55 Books Like The Town House

I had my doubts about reading this because, well… Tudor history.

I love Mantel’s work but…another trot through Henry VIII’s marriages and murders? I wasn’t sure it was for me. But within moments of opening the book, I was away with Mantel and Thomas Cromwell.

Even the title, Wolf Hall, demonstrates her gift. It was the name of the Seymour family’s seat, and the book never takes us there—but it was Jane Seymour who replaced Anne Boleyn and gave monstrous Henry his heir. The title hangs over the action, echoing, Man is wolf to man.

Mantel’s Cromwell is complex, often kind as well as ruthless, but Mantel herself said that she presents only one possible view of him. Read it and make up your own mind!

I love character rich, slow-burn reads and Waters always delivers.

The Paying Guests is set in 1922 London and eloquently (with psychological twists) reveals the effects of post-WWI. During the war, the protagonist, 27-year-old Francis, had found her independence in many liberating ways, and Mrs. Wray, her mother, clung to her genteel social status. Now that her husband and sons are dead, they’re forced to scrub their own floors and take in boarders, i.e., “paying guests,” Leonard and Lillian, a modern lower-class couple, in order to keep their home.

I never suspected what would ensue—from clandestine lovers to empowered women, to murder. Waters paints the changing times, social constraints, and class distinctions with a fine-tipped pen.

This book has so many different elements—humor, the struggles of poverty, Cassandra’s dreams of success as a writer, quirky family members, and a tumbledown castle where the Mortmain family lives.

I identified with Cassandra’s efforts to keep a journal to hone her writing skills, having done so myself as a teen. I also enjoyed the unconventional take on a castle and Cassandra’s honesty in depicting (or “capturing”) it and its inhabitants with her words.

The dilapidated castle and the family’s foibles make this story approachable and enjoyable. It is one that invites the reader into the castle and the story as a welcome guest.

If you fall for this book, as I did, then there are twenty more Falco books when you can’t make this one last any longer.

The books work on so many levels. They are brilliantly imagined, well-researched historical novels set in Ancient Rome. They are also send-ups of classic "gum-shoe" novels, since Falco is an "informer," the Roman equivalent of a private detective.

They are who-dunnits, plus a love story—the love of Falco’s life is a posh senator’s daughter, way out of his league. They are exciting adventures, with lots of action, and also very funny. There isn’t a measurement these books don’t score highly on! Characters, plot, vivid backgrounds, humour, suspense, a handsome hero… They have it all.

I had no special interest in Alexander the Great, but happened on Fire From Heaven in the library. It was set in Ancient Greece. I liked historical novels, so I read it. Became a fan!

This first book takes that world-bestriding conqueror and imagines him as a lonely child in a fraught palace—and as a teenager, his father assassinated, his world breaking up around him. It follows him as time changes him into a brilliant, daring general. In the series’ succeeding books, he becomes a lover and then half-mad with bereavement, and we see his "empire" quickly dissolve after his early death.

Time changes everything; nothing stays the same. But in the pages of these books, Alexander’s world is brilliantly recreated.

The Baldwins live a small but happy life in London, until the bombshell day when Mr. Baldwin retires. He loses his raison d’etre, but his wife too has her life upended by his constant presence. Slowly their domestic bliss begins to unravel. Until they decide to do something beyond radical: they move to the county – to Greengates, a spanking new 1930s villa – and a thrilling fresh start together. I really mean “thrilling” too. This quiet and affectionate exploration of a couple remaking their humdrum life moves me to tears, even while the fascinating details of equipping and running a “new” house charms my socks off. 

This is the third of Barbara Neely’s mysteries about a peppery African-American housekeeper, Blanche White, and the dirt she finds while she’s cleaning other people’s houses. It’s a different house in each of the novels – and a tough task to choose just one, I can tell you. This time, we find Blanche in Boston working for the Brahmin-ish Brindle family, who have got “too-good-to-be-true” written all over them. There’s a nifty plot, but what I love (and this can’t be a surprise after the first four books, surely) is Blanche’s take on everything from how a spice-rack is organised, to why rich people have such ugly art. She is irresistible. I wish somehow she could meet Frances Wray (from The Paying Guests) and share some of her moxie. I’d kind of love to hear her thoughts on the Mortmains too.

This is the first book in a series that seems—hooray!—never ending.

Novels, novellas, short stories, graphic novels…they’re all built around a wonderful idea: police procedural in a version of the modern world where rivers have goddesses, trees have dryads, and vampires, werewolves, elves, and all the other creatures of folklore and fantasy matter-of-factly exist alongside council estates and the internet. And so have to be policed.

The "Isaacs" (named after Isaac Newton) are that branch of the Old Bill which deals with magic, so its inspectors and constables tend to be witches and wizards. All the books are incredibly inventive and funny. I love them.

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.

I love a classic, gothic haunted house story with an unexpected twist, and Priory delivers. When Oliver Hardacre returns to his namesake home, located outside the gloriously atmospheric Yorkshire town of Whitby, he opens the door to his past. The narrative is told from Oliver’s modern perspective and his mother’s point of view in the 1970s, when Oliver and his brother were children at Hardacre Priory. Replete with dark, twisted secrets and multi-layered, complex characters, Wright’s sentient, menacing estate comes alive under her masterful touch. This is a short read, easily finished in one sitting. Crack it open on a foggy morning, with a spot of tea and a blanket to cut the chill.