77 books like Blood & Ivy

Helen Jewett was a sex worker living in New York in the 1830s. She worked in a brothel under a matron, which should have been a safe enough situation—she wasn’t out on the street, at least, and others knew when she had clients. Early one morning, however, others in the house wake up to realize there’s a fire in Helen’s room, and that she’s dead. Was it a murder committed by her last client, a man quickly identified as Richard Robinson, or was it a suicide? If she hadn’t died so brutally, we wouldn’t know Helen Jewett’s name, so she’s become another victim only known for her murder. Cohen reminds us that she’s more than just her death.

Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb set out to commit the perfect crime and ended up in newspapers as the perpetrators of “the crime of the century.” They kidnapped and murdered a teenage boy in Chicago in 1924, but both Leopold and Loeb were still considered boys themselves at the time. Clarence Darrow defended them at trial, arguing that they were guilty but that the situation had extenuating circumstances. Baatz’s book explores how two college students from good families ended up in prison for murder. Leopold’s family even came from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, near where I currently live, so even though the case is almost 100 years old, it’s not as distant as it might seem.

This is a superb and beautifully written book about one of Britain’s most notorious serial killers – Dennis Nilsen. 

Brian Masters bases his text on documents, letters, and other materials that Nilsen sent, or shared with him and whilst the two would later fall out – Nilsen was a notoriously touchy and narcissistic man, this remains a detailed and forensic account of him and the crimes that he committed. In my own work I got to know Nilsen well and would often check out some of the things that he claimed to me by returning to Killing For Company.  

Erik Larson is a master at combining crime and history with perfect pacing and interweaving narratives.

While best known for Devil in the White City, Thunderstruck, the next book in his bibliography, released in 2006, deserves as much acclaim. Larson does a brilliant job of combining the stories of the hunt for murderer Hawley Crippen, and that of Guglielmo Marconi, the inventor and electrical engineer, responsible for the wireless telegraph, which revolutionized mass communication.

The real star of the book is Larson’s vivid descriptions that bring to life turn-of-the-century London and the lives of the two men at the center of the narrative. The book is a must-read for anyone interested in crime, history, science, and a fast-paced true-life adventure.

To be honest, I was a little nervous of the blurb given the emphasis on fast cars and hard drugs, but this book ended up being the sweaty, sultry, sexy, Gothic horror book I didn't know I needed, way more dark academia than drag-racing drug-gang. I particularly appreciated the messy and authentic way in which the main character was allowed to grapple with his identity while processing his grief. I quite liked that no explicit labels were ever applied and that there was a more fluid approach to identity and sexuality in this book. So, if you're into slow-burn southern Gothic horror with lush and vivid prose and don’t mind a gruesome ghost or two, this book is for you!

There has to be a Greek or Roman classic on this list if it’s going to feel like dark academia. Homer’s Iliad is great, but I went off the beaten path. I read this collection of dialogues in college, and my favorite is definitely the Phaedo, which recounts Socrates’ death. It’s short, dynamic, and easy to follow. Some philosophy is tough for non-philosophers to wrap their heads around, but Plato’s dialogue style of writing and Socrates’ clear arguments make it easier.

I’m always struck by the contentment Socrates finds, even though his death is unjust. I’ve never forgotten some of the things he says to his friends at the end.

Megan Abbott has been called the queen of crime fiction, and it’s easy to see why.

This is my personal favorite of her books, set in the academic world—as usual, Abbott’s prose is vivid and dazzling, and she crafts deeply flawed but sympathetic characters. Her evocation of female friendships, highlighted here in the context of an elite scientific research lab, is second to none. This haunting tale of ambition and rivalry kept me up at night.

The Girls Are All So Nice Here uses one of my favorite literary devices: dual timelines.

We bounce back and forth between Ambrosia (Amb) Wellington’s freshman year of college and her ten-year college reunion, where she is confronted by the secrets she has been keeping for the last decade. I’m a sucker for dark academia, and this book’s setting felt so real, it could have been my own alma mater.

John Keats is one of my all-time favorite poets. It breaks my heart to think of how many poems were left unwritten when he died young. The ones he left behind are melancholy and absolutely gorgeous. The language tastes like chocolate. He’s a master of using sound to evoke nostalgia (for people who care about the mechanics of these things. It’s okay if you don’t.) His poetry speaks for itself. Read one of his poems slowly, and you’ll feel like you’re lying in a moonlit meadow with a glass of wine, pondering eternity. 

Hamlet is one of those literary characters, like Faust, who gains an iconic, extra-literary identity. Moody, hesitant, insolent, and wracked by guilt and doubt, Hamlet marked the eruption into Western literature of self-consciousness as a literary trope. 

Understanding that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are agents of Claudius, not his true friends, Hamlet mockingly says, “You would pluck out the heart of my mystery.”  Whether considered in psychological, social, religious, historical, or political terms, that “mystery” has for centuries intrigued readers and audiences. I invite you to share that intrigue, or to return to it.