Fans pick 100 books like Lady Chatterley's Lover

A male author describing the adulterous passions of an unhappy woman, Flaubert tears into Madame Bovary as superficial and ridiculously narcissistic. Yet Flaubert was a terrific writer and also shows how empty and purposeless the restricted life of a middle-class woman was in his time–not poor enough to be preoccupied with surviving, but not rich enough to lead a glamorous life. It’s not like Emma Bovary can go to law school!

Flaubert’s dissection of Emma’s forbidden love life is brilliant. It’s downright painful to see Emma’s hopes and fantasies when the men in her life take what they want from her, and she pours all she has into them. I can relate.

Silverton starts with the moment when one of the Sex Pistols used a four-letter word live on afternoon TV in 1976. It’s an appropriate beginning for a highly entertaining ramble through the dirtier byways of the English language, encompassing historical research, pop culture , and personal anecdotes, and showing just how ingrained bad language is in everyday life. His enjoyment and approval spring from every page.

Is it possible to write a whole book on a single word and a swear word at that? The answer is yes and the proof is Jim Dawson’s witty and comprehensive history of the MF word. The title, a spin on the 17th century classic The Compleat Angler, shows that Dawson will be wide-ranging in his references. Crammed with examples and interesting stories, it also settles the question of whether, when it comes to uttering expletives, Bruce Willis or Samuel L Jackson is Hollywood’s most proficient MF.

This American title is at the more academic end of books on swearing and oaths. Mohr shows how obscenity evolves over time. Words now considered indecent were acceptable in the Middle Ages while careless invocations of God and Jesus were taboo (that’s not to say they weren’t used). The very title of the book neatly illustrates a difference between US and British culture, with the asterisk being used to soften potential offence in the States. By contrast in the UK, the word usually appears naked and unashamed on the cover (as in Frankie Boyle’s My Shit Life So Far).

Jonathon Green is the doyen of dirty words. Or, more respectfully, he is the premier lexicographer of the graphic, the dubious, and the obscene. For decades Green has been trawling obscure publications and other outré sources for examples of slang in the English language, and publishing dictionaries that are unmatched in their scope and detail. No term, however racist, sexist, classist, or any other kind of -ist, is too small to go unnoticed. In Odd Job Man, a mixture of autobiography and ruminations on bad language, Green describes himself as an ‘anatomist of the underbelly cutting not into ripe cadavers but into riper language.’ It’s a life’s work.

Emily Bronte wrote one novel in her short life, but what an amazing novel it is. The anti-heroes Heathcliff (rough, bitter, and rude from early mistreatment) and his childhood beloved, Catherine (spoiled and willful), are unique in fiction, and when they go head-to-head, there’s no stopping them. But Bronte doesn’t make it easy to understand them.

Heathcliff obsessively pursues Catherine after she’s married, but what she feels for him has been debated by many scholars, such as myself–some say it’s not sexual, but I disagree. The scene where they finally kiss and cling to each other while she is eight months pregnant with her husband’s child, right before her death, was extremely shocking to the Victorian public. It was so powerful that it scared me when I first read it at age 14.

This novel of unrequited (or is it?) mad love for a married woman was so popular that many young men of the time took to wearing the yellow waistcoat that our hero Werther sports in the novel. Werther’s sensitivity and passionate nature were the essence of Romantic-era values.

Unlike Lancelot, Werther is not a hyper-masculine, aggressive guy pursuing love; instead, he moons around talking with Lotte, his beloved, about life, love, and poetry. I must say I’d take Werther over Lancelot any day, but as with the Werthers in my life, it doesn’t turn out well.

Lotte becomes his entire world, but she is a virtuous wife to her dull husband, so she tries to friend-zone him. He isn’t having it, but she holds fast. This more than disappoints poor Werther, as you will see.

If you’ve ever dreamed of the proverbial knight in shining armor who will protect and save you (and who hasn’t?), this epic medieval tale shows where the idea came from. Lancelot is the perfect knight who must rescue his kidnapped beloved, Queen Guinevere, and off to battle he goes. But Queen Guinevere is married to King Arthur, an inconvenient fact that isn’t a problem in this story. Being crazy in love with your majesty’s wife was not a big moral problem in the twelfth century, apparently. In fact, they ate it up.

When he finds her, he overcomes the villain and is rewarded by having hot sex all night with her, which both lovers desire. I love that Guinevere is an equally passionate lover, not an idealized pure-minded maiden.

This book explores the themes of loss, grief, and fidelity to one’s marriage, even once that relationship is unraveling. The prose is precise, and the narrator’s inner life is seemingly transparent. At the same time, it’s a mystery: why did the narrator’s husband disappear while doing research for a book on mourning rituals in southern Greece? And why does she hide the secret of their marital separation—and her new life with a new man—from her mother-in-law, who insists she track down her son, Christopher?

The narrator seeks out her soon-to-be ex at her mother-in-law's command, only to discover a tragic event. The ties to a failing love and a distant family are strengthened and the reader’s expectations upended. I loved how Kitamura took existential issues and boiled them down into a deceptively quiet story.

Hester Prynne embodies the archetype of a subjugated heroine trapped in an oppressive society, yet her story is deeply inspiring. Her resilience and quiet defiance against the hypocrisy of her community make her an incredibly compelling character.

What resonates with me most is her profound love as a mother. No matter the shame or suffering imposed upon her, the bond with her child strengthens her and affirms her unwavering sense of self-worth. Hester knows who she is and refuses to let the world define her. Her daughter, Pearl, is her anchor, her light, her “sunshine,” and the center of her world. As a mother, I deeply relate to this. My family is my greatest joy, my raison d’être. Hester’s story reminds me of how fortunate I am and how a mother’s love can transcend even the darkest circumstances.