60 Books Like Serpent River Resurgence

This book was released when I was starting my own work on mining history, and it greatly influenced everything I have written since. I love how LeCain traces how the demand for copper to electrify American cities led to the creation of massive holes such as the Bingham and Berkeley pits.

For me, the crux of the book is the idea that, as the quality of copper ore declined, mining companies used more energy and brute force machinery to dig unimaginably large open pits, producing landscape scars and toxic legacies that are still with us today. It makes visible the immense cost of America’s great industrial acceleration. 

Asbestos was once thought of as a life-saving fire retardant used to construct walls and ceilings, but now we know it is (in its dust form) the cause of deadly lung diseases. I loved this book because it focuses on the struggles of people on the front lines of exposure: asbestos miners and millworkers.

I was inspired by the bravery of asbestos miners when they went on strike in 1949, partly for safer working conditions, only to meet the batons and paddy wagons of the Quebec provincial police. I was also shocked by the fact the owner of the mine, Johns-Manville, secretly harvested the lungs of dead miners for analysis at a lab in Saranac, New York, all the while suppressing the evidence of harm to the workers’ bodies. 

This one challenged me to get out of my historian’s bubble and confront the impacts of mining in the present and near future, especially those associated with the looming energy transition. Pollon blew me away with sobering facts, such as the need to mine 3 billion tons of minerals to stay below 2 degrees of global temperature increases.

I was also captivated by the author’s accounts of his travels to the front lines of the critical minerals boom, which paint a vivid portrait of the vast scale of development associated with lithium, copper, and nickel development. Pollon’s book reminded me that technological solutions to climate change (important as they are) come with their own environmental and human costs.  

I have read a fair number of books, including Emile Zola’s famous Germinal, that depict coal miners as the helpless of a particularly horrible working-class hell.

I loved Thomas Andrews’ book because it highlights how much Colorado’s coal miners controlled their destiny. I was captivated by Andrews’ descriptions of how coal miners shaped the underground environment to enhance safety and increase their income (they were paid by the weight of ore mined rather than an hourly wage).

For me, the most fascinating part of it was Andrews’ revisionist history of the infamous Ludlow massacre of 1914, which the author argues was part of a larger shooting war where workers fought back against company guards and state militia rather than passively accept the coal companies’ efforts to control them.

This is both a memoir and the story of a crime. I was interested in this book because the crime happened in the town where I went to university. A crime so close to home seems more frightening, more real.

The author writes a sincere, honest story about how you can be fooled by the person you most want to trust—your husband. I found this book hard to put down. 

I was moved by the profound look into a young man’s grief and guilt and confusion that Canadian author Matt Cohen offered us in this, his last novel. Carl’s mother is dead, killed at the age of 51 in a car accident for which Carl is (mostly) responsible. After the funeral, Carl fled. Now, three years later, he’s back in his hometown, population 684, attempting to start over and reconnect with his seven-year-old daughter. It’s a long, hard fight for redemption in a town where the habitants—a grand cast of them—have long memories of who Carl was and what he did. Matt Cohen died a few weeks after the book won the Governor General’s Prize for English-Language Fiction.

I absolutely love Blunt’s writing in this series. It is nuanced and beautifully paired with the troubled, multi-faceted characters. The books are set in the fictional town of Algonquin Bay, based in North Bay in Northern Ontario, a part of the country I know well having grown up a bit farther north and west. The setting permeates the stories—small town, dead of winter, lots of bush and conifer trees. The discovery of a body in a mine shaft fits perfectly. John Cardinal, lead cop, is struggling to help his clinically depressed wife and has recently been demoted. He’s a compelling character and so well drawn as is his new partner Lise Delorme. The books have been made into a gritty television series with superb acting, but I’d say read the books first because the writing is just that good.

I grew up in upstate New York near the Canadian border, and one of the crucial battles of this war was fought there. When I was growing up, we were told this war was a successful one for the United States, and Taylor shows how this was true in some ways but not very true at all in others. 

This is a sprawling tale with a huge cast of characters, and it includes the perspectives of ordinary people from various groups.

This is my favorite book. I literally buy every used copy I find at bookstores, library sales, and thrift stores just so I can give it away. The book opens with one of the most perfect lines in literature: “Happiness is the lucky pane of glass you carry in your head. It takes all your cunning just to hang on to it, and once it’s smashed you have to move into a different sort of life.”

This is a story about a woman in her mid-forties trying to understand what it means to be good and coming to terms with the difference between good and happy. I fell in love with the protagonist, Reta Winters, whose oldest daughter has run away to sit on a street corner holding a sign that reads goodness. The story is about Reta’s efforts to get her daughter to come home, but it is also… show more.

Rose grows up in a working-class family in a town in Southern Ontario between the wars. She is good in school, makes it to university, marries the son of a department store owner, moves to Vancouver, divorces, becomes an actor, teaches acting, grows older, and returns to the town to take care of her stepmother.

These connected stories give us a picture of Rose’s life, but each is a masterpiece by itself. The Beggar Maid, about her marriage, has the most devastating yet subtle ending I have ever read: a precise flick with a small, very sharp knife. I read this first when I was fourteen and too young to comprehend it. Now, I reread it every few years and probably will for the rest of my life.