100 Books Like The Rise and Fall of Merry England

I love this book despite feeling frustrated by the excessive detail. Turner brings Chaucer’s cosmopolitan world and diverse literary works to life by focusing on places and spaces significant to him. I especially enjoyed the chapter on Households, where Chaucer was sent to serve in his adolescence, like many of his contemporaries, as page-boy, valet, entertainer, general factotum. I also learnt about his international travels, as a diplomat, prisoner of war, member of Parliament, and the sadness of his unfulfilled private life.

The last two chapters recount Chaucer’s final year living in the precincts of Westminster Abbey, his sudden death, relatively obscure burial, subsequent reburial in Poet’s Corner, and elevation as Father of English Literature, which Turner controversially challenges, placing him in a European cultural background.

I found this study of gentry culture, with essays on political influence, education, social networks, religious activities, and the display of ‘gentility,’ a useful guide to a social class that was evolving in the period of my research. It also helped me understand why Dame Alice was so successful in running her own household and did not remarry – she was secure in the knowledge that she could exercise power and influence as an independent woman. Many of the other books I read about medieval households focused on the aristocracy, their sumptuous lifestyles, lavish entertainment, ostentatious festivities, opulent recreations, and itinerant households, but were not relevant to the subject of my book about a sedentary fifty-year-old widowed gentlewoman running her estates and giving hospitality to her neighbours and agricultural workers.

When I started writing about Alice de Bryene, basing my initial research on a single year of household accounts, I found this book inspiring. I wanted to explore Dame Alice’s family, her relationships with the wider community, and get an idea of what motivated her, even though it’s considered impossible to write medieval biography – there are just too few primary sources to construct a life. However, Blood and Roses demonstrates it can be done. The Pastons were different from Dame Alice – they came from humbler origins, were determined to ascend the social ladder, maintained voluminous correspondence, which illuminated their familial concerns, and many were feisty women. Castor’s work helped me find my own way to tell a compelling story about a more settled, unassuming Suffolk widow and her busy household.

When I was at school medieval social classes were depicted as “those who pray, those who fight, and those who work” – a narrow demarcation that excluded the “middling sort”. Since then there’s been considerable work on local and regional studies and the rise of gentry households, who quickly established a material culture where literacy, display, hospitality, and relationships with the Church were key to their success. Coss’s book provides a fascinating in-depth example and I particularly appreciated his use of the Luttrell Psalter to illustrate the behaviour and aspirations of the Multons.

Just one drawback: The scope of this study is largely before the Great Rising of 1381 and the 1349 and 1360 epidemics of the Black Death, which had a profound effect on the growth of the gentry class.

This is one of the classics in the field. I choose it not because I agree with all of it but because it has made such an impact and has such an ardent academic following. Girard picks up a thesis propounded by Sigmund Freud that symbolic expressions of violence in religion (the eating of Christ’s body and blood in the ritual of the eucharist, for example) helps to defuse real acts of violence. Girard regards mimesis—the imitation of the desires of a competitor—as the driving force behind violence and the instrument that is tamed through symbolic expressions. 

The discovery that 'rituals of transition' in the lives of individuals—birth, puberty, marriage, childbirth, death—are structurally the same and analogous to a destabilizing "passage" through 'no man's land'—is an insight of genius.

My enduring 'affection' for ivory tower thinkers comes from having actually applied their ideas among a people in the New Guinea Highlands over a period of 15 years. 

The methods of these early masters are sometimes faulty—"shreds and patches" of exotic beliefs and practices are grouped together, torn from their contexts in time and geography—but by trying to extend Charles Darwin’s theory of biological evolution into the realm of culture, they came up with universals of human existence that should never be forgotten.  

This book is a classic and essential reading for anyone interested in the evolution of thinking and practicing of childbirth in the United States. 

More than that, it makes a compelling argument that birth should be seen as an American rite of passage. Through a history of the development of current norms and rituals of childbirth as a medicalized procedure and comparison of that paradigm to more holistic treatments of pregnancy and birth, Davis-Floyd opens the door to thoughtful and sustained attention to the support and options we provide birthing people moving forward.

I was initially drawn to this book by its stunning cover and back cover description, and then immediately fell for the story inside. The fast-paced narrative, filled with female friendships, tragedy, and fights against the patriarchy (by an army of gifted, powerful women. Yes, please!), kept me hooked.

This is a book about the power of women, and that spilled through on every page. Plus, the main character, Deka’s strength, leadership, and compassion make her one of my favorite fierce heroines.

I am also a sucker for rituals. We don’t have enough of them in this country, and this book is about a modern American ritual that makes me think about the specifics of American military service and why I should recall it. People will often ask me what they can do personally to help honor our service members.

When I read this book about why we have white tables, what their elements should be, and what each of those elements represents, I had a much better idea of the right response. If I were a kid, I would have a lot of questions by the time I finished reading this book, and that is a very good thing. 

The prose in this book felt like a wolf bite. Stories of destiny and power are juicy, and this has it in abundance. A young woman, Red, sacrifices herself for the good of all to the Wolf of the Wood. The woods are magickal, with haunted trees and shadows, creating an intense atmosphere that held me throughout. So moody! Murderous realms, too, which I sunk into easily.

Not quite like "Little Red Riding Hood," but the suspense certainly had me turning the pages. I admired how the author weaved in the emotional elements among the empowerment and disempowerment themes. The myth and folklore elements brought me back to my childhood nostalgia of curling up in bed, secretly turning the pages without regard for bedtime.