The most recommended Victorian books

This book is about the art of war, the artistry of war, and the thinking behind war. In The Best And The Brightest David Halberstam documents how the people running the Vietnam War had no grasp of what war was. And, they were going up against Ho Chi Minh who translated this book from Chinese to Vietnamese and ingrained the concepts into his soldiers. 

The Americans had all the technology and industry that was possible during this era. They had machine guns, bombs, aircraft, and helicopters. They were building ports, warehouses, flying over ping pong tables, ice-cold Coca Cola machines, whatever they wanted. And, nobody was thinking about war. They were thinking logically and that all these mechanical things were going to win the war. On the other side, the Vietnamese had this book. They studied this book and they lived this book. I was interviewing a 67-year-old member of… show more.

Spinsters Abroad set out to celebrate Victorian women traveller such as Mary Kingsley, Amelia Edwards, and Isabella Bird. However, Birkett quickly discovered that these women were not straightforward role models. Yes, they travelled Africa, the Middle East, and Asia, braving hardship, and making all kinds of discoveries along the way. But it turns out, they managed that because their whiteness trumped their gender. Spinsters Abroad reveals the complexity of these women’s travels, and their lives and worlds. It reflects on their motivations for travel, as well as how Victorians conceived gender and race. The book is also jam-packed with anecdotes. Here is Edwards complaining about flies interrupting her watercolour painting of Egyptian ruins: ‘Nothing disagrees with them; nothing poisons them - not even olive-green’.

One of the reasons I like this book is because the author is a man writing about a woman’s inner thoughts and, unusually, doing a very good job.

The time and place: London, the 1890s. Single women are known as “the odd women,” the leftovers. Dr. Rhoda Nunn starts a school to train these women in secretarial skills (back then, most secretaries were men) so that they won’t be dependent on relatives or forced into unhappy marriages. Rhoda herself is proudly unmarried and independent – until she meets an absolutely wonderful man. Will she give up her advocacy for “odd women” and marry the man she loves? 

(Warning: this book is out of copyright, so shoddy rip-offs are being sold on Amazon. Make sure you get a legit copy.)

Nobody does characters like Jess Kidd. Every person in this story is bizarre—a monster, misfit, or malefactor—yet not one feels contrived. I adored Bridie Devine, a small, rotund, pipe-smoking detective who begins to see the same ghost everywhere she goes.

Bridie’s quarry is a strange girl who’s been kidnapped and might (depending on who you ask) have supernatural powers or be a “lovely grotesque” who’s caught the eye of collectors. I fell in love with Kidd’s imaginative Victorian London, where nothing is as it seems, and evil lurks around every bend.

Actually, two novellas, it’s the first, "Morpho Eugenia," that’s always stayed in my mind. I loved how it handles discussions on such subjects as teleology, determinism/personal freedom, the nature of life after death, and so on, the post-On the Origin of the Species mindset.

I particularly like the ending, which, if you’re reasonably alert, you’ll work out well before our protagonist. I don’t think this is a weakness; observing the main character, Adamson (note the surname), flailing towards an inevitable ‘reveal’ is part of the book’s point, I think.

The prose imitates Victorian literature, very post-Modern, but don’t let that put you off. I found its style immersive, making me feel closer to the time.

One of the founder members of the Pre-Raphaelite movement, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, is inextricably linked to the women in his life. His beautiful portraits of his sister, wife, and lovers are some of the most recognisable images of the Pre-Raphaelite movement but this wonderful book goes further, uncovering the lives of these women and the context behind these iconic images. 

An endlessly fascinating and extensive compendium of reproductions of photographs, diagrams, charts, maps, paintings – bizarre, sublime, caustic, illuminating – from the ancients to the modern era. Each image retains something of its historical context, yet they are arrayed with a compelling visual logic by a brilliant visual editor.

Philip Howell explores the place of dogs in Victorian homes and on the street.

There are familiar topics – vivisection, rabies, dogs’ homes, and dog cemeteries – but what set this book apart is that these are discussed in new ways drawing on literature and geography. Thus, we learn about Charles Dickens’s pet dog Sultan, alongside the many, many dogs in his novels, not just Bill Sikes’s Spike.

It surprised me just how many dogs roamed the streets of Victorian towns and cities, and how the police, often reluctantly, were responsible for bringing order to the streets. But public spaces were contested, with active and passive resistance by dog owners to measures requiring muzzling, leading, rounding up strays, and euthanizing unwanted curs and mutts.

Dr. Tidy’s work of two slim volumes packs a wallop of information about pathology in the Victorian Age. Not only does he explain how to examine dead bodies and their surroundings, he lists, at the bottom of the chapters, pertinent cases from legal history and from his own practice. It’s here that we discover convincing evidence that there was an adequate test for hemoglobin well before Holmes claimed to have invented it. Tidy even gives in detail the murder trial at which it was used to get a conviction.

This is a great source for anyone looking for crime novel plots-it’s knowledgeable, detailed, scientific, and compelling.

Note: When Dr. Tidy’s book was first published in 1882 it was offered as a boxed set of two slim volumes. As they are cross-referenced it is most useful to have volumes 1 and 2. Fortunately, Amazon offers both.

Walter Sichel’s biography, for all its flaws, and the fact that more is available on Emma and Nelson now than was the case 120 years ago, is still a solid piece of work from a capable biographer and decent historian. There’s an elegance in the language that can be looked up to, and an understanding of the period that has few rivals. I view it like a pair of comfortable slippers. They aren’t perfect, perhaps with a hole in the toe, but you don’t want them to make an impression. You do, however, look forward to slipping them on. The other reason I like this book is that it means you don’t have to read any of the other Victorian biographies of Emma or Nelson, many of which are drivel.