100 Books Like The Golden Scales

When I first visited Venice, I had the strange sense that I already “knew” the city because I had read this first and all the subsequent Leon novels set in the city and featuring Commissario Guido Brunetti. From those books, I recognized landmarks and hidden alleys, cafes and restaurants, how to take the Vaparetto, and where the main police stations and markets were. 

I wanted to write like that, make the city a main character–and I love other series that do the same, like Andrea Camilleri’s Montalbano series set in Sicily. These books “take you there.”

All of Higashino’s books are great, but this is one of the best, and it happens to be the first novel in the Detective Galileo series, where a physics professor helps a detective solve crimes. Imagine Sherlock Holmes, except set on the streets of Tokyo. We follow Detective Kusanagi of the Tokyo Police as he tries to piece together the mysterious events surrounding a murder where we, the reader, already know who committed the crime.

The format is so very different from your normal crime novel, and that is one of the truly interesting things about this book. It’s still a marvel to me that Higashino keeps you wondering the whole time, even as you already know key parts of the outcome. If you want to understand the Japanese mind in advance of a trip (or move) to Japan, this is a great place to start!

This brilliant piece of nonfiction novel writing made me think hard about my own work. Nadifa Mohamed is a Somali-born British writer, and the story of Mahmood Hussein Mattan, who was wrongly hanged in 1950s Cardiff.

Mohamed’s own father knew Mahmood, and as a writer, she explores wonderfully, if graphically, what Cardiff was like for migrants back then. She reminded me to focus on the “small” people in life, those dispossessed as well as those who look out for such people. Her work is also a reminder that the world is a cross-cultural place and that our own characters do well to remember that.

I lived and worked in Damascus for several months before the outbreak of what has become a dreadful and ongoing war. It was one of the greatest experiences in my life, and I still have great affection for the city, the country, and its people.

Writers there have long balanced off politics and life, and one of the best was Khalid Khalifa whose books for me capture so much of what has been the Syrian experience for the last half century or so. His characters might have been taken directly off the street and stood in a long line of the great Arabic story tradition, which has so much to tell us about life, meaning, challenge, and triumph. 

I find myself drawn to books that span multiple genres, and Dead Egyptians is one of my favorites.

Is it historical fiction, paranormal fantasy, magical realism, or homoerotic thriller? Yes, yes it is. Add in some (spoiler alert) really kinky sex between two gods, and boy, is this a book that defies easy categorization. 

The book gives the reader a deep layered understanding of Egypt before the 2011 uprising to look at the state of the nation and into the heart of Cairo, an ancient city but now a metropolis of over 20 million. Written with a novelist's flare this is an intimate portrait of the lives of Cairenes that explores hidden aspects of this mysterious city. The author builds an intriguing story on the religious beliefs, family values, negotiating tactics, driving habits, and attitudes towards foreigners. This is a reflection on a wonderous city, a place of sadness and of hope, which uses the metaphor of Saharan desert sand blowing in to shape the sand castle politics of the Mubarak era that would come crashing down in the 2011 Revolution.

I loved this quirky, surreal novel, which is set in Cairo during the time of the Mamluks. Alternating between dreams and fables, the novel also takes us on a tour of Cairo. He uses the mock diary of a traveler for every section of old Cairo, but then diverges into the individual stories of characters in the city. 

Balian, a British pilgrim who has come to visit St. Catherine’s Monastery in Sinai, is really a spy sent by European powers to scout out the power of the Mamluk force, as well as the political intentions of the Sultan. Soon over his head, he finds himself meeting a variety of flamboyant characters. An Italian spy, Giancristoforo, is soon arrested and disappears into state custody. Balian has bizarre dreams at night, but even during the daytime he can’t distinguish between dream and reality.

Arabian Nightmare is a book which has hung around… show more.

Palace of Desire came out in 1957 in original Arabic and got translated to English in the early ’90s, and that’s when I read it. I’m not sure why NY waited so long, except that Naguib Mahfouz couldn’t get the right connection for those years. Your request for reasons that I chose this book made me take another look, and I’ll reread it soon. Thumbing through it now, it still flows with classic narrative, a form still vibrant in 1957, before books in English lost that traditional flow and began to read with a sameness, like most authors went to writing seminars or demanded their rights as women with feelings. I.e. Mahfouz reaches for nothing but the moment, which happens to be in a Cairo neighborhood populated with everyday Egyptians carrying on with life. It’s a slice unavailable to readers like me, revealing a reality far away and compelling, sitting… show more.

I've chosen this one not only because it's about growing up in Cairo, where I spent five years of my adult life as a teacher in an international school, but also for its astute analysis of how and why the memories we form in childhood differ fundamentally from those we acquire as adults. Another reason for its inclusion on my list is that it belongs to two childhood memoir subgenres for which I have a particular penchant, those by authors raised by people who were neither their biological nor adoptive parents and those by under-appreciated women novelists.

When I first decided to write a historical novel that takes place in Egypt, I stopped by my local falafel joint in Brooklyn and asked the owner for pointers. He said, “Read Mahfouz, that’s all you need.” These are three interconnected stories that span the period from World War I to World War II. Without getting too deeply into the plot, I’d say they do what all the best historical novels do; they give you a sense of life’s movement, with the specifics that allow you to enter another time and place.

I met Mahfouz on my first trip to Egypt in 2005, shortly before he died, and asked him something about the country’s late leader Gamal Abdel Nasser. Mahfouz said he didn’t know the immediate answer himself, but “when I see Nasser, I’ll ask him.”