100 Books Like The Iron Hand of Mars

For those who like their conspiracy theories, it is hard not to be seduced by Ovid and David Wishart’s hard-boiled detective Marcus Corvinus.

Commissioned to bring back Ovid’s ashes, the author links the exile of the poet Ovid by the Emperor Augustus to the loss of the three legions under Varus. The book is notable both for the real sense that it gives how the defeat became one to be avoided in the polite society in Rome, but also for its generally sympathetic portrait of the Roman governor. Varus is corrupted and betrayed by Arminius, but he is not wholly incompetent. 

So closely does he follow what is known about the battle and its aftermath that Ben Kane’s trilogy about the Battle of Teutoburg Forest – Eagles of War, Hunting the Eagles, and Eagles in the Storm – blurs the line between fiction and historical fact and makes the reader feel that they are there.

He has a sympathetic hero in the centurion Lucius Tullus and he brings many of the historical characters to life. Aside from the vivid writing, what particularly stands out are the nods towards the archaeology of the battle and Roman Germany. 

Most novels that discuss the period take the perspective of the Romans. Fabbri’s Arminius is different in that he gets under the skin of Arminius and examines how and why he turned against Rome in a story told via his son.

This is a bold approach as the idea of Arminius as narrator/hero had become tainted after he became harnessed to German nationalism from the mid-19th century onwards. Fabbri’s approach is masterful. 

Published in the 1950s, at first glance The Three Legions looks like unashamed pulp, but it certainly deserves to be remembered.

The story itself follows what was known of the battle at the time via the tribune Claudius Cinna – a thinly disguised Lucius Eggius. While the archaeology can feel dated, the writing rises above pulp. Solon himself was a tail gunner in the US airforce in World War II and both the depictions of army life as well as the descriptions of battle are particularly vivid. 

One thing I really like about this mystery novel is the way it is told from multiple points of view, which is a very unusual technique in mystery fiction. That’s one reason that it felt, to me, so much like a literary novel.

The first character is a brilliant, tortured artist named Margot, who is already dead at the start of the novel. The second character is Kate, an ex-cop turned P.I. who is hired to find Margot’s killer. 

Both women are compelling, interesting characters, but I especially liked the way Kenna renders the hero, Kate. She’s a single mom in recovery from a drug addiction. Her ex is a creep, and most of her old (male) cop colleagues are, too. Her struggle in solving the case felt completely real and human to me. And that’s the signature quality of literary fiction.

Like other private detectives, LA-based Lew Archer sees too much—too much bad or at least questionable behavior. Here, it seems to take the form of a runaway—a rich kid who has “escaped” confinement from his exclusive 60’s reform school. Despite his lack of style and color, Archer acts confident he’ll find him. The only problem: The parents—his client—aren’t helping him very much.  

His disappearance case threatens to disappear, providing an especially clever irony and supporting what I believe is author Macdonald’s favorite insight: The problem begins and ends in the family. The only question is, with all the darkness the parents create and Archer encounters, will he see enough to solve the case? I love this story, in part, becomes it’s more noir than any other Lew Archer story. 

One of the best books I've read in ages. Why haven't I heard of this author before?? Gripping. Horrifying. Compelling. A no-holds-barred thriller that hooks you from page 1 and doesn't let go.

There are elements of horror here, but not supernatural: it’s purely in the way the all-too-real stalker targets his victim—and then, also, the newly licensed young female PI with more than enough problems of her own who takes on the case of the woman he’s fixated on. With the police refusing to accept that he even exists, the two women are left to catch him on their own—before he kills one or both of them.

One of the funniest books I’ve ever read. Set in Paris in the 1920s, this mystery has everything I want in an escapist read: a suave detective, his sharpshooting, bad-ass girlfriend, a twisty, unpredictable plot, and fabulous, quirky characters.

Many are based on icons of the era: Josephine Baker, Picasso, Gertrude Stein, Hemingway, and all the usual Midnight in Paris celebrities. I first read this in my teens, and I still reread it for the madcap humor and view of Paris in the 1920s written by someone who was there.

I read this 1933 mystery novel as a teen, and it might have begun my love affair with the hero in disguise. In this book, we meet Death Bredon, a newly hired copywriter at Pym’s Publicity. We know, of course, that he is Lord Peter Wimsey in disguise, but we don’t know why the aristocratic amateur detective is pretending to be a working Joe.

The mystery is flawless; the ad agency setting is delightful; the banter is witty; and the climactic cricket match, in which our disguised hero lets his mask slip, is delicious.

One of the best explanations I’ve read of the rise of Fascism in Hitler’s Germany. I agree that ignoring the lessons of history means we’ll be forced to endure repetition. And Kerr paints such a chilling scenario no one in their right mind would wish the maxim to come true. His prose applies color and form like an artist at the top of their game.

At times I found him reminiscent of Chandler in the way he portrays the Nazis as the worst gangsters in the game. This is the first book of the Bernard Gunther series, and I was so enthralled that I raced through the others in just a few days. His storyline is filled with horror, passion, fear, and pathos—a tour de force of emotions.