100 Books Like The Peloponnesian War

During a plague that killed a quarter of Florence’s citizens, Boccaccio crafted an exuberant, entertaining, death-defying work of literature. In this book, seven young women and three young men taking refuge in a country villa swap 100 tales of love, lust, mischief, and treachery. 

I read a translation of The Decameron during a sabbatical in Italy and was swept back in time. In every village, I’d look around a piazza and see characters straight from its pages: wily merchants, corrupt politicians, clever wives, henpecked husbands, bumbling fools. This book still resonates in the 21st century—a tribute to Boccaccio’s skill as a spell-weaver. Some of his stories are shamelessly, laughably bawdy. But all remind us that, even as everything changes, our shared humanity remains the same.

I read this book 3 months into the COVID-19 pandemic and LOVED it—it totally made me realize that: 1. we’ve been here before; 2. our reactions and responses are all tried and true (and probably not that useful); and 3. we would survive this time, too—at least most of us.

This is Daniel Defoe (yes, you know him from Robinson Crusoe) explaining what it was like to live in London when the plague came. It wasn’t pretty. The most chilling moment in the book came at the end, when I googled facts about the plague, realized it went away, and then came back repeatedly for decades.

Unlike the other four books in this list, Zinsser’s is an overall history of disease (if focused on typhus) not the story of a particular outbreak. But Zinsser was actively involved in the history he retells at the end of his book as a researcher on a typhus vaccine. Published in 1935, it remains a fascinating and hugely enjoyable primer of the role of infection in history.

I especially like this page-turning book because it vividly describes the effects of viral hemorrhagic fever on patients. The reader can more effectively convey the signs and symptoms experienced by the victims than most writers can. 

This engaging book is even more relevant today, as our world has become smaller, allowing the possibility of airline travel to spread killer viruses from one continent to another in a single day.

This book gave me a deeper appreciation of how moral intuitions shape political divisions—not as accidents of ideology but as features of human psychology. Haidt’s metaphor of the elephant and the rider helped me see why rational argument so often fails to persuade across political lines: because reason follows intuition, not the other way around.

His mapping of multiple “moral taste buds”—including authority, loyalty, and sanctity—also challenged the narrow moral frameworks that dominate secular discourse. While I don’t agree with everything—particularly his optimistic lean toward moral equilibrium or his underemphasis on structural power—I admire his effort to move us beyond outrage toward curiosity. It’s a valuable guide for understanding why we talk past one another—and how we might start listening instead.

Herodotus is a joy to read. In his Enquiries into the heroic struggle of Greece against the mighty Persian Empire, he wanted to preserve the memory of wondrous deeds. And he does it brilliantly. Along the way we discover how to catch a crocodile in Egypt, visit the walls of Babylon, and travel with the fearsome, gender-fluid, Scythian warriors. As the massed Persian armies with their arrogant and manipulative commanders bear down on the divided state of Greece, we are taken to battlefield of Marathon, witness the tenacious heroism of the 300 Spartans, and fight on the sea at the great Greek victory at Salamis. This epic conflict between the forces and ideals of East and West is rendered beautifully in Tom Holland’s fluent translation, which nimbly walks the line between accuracy and accessibility.

If earlier European History in the dashing “Age of Napoleon” draws your interest, I again offer the clear master of the subject, David Chandler.

Beginning with Young Bonaparte’s apprenticeship in the art of war as an Artillery officer, you learn the battle experience that led Napoleon to one day assert that: “God is on the side of the one with the best artillery.” Chandler then recounts Napoleon’s Meteoric rise after the battles of Arcola and Rivoli and his exotic excursion to Egypt. Then, with the crown on his head placed there by his own hand, Napoleon Bonaparte became a living terror on the battlefields of Europe with an understanding and art of war that befuddled one adversary after another.

This book was essential in guiding the writing of my book, Field Of Glory. (Volume #1 in my Keyholder series visiting an alternate History Waterloo.)

‘Comedy’ is a Greek word, and there’s no better place to experience Greek humour than in Aristophanes’ plays. He never shies away from transgressive material and would probably send any twenty-first-century ‘celebrity’ straight to the libel courts—no topic or personality is off-limits, and there are 204 terms for genitalia in his surviving work, plus 190 for sex! Three fantastic plays are translated in Alan Sommerstein’s readable translation: The Acharnians, where an ordinary Athenian, Dicaeopolis (Mr. Just City), defeats the political establishment to enjoy a life of peace, food, alcohol, and sex; The Clouds, a stinging satire of philosophers and ‘modern’ education that includes a brilliant contest between Wrong and Right (spoiler alert—Wrong wins!); and Lysistrata, where the heroine puts an end to the war by organizing a sex strike, with all the hilarious consequence that entails.

This is the daddy of travel books about Greece, penned by a Greek from western Turkey who toured the sights during the pax Romana (2nd century AD).

Catching ancient Greece before it fell into ruin, he enthusiastically wrote up the buildings and artworks and the local history of places both famous and obscure. My own copy, decidedly battered, has been a companion of my academic career since my twenties.

You can still follow Pausanias on certain archaeological sites, like Delphi or Olympia. On others it’s fascinating, after visiting them, to turn to this ancient guide to read how he described the same places when they were intact.

Peter Levi’s translation is highly readable and well equipped, but not overladen, with footnotes.  

Everyone’s surely heard the old saw, “Amateurs study tactics while professionals study logistics.” It’s not exactly true; real professionals study everything, down to and including the plastic arts, because war is the art that subsumes all other arts and sciences. That said, while studying everything, the real professional still gives pride of place to logistics. Van Creveld explains in this brief volume how that has historically worked or failed, and why.