100 books like The World We Have Lost

Although I had become interested in Roman history at a very early age, this was the first full ancient text that, at about fourteen years old, I read about the Roman emperors. I was immediately taken by Tacitus’ serious tone and the immediacy of his narrative.

His near-contemporary account of (at least part of) the reigns of Tiberius, Claudius, and Nero sounded, for all that it was written almost two thousand years before, very modern. After reading it, I bought as many of the (purple) Latin and (brown) Greek Penguin translations of classical literature–history, poetry, and drama–as were available.

As the Annals opened my eyes to Roman history, Highet’s book opened them to Latin poetry and the Italian countryside. Still at school, still doing only basic Latin, not Classics, and still to travel outside the U.K., but very interested in English poetry, Highet’s introduction to Catullus, Virgil, Propertius, Horace, Tibullus, Ovid, and Juvenal revealed a whole new world to me.

Highet’s autobiographical interpretation of their works is now very much out of date, but profusely illustrated with fine photographs, his book presented them to me as real people living in and influenced by real landscapes. I was also taken by Highet’s efforts to catch the feel of Latin verses in his translations. Horace’s ‘Hail, Bandusian spring, clearer than crystal pure’ is still fixed in my memory.

Because I was not a Classicist when I went to university, I spent the first two years of my three-year BA course reading Medieval and Modern, not Ancient, History when I went to university. One part of the syllabus was Tudor England, and a key personality was Thomas Cromwell, chief minister of Henry VIII.

Elton’s book was the main recommended modern study. I was wholly convinced by his revisionist interpretation of Cromwell: not a villain but the honest servant of a tyrannical monarch. The book made me see that to be interesting pre-modern history depends very much on a readiness to be imaginative in the interpretation of the usually scanty sources.

In this respect, significantly, Elton’s book became the (not always appreciated) basis of Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall trilogy.

When I was finally allowed to specialize in Ancient History in the third year of my BA degree, this included a survey of Ancient Greece, supervised by no less a figure than Professor (later Sir) Moses Finley.

One of his recommendations for reading was Adkins' book, listed here, a key point of which is that virtue is not absolute but depends on a society's socio-economic development level. In Archaic Greece, the "good" man was not the one whom later Greeks, and ourselves, would call "good" by virtue of moral rectitude but the one who could, by brute force if necessary, protect his family and community in troubled times: a telling corrective to historical "presentism."

If you haven’t read Montaigne’s Essays start now. I suggest reading one a day – they’re quite short.

I love this book because Montaigne is a genius for all time. Montaigne exploration of what it means to be human remains relevant today. It connects our world with past and shows that, although technology has changed and we can become a lot richer, humans haven’t changed so much.

Montaigne’s Essays are not a relic, they are the mirror on our present condition.

A startling finding when I was researching Elizabethan ideas about the mind was how far their attitudes to the imagination differed from ours.

We see it as a creative force to be encouraged and liberated, but for them it was dangerous, deceptive, and unruly, leading towards sinfulness and madness. Roychoudhury explains how early scientific thinking was starting to unsettle this traditional view of the imagination as reprehensible, and traces the effects of this in works including A Midsummer Night’s Dream, The Sonnets, and Macbeth.

I would add that the new commercial playhouses for which Shakespeare wrote became experimental crucibles: these were spaces where the combined imaginations of playwright, actors, and audiences created virtual realities, unleashing an exhilarating and magical sense of the powers of imagination.

This riveting Young Adult novel sets the action on a stage in which “East” and “West” are not divided as typically imagined, but intertwined economically, politically, and culturally. Moses’ staff has been stolen from Topkapi Place and a team of Ottoman janissaries is sent on a mission through Italy and England to recover it. The team is made of free and formerly enslaved men and women hailing from rising empires and those lost. Their struggles offer a searing account of the Ottoman, West and North African, and European dependence on the trade of enslaved human beings. And while the theft of the staff of Moses may seem fanciful, its possession confers imperial power and thus is the perfect object to ask from who was it truly stolen and to whom should it be returned.

Nietzsche said; “Only those with very large lungs have the right to write long sentences.” Montaigne was of the same opinion. He pre-dated Nietzsche in couching his philosophy simply and clearly in short, sharp aphorisms. Like Nietzsche’s aphorisms, they are often very funny.

In The Sterkarm Handshake, the device for time travel is simply a tube; not magical, but scientific, down which modern ruthless developers travel back to 16th century Scotland. Here they meet with equally ruthless highlanders. The scientists are planning to plunder Scotland’s resources (the 16th-century locals have been plundering roundabout for years), and of course, the modern developers run into problems. As in all books of this genre, the characters who travel through time may want to fit in or may choose to reject what the past has to offer. 

The heroine, like similar time-travellers, falls in love with a long-dead character and here, there’s also the possibility of the 16th century Scots coming up the tube to 20th century England – a good twist. There are also some very satisfying links between past and present, moments where you smile and think, Ah, how clever!

Did you think that all women married in former centuries? This fine and path-breaking book will put you right.

Amy Froide reveals that about one in five never married, and tells their stories to throw light on lives traditionally overlooked. Among the landed classes, many remained single because fathers couldn’t or wouldn’t raise a dowry to attract a suitable husband. Middle-class girls might be pressed to stay home and look after ageing parents or orphaned siblings. But we learn that other women remained single from choice, prizing their independence.

A lucky few had inherited the means to pay their way, while others opened a shop or practiced a craft, and took pride in supporting themselves.