69 books like The Gallic Wars

I think this is the single best edition of Julius Caesar’s original compositions: the footnotes, maps, battle diagrams, and appendices offer a treasure trove of information for the Roman history buff without overwhelming the casual reader.

(I had a particular interest in Appendix C, on “Roman Calendars, Dates, and Time,” where I learned that the main reason winter operations rarely occurred in ancient warfare was the inability to feed their animals.)

The translations struck me as contemporary sounding yet never sacrifice accuracy for clarity. I recommend this book as a perfect gateway for the fan of ancient Rome to enter the realm of authentic ancient Roman literature.

This book is from the Asterix series and in general when you read Goscinny's books, you will not regret it, as it will inspire you with many ideas.

He was able to create humor from humans, animals, inanimate objects, and all elements of the story.

As for this book, I chose it because of the events taking place in Egypt, also because of the coherent plot, fast-flowing events, sense of humor, and new ideas. As usual in this type of book, there are some historical facts, but the general structure of the story is fictional.

The historical facts here are Queen Cleopatra VII, Julius Caesar, and the relationship between them, while the rest of the events are fictional and comic.

The life of Julius Caesar, as brought to life by Goldsworthy, remains one of the most fascinating tales of ups and downs, boldness and overreach, war, statecraft, and propaganda (yes, he mastered that too). And adventure. Even if you think you know him, you probably don’t. What, for example, did he do after he was kidnapped at age 25 by pirates? Let’s just say you don’t want to be the pirates. But ultimately you don’t want to be Caesar either. Not least, you want to be careful with wannabe Caesers today, because he was also the most effective populist in history.

This was the first book that made me realize druids had been real, and that entire belief system was nearly—in historical chronology—stamped out by the Roman Empire. The story focuses on a young druid, Ainvar, who befriends Vercingetorix, the Celtic warrior who was brought to Rome in chains by Julius Caesar. While the setting is in Gaul, I began to understand the beliefs of the druid life that was very nearly lost. Where Rome’s war with the druids of Gaul was bloody and decisive, the Irish conversion took a different path. I wanted to find out why the two histories, the change from druid to Christian, was so dramatically different.

Reliving the lives of two famous Romans in a new fictional light is what makes this five-book series a dazzling example of magical realism. The entire settings, that is Ancient Rome during the Republic, is real and has existed in the form it is presented. The characters, though, have taken on a more personal shape, independent from the historical image we know. Caesar and Brutus become larger-than-life characters, allowing more to be told about them, their feelings, their ambitions, and giving us a version of them we may never read in history books. We become closer to them, and try to understand them more as human beings engulfed by history rather than historical figures. It is an unparalleled humanisation of history through fiction.

It would seem strange not to include at least one work on Julius Caesar in any list of recommended reading on the Republic’s fall, and Stevenson’s book strikes just the right balance between Caesar’s career and the wider Republican background against which Caesar must be set. The challenging evidence for Caesar’s life and motivations is presented with great clarity, including his own writings, and so too are the often contradictory judgments made by modern scholars. Stevenson taught me during my MA at the University of Auckland, so I was delighted to see this book appear, and he has provided an invaluable contribution to the ongoing debates over Caesar’s responsibility for the Republic’s collapse and the transformation from Republic to Empire.

This is my favorite of McCullough’s Masters of Rome series. Though fictional, they are impeccably researched, rendering the collapse of the Republic in truly astonishing detail. McCullough manages to render the twists and turns of Roman politics in a way that a reader can not only follow them, but understand why they mattered so much. You’ll feel as though you are right there in the Forum or the dining-room with Caesar, Antony, Pompey, Servilia, Fulvia, and the rest. McCullough’s vivid prose drives home that these were real people, living real lives, with the same petty concerns and daily frustrations as all of us, even when they were also shaping the fates of nations.

I’m a sucker for a first-person narrative that pulls you close. And, of course, it’s hard to find a more fascinating protagonist than Cleopatra. But I suppose the real reason this one makes my top five list is that when I read it years ago, it left a mark on my mind—a mark that convinced me maybe I, too, could write historical fiction about badass women in the ancient world.

Written long before the many brilliant feminist retellings of recent years, this is an oldie but a goodie and a book that influenced my own trajectory. 

This novel was a massive influence on me. Rutherfurd takes the city of London as his subject, and follows the life of the city through the centuries, taking in Celts, Romans, Anglo-Saxons, Normans etc…right through to modern times. I don't have quite such a huge canvas in my book, but I do follow a series of historical events in a manner which is somewhat reminiscent of Rutherfurd. Rutherfurd takes you on a wonderful journey. 

Boldly venturing into territory already claimed by Robert Graves, Allan Massie gives us the life of Augustus, the first Roman emperor. Full of authentic detail, both witty and serious, bawdy and censorious, this book makes ancient Rome thoroughly believable to modern readers. Augustus vividly describes his ruthless rise to power following the assassination of Julius Caesar, and reflects on his life and achievements, justifying his schemes, deceptions and crimes. Would we have done the same in his place? Maybe, if civilization depended on it.

I particularly like the two Prefaces, in which author, citing fake scholars and non-existent institutions, persuades us that this work of fiction has been translated from an ancient manuscript found in a monastery. I have used the same trick myself.