I have a problem with historical fiction: so much of it seems to me to be irredeemably of the time of writing, and thus no more than contemporary fiction in period dress.
This fault, I think, is not to be found with any of the following:
Patrick O'Brian: The Aubrey-Maturn series
Set on a British warship during the Napoleonic Wars. O'Brian's knowledge of his subject was encyclopaedic, yet he wears his learning lightly.
William Golding: To the Ends of the Earth trilogy
A young upper-class Englishman keeps a journal of his voyage to Australia in 1812. Smells of salt and ship's tar, and was a thoroughly deserved winner of the prestigious Booker Prize.
Joseph O'Connor: Star of the Sea
Eighteen forty-seven. To escape the famine raging in Ireland, a group of refugees take ship to America. If you want to learn about the Irish potato famine without having to plough through anything too academic, this is where you should go. A wonderful and heartbreaking novel.
George MacDonald Fraser: The Flashman series
Fraser resurrects the bully Flashman of Tom Brown's Schooldays, and makes him an officer in Queen Victoria's army. Though a cad and a coward, events always conspire to make him look a hero. Meticulously researched, exciting and hilarious. But be warned: when the first volume was published, one American reviewer in three took the work for fact.