Historical Novels To Read Novels & Stories

Usually, she would discuss books—or anything—with her mother, which was no longer possible. "What's the title?" As he sipped the tea that Ruby had also made, Ed inquired. It was warm and perfectly fragrant. "Taiko. It's a Japanese novel about Oda Nobunaga and Ieyasu. Have you heard of them? They're real historical figures, but the novel tells the story from the perspective of their servant, making it more interesting. I love the details. The wars and strategies," Ruby explained. Ed listened with an amused feeling inside, chuckling at Ruby's earlier claim of 'not really liking to read.'

Maybe it was just a desperate attempt to feel useful. When I finished, I drIfted to the bookshelf near the fireplace. I scanned the tItles slowly, looking for somethIng light. Anything without mates, romance, or fated connections. The irony wasn’t lost on me, I was trapped in a twisted version of one of those stories. Only in mine, there was no love. No happy ending. Just guilt, betrayal, and aching confusion. I chose a hIstorical novel and curled up by the window. The cardIgan and fuzzy socks I wore kept the cold at bay, at least physically. But my thoughts wouldn’t quiet.

This is going to be nice, I just know it. I spend hours cooking, snacking, reading, and it feels like a dream. My fae romance novel takes me to a land that doesn’t resemble my life and I’m so happy to lose myself in it. I’m reading along happily when I come across a word that strikes me dead. Mates. Great. Just what I was trying to forget about. I put it down and pull out the other book I brought, a historical fiction novel. No mates here, no way. Dinnertime creeps around and I spend a while making a nice risotto with a side salad and garlic bread. It’s so good it borders on s*x.

Wow. I was drooling. It wasn't just a room with books. It was a sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with hardcovers, a rolling ladder, a massive fireplace that looked like it hadn't been used in decades. The scent of old paper and leather hit me, comforting and familiar. I ran my finger along the spines. ‘The Art of War’, ‘Sun Tzu’. ‘Histories of the Roman Empire’. Biographies of kings and conquerors. Heavy stuff. Interspersed with them were fiction classics. Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Dumas.

I asked. “Another one of his historical smuts.” Henry replied, raising his voice to grab Ron’s attention. “This is fine historical literature not smut.” I snorted at that. “Fine historical literature my ass.” Henry said. Hen was right. I had once searched for a book in Ron’s vast library that did not involve a Duke being wickedly seduced by a temptress or a Highlander spilling his seeds into a moaning fair maiden and had not found any. Not that I was complaining, they were quite educative.

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 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.

be. “What are you reading?” I asked, my gaze drifting to the book she’d set aside. She glanced at it, her fingers brushing over the cover before she answered. “It’s just a novel about a historical figure, nothing too exciting.” I leaned in a bit, intrigued despite myself. “You like history?” She chuckled softly. “I suppose I do. It’s just that... I find it fascinating how much we can learn from the past. There are so many lessons hidden in the stories of those who came before us.”

Some of them read multiple times judging by the cracking of the binding. History. Military strategy. Economics. Law. Psychology. Philosophy. One entire shelf of biographies of powerful men across different centuries and continents. And then something that surprised me. Fiction. A whole section of it tucked into the far corner like something private. Novels. Some of them old enough that the titles had faded. I pulled one out carefully. A Russian novel. Thick. Dense. The kind of book that required patience and silence and the willingness to sit inside discomfort for extended periods.

At the bottom of the shelf, though, were a handful of romance novels—in English, no less. I pulled out a historical romance by a favorite author of mine. I hadn’t read this one, and I’d already finished the one romance I’d brought with me. I was a total bore and preferred to read printed books still. Probably because they smelled nice. If e-readers could let out a puff of new-book scent, though, I’d buy one in a heartbeat. “The Seduction of Miss Emily Morris,” Olivier read over my shoulder. “That rather gives the plot away, no?”