100 books like Settlers

What I love most about this book is the focus on women. That sounds really obvious, given the title, but it’s unusual. Male migrants are so easy to find in historical sources. On shipping lists, women and children were often only recorded as ‘wife and 5 children’ of a named man.

Due to this bias in the primary sources, men are usually at the center of 19th-century migration literature. Their experience is taken as the norm. Their motivations are assumed to be the ones guiding the migration. So I really love that this spotlight on women highlights the experiences and importance of these migrants to New Zealand and also that it has forced historians who have come after this publication to try harder to include women in their migration stories, too. 

There is a lot to love about this book. The level of detail about every element of Scottish ethnicity under consideration is extraordinary. Bueltmann seems to leave no stone unturned in her examination of Scottish associations. I am always a big fan of historical databases, so the analysis based on the database compiled for this research of society members, based on extant sources, is a big selling point for me.

Many society membership lists have been lost to history, and the New Zealand census returns were systematically destroyed, so compiling such a database was no mean feat. What has always most strongly stuck with me, though, is how the stories of individual migrants are woven throughout, not just thrown in as examples but integral to understanding the phenomena she is exploring. John Jack and family, for example, turn up at different points in their lives at different points in the… show more.

I love that this book tells a bleak migration story–the stories of those for whom migration was the beginning of a period of struggle. The most often told migration stories are the successful ones. The migrants who arrived in their new land and excelled–built a business empire, became prime minister, bought up huge swathes of land, and passed their wealth onto their descendants. Even at the time, letters home to family who stayed behind seldom spoke of hardship or difficulties.

Taking lunatic asylum records as its core source, this book allows this other end of the settler experience spectrum to be examined through an institutional lens that is perhaps less widely consulted than it deserves to be.

What I love most about this book is its challenge for New Zealand historians to examine the role of different British cultures in shaping New Zealand society. Akenson, a Canadian author, took a one-year research fellowship in New Zealand, and this resulting book has changed the face of migration studies in New Zealand in the decades since.

He describes previous works as cementing a tradition of biculturalism, ‘lumping… all white settlers into a spurious unity’, but more than just laying down the challenge to do something about that ‘lumping,’ he then shows a way forward, examining the Irish in New Zealand. Marvellous!

I love this story because, for me, it’s a perfect example of why a ship is such a great platform for storytelling, a moving stage for a compelling cast of characters to act out the drama of their past and present lives while heading into an uncertain future.

The Star of the Sea is a "coffin ship," the name given to the leaking hulks that transported a million emigrants from Ireland to America during the Great Famine of the 1840s.

It’s a historical novel but for me, a timeless story about emigration and the human condition, of refugees fleeing the monsters of their past, war, famine, disease, whatever, into what they hope will be a brighter future, and of what happens to them on the way.

This is a true heroine’s journey. It is a historical immigrant story about a young girl who leaves Ireland for post-World War II America to make a better life for herself. As she makes her way in a strange land called Brooklyn, New York, she meets and falls in love with a young man of Italian descent.

Like Belladonna Marie Donato, the feisty heroine of my debut novel, Eilis Lacey of Brooklyn relies on her own strength, grit, and determination to overcome obstacles and make a successful new existence for herself. I am looking forward to Colm Toibin’s sequel, Long Island, to find out what happens next.

The story begins with a mystery and then we are taken back to Dublin, Ireland, to the character’s childhood. He comes to Ellis Island alone and is taken in by an Italian family. The immigrant experience is compelling in this novel and I love a story where you go back in time to try to figure out how the character got to the place he’s in and what happened on his journey. This is a page-turner for sure.

I love primary sources and histories that reproduce them. Here is another amazing feat of historical detection. “Details have been taken from eye-witness accounts; original Certificates of Registration, paintings, and contemporary lithograph drawings have been reproduced,” may sound dry but this book is alive with the voices of immigrants telling both tragic and triumphant tales. Anyone whose Irish ancestors came to North America between 1846 and 1851 will want to examine the numerous passenger lists that Laxton includes. I think of this book and all it taught me when I visit my hometown and stop by the monument commemorating Irish immigrants on the shore of Lake Ontario.

When I began researching the economics of immigration, I expected to find that my prejudice in favor of immigrants needed more nuance. However, even more than I suspected, the economic literature is resounding in describing the many large economic benefits of immigration. Streets of Gold describes how essential immigration has been to American economic success, and it provides a strong argument for a more open immigration policy. 

Histories of migration to Germany are often stories of problems and failure, of racism and troubled integration. This book does not negate these problems but consciously strives to develop a positive narrative of how migration–both emigration and immigration–is an integral part of German history.

Unlike most other scholars of migration, who envisage a post-national future of German society, Jan Plamper tries to develop a vision of positive national identification with a modern German nation that builds on the insight that “we are all migrants.” It is the last book the author, a dear friend of mine, wrote before his untimely passing in 2023 and will hopefully be his lasting legacy.