The most recommended coffee books

This series is very elegantly written, but that’s not what makes it the most unique on this list. For a start, the protagonist is a skinny womanising drug-addict immortal with enormous wings. Yes, you read that right. He can fly, he drinks coffee, and when he overdoses he trips into a parallel universe. Several, actually. What else inhabits these strange worlds? Giant ants. And it’s these horse-sized monsters that the people of the Fourlands are embroiled in bitter conflict with. They pour through dimensional tears in waves, and the fighting is frenetic, bloody, and gruesome. Swainston has an almost forensic approach to the description of violence in these books, and it adds a dash of realism to an otherwise wildly fantastical setting and premise. A criminally underappreciated series.

The main reason I'd like to be friends with Seth Brown is, well, he's a Messiah. He can heal me if I cut myself, he can resurrect me in the event of my untimely death—though by all accounts the afterlife is rather, ahem, pleasant, so I might fight him on that—and he can turn tap water into a perfect cup of coffee. His resurrected arctic fox friend is an excellent ally, but Seth could use another human to help track down the vile bishop who's killing off his half-brothers in an effort to eliminate all but the one-and-only True Messiah. Or, on second thought, maybe I'd stay out of the line of fire by getting a job at the local Ducky Mar....

To any who would ask, I would describe this book as “a wonderful bit of fluff.”

Having recently started making my own espresso drinks, how could I resist a story of an orc named Viv trying to start a coffee shop? What sucked me into this book was the character interactions as unlikely characters try to start an unlikely business, where Viv’s biggest challenge is explaining to the people of the city what coffee is.

I’ve read a fair share of subverted troupes, and I find this novel is one of the better ones. I also tell people, “It’s a fun read.”

This atlas, a beautiful but money-losing coffee table book from the book-publishing arm of Southern Living, appeared just as a new CEO ordered the company’s book people to think of themselves “more in the direct-marketing business, as opposed to being a book publisher.” (This strategy led eventually to How to Cook for Your Man and Still Want to Look at Him Naked.) It was probably treated as a write-off from the beginning and not marketed at all, which is a shame, because it is much more than a handsome ornament for your living room. Three geographers and a historian, all from the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, produced a solidly-researched and profoundly informative work of cartographic excellence, one that repays both casual browsing and close study. (Some used book sites incorrectly show a different cover, but don’t worry about that.)

Maybe it’s because I am naturally curious and ask a lot of questions, I’m a sucker for a protagonist who sticks her nose everywhere it doesn’t belong.

South Florida hairstylist Marla Shore is already having a bad hair day when one of her clients dies in the shampoo chair at her salon. Then Detective Dalton Vail accuses Marla of putting poison in the woman’s coffee creamer. Grumpy Bertha Kravitz might not have been Marla’s favorite customer, but the hairstylist wouldn’t have murdered the lady.

I love that no matter how much danger she gets herself into, Marla stands up for herself and leaves no stone unturned when she decides it’s up to her to unmask the real killer.

This is somewhat of an underground, little-known novel that I came across deep in the midst of a rural second-hand bookshop a few years back.

Set in 1958, the novel follows its deputy sheriff protagonist on a journey from the mid-west to Los Angeles via the famous Route 66. It has elements of noir, suspense, romance, adventure, and a good-guy vs mafia dynamic, all while tipping its hat to the American Road genre.

As a reader, you feel like you’re just another guy along for the ride, passing through state lines, watching the story unfold.  

The speciality coffee industry is now a mature global part of coffee culture, but this book captures the early excitement around it as it burst onto the global stage. How coffee companies sought out and bought coffee was completely rewritten during this time, and this book makes for a fascinating read.

I read this biography in 1972 when it was first published; I was in high school. Twenty-two years later I would write my novel that was clearly inspired by Houseman’s detailed and absorbing account of his theatrical career—particularly his collaboration with the 21-year-old Orson Welles whom Houseman immediately recognized as a dangerous firestorm of talent. Their years together and the eventual destructive splintering of their partnership make for a story that will stay with you. It made this young person feel that with sufficient nerve, talent, and vision, I might accomplish anything—which is exactly what you should feel when you’re young.

To say Guccione influences me would be an understatement, as she was one of my first mentors in the industry. The Chick Palace is unusual, in that it’s centered around the back nine of life—after children are grown, and after aging parents are no longer a responsibility, when the time has come for women to focus on themselves. However, Guccione’s usual colorful characters and robust setting will take you on a vacation well deserved in this era, not to mention in the brutal cold of winter. 

The same goes for Trespassing’s Veronica, in a sense. She’s at a crossroads, and perhaps for the first time, she’s making decisions without the influence of a man. Add to that the backdrop of Key West, and you’ll find yourself on a mental retreat.

If you want to learn about the New Deal’s contributions to the arts, there’s no better place to begin than with the art itself. This lavish book—I keep it displayed on my coffee table—collects hundreds of color posters created by the WPA’s Federal Art Project, which put unemployed artists and designers to work during the Depression. It’s no wonder that many of these posters, mostly silkscreen, have been cherished by collectors for years: they’re beautifully designed, often quite striking, and sometimes funny. And like most of the WPA’s cultural endeavors, they were meant to serve the public good. Flip through this book and you’ll find advertisements for national parks, a reminder to brush your teeth, and a warning to always report dog bites!