100 Books Like The Invention of Murder

This book was written not as a work of history, but contemporary non-fiction by two reporters covering one of Canada’s highest-profile murder cases of the 1970s, the killing of Christine Demeter, a former model married to flamboyant Toronto businessman and Hungarian immigrant Peter Demeter. By Canadian standards, the authors had unprecedented access to lawyers and others involved in the 1974 trial of Demeter for the murder of his wife and benefited from evidence and a cast of characters straight out of a best-selling crime novel. Demeter was found guilty and while serving his sentence he was convicted of instigating two separate plots to have people kidnapped and murdered. By Persons Unknown broke new ground in Canadian true crime writing.   

Similar to my second choice, this American study explores the impact of a sensational unsolved death on early Victorian New York and America in general. In 1841 Marie Rogers, an attractive young woman who worked in a tobacco shop, was found dead in the Hudson River, suspected to be a victim of murder. The case was well covered in the press and exposed weaknesses in the city’s system of policing.  The author details how Edgar Allen Poe furthered early detective fiction in his story The Mystery Marie Roger, which although set in Paris borrowed heavily from the New York events. An example of how the public can make a celebrity out of a murder victim who is not from the elite.     

We all know that Grisham writes best-selling fiction that has been turned into several Hollywood blockbusters. But the most frightening book by this former small-town defence lawyer is his only work of non-fiction, an account of the wrongful conviction of Ronald Keith Williamson of the 1982 sex murder of Debra Sue Carter. Williamson, who was low-hanging fruit for police and prosecutors in Ada, Oklahoma, languished in prison for 11 years before being exonerated by DNA evidence. This book should be mandatory reading for police, prosecutors, and judges and is a useful reminder that public opinion and justice are often mutually exclusive.

This is a compelling Canadian true-crime tale that captures the atmosphere of early 20th-century Toronto and explores the intersection of class, ethnicity, and societal expectations of proper moral conduct by men and women during wartime. The Masseys were a wealthy Ontario family that amassed a fortune manufacturing agricultural equipment. In 1915 Carrie Davies was an 18-year old English maid working in the home of C.A. “Bert” Massey. She killed her married employer with a revolver in front of a witness and freely admitted carrying out the crime, explaining that he had been making sexual advances towards her. I enjoyed this book as it reminds us of how legal rules and arguments in the past could be overwhelmed by public pressure and cultural expectations. Davies, who many viewed as a heroine, was acquitted of murder by an all-male jury in less than 1 hour.       

I read this one when I was very young, too. Around eight or nine, I think. I grew up in a reading household, and my parents never suggested a book was too old for me. This one is Stevenson at his creepiest, scariest best.

The idea that a person could completely change their personality and turn into a homicidal manic just by drinking a potion often invaded my dreams. If I were in a wicked mood, I’d read excerpts to my brother, who was about four at the time. Hey, why should I be the only one afraid to go to sleep? Ah, happy days.

This book is such a smart novel. It draws its inspiration from Frankenstein, and although it is very different from the original (with its likable lesbian protagonist), it loses none of the original novel’s gothic themes and atmosphere.

The story moves quickly yet manages to convey rich language and explore complex themes. 

This is such a fascinatingly researched book about the science during the time Mary Shelley created Frankenstein. I was surprised and enthralled to learn how many real-life Victor Frankensteins there were in Victorian England, all trying to be the first to reanimate a dead corpse. The accounts of grave robbery and, yes, even murder (The fresher the corpse, the better the experiment!) had me hooked throughout.

Also intriguing was how this macabre practice was deemed by many to be the cutting edge of science. I feel the theme is especially resonant today as we face our own life-creating hubris with Artificial Intelligence.

I picked up this book because it reminded me of a writing assignment I did in college. Instead of a traditional critical essay on Frankenstein, I wrote a “scene” in which Mary Shelley and Victor Frankenstein discussed the novel's themes. (I got a good grade if you are curious.) This isn’t the most lyrically written novel, but I loved the bold premise of bringing Victor into the real world to interact with the Villa Diodati group, telling them the unbelievable tale of his creation.

I admired the clever turns throughout, and the climactic discovery was well-earned. I’ve always been a fan of the fictional character stepping off the page. This one had me thinking long after I’d finished it.  

C. J. Sansom, a historian, died just recently, but he’s left a legacy of historical crime novels based around the time of Henry VIII. The main character is a charismatic, hunchbacked lawyer called Matthew Shardlake.

If, like me, you like books with strong characters, then, together with Sansom’s skill at weaving in the sights, sounds, smells, political shenanigans, and countless characters of Tudor England, Tombland is a fantastic read. It’s a long book (800 pages), so take your time on it, but I think this is historical crime fiction at its best. 

As anyone who has ever grown up in Glasgow will tell you, don't mess with short people. A short, angry Scottish woman can have your proverbial eye out when riled. Especially if they’re meant to be enjoying themselves at the seaside. And that's exactly the case with Lady Hardcastle’s loyal sidekick, Flo. Granted, Flo is Welsh, and the duo lives in Edwardian England rather than 20th-century Scotland, but this pair can sort matters out faster than my mother and her wee pal, Margaret. 

Elizabeth Knowelden brilliantly reads this rollicking romp about disappearances, espionage, ice cream, and donkey rides. I like any story with a fearsome female sidekick. Fearsome sidekicks have for too long been dominated by scary blokes with muscles.