100 books like Mason & Dixon

I especially loved that this book has the ability to bring together elements as disparate as science, politics, and our common humanity. I repeatedly stopped reading to think about what was written: a depiction of our society and our place at the crossroads of possible futures that will depend on our attitudes to the plants and animals that make up the earth we share.

But the moral core at the center of this novel makes it more than just a good story. I kept thinking that it was easy to imagine Powers’s book as what many people believe is the “Great American Novel,” Moby-Dick, if we replace Melville’s whale with Powers’s trees and set it in the present instead of the 19th century. 

Usually, when I think of the Romantic Age, I think of the art and literature of the time. But I love how this book depicts its science as a wide-open activity, full of the wonder, false starts, pleasures, and pitfalls of any creative activity.

I think every scientist in this book also wrote poetry; the vast majority of them took as a given the fact that aliens lived on other planets; scientific lectures were a form of popular entertainment, as were many discoveries: e.g., laughing gas, the first anesthesia, was used at parties to get high before it was used in medicine.

I love to think of the discoveries of the past in the context of today, as when the race between England and France to develop a steerable hot-air balloon was, in effect, the first “space race.”

Only separated by two years, I think Proulx’s Barkskins and Powers’s Overstory can be thought of as companions to one another. I like how the pun of Powers’s title refers to both the tree canopy that towers over the landscape and the overarching story that all of his sub-stories form as they come together, while I think of Proulx’s Barkskins as the meaty understory.

It opens in Canada’s colonial past when the continent was a vast carpet of old-growth forest. Explorers arrived, shortly followed by French settlers and indentured servants contracted into a kind of slavery to clear-cut the forests. I like how she leads us from this pristine beginning, through the exploitation of the forest and its indigenous dwellers, to the global distribution of lumber. In some ways Overstory picks up where the epic that is Barkskins leaves off.

I loved this book for the way it explained things hiding in plain sight about the direction science took and the shape that America has today—doing so through the biography of Alexander von Humboldt.

Though I live near Humboldt Park in Chicago, I had no idea that he was so important in the Americas that the U.S. was going to name a state after him (it was instead named Nevada). I learned that he was the most important and famous scientist of the age for his attempt to unite all the sciences as different aspects of one cosmic whole: an approach that fell into obscurity after Darwin and the modern specialization that followed.

Humboldt and his approach to nature has since had a revival, but I believe this book to be the source of most books that followed.

In early times, during the European colonisation of the East Indies (the Spice Islands), the various East India companies would closely follow the African shoreline on their way north and east from the Cape of Good Hope. This turned out to be slow going, and so when the Dutch discovered the ‘Brouwer route,’ following the roaring forties before turning north some distance before hitting the Australian coast, their passage could be shortened by at least a month. The main problem of those early navigators was to decide when to turn north before running into the Western Australian coast. Many ships, and many Dutch ships in particular, misjudged their longitude and so ran into coastal shallows and shipwrecked.

The waters just off the Western Australian coast cover numerous early shipwrecks, with Dutch shipwrecks being particularly well represented. As an avid maritime history enthusiast with Dutch roots, this book is right up… show more.

I like this book because it was the first book I read as a child about sailing around the world. It filled me with a sense of adventure that ignited in me a desire to do the same while also filling me with a sense of dread.

Unfortunately, I focused more on the romance of the story than on the reality. 

I’m not a great Wilbur Smith fan, but I read this story because it involves trade with India in the age of sail and the monsoon, and it has stayed with me. There is a sweeping plot taking an 18th Century Englishman on a perilous voyage around the Cape of Good Hope to the Indian Ocean, memorable characters, victims of greed and perpetrators of evil, and some brilliantly described action scenes. If you want some edge-of-your-seat armchair travel, this novel will take you on a real adventure to far-away places.

I remember the first time I realized I was in a city without addresses—Dubai, as it happened—and I was dumbfounded that such a place could exist, let alone succeed. In this book, Deirdre Mask unearths the hidden history of street addresses—a relatively recent invention from the Age of Enlightenment—and notes how many places ranging from rural West Virginia to hyper-modern Tokyo and Seoul do just fine without them.

In this wild ride from addressless ancient Rome to meticulously gridded and numbered Chicago, Mask explains how addresses have been used to keep track of citizens (for both good and ill) and how street names allow urban communities to define themselves by, say, changing Robert E. Lee Avenue into Martin Luther King Boulevard.

The Marquis de Sade (1740-1814) is one of those characters that you loathe, but cannot help but find fascinating. By all standards, this deviant aristocrat was a gentleman in name only. Yet his remarkable life (32 years of it spent in prison) and amoral philosophizing provide the grist for a great biography under the pen of Gray. Readers will find many of de Sade’s horrific exploits here, yet this book also explores his relationship with the two most important women in his life: his beloved wife, who indulged him for decades, and his hated mother-in-law, whom he envisioned flaying alive before throwing her “into a vat of vinegar.” To a large degree, Marquis’s life and philosophy were an intentionally extreme version of the Enlightenment’s emancipation of the individual. A great window into the dark side of the Enlightenment.

I love how this book elevates lying into an art form. Following the convention of the era, Defoe published the work as if it were written by its main character, Robinson Crusoe. Crusoe stands out from its peers for the subtlety of its mimicry. I envy how natural and easy Defoe makes writing look.

The book reveals the novel’s roots in other genres, such as satire, journalism, religious writing, and personal narrative. Defoe excelled at all of these, and I find the strange convergence mesmerizing. It’s possible to see the outlines of these earlier traditions even as something like a modern novel comes into view.

With apologies to Oprah and James Frey, this book helps me remember that the best writers have always been a bit loose with the truth.