92 Books Like The Summer Book

This book has haunted me for decades. 

So much so that I’ve read it several times since I first encountered it as a teenager. (Plus watched both movie versions, twice each.)

The first line, "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again," drew me in and refused to let go. I wanted to return to Manderley. I wanted to find out what dark secrets would be revealed there. The unnamed, naive young heroine is haunted by the all-pervading presence of her husband’s first wife, Rebecca… and so was I.

And although some of the social attitudes are jarring to a 21st-century reader, and although I know the plot by heart now… I will still return to it.

The first of Moberg’s 4-volume saga of Swedish immigrants, this book is so thoroughly researched that he invented a term, calling them “documentary novels.” The family in the story are farmers from a poor, remote parish in Sweden whose lives are constricted by both the church and the state. This reflects the painful realities of Europe in 1850, where almost everyone was poor, rural, oppressed, and completely unprepared for the journey ahead of them. Whether you read Moberg’s Emigrant Novels for the intense personal drama or for more understanding of why people leave their homelands, you will find these stories deeply emotional and insightful.

This is an unusual crime story set in Copenhagen, Denmark. It caused a sensation when it was published in 1992. The main character Smilla Jaspersen is a half Inuit scientist from Greenland, lonely and homesick in the big city. The death of an Inuit boy pulls her into a complex web of crime exposing Denmark’s complicated relationship with its protectorate Greenland. The title refers to the Inuit people’s understanding of their wintry habitat, and is a reminder of the threat to traditional lifestyles of many indigenous people. A thriller, but so much more. 

Come for the oil paintings and the glass doors, stay for a tender and poignant portrait of family life. The Philadelphia mansion at the heart of this novel casts a spell over its characters – it’s the childhood home that Danny and Maeve have been banished from but are inexorably drawn back to.

Ann Patchett is one of my favourite contemporary novelists – few writers unpack their characters’ emotional baggage with such warmth, wit, and compassion.

This book is happiness. 

Okay, but here’s the thing: It takes about 30 pages for Niall Williams to hit his stride. There’s a lot about weather at first, the whole Irish rain situation. Stick with it. Once Christy comes on the scene in this small Irish town, Faha, and is hoping to have a meeting with a woman he left at the alter 30 years before, and once our young narrator gets involved in his plan—BAM. 

The reader is fully in the world of Faha as electricity is introduced into the village, as Noel begins to figure out love and the insanity that is normal around him—well, I did not want it ever to end, even as at the beginning I was waiting for it to begin. Another book to clutch to the heart.    

One of English literature’s great family sagas, this epic quintet follows three generations of the Cazalet family (plus various relatives, friends and servants) before, during and after the Second World War.

At its heart is Home Place, the sprawling family home in the Sussex countryside. Initially where the extended family gathers for idyllic summer holidays – all teas in the garden, playing with cousins, and dressing for dinner – it becomes a refuge as war closes in. The lives of the vast cast of characters are full of frustration, unhappiness and tragedy, but spending time with them is a joy.

I have a lot of respect for an animal that is so mysterious and remains so despite years of research and curiosity, and I really appreciate this in-depth commitment to showcasing an animal most people get the heeby jeebies about.

The interweaving of personal narrative and deep dives into the realm of eels was a nice combination, catching a glimpse into how one’s early relationship to specific parts of their surrounding natural world can influence so much beyond that.

I’m a big fan of cheerleading for the underdogs of the animal kingdom, the ones we think are scary or ugly or gross—they’re usually fascinating and not well understood, and when it comes to eels, I recommend pushing aside any ick factor and delving into the mysteries they’ve been keeping for millennia. 

Based on a true story, this is an important, thought-provoking book in these times of mass migrations around the globe. The story follows the thirteen-year-old boy Otto Ullman’s journey from Vienna to Trelleborg in southern Sweden. He is sent by his adoring Jewish parents as the persecution of Jews escalates in Austria during the lead-up to the second world war. The letters between Otto and his family, other relatives, and friends left behind are difficult to read. The efforts they all make to keep a brave face in spite of intolerable circumstances are utterly moving. Amongst the letters are official Swedish documents revealing the extent of racism and prejudice in Sweden. There are many similar stories. But I find this one particularly heartbreaking. 

Evie Wyld writes atmospheric and eerie stories that always have an edge, a threat of danger about them, and this wonderful book is almost gothic in its atmosphere of place. The rock itself actually exists, I’m not sure if the house in question does, but the rock and the house and the remote Scottish location bind us into a feeling of constant danger like no single character ever could. The story unfolds in a series of tales told across time periods, back and forth (a tricky format to pull off, but Wyld does it brilliantly). The central character is the great old house, in some disrepair,  and how it has been occupied over time by women who have been, to one degree or another imprisoned by their circumstances. I don’t want to spoil the story, but I guarantee that from the first few pages you will be drawn into the… show more.

Mason is a beautiful writer. It felt like each sentence was deliberated over before its final form was inscribed. But I think I connected with the book because, like the main character, I was a physician. I never had to confront whether what I learned in the lecture hall and anatomy lab was useless or meaningless, and therefore, I never had to question everything.

That’s what Lucius must do, and it gave me the opportunity to approach such questions within my own life. Are my medical gods real, worthy, or false because they can only exist in the most advantageous circumstances? What can we believe in when circumstances like war strip it down to the core?