The best books that sweep you away to another time and place, in very interesting company

When it comes to historical fiction, especially one set in Asia, James Clavell is the guy to beat (or at least match).

The story of Shogun unfolds in 17th-century, feudal Japan. An undisputedly exotic setting. A British ship is wrecked on its shores, and its stranded navigator must find his way through Japan's complex cultural and political dynamics. Meanwhile there are other Europeans seeking religious influence and commercial advantage.

Perhaps best of all, the characters are monumental and include one of the strongest and most courageous women in literature since Joan of Arc.

Read enough Cold War spy novels by John le Carré, and you can’t help but wonder, who is this gorgeous writer and how much of what he writes is grounded in historical fact. Then you read his memoir, The Pigeon Tunnel, and see that le Carré  (the writer’s pen name) has been trying to sort all that out himself in his books.

Meet David John Moore Cornwell (John le Carré's real name), raised by his father, Ronnie Cornwell, and schooled in the art of espionage by the British Security Service (MI5) and Intelligence Service (MI6). What you get is source material for what you’d glimpsed (and suspected) all along in A Perfect Spy, Little Drummer Girl, Smiley’s People, and many others. Betrayal goes deep.

The troubled relationship between father and son plays out over a lifetime. And as a writer, you wonder, how much of me is embedded in my books?

It’s 1860, and Garibaldi's Redshirts have landed on the coast. Sicily’s ancient feudal society will soon be overthrown.

These historical events are the backdrop to an intriguing portrait of Don Fabrizio Corbera, Prince of Salina, a quiet, intense, and, in many ways, sympathetic member of the doomed Sicilian nobility. War is upon him, and yet Don Fabrizio continues his stately life and loves with meditative detachment.

This may be a story of civil war and social upheaval, but it is also a depiction of ancient families and allegiances, dusty landscapes, and the night sky. It is filled with rich symbolism and prophecy. The Leopard’s message: revolutions come and go, corruption endures. Its contribution to great historical fiction: Don Fabrizio, the last Leopard.

Some say that Gatsby is a critique of the corruption of the American dream and the careless rapacity of the Jazz Age. Sure. But who cares?

You love Gatsby because it is about the pursuit of a perfect love; the impossible longing to return to a more innocent, blameless past; and the tenderness of a man once Great brought to his knees by fate. It’s also about the guy who watches it all unfold. Nick Carraway, the unreliable narrator who lives in the little house beside Gatsby’s brilliant mansion, gets drawn into the romantic intrigue and reserves judgment as “a matter of infinite hope.” 

And it’s about great writing. Writing that attaches big ideas, like infinite hope, to simple matters of the heart, in language that can’t be mimicked, only possibly acquired with time and frequent re-reads of The Great Gatsby.

James Lee Burke’s Robichaud novels are terrific. In this book, Detective Dave Robichaud is caught up in a deadly struggle over a Nazi U-boat buried off the Louisiana coast.

Like any great protagonist, Robichaud is a guy with troubles that pre-date and persist long after any case is closed. This time it’s a sunken Nazi ship that has been the stuff of nightmares since he was a child. The story unfolds in a moody New Orleans, teeming with dark characters all pursuing their own violent ends.

Burke's language is lyrical, his dialogue dead-on. Best of all, he tells this tale with fearless imagination, his eye firmly on the presence of evil in the world.