The most recommended books about plagues

While not as famous as Thomas Mann or Anne Rice, Marina Fiorato well deserves her place on this list with The Venetian Bargain. It’s another superbly researched and beautifully written piece of historical fiction set in 1576 during the plague. Grounded in fact, it follows a young Turkish girl, scorned in her homeland, who sneaks aboard a boat bound for Venice. She soon discovers the ship's illicit cargo in the hold—and the sultan’s horrific plan—a man infected with bubonic plague. The man infects the entire city within days. This book is much more than a historical account. It’s a gripping story with compelling characters. What’s more, much of what the world has gone through with Covid-19, from masks to quarantine, was invented by the Venetians and it's covered in The Venetian Bargain through the eyes of wonderful characters.

I love Diana Norman’s historical novels and she inspires the way I write mine.

Her books are packed with historical atmosphere but they're never stodgy, the characters are full of life and there's always a dash of humour. This one, set in 17th-century London, is my favourite.

The heroine, Penitence Hurd, is a young Puritan girl who comes to London just as the Great Plague is about to strike, and finds herself - to her horror - living alongside the working girls in a brothel. She’s such an engaging character, stiff and prim at the beginning but as she bonds with the other women when they're shut in during the plague, she begins to change.

During a plague that killed a quarter of Florence’s citizens, Boccaccio crafted an exuberant, entertaining, death-defying work of literature. In this book, seven young women and three young men taking refuge in a country villa swap 100 tales of love, lust, mischief, and treachery. 

I read a translation of The Decameron during a sabbatical in Italy and was swept back in time. In every village, I’d look around a piazza and see characters straight from its pages: wily merchants, corrupt politicians, clever wives, henpecked husbands, bumbling fools. This book still resonates in the 21st century—a tribute to Boccaccio’s skill as a spell-weaver. Some of his stories are shamelessly, laughably bawdy. But all remind us that, even as everything changes, our shared humanity remains the same.

This book is a glorious exhortation to live, even when—especially when!—death is lurking. It takes place in the plague of 1666. I used to have a bizarre fear of the bubonic plague (like I imagined it was in my closet and, if I opened the door, it would escape out into the world), so it’s strange how much I love this book.

I think it’s because Anna, the main character, is such a force. She repeatedly reminds me to connect with the natural world and myself and then to stretch and reach beyond what I thought I was and who I thought I could be. It's magic.

The Great Mortality was a key tool in my research for my book. John covered the Black Death in every country it devastated, such as England, Italy, and France. He touches on the effect the Black Death had on the church and the great lengths that were taken to protect the pope. He goes into morbid detail about the plague, and you get a real understanding of what these people went through. I can not recommend this book enough. 

Nobody can describe the plague better than... one who’s been infected. 430 BC: coming from Ethiopia through Egypt, a massive plague outbreak hits the overpopulated Athens, right in the middle of a bitter war against Sparta. Thucydides, the first Greek historian with a modern approach, witnesses the tragic days (doctors and authorities were totally unprepared) of the largest metropolis in the Mediterranean. The author himself is contaminated and later recounts his experience in this unforgettable section of his History of the Peloponnesian War.

Between the high-stakes worldbuilding, Earth on the brink of war with Luna while battling a global pandemic, and Marissa Meyer’s fresh sci-fi take on magic, the story drew me in and wouldn’t let me go.

I’m not ashamed to say I devoured this in one sitting. I was fascinated by the lunar people’s ability to use their “gifts” to manipulate bioelectricity, casting glamours and bewitching their victim’s minds. It added yet another layer of tension to the story.

The seamless fusion of dystopia, sci-fi, and elements from classic fairytales creates a powerhouse narrative that centers around Cinder, a cyborg mechanic whose fate is inexplicably twined with the prince’s in a race to find a cure and prevent the impending war.

Maybe it's a hangover from Covid and what that did to the world around me, but all three of my favorite books this year were re-reads. Something drew me back to works of art that I knew I could rely on in these weirdly shifting times. I suspect I was not alone!

This novel has perhaps the most obvious links to recent times - it describes an intergalactic plague that wreaks havoc across the galaxy. Only one planet, Grass, is left untouched. A seemingly idyllic world, with a strange social structure, it hides a dark secret.

My wife disagrees, but I find that reading about a topic helps to ease the trauma of dealing with it. I appreciate Pathogenesis because it puts recent events in context.

This book argues that mass outbreaks of disease have made our world, past and present. Yet, they seem to recede into memory just as suddenly as they appeared. I feel it now. It's a mistake to ignore the scars they leave on humanity. Needless to say, recent events should give us all much to consider. A strong central thesis and some memorable anecdotes make this a worthwhile, timely read. 

Laura McHugh writes about parts of the U.S. that are often either villainized or over-simplified. Instead of leaning into the cliches, she brings these landscapes and their people alive with compassion but without pity. From the first paragraph, I could feel the oppressiveness of the protagonist’s world but I could also see its wild beauty. This is a place where the air is “heavy as a sodden sponge” and insects buzz like an “unholy plague.” The darkness implied in the title has a layered meaning here: there’s the darkness of ignorance, the darkness of the human mind that is capable of justifying cruelty as salvation, and the darkness of hidden and ignored places.