Books like The Whole Truth — picked by fans

Those who think of Agatha Christie as a “soft” crime writer need to look at her books again. She qualified as a pharmacist during WWI, and she made good use of her knowledge of poisons in her novels. Cyanide was her most often used poison choice, but I like The Pale Horse because it’s one of the rare—and accurate—appearances of thallium in a mystery novel. Christie’s writing made my discoveries about North Carolina’s serial female serial poisoners even more intriguing.

I love this book for many reasons—its rural Southern setting, its lawyer/judge protagonist Deborah Knott, its twisty mystery. But I was particularly intrigued when author Margaret Maron told me that the spark for the book was a real unsolved murder near her North Carolina home. I wrote about the real case when it was finally solved in Triangle True Crime, but Margaret’s version of what might have happened is so much more interesting.

I love this main character.

Ruth Galloway is independent, smart, and self-sufficient, and there’s a lot about her life that sounds ideal to me. She lives in a coastal landscape with her cat? Sign me up!

She’s also flawed and does not conform to traditional beauty standards—the perfect heroine for intelligent, insightful investigation of a clever mystery, and a developing love story. And that love story isn’t sappy and romantic. It’s plagued with troubles: fear of vulnerability, social roadblocks, and scars from past lovers.

Plenty to work through over the next fifteen books! Add in the mysterious Cathbad, scientist and druid, and the atmospheric wealth of the coastal wetlands and their ancient history, and this is a book, and a series, I never got tired of reading.

I first met Rumpole, the Old Bailey Hack, as he called himself, on the PBS Masterpiece series. John Mortimer’s books about the curmudgeonly old barrister are even more delightful. As a former trial attorney, I love how the collections of short stories in his books give me a peek inside the British legal system—and how they present plenty of puzzles to solve, filled with irascible good wit. 

Best known for Helter Skelter--his classic 1975 true crime memoir on prosecuting the Manson family, former Los Angeles deputy DA Vincent Bugliosi wrote this book later about a complicated but lesser-known double-homicide case he tried in 1966, three years before the Manson murders occurred. As the prosecutor on these cases, Bugliosi boasted access to background details that only an insider can share, merging psychological analysis with trial strategy concerns. Echoing themes of the noir thriller Double Indemnity, this true account unveils the plot of two lovers to murder their respective spouses and explains the complex police work required to catch them.

Every month when my copy of Vanity Fair arrived, I’d flip directly to Dominick Dunne’s column and savor every word. Each story in this collection reads like those columns: full of juicy details alongside human pathos. While most of the pieces cover the O.J. Simpson trial (for which Dunne was front and center in the courtroom every day), he also writes about other high-profile cases of the rich and infamous such as the Menendez Brothers and Sunny von Bulow. But the first story in the book is about the murder of Dunne’s own daughter, Dominique, reminding us that at the other end of these sensationalized stories is a real person whose life has tragically been cut short. One of the things that affected me most about Dunne’s writing is that he was always on the side of the victim, and that’s displayed here in spades.

This book remains one of the most evocative texts for me about where truth lies in a story. But this beautifully crafted version of the events that ended Joe Cinque’s life is no fiction. My heart breaks every time I read it, my rage at the callousness of his murderer and deep-seated sadness at the carelessness of his friends bubbles anew with each foray into the pages. Garner’s writing takes me to the scene, to the court, and into the very core of his family’s grief. Powerful. 

I love this book because it’s a story about ordinary people. But it’s a true story.

It reads like a fairytale: a peasant, Arnaud du Tilh, is accused of impersonating another man who had abandoned his wife several years before. Arnaud seems to have outwitted the judges until the errant husband returns condemning the impostor to death.

I like this story because it helps to identify with men and women in the past, who in many respects, are just like us. It’s also a piece of great history reconstructed from original trial records. Davis is a great writer.

I adore historical mysteries, particularly those that confront the unsavory realities of racism, sexism, and homophobia in our not-so-distant pasts. This book delves into all of these in such a striking, fully inhabited way.

What I loved most about this book was the immediacy and urgency of its voice, which drew me in from the first page and never let me go. It’s a harrowing story, and the narrative frame gives it a pace that always manages to drive forward while still allowing enough space for the setting to come to life.

As an anthropology graduate student, I’d uncovered the story of Henrietta Schmerler’s murder by investigating an oblique reference to a student of Ruth Benedict’s who was murdered by the Apache.

No professor ever talked about the dangers of fieldwork and the risks of getting romantically involved with the people being studied. I toyed with this taboo while doing my fieldwork, like a moth to a flame, and fortunately survived.

I was thrilled when her nephew published the book detailing the complexities and nuances of her murder. I was troubled by the reflexive self-protection reaction of her sponsoring anthropology department—filled with professors who were famous pioneers in anthropology.

Henrietta’s story is complicated, and the retelling is honest and forthright—it was a model that I tried to honor in recounting my romantic experiences during fieldwork.