75 Books Like Virginia Woolf in Richmond

I loved this book because it is a story that reclaims the tattered image of a bold and brave woman, Idina Sackville, as re-told by her great-granddaughter, Frances Osborne.

The Bolter tells a complete tale of a determined woman unwilling to be tamed by high-society rules but rather singularly interested in pursuing her own interests in love, passion, and life. Taylor Swift fans believe that her song, “The Bolter” from her album, The Tortured Poets Department, is directly inspired by Idina Sackville.

I read until the end because I was dying to know what became of Idina and how her legacy grew from socialite-gone-wrong to the understudied drive of a determined woman.

I’ve always been fascinated by actors who become trapped by their most famous roles, and Bela Lugosi is a prime example. Dracula (1931) made him a legend but also led to typecasting, addiction, and decline, which was heartbreakingly portrayed by Martin Landau in Tim Burton’s Ed Wood.

Koren Shadmi’s graphic novel traces his life from his early days in Hungary, where he was a theatre star and political activist, to his tragic downfall in Hollywood. A bio-pic could give us the full picture: the ambition, the talent, and the slow, painful descent of a man haunted by his own creation, and its illustrations would provide a handy reference for the director’s vision.

1950s MGM swimming star Esther Williams dazzled on-screen but faced challenges off it. Her autobiography recounts her rise from poverty, four turbulent marriages, and dangerous stunts that left her injured. A bio-pic of Williams would shine a spotlight on this resilient, forthright woman, blending the opulence of MGM’s golden age with the grit of her off-screen struggles.

From her innovative contributions (thank you for waterproof mascara and lycra swimwear!) to the harrowing realities of her stunts, her story is ripe for the big screen. Plus, imagine the sheer visual delight of recreating her most famous routines on the big screen.

In the summer of 1816, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, her husband-to-be Percy Bysshe Shelley, their close friend Lord Byron, Mary’s stepsister Claire Clairmont, and Byron’s physician John William Polidori gathered at the Villa Diodati near Lake Geneva, Switzerland, where they challenged each other to craft ghost stories.

Mary’s contribution—a tale exploring the possibility of reanimating a corpse—became the seed of Frankenstein. This summer and the creation of Frankenstein have been vividly portrayed in bio-pics such as Gothic (1984, Ken Russell), Haunted Summer (1988, Ivan Passer), and Rowing with the Wind (1988, Gonzalo Suárez).

Less explored is her time in Bath (Sept 1816 - May 1817), where she worked on the novel. This book (2024) delves into these months, showing how Mary navigated grief, personal loss, and her writing routine. For those who love books, it also highlights the texts she and Percy read during this period, which influenced her work.… show more.

I relish the intimacy of reading Austen’s private letters, and this is the best and most complete edition. Although her sister Cassandra notoriously burned many of her letters, the 160-or-so that survive offer plenty of unguarded moments to satisfy curiosity about her daily life.

In fact, I think Austen’s best lines are not from her novels but from her letters to Cassandra. For example, on the fashion for decorating bonnets, she quips “I cannot help thinking that it is more natural to have flowers grow out of the head than fruit.” And in a note about their garden: “I will not say that your Mulberry trees are dead, but I am afraid they are not alive.”  

I read this book during a very intense summer a few years ago when I was trying to figure out if Christianity could possibly be true, and how a nerdy secular academic like myself could even begin to ask that question.

I found a kindred spirit in Sheldon Vanauken. In this memoir set mainly in the 1950s, he tells the story of how he took a sabbatical from his teaching job at a little college in Virginia to go to Oxford with his wife. Neither of them was religious at the time. In fact, the first part of the book is a very intense (some might say: cloyingly sentimental) account of their romance, when they basically worshipped each other instead of a deity.

If you’re like me, you’ll want to shout “get a room already” and throw the book at the wall during the first few chapters. But I’m glad… show more.

I love this book because it captures the magic of bookstores. Told through a series of letters, the book made me want to hop on a plane (and time machine) and travel to what seems to be one of the most charming bookstores, full of charming booksellers. It’s the people, after all, that make a great bookstore great.

I first read this book as an angsty artist in college. It was as if the Universe sent me a gift that I needed precisely when I needed it. Rilke–an older/wiser poet, wrote the 10 letters in the book to a young Franz Kappus–a budding/insecure poet. All artists suffer from insecurity, and Kappus wants to know if his poems are good and what he should do.

We all want to do Important and Good work (with capital I’s and G’s). Rilke gently and masterfully steers Kappus to understand that true art is a process and involves every aspect of an artist’s life, that it is often a lonely endeavor but worth it for so many reasons. I felt as if Rilke was speaking to me–as a loving grandfather–with words of encouragement, but also in truth. Nothing was sugar-coated, but I so related and wanted to be the wise creator that… show more.

Elisabeth Elliot considered Katherine Mansfield not only a literary role model, but a person with whom she had so much in common that reading Mansfield’s letters helped explain Elliot herself.

Thus, this moving collection of letters between Mansfield and her husband sheds important light on how Elliot saw herself, reflecting her challenges in her relationship with her parents, her deep connection with her brother Tom, her passionate love for her husband, her strong and deeply private emotions, her determination to face her own mortality, and her dedication to excellence in her work.  

How did Lucretia Mott—the courageous Quaker who was active in so many good causes—find the time to write so many long, intimate letters? I like to dip into this collection; there’s always something of historical or simply human interest.

And given Mott’s small handwriting and her thrifty but maddening habit of “crossing”—saving paper by turning a letter sideways and writing across the existing handwriting on the page—I’m eternally grateful that someone else did the transcription of these letters so we don’t have to struggle with the originals.