100 books like Pig Earth

Josef Roth is now recognized as one of the greatest German writers of the twentieth century. As a historian myself, I was entranced by reading it by the way in which the book catches the vast temporal arc of the transformation and then fall of a society that had for centuries been a major force in European history, the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Now forgotten, this was the world of Vienna’s great resplendence, then fall.

The story is told through the generational story of one family, the von Trottas. Impending loss is conveyed alongside great affection as a whole world is lost in the disasters of the First World War. The book was first published in English in 1933. In the words of another of Josef Roth’s books, “I was there,” which he was.

Norman Lewis was what is usually called a travel writer. Today’s travel writers, however, pale beside him.

I read this book when it first came out in 1984. It describes the three summers in the late 1940s when Lewis lived and worked in a very remote fishing village on what is now called the Costa Brava. He records with utmost sympathy and acuteness of observation the last days of the old world of Mediterranean Spain before it became completely obliterated by mass tourism.

The book touched me deeply, for I had seen the last vestiges of other parts of Spain only a decade or so after Lewis. The book is a kind of monument for all parts of the world submerged by mass tourism.

I treasure this book as I treasure the memory of my long-dead father, for this transcendently sad and beautiful book takes me into a world close in spirit to that of his own life. His own experience was the experience of the immigrant worker, the Irish rural one.

With the astonishing new economic prosperity of Ireland, the London of the book is no longer there. The prose of O’Grady and the photos of Pike constantly play one across the other to shattering effect. The book was made into a fine film.

Readers will note a certain interplay across my choices of books: John Berger wrote a beautiful foreword to the first edition. The beautifully produced 2023 edition is much better than the 1997 one. The epigraph of the book is from Seferis: “I whispered: memory hurts wherever you touch it.”

I love the writing of Patrick Modiano.

Here, the lost world that is encountered is within the lives and beings of the characters of the three novellas that make up this book, lives and beings that are on one level from Modiano’s own biography but which, in his spare and beautiful prose become of universal moment.

The world in the book is that of the dark years of the Nazi occupation of Paris. That which is fleeting, easily lost, mysterious, and obscure haunts the pages of the book, reminding us of how evanescent and uncertain memory is but also how much our lives are bound by it.

I read this book many years ago in 2000. This book with magic realism awoke my love of magic (buried since a child). Five bottles of homemade wine hold powerful but subtle magic which transform the hero’s life. I love the concept that there is always hope; that there is something out there if we just reach out and believe. The setting is in France which also awoke a desire to travel–and I love making homemade wine! 

A twenty year old American woman goes to Paris to paint, meets a French artist, marries, has a child, and together buy a farmhouse and make a summer home and art studios in rural Brittany: that story. A memoir. 

The book was published in 2008, but the story takes place in the early 1960s when rural Brittany was closer to the 19th century than the 21st. I was in Paris in 1967, and it was still possible to rent a hotel room for under five dollars a night, to travel in Europe for ten dollars a day. In 1967, you could not safely drink the water in France, including in Paris, and you had to have proof of a typhus vaccine to return to the U.S. It was still more Henry Miller’s Paris than Macron’s.

This was the time of the last of every day berets, blue… show more.

The main reason I love this book is that Jeffrey Greene is a wonderful writer. The story of how he and his wife (and eventually his mother as well) made their home in an ancient, rundown presbytery in a village in Burgundy provides a vivid, real-life picture of life in a French village for a couple of Americans. Greene’s approach allows us to not only see the French as he sees them, but also how they must see him and his wife. His deep respect and affection for his wife, his mother, his neighbors, life in France, and the beauty of nature shine throughout, all rendered in beautiful prose. And the many funny little stories he tells make me laugh out loud every time I reread this book. 

I fell in love with Lizzy and Ciaran as they tried to find their way back to each other after over a decade of not speaking. I loved the glamour of the Cannes film festival, which was a backdrop to the very real, human, unglamorous resentments they were harbouring, and I was gripped by the sense of time running out as the festival progressed.

The flashbacks to their time in France when they first met were gripping, and I was swept away by these two completely believable characters but was also caught up in the sizzle between them, and it’s such a funny, heartfelt book too. 

Most people declare Madame Bovary to be their favorite Flaubert novel. I don’t dispute its greatness, but I find this book, published in 1869, twelve years after Madame Bovary, to be the master at his most illuminating and embracing.

Set against the revolution of 1848, the hero, Frédéric Moreau, falls helplessly in love with a married woman. I identify—not with the love of a married woman—with Moreau’s life and times as a young artist living among others like him in Paris. He and his fellow artists live their bohemian lives with ardor and hope, and the passion of youth and creativity flows wonderfully through the book.

I read this book years ago in high school, and my eyes were opened. The hero, Julien Sorel, is—like I was when I read the novel—naïve, confused, trusting, inexperienced, and prone to awkwardness and error. In short, I could relate to someone in circumstances (boarding school!) where I desperately needed someone who was highly imperfect with whom I could identify.

It might have been the first time I read an adult book where I felt I might actually meet the main character one day, walking down the street or even in the hallway.