The most recommended books about New England

I could hardly put down this memoir written by the sibling of an autistic boy–set in a time when the term ‘autistic’ did not exist. Mary-Ann Tirone Smith was brought up in New England in the fifties when there was no understanding of autism at all. There was no welfare dept, social services, or health service to turn to for help because no one understood.

Instead, the family ‘absorbs’ Tyler, the autistic brother, and protects and cares for him themselves. Getting this ‘sibling’s view’ is really fascinating. I loved all the quirky characters and the inevitable humor when the outside world does not understand Tyler.

Running alongside the story of Tyler is a true crime story about a school friend of Mary-Ann’s who was murdered by a pedophile. I found the book to be gripping, heartbreaking, funny, and moving. 

This book opened up Louisa, and who she was to me. We can see her cheery optimism when she is younger, as well as the many inner battles she has with herself. We see her wit and humor, her desire to care for those she loves. As she ages and struggles with health issues, the reader feels her pain. Not a light-hearted book, but an extremely insightful one for those who want to gain a true glimpse into the character of this remarkable woman.

Think folk horror and you think rural setting, pretty cottages, white picket fences, and lurking ritual. Harvest Home is a folk horror classic and hits these expectations spot on.

A city couple escapes to the village of Cornwall Coombe to give their daughter a better quality of life. Everything is perfect until the husband discovers they were welcomed for a very specific reason. This discovery, becoming more evident as the harvest ritual approaches, leaves him in fear of losing his life and his family.

I loved this gradual teasing out of horror, subtle nuances that build to the awful climax. The ending is chilling, contrasting so sharply as it does against the background of a rural paradise, giving me one of those ‘oh!’ moments.

Ok, this isn’t actually a historical novel, but it was a bestseller when it came out back in 1682 and in some ways it does read like fiction. The story of a Puritan settler and her three children who were captured by Narragansett Indians during King Phillip’s War, Rowlandson’s account, judged by contemporary mores, is both racist and religiously bigoted. Still, it provides a rare first-hand rendering of the Puritan experience of a central truth of 17th century America: the collision of two radically distinct societies and the personal fallout resulting from that collision. As such it’s an invaluable historical document—though one best considered alongside other, less publicized primary accounts, which tell us that many seventeenth-century English captives, especially younger ones, were reluctant to return to the English settlements because of the freedom and ease they found in Indian society.

I love how Dean takes a creepy cow head on a barn, and builds a compelling mystery around it. The cow head permeates the book, watching, judging, accusing, and shedding tears in the aftermath of a storm—seemingly more alive than wooden. Next to the cow head, snow is the dominant image. It’s a place for fun, as the main character and her close friend create snow angels, but it also carries a warning in the form of a message written in white, and as a blizzard, it knocks out the power in town, making getting around dangerous. Set in New England in the dead of winter, this is a book to read on a dark, frigid night with a hot drink and a blazing fire. 

Sasha passed away this year, and this book is a beautiful final tribute to her.

Its subject is poignantly fitting: an examination of debilitating illness and end-of-life decisions. This topic was important to her. She covered it beautifully with two engaging characters, Angela and Tucker, who have a full and passionate life until a botched surgery puts them in a horrifying situation.

She combines humor and drama, and she draws her personal experiences to create an engaging, unforgettable story. Final Lullaby is a powerful final legacy to Sasha Lauren.

The first great American trashy novel, Peyton Place today seems rather tame, but in its day, it was scandalous. Plucking it from my mother’s bookcase when I was 14, I was engrossed by its roaring passion and sensational secrets.

Set in a small New England town, the book set the stage for the modern soap opera, and I wolfed it down like a big box of candy. It reminds me of those great, heady melodramas of the 1950s (and was itself made into a fabulously sudsy film in 1957), an intoxicating mix of all things forbidden.

I adored the fact that it was literary, which it doesn’t get enough credit for. I think its opening line—“Indian summer is like a woman…”—is one of the best in mid-20th Century literature. 

Kingston Heath’s captivating book Patina of Place investigates human relationships with working-class living spaces so powerfully. Sometimes I think parts of my book would have been better as a film for capturing what it feels like to move through a neighborhood and into a house. But Heath has managed to do it on static printed paper by combining historic photographs, first-hand accounts, childhood memories, and—most importantly, his gorgeous drawings!—to convey everyday experiences in New England’s three-decker housing units. What sets this book apart are Heath’s textured stories of women rearranging their furniture to make room for another family member; a child’s-eye view of his grandmother’s upholstered sofa; and one couple’s reflections on demographic change around their apartment of 50 years. 

The first Library Lover’s Mystery, Books Can Be Deceiving is set in a small New England town where the main character, Lindsey, has recently taken over as director of the public library. She takes on the role of amateur sleuth to help her friend and co-worker, a children’s librarian, who has been accused of killing her boyfriend after they broke up. Clues lead Lindsey to discover some secrets in the murdered man’s past that now pose a threat to her safety. I liked the way the suspense was built and how the characters were portrayed. As a librarian at a public library, I also identified with the way the library and its staff were described. 

I always marvel at the feat Wharton achieves in delivering this vivid story of love and sacrifice in such a slim volume—but part of Ethan Frome’s power derives from its brevity. Set in a New England farming town during the upheavals of the Industrial Revolution, Wharton’s novel tells the tale of how the titular Ethan Frome became “the ruin of a man.”

Every time I read it, I’m captured by the struggles and indignities of Frome’s life as he ekes out a living on an unproductive farm under the eye of his unsympathetic wife, Zeena. When joy and hope suddenly arrive for Ethan in the form of Zeena’s cousin, Mattie, the tension of knowing that, somehow, they will be prevented from the happy ending they deserve is almost unbearable.