Books like The Mother Tongue — picked by fans

I love this series of three short novels enough to have read it more times than I can count. The language of the novel is simple and evocative. I love the main character, a young wizard who starts out as proud, angry and arrogant, but becomes deeply compassionate when his hubris leads him to make a tragic and evil use of magic.

I could feel myself grabbed by the world of the novel, a world of men and dragons, of islands dotted in an endless sea, of powerful mages who interfere at their peril with the precarious balance of the world between good and evil. 

I loved the Alice books as a child and even more as an adult. As a child, I loved their absurdist humor; the situations Alice gets into are ridiculous, and the ways she gets out are even more so. As an adult, I love that the absurdist humor asks really interesting questions about language and naming and self, our ideas of time and space, and social conventions and who’s in charge of them.

All this with hilariously eccentric characters and nonsense poetry that isn’t quite nonsense! To top it off, reading Alice as an adult is a trip because so many books, movies, songs, and other creative pieces have referenced events or language from the Alice books. What fun!

I’ll admit that I’m fiercely jealous of this book’s title, which is clever and à propos (but now, thanks to Wright, it’s taken). But the book is also delightful.

It’s a history of scientific naming, more or less, but Wright has a ton of fun with that. He asks how plants were named in ancient Assyria and Greece, winds his way through the Middle Ages, and continues to the present day. Does that sound dry? It isn’t—I chortled at the discussion of rude Latin names (Geastrum fornicatum, anyone?), and giggled at Wright’s appropriately disrespectful take on the modern profusion of “species concepts” (“You will be delighted to hear that I will not be describing the remaining twenty-five concepts.”).

I learned a bunch and had fun doing it, and that’s a big win.

This book delighted me because it’s packed with the backstories behind the names of birds—and those stories feature surprising historical anecdotes, quirky characters, and more. Did I say “quirky”? The namesake for Leach’s storm petrel was so far past “quirky” that you can’t even see it in the rear-view mirror.

I enjoyed thinking about early naturalists trying to fit strange birds from strange lands into what was familiar from home (hence, North American and Australian “robins.”). I learned about bird names that are onomatopoetic (“rook”), based on folklore (“goatsucker”), unexpectedly descriptive (“swallow”), and, of course, eponymous (the titular “Mrs. Moreau’s warbler.”). The writing is graceful, and the book design is lovely. What a treat! 

The words "language" and "myth" have graced the covers of many books, but this one is my favorite. This collection, edited by Laurie Bauer and Peter Trudgill, brings together world-renowned linguists to tackle a spectrum of unhelpful and incorrect assumptions about language. What sets this book apart is its sharp focus on how people’s attitudes toward language often recreate damaging stereotypes.

Bauer, Trudgill, and their contributors, several of whom I was taught by, arrest these misconceptions with insights grounded in linguistic research. Each myth is debunked in short, punchy chapters that are as engaging as they are informative. I love how this book leaves you feeling smarter and better equipped to think critically about the language myths we encounter every day. 

If you want a general thesaurus, I believe The Synonym Finder with more than 1 million synonyms is the best one on the market.

I’ve used it for more than 30 years and had to replace my original copy because it was so well-used, it fell apart. What makes this thesaurus stand out is the quality of synonyms and the ease of use. It is super easy to find the words you’re looking for. Every author should have this book!

I was surprised and delighted by every page of this book: it tells a pacey story of history, from the first farmers to our lives today, by unpacking the meaning of words from across time.

It's the story of our deep inner life conveyed in language. I love etymology because words are what Barfield calls “fossils of consciousness”. To dig up when words first appeared or how they have profoundly shifted in meaning is to truly rediscover the inner lives of our ancestors.

Did you know that nihilism only surfaced in the 18th century or that the ancient Greeks had no word for “blue”? Such details delight in this book.

This book is most helpful for scholars who worry that they “don’t know the rules” for scholarly writing. The fear of being a clueless newbie can stymie us, especially because there really are unspoken rules in academic writing.

The authors make the structure and norms of scholarly writing clear and accessible, so that hesitant newcomers can recognize them, and then learn how to use them in their own work.

This book takes the reader back to another speech world, that of 16th and 17th century English, albeit one on which we have some purchase through the plays of William Shakespeare. Where someone today may hedge their words with I suppose or probably, people in this time peppered their speech with expressions conveying certainty like verily and forsooth. This contrast represents the ethos of truth and faith that reigned at this time before it was replaced by a modern spirit of epistemic detachment ushered in by the British enlightenment. Yet a by my troth was not interchangeable with a by my faith, and each chapter of the book opens the door on the specifics of an epistemic expression in 16th and 17th century English through colourful examples, cultural evidence and a statement of its meaning. I love this book.

If I had to choose just one book on language that all American college students should read, it would be this one.

The author wrote early versions of this book in 1939 and 1941, when World War II was breaking out, and the world came to understand the poisonous nature of Nazi propaganda. The study of semantics turns out to be more than an abstract consideration of language. The responsible use of language is the antidote to disinformation, a lesson we can carry into our own times.

Why neutral reports are crucial to democracy and self-government; how connotations of words reveal bias; the power of climbing up and down the ladder of abstraction so readers can see and understand; all these are introduced to the reader in this groundbreaking work.