomas Cohen from the archives of the papal governor of sixteenth-century Rome.

I love Cohen’s passion for telling a good story without losing sight of its broader historical significance. Examining the everyday lives of people in the streets, Cohen reveals how a clash between the contradictory currents of Italian Renaissance society fueled much of its conflicts and discontents.

On the one hand, Christian religion preached mercy, forgiveness, and community, on the other the compelling codes of honor, familial loyalty, and unwritten social rules promoted violence and vengeance.

The book also reveals how women and other socially marginalized figures could navigate and manipulate these codes to find space and freedom in a world dominated by powerful men.