Books like To Each His Own

Tangled canals. Crooked alleyways. Slumping palazzi 500-hundred years old. Venice is Italy’s most atmospheric city, right? Maybe. Genoa runs a close second. Both are misunderstood and misrepresented in literature. Outsiders don’t dip below the theme-park surface. Except for the late, great Michael Dibden. Dead Lagoon features Commissario Aurelio Zen, a flawlessly drawn Italian detective. What makes me so sure? Genetics, experience, passion. My mother’s family is Venetian (via Rome). I’ve spent decades diving deep into the Lagoon City. I even did a year of college there. When I follow Zen into those crumbling palaces to unnail their intrigues, or watch him dart down bleak alleys stinking of fish and corruption, I know the writing rings true. Dibden “gets” Italy, unlike other, better-known novelists using Venice as a soft-boiled backdrop.

I’ve always thought that this is one of the most brilliantly constructed plots in literature. First serialized in 1859-60, Collins’ story revolves around the mysterious figure of the Woman in White, who always induces a shiver of dread and pity, even on subsequent re-readings. And I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a more terrifyingly memorable mastermind villain than the one Collins gives us here.

Threatened innocence, eerie encounters, dastardly deeds—this book has it all. But best of all is the character of Marian Halcombe, who breaks gender barriers to defend her sister. She is one of the models for my own intrepid Victorian detective, Esther Hardy.

I first loved Rebecca for its atmosphere, but what stayed with me was something more unsettling: how completely another person’s version of the past can shape the present.

I remember finishing it and thinking about how easily we accept a story when everyone around us seems to believe it. As a writer, I keep returning to that idea.

Du Maurier showed me that an absence can dominate a novel as powerfully as a living character, and that what people refuse to say can matter as much as what they reveal. That has stayed with me in my own writing about memory, silence, and family secrets.

Do you want the gritty, pungent beauty of Paris during the heyday of the Romantics—the 1830s? You want perversion, decadence, a crazy, kinky plot revolving around sex, dominance, Sapphic passion, murder, and intrigue, set in the Trocadero neighborhood? Only Honoré de Balzac could dream up something this wild and get away with it. One of the wonders of this short novel is how, through casual descriptions, Paris comes to life. It’s not a picture-postcard version of the city. Au contraire. It’s a seamy, real place I recognize after 35 years living there. While I was reading The Girl with the Golden Eyes, I actually went out and found the locations. The city has changed less than you’d think in 190 years. Above all, the seamy, perverse side remains.

Censored and despised as lascivious for a long time, only published thirty years after its writing, and ten after the author's death, this is a true masterpiece of feminist writing, embodying a genuine and refreshing rebellion against Italian society and its gender order throughout most of the 20th century. 

Set in Sicily, the story follows the entire life of a woman born in 1900, living through the belle epoque, the fascist era, two world wars, and the post-war republic, until her elder age in the 1970s. Born a proletarian, she challenges all kinds of rules and constraints to become a noblewoman–though exercising nobility in a completely free and unconventional way.

With a simple but elegant writing style, Sapienza took me to unexplored territories again and again until I felt like I was not the person I was before anymore.

The thing that first drew me to medieval Sicily was its history of Muslim habitation.

I am deeply interested in questions of how Muslims, Christians, and Jews interacted with each other during a period of history in which religious identity was one of the most prominent public facts about a person and their community.

Alex Metcalfe is one of the leading scholars studying the Arabic texts that give us insight into the cultures of Muslims in Sicily and southern Italy and their legacies after the Norman conquest of an island that had been in Muslim hands for nearly two centuries. He has written several other works, but this is the one most accessible to a general audience, and the one that covers both Sicily and the southern parts of the mainland that were also strongly impacted by Muslim presence and culture.

Ettore Grillo is a retired criminal attorney from Enna, Sicily, who spends his time writing and traveling. This is the second edition of his first book. I am drawn to historical fiction and creative fiction writing. They are wonderfully entertaining ways to learn about cultures and history within the story’s setting and plot. Grillo teaches about life in Enna, Sicily including the feasts, the traditions, and the people who are held together by customs while trying to solve a family mystery. 

This is the first general history of Sicily’s Muslims in English and the lengthiest, full of information, with a special emphasis on the era from the Aghlabid conquest in 827 until the demise of the Kalbid emirs around 1070.

Leonard Chiarelli’s endnotes are more interesting than the main texts of most other books on this topic, striking for details such as phylogeography (genetics) and his discovery of an Ibadi community in Sicily.

The author is unique among Anglophone Arabists for being raised speaking Sicilian as well as English, something that facilitates his unique ability to explain which Sicilian words derive from Arabic. This is something that, as a Sicilian, I appreciate.

I’m a fan of gangster books and movies, but there’s nothing quite like learning about the real brutality and power of the original Sicilian mafia.

Dickie’s book takes a historical view, showing why that kind of organization developed in Sicily of all places, and how the Sicilians have protected it, and fought against it. The anecdotes are sometimes funny and sometimes truly chilling.

If you’re as interested in the history of organized crime as I am, this is a must read.

This book immediately swept me up in its glorious evocation of Sicily: the island's ancient history, the ways of its people, and above all the flavors of the sun-kissed land. In gorgeous prose, American-born Mary Taylor Simeti combines the illuminating insights of an outside observer with a passion for her adopted homeland. The recipes range from the cucina povera that sustained most of Sicily's inhabitants over the centuries to the ornate court cuisine that developed in the 16th century. We also journey to Sicily's convents, where the nuns became famous for their wondrous confections with fanciful names like "Virgins' Breasts" and "Chancellor's Buttocks."