100 books like The Amazons

Recent genetic research on the human remains of a 10th-century Viking grave excavated in 1878 in Birka, Sweden, rocked the world of Viking studies when it determined that the warrior buried with numerous weapons and two horses was not male, but female. I loved how this author imagines what that woman’s life might have been like. She also suggests that the woman buried in the Birka grave was merely one of many female Viking warriors, offering data drawn from archaeological finds, from historical accounts, from language studies, and from the sagas to support the theory that ‘shield maids’ really did exist. I had been dubious about the possibility of female Vikings, but the arguments presented in this book are too compelling. Reading it changed my mind. Now I’m a believer.

In many ways, Antonia Fraser's Warrior Queens spurred my long-term interest in women warriors. Fraser not only introduced me to historical women I had never heard of, but to the idea that women had fought as a normal part of the army in far more epochs and far more civilizations than is normally appreciated. Fraser looks at her warring queens as a group as well as individually, trying to understand the tropes that (mostly male) historians have used both to make them bigger than life and to demean them as women. A fascinating read that has held up well over time.

In 2012, former Air National Guard pilot and Purple Heart recipient Mary Jennings Hegar joined forces with the ACLU to challenge the ban that kept American women out of ground combat units. In Shoot Like A Girl, Hegar tells the story of the career that led her to that point.

Hegar’s love for flying, her commitment to her job, and her bonds with teammates are vividly portrayed. The incident for which she received the Purple Heart–her helicopter shot down in Afghanistan with wounded men aboard—is gripping. But the heart of the book is the systemic sexism Hegar faced throughout her career. This is a powerful account of one woman's determination to serve in the face of acts of casual prejudice, active hazing, sexual assault—and institutional cover-ups.

Lynn was one of my graduate advisors decades ago, but he wrote this long after I finished.

A highly respected military historian, Lynn did a remarkably sympathetic and nuanced job of explaining the vital role women played in early modern warfare. No, he doesn’t concentrate on the few who took on male garb and actually fought, but rather the tens of thousands of mostly nameless “camp followers” who provided essential services: food and fodder, as sutlers, and yes, as prostitutes. Quite simply, an early modern army couldn’t function without its extensive “tail.” 

One of the salient characteristics separating premodern and modern armies is how governments eventually, over a long period of time, froze out women from participating in any aspects of warfare by bringing under their aegis all the services (save prostitution) that women had heretofore provided.

Bettany Hughes follows the infamous beauty Helen of Troy through 3,000 years of world myth, history, archaeology, and culture.

I first read this book as an undergraduate and I’ve returned to it many times over the years as a first class example of how to make use of every possible scrap of evidence when attempting to bring the past to life in three dimensions and vivid technicolor.

Unlike her husband, the famous philosopher Herodes Atticus, Appia Annia Regilla is virtually unknown, despite being so aristocratic that she was related to several Roman emperors and so wealthy that she was a great patroness whose architectural endeavours have survived.

Infuriatingly, she is only really mentioned in the historical record because she was a victim of domestic violence, as her husband brutally murdered her and, despite two separate trials, got away with it!

But Sarah B. Pomeroy works painstakingly to reconstruct the circumstances of her life from literary and archaeological evidence rather than simply focusing on her death. 

If you are looking for something slightly different than the standard historical biography, nobody writes about ancient Rome quite like Emma Southon does.

She manages to take everything you think you know, turn it on its head, and make you think about it in an entirely new way, all while cackling involuntarily so hard that you drop the book. Her biography of the empress Agrippina is simultaneously profane and hilarious while still managing to be erudite and authoritative.

She is a truly singular talent.

Messalina is commonly passed over in favour of her successor as the wife of the emperor Claudius, Agrippina the Younger, the mother of Nero.

Honor Cargill-Martin seeks to redress this imbalance in the coverage of the two empresses, and explores what their similarities and differences can tell us about not only the Roman view of powerful women, but also the ways in which this view has been adapted (or not) over the last 2,000 years.

While she doesn’t entirely debunk Messalina’s reputation as a crazed nymphomaniac, she does contextualise her affairs and offer sensible, pragmatic explanations for them that shed a new light on ancient Roman imperial court culture.

Once, on a weeks-long gig far from home, I stayed in a bare attic room with no TV, no internet, not even a radio. I didn’t mind. I had this translation of the Odyssey to settle down with every evening after work. I would think about it all day long: the vivid language, the fantastical events, the struggle and suffering of the protagonist. Reading it was like going to a technicolor movie every night, except that the movie was inside my head.

Talk about an essential human story—the Odyssey is four thousand years old, but its characters have the same emotions, fears, vices, and virtues we have today. Their struggles make my heart race and my eyes tear up. My imagination goes into overdrive, and I revel in the wonder.

The Metamorphoses, or Transformations, by the Roman poet Ovid is one of the most-read books of ancient literature because of its hundreds of wonderful stories as well as the charm of its witty and ironic author.

Since the stories he relates are all myths and legends, the Metamorphoses amounts to a virtual handbook of classical mythology. The theme of supernatural transformation runs through them all, portraying a world forever in flux, as someone or something is marvelously and surprisingly changed in some large or small way.

I like the vibrant new translation by Stephanie McCarter.