Books like Unsheltered

This book was a pertinent reminder of the prevailing yet misplaced, western-centric historical epicenter by realigning the map toward the East while providing a fresh, cosmopolitan perspective of our shared saga. Frankopan traverses the dynamic Eurasian Steppe and Silk Roads, which, for millennia, have connected and coupled people, products, pathogens, economies, armies, inventions, and ideas that shaped our global village.

My neighbor, who owns the local agricultural store where I buy honey, told me almost casually that his father died in prison under Salazar. 

Gallagher has written 15 books on world history and politics, so I chose his to understand the dictator´s lasting impact on society. Salazar hung with dictator Franco strategically as a shield against Hitler, who he told to lay off all European Jews with Portuguese names because “Portugal does not recognize racial distinctions.” Personally above reproach Salazar was tolerant of homosexuality and promiscuity in others, and he welcomed back exiled and imprisoned opponents into regime leadership. Exploitations by the professional guilds Salazar built exist today, but so does social value on correct and ethical behaviour. 

Maybe my neighbor´s father stole a pig.

One of few books I could get my hands on to decide whether I wanted to live in Portugal was this diary written by a young Canadian observer of the 1974 revolution that toppled Salazar´s regime. Cookbooks and tour guides were not going to help, and have you tried reading Saramago? Published in 1976 by Black Rose Books the reportage as it was unfolding has a breathless quality. The glossary of stakeholders´ acronyms is helpful. I learned 1) revolutions are probably never linear, 2) they require “strange bedfellows” to set aside differences, and 3) the Portuguese might be a peaceful, amenable, cohesive bunch. They are. 

Portugal: The Impossible Revolution? a 1990s dissertation on rainfall patterns, and Richard Zimler's 1998 best-seller, The Last Kabbalist of Lisbon were the only books on Portugal I could find with useful content - more than enough to book a flight. Zimler´s second novel about the Zarco family connected with me because it connects Portugal with South Carolina, where I lived for decades. It was the first book to explain Portugal as weird—confusing, full of contradictions—because Portugal is not one country, but a mosaic of world cultures. For example, the main character´s father also went back and forth to Africa in the 18th century, which was mind-blowing to me. Zimler's depiction of the bond between former African slave Midnight, and John Zarco, each a survivor of state-sponsored violence was deeply moving. The book's period atmosphere, magical occurrences, and bird markets primed me to expect the same here. Which I have. 

I think this is a brilliant and, for me, unforgettable novel. It took an aspect of Ottoman history that I knew about as dry fact and imprinted it on my heart. I was fascinated by the daily lives of varied peoples in one small Ottoman town, how intertwined they were, even writing one language in the alphabet of another.

They tell their own stories of love and ambition, family and friendship, and how the Great War and its aftermath tore them apart. It reads like an epic unfolding through the eyes and voices of ordinary people, humane, evocative, humorous and brutal. 

I have never read a book that captured quiet pain the way A Little Life does.

I loved it because it understood the kind of wounds people carry silently—the ones that don’t heal cleanly, the ones we learn to live around. I saw pieces of myself in the way Jude moves through the world: careful, watchful, loving deeply even when he feels unworthy of being loved.

This book didn’t give me comfort; it gave me recognition. It reminded me that survival isn’t loud or heroic—it’s slow, painful, and often invisible. I couldn’t stop reading because it felt like someone finally wrote down the things I thought no one saw.

It stayed with me long after I closed the pages.

The closest thing to a "novel" from medieval Scandinavia, The Saga of the Volsungs was written down in the 1200s in Iceland by an author who knew the poems about the Volsungs in the Poetic Edda, but also knew a vast wealth of additional poems about them that are otherwise lost to us. Rather than transmit the poems directly, this unknown author chose to attempt to put together a cohesive story of the sprawling generations of this family, beginning with the fathering of their first ancestor by the god Odin and continuing through all the events that lead Odin himself to engineer the death of its last generations. Here we have dwarves forging magic swords, dragon-slayers, Valkyries laboring under the weight of ill-considered oaths, and star-crossed lovers seeking bloody revenge. This volume also includes the medieval "fanfic" sequel, The Saga of Ragnar Lothbrók, written shortly after The Saga of the… show more.

If you ever want proof that medieval Iceland was far more complex than Vikings, I invite you to read this book. A series of shorter sagas that focuses upon the stories of skalds–or poets–who each face a doomed love affair. Be it Kormakr and his passionate poetry for Steingerðr or Gunnlaugr and how he loses his love even as he gains in prestige–these stories really made clear to me how complex and human ancient Iceland was.

Even now, we understand the dangers of falling in love with someone we should not, and which of us hasn’t made choices we regret when it comes to love? The Sagas of Warrior Poets has action, but at its heart, it is a series of love stories.   

If you’re like me and a fan of Downton Abbey, then you’ll appreciate the well-researched Edwardian period details found in this charming story, as well as the sweet romance. Julia Foster is not your usual governess, having a remarkable backstory of her own, but the way she cares for the widowed William and his children is heart-warming and will captivate your heart. 

Growing up in Philadelphia, I remember hearing stories of the fear settlers had on fires breaking out and of course learning about some historic fires always stuck with me for the sheer terror those residence must have felt. 

This book perfectly encapsulates that for me with a slightly more modern time setting. With so much focus of 1940s literature on WWII books, I was swept up by the story of a devastating fire in Maine and a mother navigating it with small children.

As a mother myself, I can’t imagine the fear Grace must have felt not only on having to literally wade into the ocean to protect her children, but then not knowing what happened to her husband. Grace’s transformation from the ashes is one that has burned years after I’ve finished reading her story.