Books like The History of Sound — picked by fans

Vietnam was a war complicated by political lies, class antagonism, and generational trauma.

The author seamlessly blends non-fiction with fiction, creating verisimilitude which references memoir without always being bound by the weight of facts, freeing the narrative. The horrors and hollowness of war are recounted through intimate encounters, unrequited loves, and imagined lives. In doing so, he keeps alive the friends and lovers who have died.

I found a catharsis in the clarity and coolness of his internal voice, which needs no embellishment to deliver its emotional blow. In writing about the everyday violence both during and after the conflict, he reminds us of the importance of love and morality.

This is a meta-fictional novel about the fragile state of memory and interpretation.

Stories can save us, and in the case of 13-year-old Briony Tallis, stories can ruin us. A single accusation is enough to destroy her sister, a young man’s life, and their future together. It shows us that the art of writing can be both sacred and profane.

It is a novel inhabited by ghosts, one that taught me the importance of absence in storytelling, of the silences and liminal spaces when writing about epic events. The style obfuscates the plot, then later renders it in vivid detail.

What lives between the lines is critical. It asks if forgiveness and acts of retribution can counter the death that eventually comes for all of us.

This book was a revelation.

Sebald’s relatively small collection of novels, which he named “documentary fiction," combines timeless prose with fictional photographic evidence, transporting readers into a haunting archaeology of history, memory, and conflict. In a series of seemingly accidental meetings, the reader is taken on one man’s journey through the Second World War and its aftermath to discover his origins.

The writing is unconventional yet highly traditional and changed how many writers, including myself, approached narrative. There was simply no other stylist like him. 

I love novels that open up slowly, drawing the reader into a world of coincidence and connection.

Cunningham’s classic AIDS novel draws heavily on Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway to create a haunting trilogy—a day in the lives of three women in different decades of the 20th century. I was drawn into the lyrical, elegiac stories about the heartbreaking choices we make as women and gay men, and the consequences of our actions on others.

This book taught me about finding the extraordinary in ordinary moments and a deeper understanding of how suffering stays in the body and is carried intergenerationally.

Even though Jewett wrote the stories in this book in the late 1800s, there is a timeless feeling to her prose that reverberates today.

I love Jewett’s attention to and reverence for the natural beauty that surrounds the fictional town of Dunnet Landing. Her descriptions of the Maine coastline—a blend of craggy rocks, forest, meadows, and sea—are visceral, sensory, and alluring. Jewett also nicely captures the hardworking, humorous, quietly resilient spirit of the year-round residents of Dunnet Landing, with a particularly keen and kind eye toward her female characters.

Her care for the everyday rituals of life, the small moments that make up an existence, are lovingly rendered and evocative. There’s a reason this is a Maine classic. 

When the Robertsons bought their 18th-century home in Hampton, Ct., they inherited an unparalleled lode of documents assembled over 100 years of the previous owners’ history. Starting in the 1790s, the Traintors saved, it seems, every bit of paper that came through their hands: from private letters and business accounts, to pamphlets, social invitations, school records, and, of course books. The Robertsons spent years digesting this remarkable trove. In this book, they “open out” the evidence – as Laurel Ulrich did for Martha Ballard’s diary – in a way that transforms it into a moving and deeply intimate story of family life and community change in a small New England town. I found their tale – told often in the Taintors’ own words – to be vivid, immediate, a surprisingly frank, personal, and moving story.

Bob Gross, knowing that we shared an interest in New England towns in the early Republic, generously shared drafts of each chapter of this magisterial work. I was astonished. The depth and range of his research are unparalleled. In a life-work 45 years in the making, Bob has culled evidence on Concord from every conceivable source, showing the rest of us how it’s done. He has reconstructed families and linked neighbors through church, farm, business, political, and religious activities, using this to reconstruct the life of the town. Bob knows his people so well that I am convinced he has accurately captured their personalities, dynamics, and conflicts. It is rare that we can have such confidence in “knowing” the past. In engaging prose, he presents individuals actively shaping – or resisting – change in their town, and ultimately, their world.

Addiction, grief, generational trauma… all these things exist in Talty’s work. But his prose lifts all that heaviness and makes it not only bearable, but often strangely beautiful.

His characters are raw and real, and his skill with dialogue is enviable. I love the way the book is structured as a collection of linked stories, each one informing and contributing to the rest. The book is set on the Penobscot reservation in Maine, an area often overlooked both in literature and reality.

Talty is a natural storyteller, and his voice rings with wisdom, dry humor, and honesty, giving readers rare insight into this community. 

I’ve read many of this author’s works and enjoyed them all, but this one really dug in, grabbed on, and held tight.

I loved the fact that it covered generations instead of a short timeframe; it gave me more insight into the people and relationships. Transplanting a Low Country girl used to a simple life to the summer home of an upper-crust New Englander accustomed to only the finer things promises conflict, which we got in spades, starting with a mother-in-law who could barely hide her hostility.

This highly elevates the uncomfortable dynamics in extended families, and the challenges overcome—and those that aren’t—make the story incredibly satisfying.

Jennifer Haigh's novel is a family saga that reads like a post-mortem. With alternating narration, each of the five family members gives their perspective on what led to the family's demise and current state. The novel's title, The Condition, seems to refer specifically to one child in the family who has been diagnosed with a rare medical condition called Turner's Syndrome. But throughout the book, it becomes clear that each family member has developed their own "condition" or way of existing that is just as much a part of their identity.