Books like The Settlement — picked by fans

I’ve read this book twice and cried buckets both times.

It is a masterpiece – brutal and unflinching but also maintaining a kernel of hope as the man crosses a devastated landscape with his son, trying to keep him alive against the odds. The prose is stunning and piercing. There are some very disturbing parts of the story, but what shines through for me is human resilience, determination, and love.

I will absolutely read The Road again, but I have to leave a recovery gap between reads!

I first read Orwell’s dystopian nightmare as a teenager and have gone back to it several times since.

Apparently, it is such a brilliant description of life under totalitarianism that, during the communist era, some Eastern Europeans refused to believe that an inhabitant of a democratic country could have written such a book. 

Even today, I find the book very relevant, as Orwell develops themes of truth, propaganda, doublethink, and the misuse of language that you can find in Homage to Catalonia, written a decade earlier. And the ubiquitous and intrusive telescreen has a parallel in our age of surveillance capitalism and the way the Chinese authorities are using information technology to cement their rule.

For me, this book stimulates analysis of the relationship between technology and human flourishing, as well as the state’s role in using technology to promote the public good.

I first read Brave New World because it was assigned in a high school English class. I later asked students to read it when I was teaching biomedical ethics at a university.

Whereas Dr. Frankenstein’s creation is the single product of a “mad genius” in an otherwise “normal” world, the brave new world is an entire civilization transformed by technology. Because of this vision of a civilization dominated by technology and a totalitarian government, I recently returned to Brave New World.

The novel provoked me to consider the reasons we even develop new technologies—what do and should they provide us?  

The only non-fiction book on my list, this prescient, chilling work examines the geopolitics of climate change.

Written in 2008 by an ex-naval officer turned journalist, this book works on two levels. First, cogent explanations of the science and interviews with senior military personnel from America and Great Britain. Then, eight scenarios that describe how the world might react as emissions rise.

Scenario One: 2045. The average global temperature is 2.8°C higher than in 1990. Prognosis: Awful.

And the scary thing is that’s pretty close to the trajectory we are currently on.

I discovered this book in 1985, reading and re-reading the book during high school and, eventually, buying the worn-out copy from the library before graduation.

While it may seem to be a dystopian story – it takes place after a nuclear-biological armageddon, after all – it’s an early example of hopepunk. Candy Smith-Foster repeatedly puts the good of others, including her macaw, Terry (short for Terry Dactyl), ahead of her own welfare. Not bad for a preteen facing the destruction of all she knew.

How much of an impact did this have on me? One of the reasons Kendra’s name starts as Foster-Briggs is to honor Palmer’s masterwork.

Written in Soviet Russia in 1972, but only published in 1989, this is the story of a bizarre experimental city populated by strangers from all over the last century. All have made a deal with mysterious mentors who are trying to find out…something, by subjecting the city’s inhabitants to apparently arbitrary torments like plagues of baboons. Our hero, Andrei, tries to take it in stride like a good Soviet boy, but finds himself increasingly doubtful as the conditions of the experiment just get weirder and weirder. The humor and situations are very Russian while the emotions will be familiar to anyone dealing with seemingly incoherent orders from above. Reading it at the height of the pandemic was certainly a trip.

This is a new dystopian matriarchal novel, first in a series, that I’ve just discovered. Interestingly, it’s been described as the opposite of The Handmaid’s Tale.

The story is of a female-controlled society in which men are kept imprisoned and used as breeders. Neen, a female scientist who is interviewing men for their potential as sperm donors, begins to question the status quo when some of the men she meets don’t fit her preconceptions.

I was attracted to the book because its story is comparable to my book, but the tone and world-building are completely different. I loved the plot twists and the focus on ethical dilemmas.

I was surprised at how much I loved The Wizard of the Kremlin. I was sorry to reach the last page. Why? The central character is a fascinating post-modern Machiavellian political strategist whose machinations set the global standard for disinformation as a political tool in the post-modern, digital world.

Vadim Baranov is based on a real-life character, Russian President Putin’s long-time former PR man and advisor, Vladislav Sirkov. The book is an imagined one-night meeting with the now-retired former reality TV producer, an utterly cynical but simultaneously surprisingly morally aware man, who unwinds the story of his career. 

This is a book that I never hesitate to go back to because it sums up perfectly a society that wants to find you guilty because of who you are.

As the protagonist searches for the rationale behind his arrest, it is a never-ending spider’s web designed to obscure the answers. The point is that at any moment, your personality, your character, your heartfelt beliefs can be the thing that you are guilty of, even if you have done nothing wrong.

The Trial is the abstraction of totalitarian systems. Freedoms that we think we have can be taken away at a moment’s notice, with no rhyme or reason.

I loved the detailed characterization of the main protagonists (including a cat) in this novel set in Gloucester. Comptom’s prose is a delight to read; it is clear, descriptive, and unobtrusive. It is rare to read about a homeless person and their struggles, especially from that time and the obvious mental illness that he suffers from. His dealings with the vending machine and the cat are humorous and touching.
The novel reminded me of the Beatles song ‘Eleanor Rigby,’ with a Father Mackenzie-type vicar and a lonely female journalist. It is sad, touching, real, and a good story. I read it in a couple of sittings.