91 books like Little Dorrit

Henry Mayhew’s sprawling record of nineteenth-century London can be overwhelming, but his ear for the vernacular and eye for weird detail means that the reader can dip in and find something.

London’s population exploded in the nineteenth century, bulked out by a huge number of itinerant workers. Mayhew interviews these people–in the prologue to the first volume, he describes himself as a "traveller in the undiscovered country of the poor"–and because he gives no judgment on their lives, the book feels more like a modern documentary.

The voices are one thing; Mayhew’s statistics are another–"expenditure in ham sandwiches supplied by street sellers is £1,820 yearly…a consumption of 436,800 sandwiches." Anyone who thinks that Dickens’ writes grotesques should read this. The first book that really brought old London alive for me. 

Understanding human nature – nice and nasty – demands that we dig into the past, and this brings us at once to evolution. What are we and why are we? The powerful conceptual tool that we use for explanations is Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution through natural selection. The Descent of Man is about human evolution. At times it reads very much like something out of the nineteenth century – Charles Darwin’s discussion of women makes your hair stand on end (and, if it doesn’t, it should). But the central doctrine of evolution through natural selection brought on by the struggle for existence is right there and once you grasp that, you have grasped the key to unlocking the main issues.

Douglas Fry is a paleoanthropologist who shows unambiguously that war is a modern human invention.  Before the advent of agriculture there was no war. There was often violence – bumping off a resource-draining grandmother – but no systematic fighting and killing. With agriculture came an exploding population, nowhere to flee and hide, and fixed assets that you just couldn’t pick up and leave. But as starting war is a function of culture, so ending war is a function of culture. The United Nations is not perfect, but it has been hugely important in reducing conflict.  

If we are not killer apes, if war is not inevitable, how does it happen? Obviously because people were not up to the challenges of maintaining peace. Margaret MacMillan’s riveting account of the events leading up to the Great War, the First World War, shows in all-too-clear detail how not to go about avoiding war. The German Kaiser, Wilhelm, was petty and boastful and altogether too proud and confident of his totally inadequate abilities. The Tsar of Russia, Nicholas, was cut from the same cloth. But whereas Wilhelm made up his mind quickly and then was unmovable, Nicholas could never make up his mind. Between them, helped by other inadequates in places of high status and power, millions of young men lay dead on the fields of Flanders, in Northern France.

This book by Maria Sobolewska and Rob Ford – two political scientists at Manchester University – is superlative at unpacking the underlying political currents that fuelled the Brexit vote of 2016.

Of course there were lots of immediate factors that led to the vote to leave, but this book puts the underlying Brexit culture war in its historical context, mixing data and polling insights with forensic analysis.

What you start to see is that the decision of both Tory and Labour politicians to weaponise both EU membership and immigration slowly laid the foundations for Brexit to become the lightning rod issue that has set UK politics on fire these last seven years.

London, allegedly, is vibrant, fashionable, taut, chromatic. However, most of us don’t live in the fleshpots; most of us live quiet, decent lives in the miles and miles of suburbs that cover almost two-thirds of the city’s area and house more than half of its population.

This book is a suburban comic novel (set in Holloway) written by George and Weedon Grossmith, originally published in Punch magazine in 1888. It records the daily events in the lives of Charles Pooter, a London clerk, his wife Carrie, his son William (who changes his name to the more aspirational Lupin), and their friends. We’re clearly meant to laugh at the Pooters and their pretensions, but actually, Charles, Carrie, and William are good people, if occasionally silly.

One of the ideas I tried to stick to when we wrote our book is that nothing is ugly, and no one is boring; it’s all… show more.

This isn’t a London book per se, although the city features fairly regularly. Instead, it’s a hybrid examination of how a mob thinks and the ways people behave when they live cheek-by-jowl.

Mackay’s seminal work is still relevant, especially the chapters on financial manias like the Tulipomania and the South Sea Bubble; People Never Learn seems to be his main lesson.

The book is hard to describe but includes some of the weirder urban crazes. In the chapter on Popular Follies of Great Cities, for example, he discusses slang trends. Apparently, asking, ‘Has your mother sold her mangle?’ would reduce everyone to fits in mid-19th century London. As he notes, ‘the popular humours of a great city are a never-failing source of amusement’ 

I love comics, and here is the Master at the top of his game.

Ostensibly, it’s a reimagination of the Whitechapel Murders, how this narrative has been handed down to us, and a final dissection of and dismissal of its meaning. But like all his stuff, it’s brimful of ideas, notably an exploration of psychogeography, the effect of geography and architecture on behaviour.

Plenty of other London writers, like Iain Sinclair and Peter Ackroyd, also explore this, in greater depth, but Moore made me see it most clearly. Maybe because of the visual medium of the work? Perhaps. But the idea of a city that echoes and re-echoes with emotional triggers is really exciting. 

This is the first in Antonia Hodgson’s so-good-you-could-eat-it Thomas Hawkins series. It’s set in London in 1727 and the plot revolves around a likeable rake, Hawkins, whose dedication to dice, booze, and women leads him to ruin – but with the help of others. Finding himself in the notorious Marshalsea Prison – think Alcatraz but without the water and with leprosy and lice instead – and you have the makings of a wonderful prison-break type story. Hodgson’s characters – Hawkins, but also his love interest, Kitty Sparks – aren’t just alive but bring the past alive with them. It’s like Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones with the vividness of the Sixties, but then, if you know anything about eighteenth-century London, you’ll know that it was pretty wild place. This, after all, was long before the Victorians came along with their rather puritan social mores.

This is the first detailed history I ever read about the Victorians, and it’s still my favorite.

Picard brings mid-Victorian London to life—the sights, smells, and sounds of the city, the lifestyles of the rich and the poor, the changing attitudes in politics, romance, and religion.

She covers the decades when London was making strides in things we think of as “modern,” from running water and better sanitation to the railways, education, and the rising middle class.

Her chapter notes and references provide endless fodder for anyone interested in learning more about this period. Picard’s writing is lively, fluid, and fascinating.

Anyone who thinks history must be dry and dusty need only to read this book to discover otherwise.