Classic Historical Fiction Books Novels & Stories

He would have, right? I shook my head again and concentrated on the book placed on my lap. It was one of the British, historical romance fictions set during the World War Two. I had randomly picked it up at the bookstore and somehow felt myself drawn towards it. Sappy novel with mopey dialogues and dragged out bits, it still provided me with much needed solace.

The Great Library was a cathedral of silence, a place where the air felt like velvet and the dust motes danced in shafts of eternal, golden light. Anna moved through the obsidian aisles with a lightness she didn't quite understand, her feet silent against the polished floor. She was wearing a dress of gossamer white, a garment that felt like a second skin of clouds. In her arms, she cradled a stack of books so high they nearly obscured her vision,leather bound tomes of McKinnley history, scrolls of celestial magick, and genealogies that stretched back to the first dawn.

Alana let go of our hands, darting toward the children’s section at the end of the hall. Suddenly, it was just the two of us. Standing side by side in the narrow aisle of classic literature. Gareth tucked his hands into his pockets, scanning the spines of the books with a quiet, respectful interest. "What do you usually go for, Claire?" he asked softly. His voice seemed to blend into the hum of the air conditioning. I ran my fingers along the worn spines of the hardcovers. "The classics. Jane Austen, the Brontës... anything with beautiful prose and a happy ending. I suppose I like the escape."

A reader? I feel drawn to the shelf like a moth to a flame. My fingers trail over the spines — classic literature, philosophy, ancient history. Lost in the titles, my eyes land on a beautiful leather-bound edition of Wuthering Heights. I rise onto my toes, straining, my fingers just brushing its edge. It wobbles and then falls from the shelf with a heavy thud that sends a cloud of dust into the air making me sneeze twice.

It’s the first real smell in the entire place. And books. Hundreds of them. Not decorator books arranged by color. Real books. Worn spines. Dog-eared pages. I run my fingers along the shelves. Financial theory. Biographies of Carnegie and Rockefeller. Philosophy. History. And fiction. I pull out a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. The spine creaks. Pages are yellowed, soft as cloth. I flip through and stop at the margin notes inked in neat, sharp handwriting. "Revenge consumes the avenger," written next to a passage about Edmond Dantès.

“I’m looking for some books for my fiancée, but I’m not sure what she likes to read.” The sales assistant tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well, we have a wide variety. Perhaps I can suggest some classic novels? They’re always a safe choice.” Jack nodded, feeling a little more confident. “That sounds like a good idea. Can you show me some?” The sales assistant led Jack to a shelf filled with novels from different eras and styles. “Here are some classics,” she said, picking up a volume. “This is ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen. It’s a love story that many women adore.”

Audrey didn’t quite understand him, “what do you mean?” Nathan’s lips curved into a mocking smile as he sat up, “I was thinking there was a book for the likes of you but it seems you don’t have it” She heaved a sigh, he was Making mockery of her again. “I have Outlander by Diana Gabaldon, 1991. I also have Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston, 2019,Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, 1813. And Seven Days in June by Tia Williams which was written two years ago then I also have love hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood which was also written two years ago”

I doubt I would ever have to bring someone into my bedroom but it never hurts to be prepared. That kind of love sounded like a myth but I knew it was out there for whoever was lucky enough to find it. I had never been lucky and I doubt I would ever be. I picked up pride and prejudice, my all time favorite classic and wondered when and if I would ever find my own Mr. Darcy. Shoving sentiments aside, I opened the large bag I had come with and shoved some of the books in it. I would read them every night and come back for more when I was done with the pile.

I say. I hope so. I really hope he’s right. I look at the clock on the wall and it says 1:48PM. I open my laptop and I start to read. The book I have to read is actually a historical book based on arts and crafts in the 18th century. It’s not a romance novel, so forgive me if I’m not very excited to read it. I could read 600 pages of a romance or horror novel, but my reading assignments are just not inviting enough.

"It teaches you about the French Revolution, which took place in the seventeen-nineties in the country of France. It is a good book if you like history or violence or exciting suspense. It is a love story, too. All in all, it is an excellent book." Jane started towards her seat. Relief mingled with pride. It was over now, the book and the report. If the length counted for anything, she would get an A plus. Her report hadn't been as long and flowery as Lucy's, but it had been more interesting and informative than Emily's. Maybe she'd even get an A for the trimester. If Jane were the one giving out grades, anyone who read a book with 422 pages would get an A for the year. But when she looked b