100 books like Beneath a Ruthless Sun

It is a book that deep dives into a historical event, in this case, the 1893 World Columbian Exposition. Check. It is a nonfiction book that reads like a gripping thriller, in this case, the serial killer H.H. Holmes, who built a three-story building featuring secret rooms, torture chambers, and a crematorium. Check. Chicago leaps off the page. By the end of the book, I was able to envision the massive exposition, its hundreds of temporary buildings, all white colored, interlaced with ponds and canals.

Much like that exposition helped raise Chicago up from its Great Fire, so I could see a Chicago of the past, in a glorious triumph of industry and innovation. Oh, and yeah, a serial killer constructing a horrific murder building.

This classic is technically nonfiction, but it reads like a mystery novel as it follows the story of Jim Williams, an antiques dealer on trial for the killing of Danny Hansford.

I’ve read this book more than once, savoring John Berendt’s lyrical prose and his brilliant evocation of the charm, eccentricity—and fear—one can find in America’s most beautiful and haunted city: Savannah, Georgia.

Few writers can compare to Grann in his storytelling skills and his ability to bring historical lives to contemporary realities. I admire the way Grann turns his research into a compelling narrative, bringing me into the 1920s Southwest—a world that often is not part of our idea of the Roaring Twenties.

In focusing on the tragedies the Osage suffered, the book opens up a new understanding of the Roaring Twenties that has little to do with speakeasies and lavish parties. And this, for me, is the power of Grann’s book to expand our understanding of this iconic era through this long-ignored story of the Osage people. While I liked the movie version of the book, nothing compares to Grann’s compelling storytelling voice. 

Candace Millard is an expert at the historian’s craft. Her dramatic prose read more like a novel and captivated me from the first page.

I also appreciated how she elevated a previously little-known episode and widely forgotten president in American history, opening the door to consider how our national story could have been different had President Garfield’s full potential been realized.

She inspired me to become a writer and continues to inspire me to this day. 

When I read Gilbert King’s story of the ruination of four Black men based on charges they raped a white woman in the 1950s, I had to check King’s background. He won my admiration for going from small-town newspapers and photography work to tell this epic story of Thurgood Marshall-style justice.  

The story itself will rip you apart as the Southern sheriff “interrogates” these men in inhumane ways. I live just an hour’s drive from where this all went down and I am so grateful to King for helping me better understand the depths of our warped system of justice. The fact the book won a Pulitzer shouldn’t be a surprise. The fact that it led the town of Groveland to posthumously exonerate the men should be one. 

 Lee Madigan, a clinical psychologist in Orange County, CA, specializes in treating victims of violent crime. She wrote her book after hearing repeating themes among her patients. I learned that the blame I was receiving, the adverse reactions I was experiencing, the microaggressions, were very common and not my fault. It helped me heal.

It’s a very clever, very funny novella about a talented literary editor, Quin, told alternately in his own voice and by a long-term friend of his, Margot.

Margot defends and normalises his behaviour towards women until she is forced to reassess his actions in the light of numerous accusations, all of which fall short of actual assault or rape, sex, or even touching. Is he an abuser? Or is he just a playful, overgrown manchild who thrives on emotionally intense and intimate friendships with women?

I loved the book because it refuses to answer the question definitively.

I always say that you never know what goes on behind someone else’s closed door. How they appear physically and/or mentally in public doesn’t tell their whole story. It’s like social media. We only share the good parts of our lives. Everyone has secrets and fears and reasons they keep parts of their lives to themselves. The Way I Used to Be is a perfect example of why we should never judge a person without knowing them and why we should take the time to get to know a person, pay attention to changes in personality, and let them know you are a friend. We are all guilty of not taking the time and this book is a reminder to myself that I must be better than that.

Michelle Bowdler’s piercing question pinpoints the hypocrisy of laws that often favor abusers rather than those they harm. This happens so routinely that survivors speak of two assaults: the abuse itself and the revictimization as they seek justice.

Bowdler was the victim of a serial rapist in Boston whose break-ins and assaults terrorized the city. After Bowdler reported the attack, she was assured that the crime would be investigated. Nothing of the sort happened. Is Rape a Crime? pulls back the curtain on how sexual assault victims are treated by law enforcement and concludes with a powerful demand for change.

I can easily relate to the two female main characters who face life-threatening danger in performing their work and gender bias among coworkers. Despite it, they succeed. During my recovery, my counselors impressed upon me that women should build supportive partnerships with other women. It's not only constructive but very empowering. Together, like the characters in this book, we can build the careers we envision, and achieve rhe recognition we deserve.