100 books like A Natural History of the Senses

This book also gives a vivid and dramatic account of the way science proceeds, but one that is strikingly different from that of Popper’s account. According to Kuhn,  much of science is what he calls “normal” science: a basic theory, or “paradigm,” is taken for granted, and scientists seek to increase its experimental range and accuracy. But then “anomalies” begin to accumulate; crisis sets in until a new paradigm is proposed, a revolution occurs, the old paradigm is defeated, and a new phase of normal science begins. 

I loved the drama Kuhn finds in this procedure of normal and revolutionary science, his depiction of the tragedy of those scientists left behind who remain devoted to a paradigm that has been rejected and superseded. There is no doubt that both normal and revolutionary science are features of science as they actually exist.

My father gave me a copy of this book when I was in 6th grade and it introduced the world of natural science to me. This was the first in a series of volumes that collected his monthly essays written for Natural History magazine.

Gould has an eye for unusual scientific phenomena that illuminate a deeper truth about the relationship between humanity and the natural world. He was not afraid to tackle moral issues, such as eugenics and the science of IQ, recognizing the importance of the popular scientist as more than just a translator.

But the most important thing for the 11-year-old me was that he was such a clear writer–I could follow all of his arguments without knowing anything about genetics, statistics, or anatomy. I still have the copy my father gave me–it is dog-eared, and the spine is long broken, but when I thumb through it, I… show more.

A gruesome story of murder and desire that also happens to have the most vivid olfactory descriptions of any genre.

Suskind’s preternatural ability to summon odor from the page makes you feel as if you are there beside him, walking through the flowered hillsides of Provence, or in the back room of a perfume shop on the Pont au Change. His twisted use of classic perfume techniques is as accurate as it is chilling.

When my book club read this, we were universally blown away by Augusten Burroughs’ humor. Mining his tumultuous childhood, Burroughs paints a vivid and unforgettable picture of life with the ultimate dysfunctional family.

I went on to read the author’s other memoirs, and while I always enjoy his one-of-a-kind spin on the world, this remains my favorite of his works.

Luca Turin, a biophysicist and writer, is obsessed with smell. You know those poetic-seeming, almost made-up descriptors we see in wine marketing? Well, that’s how he talks about smells. Turin also wants to figure out how we smell, which we still don’t know the answer to. Ultimately, by delving into some past research and building on it, he finds some answers, though they’re still not widely embraced.

Burr shares Turin’s story about the complexities of navigating the world of sensory science, especially as a passionate iconoclast. It also left me thinking about the art and science of sensing and about who has more expertise–the seasoned perfumer who can detect the fine notes within a glass bottle or the research scientist trying to describe the smell in a purely factual, scientific way.

There’s a hidden world within our own that's stranger than the best-written fantasy. We humans can't perceive it, but various other animals can, and this book opens the door to it.

Birds see hundreds of millions of colors our eyes can’t. Ants use chemicals we can’t detect to call massive gatherings and spread alarms. Fire-chaser beetles sense heat from fires dozens of miles away.  

The impossible desire to perceive the world in these astonishing ways makes me want to stop every passing butterfly to ask what it’s like to taste things with your feet. Of course, I can’t, so I’ll satisfy myself by enjoying Ed Yong’s thorough research, vivid descriptions, and clever commentary and letting my imagination run wild.

This is a book about how our different experiences of the senses unite and divide us, as explored through Braille Without Borders, which was the first school for the blind in Tibet.

It’s about how self-actualized and independent many blind people are, even as they inhabit a world that views blindness as one of the worst things that could happen to a person, even a curse. For the students at this school, who’ve sometimes been ostracized in their communities, school is an opportunity many of their sighted peers don’t have, further complicating their relationships. For me, it was a reminder of something basic about vision. 

We don’t know how to use sight when we’re born. We must learn it. And that early experience changes the lens through which we see for the rest of our lives.

This is my curveball selection because it’s fiction. It’s a dystopian book about our disconnection from our sense of touch, and it so well highlights our fears about technology cutting us off from true experiences. It tells the story of Sloan, who works at a company whose consumers prefer virtual relationships and whose partner believes in something called “post-sexual sex.” 

But she slowly realizes that people, including herself, are feeling deprived, and she goes on a journey to fight for connection. If I had a criticism of this book as fiction only, I’d say it feels very obviously topical in a way that sometimes detracts from the narrative. But as a treatise on the value of touch, it delivers entirely.

Historian Mark Smith has written widely on the topic of understanding sensory experiences of the past.

At just over 100 pages long, his most recent book is an excellent insight into the field for both those new to it, and those who are already familiar with writing history of the senses.

Starting with an overview of the origins of sensory history and moving through to consider both the strengths and challenges of current research in this area, Smith concludes this book with a clear, accessible, and persuasive argument for future directions of work in the field.

I cannot recommend this book highly enough for anyone interested in exploring sensory history!

What did Tudor England look, sound, or smell like?

This is an innovative work from Amy Licence, historian of women's lives. Using the five senses, she skilfully plunges readers into sixteenth-century England, letting us see, hear, smell, taste, and (almost) touch the Tudor world like we've never experienced it before.