98 Books Like The Silent People

I am deeply interested in the heyday of spiritualism in Europe and America in the 19th and 20th centuries, so I wanted to read this book as soon as I saw the synopsis. I wasn’t disappointed. 

Set in Belfast in 1914, the novel is based upon the real-life attempts of engineering professor William Jackson Crawford to prove the existence of spirits by the use of technology. The intensity of this story, of Crawford’s unrelenting obsession to prove himself, grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. I took the book with me on the train every morning and found it hard to put down when I reached my stop. This is an amazing novel.

I treasure this book as I treasure the memory of my long-dead father, for this transcendently sad and beautiful book takes me into a world close in spirit to that of his own life. His own experience was the experience of the immigrant worker, the Irish rural one.

With the astonishing new economic prosperity of Ireland, the London of the book is no longer there. The prose of O’Grady and the photos of Pike constantly play one across the other to shattering effect. The book was made into a fine film.

Readers will note a certain interplay across my choices of books: John Berger wrote a beautiful foreword to the first edition. The beautifully produced 2023 edition is much better than the 1997 one. The epigraph of the book is from Seferis: “I whispered: memory hurts wherever you touch it.”

I felt a powerful sense of tragic history and increasing pity and fear as this story progressed with its brooding, fateful, gothic atmosphere and hints of the supernatural in a gloomy, coastal house in Ireland. I became swept up by the gathering intensity and intrigue and the multiple shocks that arise from the main protagonist’s discoveries. I was absorbed in this compelling, thought-provoking story and captivated by its ingenious plot. 

This brave thriller set in Mexico follows a reporter covering the grand schemes of collusion between government officials, government institutions, police and military forces, as well as United States agencies and foreign militias involved in the Mexican drug trade and the various levels of riches it has to offer.

It paints a realistic journalistic picture of the conflict and guides us with the pace of a crime novel into the very real dangers faced by journalists throughout a Mexican social landscape of violence. 

Indispensable. And the scandal of this autobiographical novel hasn’t worn off in a hundred-plus years. Stephen Dedalus is our young man, the self-appointed artist-priest. We see turn-of-the-century Ireland through his eyes and Irish Catholicism, too, each with its special richness and oppressiveness. Ultimately, it’s Stephen’s desire to escape "these nets" that drives his story. He’ll find God in his own way or, failing that, replace him with Art. 

Part and parcel of being different and strange is perhaps being otherworldly. Emma Donaghue’s book, like her other books I’ve read, is a propulsive page-turner that also makes you think.

Is eleven-year-old Anna O’Donnell, who is said to have eaten nothing for months but appears to be thriving miraculously, a fraud? The question probes deep into our view of the miraculous, including religious conundrums that have always intrigued me: would there be Christ without miracles? Do we treasure and fear what we simply don’t understand?

Set in the author’s homeland of Ireland, this is a tale of two strangers who transform each other’s lives in a setting defined by a people intimate with hunger.

This is the book to read if you are young or seeking something for a young reader.

The suffering and endurance of ordinary men women and children during those terrible years is described with empathy and admiration. It is also, as the book description states, "the story of the heroes among the Irish people and how they held on to hope."

Where the Atlas is a very large book compiled by a team of academics, O'Murchadha's smaller volume covers much the same ground.

He provides some context by opening with a portrait of Ireland before the onset of famine and concluding with a picture of Ireland in the years after. It is made human by the many anecdotes featuring the experiences of particular individulals and families from his native County Clare.

O'Murchadha is highly critical of the government's response to the famine, offering scathing critiques of the Poor Law, the Rate-In-Aid Act, and the beaurocratisation of relief, nevertheless his tone is generally well balanced. I regard both the Atlas and O'Murchada's book as essential reading for anyone with a genuine interest in understanding this watershed period in British-Irish relations.

This is the first book in a trilogy that follows multiple generations of a fictional Irish family. Set in the mid-1600s, Cromwell’s soldiers leave a trail of destruction behind as they attack towns and villages throughout the country. After his wife is killed in the massacre of Drogheda Dominick McMahon and his two children, along with a wounded priest, set out to find a safer place to live. The story is compelling and, although part of a trilogy, can be read as a stand-alone novel. It has everything I like about historical fiction – captivating characters woven into a series of major events that pull the reader into a bygone era.

I first encountered this book as a series of lectures in Oxford in 1978 and was riveted.

Lyons faced head-on the themes of cultural and sectarian antagonism in Ireland from the death of the constitutionalist nationalist leader Parnell in 1891 to independent Ireland’s decision to remain neutral in World War II, using sources that were as much literary as political, and at the end projecting the divisions in Irish society forward to the then-current violence in the North. The tone was notably acerbic, even verging towards despair, but also employing bitter humour.

A great historian, he died prematurely a few years later when just embarking on his projected but unwritten biography of Yeats. He had written many books, but this is the one that left the loudest echoes–notably in nailing the psychological gulf of understanding between Ireland and Britain that became so apparent in the early twentieth century.