The historical fiction winners at ALA's Book & Media Awards for 2026, and more

At the end of January, the American Library Association and its RUSA (Reference & User Services Association) division announced the winners of their Book and Media Awards. I’ve posted about these awards annually. The judging is done by librarians, and many historical novels usually land in the winners’ circle. I haven’t participated on committees for these awards, but friends and colleagues have in the past.

The Reading List honors works of adult fiction within eight genre categories. The 2026 winner for Historical Fiction is These Heathens by Mia McKenzie (Random House). I loved this book (read my earlier review) and am excited to see it receiving this accolade. These Heathens is a coming-of-age story in which a Black seventeen-year-old girl from 1960s rural Georgia has her eyes opened to civil rights activism and the wide diversity of life experiences when she travels to Atlanta to seek an abortion.

At the time I posted my review last August, I’d added: “I haven't heard much about this novel in the online historical fiction community and wanted to highlight it.” This award should give the book some well-deserved attention.

On the shortlist for Historical Fiction on the Reading List are these four novels:

Eleanore of Avignon by Elizabeth DeLozier (medieval France)
Happy Land by Dolen Perkins-Valdez (contemporary and late 19th-c North Carolina)
The Last Witch by C. J. Cooke (15th-century Austria)
The Pretender by Jo Harkin (late 15th-century England)

All five (!) were published by Random House imprints.

On ALA’s Notable Books list, among many other works, is Milo Todd’s The Lilac People (Counterpoint), focusing on the queer community in postwar Germany, people who were persecuted by the Nazis, and then, after the war, by the Allies.

The 2026 Sophie Brody Medal, which recognizes Jewish literature, was awarded to Allison Epstein’s Fagin the Thief (Doubleday), which reimagines Dickens’ Oliver Twist through the eyes of Jacob Fagin.

On the Listen List for excellence in audiobook narration is The Buffalo Hunter Hunter by Stephen Graham Jones (S&S), narrated by Shane Ghostkeeper, Marin Ireland, and Owen Teale – a historical horror/vampire novel set on the Blackfeet reservation.

Congrats to all of the awardees!

Compared to previous years, fewer historical novels were among the winners for 2026, so I thought I’d use this space to highlight something else that’s RUSA-related. RUSA has a section called CODES (Collection Development and Evaluation Section), for issues related to collection development, readers' advisory, and publishing. Librarians love their acronyms.

For many years, RUSA CODES has had an annual award for book reviewing, the Louis Shores Award. (Which is slated for potential discontinuation due to ALA’s plans to streamline its operations for financial reasons, but that’s another sad story.) I’ve been involved with the Louis Shores Award at multiple levels: initially as a grateful recipient (2012), then later as a multi-year selection committee member (2019-21) and more.

Adding to his list of recognitions, Ron Charles, longtime book critic for the Washington Post, received the Louis Shores Award in 2018. The committee made an excellent choice. I’m a admirer of his witty, entertaining, and astute reviews, which I always enjoy even if some of the books reviewed wouldn’t ordinarily have matched my interests. As many in the literary community have learned, with shock and sorrow, he and the entire staff of the WaPo’s books section were laid off, along with 300 other journalists with the paper, on Wednesday morning. This is a big loss to literary culture; WaPo’s Book World and Ron Charles’s weekly Book Club newsletter are very highly regarded by so many readers, librarians, authors, publicists, and more. He’s making a new home at Substack, and I’ve subscribed there. He and other fine writers let go from the paper will be getting the support I once gave to my now-lapsed WaPo subscription. If you appreciate high-quality book reviews and commentary, I recommend his site. 

Are we ready for historical fiction set in the '80s?

Because publishers and many readers have already gone there.




In the last couple of weeks, a couple of emails about forthcoming books hit my inbox, prompting the subject of this post. I saw this novel, May Cobb’s All the Little Houses, on Readworthy from BookBub’s List of the Best Historical Mysteries for January:



The same day, Penguin Random House sent out a website link with their Most Anticipated Historical Fiction for 2026. The books offer an assortment of time periods and locales, including Colson Whitehead’s latest, due out in July.



Both are described as set in the 1980s.

A 50-year rule is often used to define historical fiction (that is to say, fiction set at least 50 years before the time of writing), but individual readers may prefer a shorter (or longer) window. The Goodreads Readers’ Choice Awards have been working with a different definition for some time; while I don’t know exactly what their limits are, their Historical Fiction category winners and nominees have included books set in the ‘80s (Taylor Jenkins Reid’s Atmosphere, 2025 winner) and even the ‘90s (Janelle Brown’s What Kind of Paradise, 2025 nominee; Taylor Jenkins Reid’s Carrie Soto is Back, 2022 winner).

The people making those categorizations are probably from a younger generation than I am.

Technically, even if you do go by the 50-year rule, the 1980s are approaching fast in historical fiction’s rear-view mirror. The year 1976 was fifty years ago. At the same time, going by the comments on a post I’d written last summer about a current historical fiction trend, for some of those who lived through and remember the ‘60s, it can be hard to accept that that era now fits within the standard HF umbrella.

Along these lines, I read a recent post on Leigh Stein’s Attention Economy Substack with great interest. She writes how today’s readers are seeking escape (given current events from 2026, who can blame them?), and editors at publishing houses want to deliver. And their desire for when to escape to can be generational. To quote:

The historical fiction market is evolving. The next time you’re in Barnes and Noble, count how many historical novels you can find. The golden era of World War II novels with covers depicting women walking away with planes overhead is over […]

When I think of historical fiction, I am always thinking of the age of the reader, and whether she’s reading to understand the era that shaped her mother, or whether she’s reading for nostalgia. A baby boomer in 2015 picked up a World War II novel to read about a time when her parents were young adults. The younger boomers and the older Gen Xers are reading Lessons in Chemistry and Kristin Hannah’s The Women.

Aging millennials have Atmosphere (set in the 1980s, when our moms were our age!) and they are also experiencing the onset of nostalgia: see Deep Cuts, which opens in 2000. I know it’s painful to think of the 2000s as “historical” because you’re still twenty-seven in your heart, but as millennials proceed through their forties, we’re going to see more nostalgia for the 2000s and 2010s.

For me, a solid Gen Xer, the 1980s would be my “nostalgia” decade. There are many disastrous events of national or international significance from that time; the '80s included the AIDS crisis, Chernobyl, and the Challenger explosion (sadly 40 years ago this week; I was one of many kids home from school that day who saw it live on TV). But when it comes to the pop culture that characterized the '80s, I can understand “nostalgia” better. We had mixtapes, MTV, great movies, video games that seem so rudimentary compared to what we have now, the freedom to play outside unsupervised as long as we were home by dinner (my friends and I rode our bikes for miles), Flashdance-style sweatshirts and leg warmers, the days of BITNET (a precursor to the web) when everything was text-based and took forever but was still fun since it was so new. The big hair, shoulder pads, and peer pressure are things I kind of hated, but they’re hallmarks of the time for me, like it or not.

(One reason the '80s will never die is because of all the hair spray holding them in place.)

I can understand the appeal of reading novels set in the '80s even though, mixed in with all the fashion excesses and pop culture, fiction for adults—rather than the YA I was back then—tends to deal with more complex topics. Like the bigger political and social events mentioned above. Plus we have the winding down of the Cold War, which caused widespread optimism at the end of the '80s; the ups and downs of yuppie culture; the early '80s recession; and women gaining political power.  Back then, Roe v. Wade was still in effect, we had little to no digital presence to be constantly tracked, and we weren't glued to our cell phones.  In short, times were very different.

A few months ago, I’d reviewed a novel, Tamar Shapiro’s Restitution, that moved between the 1950s, 1989, and the early 2000s, about a family both before and after the fall of the Berlin Wall. It was eye-opening to see that middle period – which I lived through but didn’t impact me personally – through a new lens.

This is all worth considering when envisioning the factors that drive trends in historical fiction. Even if they don’t seem all that long ago, the ‘80s are coming for readers, and they’ve already started to land. Do you feel ready?

A woman of the New World: Sandra Freels' biographical novel about early American colonist Anneke Jans

Anneke Jans (1605-1663) was an early settler in the Dutch colony of New Netherland. Born in Norway, she voyaged to the New World with her husband Roelof, originally a sailor, and their two daughters. After landing at Fort Amsterdam, they headed north to Fort Orange (near Albany), where Roelof was commissioned to run a farm on the land of patroon Kiliaen van Rensselaer, prominent director of the Dutch West India Company.

The growing family later relocated back to New Amsterdam, where Anneke, who married twice, would have had a firsthand view of the new colony’s development and expansion – including contentious relations with the Native tribes and with the English.

What an eventful life she must have led! She left an extensive legacy: not only descendants that number in the millions, but also a famous, centuries-long land dispute centering on a 62-acre farm in the heart of Manhattan that she inherited from her first husband.

Pub. by She Writes (2026, 185pp)

Sandra Freels’ debut novel Anneke Jans in the New World, appropriately described by the author as a fictional biography, brings us into the day-to-day life of this notable figure and the political and social turmoil she lived through. Anneke is a likeable woman: amiable, practical, and always with an eye on how to improve her family members’ lives. This includes accepting the fact that, as a widow with multiple children, she must quickly remarry after Roelof dies at a tragically young age.

Her second husband Evert Bogart – who’s allowed to call himself Everardus Bogardus due to his university education (and does) – is quite the colorful character. Anneke holds her own against his forceful personality. Though being the wife of a dominee (minister) of the Dutch Reformed Church doesn’t come naturally to Anneke, she amusingly rehearses for the role so the community will find her facial expressions believable in church.

Freels enhances Anneke’s life with detailed descriptions of period customs, such as women’s experiences of the birthing chair, and her children’s celebrations of Christmastime, or Sinterklaas. Anneke also forms a friendship with a woman of the Native tribes (who the Dutch called “Wilden”) and recognizes the importance of trading gifts with her and her people.

However, Anneke isn’t given to much self-reflection. Many scenes are recounted in summary rather than shown firsthand, which diminishes the novel’s emotional engagement. Also, the sections that step away from Anneke’s viewpoint to show the larger political sphere from different perspectives are informative but feel out of place. A stronger developmental edit could have smoothed out the novel’s many bumps.

Even if her emotions aren’t as open to the reader as they could have been, Anneke’s confidence increases as she ages, making her seem even more admirable. Rich in land but not money, Anneke does what she must to ensure her descendants’ livelihoods. She and Evert, different as they are, make a good match.

While characters’ winks to modern knowledge don’t always work in historical fiction, it does feel natural for Evert to joke to the Director of New Netherland before his wedding that sure, Roelof’s farm “is going to be worth a fortune someday.” Who would have known back then that this undistinguished plot would become prime Manhattan real estate? The characters’ abilities to tease one another and do their best to adapt during trying times make them appealing company throughout this flawed but edifying novel.

My thanks to the book's publicist for providing me with an ARC.

A dance of love and power: Kelly Scarborough's Butterfly Games

Might you be interested in reading about a tender friends-to-lovers romance between two attractive young people, the complicated repercussions of their secret affair, and a damaging whisper network spreading rumors amongst their families and the country’s royal court – all set in the sparkling world of the early 19th-century nobility?

There’s even a meddlesome Queen Charlotte in the background.

If you’re picturing Regency England and Bridgerton, think again – and head northeast. Butterfly Games centers on the forbidden love story between Countess Jacquette Gyldenstolpe and the young man once known as Oscar Bernadotte, now the heir to Sweden’s newly elected crown prince.

It’s based in history, with reasonable liberties taken to fill in gaps.

As historical fiction fodder, this story offers ample material. In her author’s note, Kelly Scarborough reveals how she came up with her subject after reading Annemarie Selinko’s classic Desiree – about the unlikely rise to prominence of Prince Oscar’s mother – and how she immersed herself in the history and culture of Napoleonic-era Sweden to write Jacquette’s story. The result is a thoroughly engaging work of biographical fiction that digs deep in revealing her protagonists’ vulnerabilities and how larger political forces shift the course of their connection.

Jacquette and Oscar first meet in 1811 on the grounds of Drottningholm Palace, the royal household’s summer residence near Stockholm. Though only fourteen, Jacquette already knows she hates court life. She comes from a family of scandalous women, including her mother, Aurora, whose divorce has set the tongues of the queen’s maids of honor (the “Chatterati”) atwitter – and Jacquette’s unhappy about being left with them while Aurora’s away traveling with her lover, Chancellor Wetterstedt. Born a French commoner, Oscar, two years younger, has all the cheekiness and emotional uncertainty of a typical adolescent and none of the airs of a prince.

Jacquette and Oscar commiserate about their broken families and share unguarded views on political notables. In exchange for his keeping a confidence, she agrees to his one request: “Always tell me the truth.” Both are bright and well-meaning, yet naïve, since truth and trust are rarities in a court where secrets and “butterfly games” – short-lived dalliances – are de rigueur.

Four years later, when their friendship turns into passionate love, they learn, with painful firsthand experience, how the predatory royal court strips away everyone’s innocence.

Jacquette is engaging from the start. Royal mistresses are commonplace in history and in fiction, yet her personality shines with her youthful exuberance and, later, her determination to keep her head above water and protect her closest secret. While her mother seeks to exploit Jacquette’s closeness to Prince Oscar for the family’s benefit, Jacquette does find several allies, including her outspoken maid, Brita, and her stepfather, Wetterstedt, surprisingly a better father figure than her own father ever was. The author’s use of close third person to evoke Jacquette’s mindset is very effective, so the move into Jacquette’s first-person voice just for Part Four is jarring. The move into present tense afterward is less noticeable, but still feels unnecessary.

Political intrigue, ever-present, adds suspense. The former Crown Prince Gustav has been living in exile since boyhood, when his father was deposed. His potential return is desired by some, and dreaded by others. Because we stay within Jacquette’s viewpoint – knowing only what she knows and hears, as appropriate – we get a sufficient amount of knowledge about the current vs. former rulers of Sweden. On the other hand, for anyone curious about the complex circumstances that led Sweden to reject their monarch and elect one of Napoleon’s generals, Oscar’s father Marshal Bernadotte, to become heir presumptive to the throne as Crown Prince Charles Jean – you may want to do some outside reading.

One of the pleasures of reading this novel lies in seeing the many subtle channels through which power can flow, and in rooting for Jacquette as she develops the maturity to judge how best to react to them. The Swedish setting for Butterfly Games, an unusual one for Napoleonic-era fiction, has its own definite appeal.

Butterfly Games is published by She Writes Press this week; I read it from a NetGalley copy.

A dual-timeline Tudor novel: what worked and what didn't

Anne Brandon, eldest daughter of Henry VIII’s best friend and brother-in-law, was one of many aristocrats whose lives were torn apart by the king’s quest to divorce Katherine of Aragon. Turning the focus on Anne, as Alexandra Walsh does in her latest dual-timeline novel, illuminates a little-known story of marital strife, revenge, women’s resilience, and lasting love.

Anne grows up in the affectionate household of her Papa, Charles Brandon, and her stepmother, Mary Tudor. Her social position means she must marry a nobleman, and the partner chosen for her is Edward Grey, Baron Powis, even though Anne has always loved another. Edward’s taunts escalate to cruelty after Anne fails to give him a child.

The parallel narrative, set in 2024, features Caroline Harvey, whose reclusive late grandfather had authored a massively bestselling science fiction series. In researching the history of the remote Pembrokeshire woodlands that served as his writing nest, Caroline finds the ruins of a place called Hanworth House and investigates its provenance. In the process, Caroline reconnects with two old friends and deals with (or has her agent deal with; she’s a very wealthy woman) a difficult ex and his new girlfriend, who are squatters in Caroline’s London flat.

While Caroline’s narrative is interesting enough to hold attention, its ties to Anne’s story are loose—Caroline doesn’t make discoveries we don’t already know—and it’s frustrating to know that the author is withholding secrets about Caroline from the reader. For anyone who prefers historical over contemporary narratives, Anne’s tale can easily be enjoyed on its own. It offers a strong plot and a rewarding character arc for Anne, from her changing observations about the scandal-ridden royal court to her complex relationship with her charming, flawed father.

Alexandra Walsh's The House of Echoes was published by Boldwood Books (UK) last January.  I reviewed it initially for the Historical Novel Society and thought I'd expand upon my reaction a bit more.

Novels with parallel narratives set at different points are time are popular, and some intertwine their storylines more closely than others.  Anne Brandon's life story, which I hadn't known before, is a real find for the historical novelist. The modern storyline here is also fully fleshed out.  All good.  But in this case, the strand featuring Caroline didn't feel structurally necessary.  

In addition, Rebecca Makkai's Substack post "Hold the Withholding" hit my inbox after I'd finished writing my review, and her comments crystallized my thoughts about why one aspect of the novel bothered me.

Makkai explains in detail what many writers hope to achieve through narrative withholding, and gives instances when (and why) it can be a problem. 

The modern storyline of The House of Echoes is told in third person from Caroline's viewpoint, and we're open to her thoughts... except about some major secrets she's keeping.  We're reminded about these secrets periodically, and we don't learn what they are until the big reveal at the end.  The intent may have been to create suspense, but this technique was too irritatingly coy for my taste.

That said, if you're interested in lesser-known Tudor stories, the novel's worth reading for that aspect alone, and I'd recommend checking it out.

A romance with Egypt: Katherine Kirkpatrick's To Chase the Glowing Hours

When your life’s most transfiguring experience occurs at age 21, where do you go from there? Do you spend your remaining years seeking to recapture its essence, or can you realistically move ahead, pursuing happiness in other directions?

And are you able to acknowledge the ethical quandaries tied to that shining moment and your family’s very involvement in it?

Pub. by Regal House (Sept. 2025)

Katherine Kirkpatrick’s To Chase the Glowing Hours addresses these themes beautifully in her portrayal of Lady Evelyn (Eve) Herbert, daughter of the Earl of Carnarvon, who was her father’s companion-assistant on his archaeological trips to Egypt.

In 1922, alerted by his longtime archaeologist, Howard Carter, to an impending major discovery, Carnarvon travels with Eve from their home at Highclere Castle in Hampshire, England, to Cairo and then to the Valley of the Kings, where they’re present as the splendor of treasures from the tomb of King Tutankhamun, buried underground for over three millennia, is revealed.

If the novel lingers over these descriptions, it’s no more than they deserve. As Eve glimpses a golden throne appear under her torchlight in the intense desert heat, sees a figurine’s glass eyes reflect as if alive, and detects the exquisite scent of oil preserved in alabaster vessels, we’re there alongside her, feeling her amazement and elation.

Eve also begins falling in love with the man who made it all happen. The handsome, much older Carter is notoriously moody and antisocial, and he treats her with alternating affection and formality. Of the two, only she is unaware that a relationship between them would never work.

The outside world soon intrudes in the form of a governmental inspector assigned to the excavation, Egyptian nationalists wanting the British ejected from their country, and a particularly pushy journalist (since Carnarvon gave his competitors at The Times an exclusive). Eve’s father, too, is obviously ill. In addition to having his costs recompensed, Carnarvon’s prior agreements regarding the tomb would have half the artifacts coming directly to him—which he’s counting on—a typical colonialist sentiment of the period.

An aristocrat eager to support her beloved father, Eve feels this is only fair; the idea of Egyptian treasures belonging solely to Egypt is utterly foreign. Her feelings shift at a sensible pace for someone of her upbringing. Once back at Highclere, she also starts having unexpected feelings for her brother’s friend, Brograve Beauchamp, a potential suitor who sees things differently.

In terms of excitement, Eve’s Downton Abbey-style life at Highclere (the model for the estate in the TV show) can’t compete with her adventures in Egypt, but that’s likely the point. Though her life in either locale is far from what most of us will ever experience ourselves, the medium of fiction brings us into her world as she copes with multiple losses and develops a mature outlook that will stand her well in the future.

To Chase the Glowing Hours was published by Regal House in September 2025, and I reviewed it from a NetGalley copy. This is one of several recent novels about Lady Eve, including Gill Paul's The Collector's Daughter (2021) and Marie Benedict's Daughter of Egypt (2026).

New Year, new platform - Reading the Past is now also on Substack

Best wishes for a good upcoming year, as well as great reading to all of you for 2026! Thanks for following my posts. I always enjoy hearing from everyone, so please feel free to comment or reply with your own thoughts and reading recommendations.

For the last few months, I’ve been pondering the future of Reading the Past and where I’d like to take it. While I appreciate that the platform has been free, the Blogspot/Blogger interface has become antiquated and limiting. I haven’t been able to update the layout for years without risking the loss of important content. It’s not mobile-friendly, and it takes messing with HTML to get pictures and text to center correctly. I’m also under no illusion that Google will keep Blogger around forever. In addition, the Mailchimp software I use for email subscribers, which stopped being free around a year after I adopted it, is functional, but more cumbersome than it needs to be for admins.

About a year ago, I opened an account at Substack since many of my email subscriptions were on that platform, and I wanted to keep track of them all. I claimed a domain there since it asked me for a name, but I didn’t do anything as far as publishing on Substack. Until I had some downtime over the recent holiday break and got to exploring the options a little further. Before, the idea of migrating to a new platform, maybe paying $$$ for a redesign, had been daunting… but according to their Help files, Substack could automate the migration from Blogger.

So I tried it, and within a few hours, most of my 1,969 posts, covering the past twenty years, were copied over to Substack. (All but 53 of them. I don’t know which 53 are missing, which will haunt me, but I’ll learn to live with it.) I love the colorful new layout and its ease of use for subscriber management, and I’m getting familiar with the posting process.

My posts, now on Substack

 

The plan is for my Substack to act as a mirror of the Blogger version of Reading the Past going forward, so if you subscribe via email, you now have options. If you prefer to stick with your current newsletter format, you’re good. It isn’t going away. But if you’d prefer to move to Substack, you can unsubscribe from this site (I won’t judge you) and sign up there at:

https://readingthepast.substack.com

 
If you’re already subscribed to Reading the Past on Substack, even though there wasn’t much to look at until a few days ago, thank you! For those currently subscribed to both, you'll probably want to unsub from one or the other since, apart from the post you’re reading now, you’ll get duplicate content in your inbox if you don’t. Either way, my posts will remain free to read.

Thanks again for reading, and wherever you plan to join me, I’m glad you’re here and look forward to sharing more reviews and historical fiction news in the coming year.