The best literary novels for inducing laughter and tears on the same page

I love the quirkiness of Haddon’s protagonist, Christopher, and how Haddon enables the reader to experience what Christopher is feeling and thinking. Christopher is “different,” and he is endearing because of that: one who is sensitive, heartbreakingly sweet, wiser than the average bear, and an example of how we can work through our problems by embracing our uniqueness. But there is nothing heavy-handed or didactic in this novel. Christopher’s story is treated with humor and optimism, not only for Christopher’s future, but for all of us. Who among us isn’t different?  

I have gone back to this story multiple times to laugh and cry on the same page. It’s an expansive novel, which toggles between Hollywood, Rome, and the Cinque Terre with equal ease and sensory description. (I vaguely remember that Ireland and the Northwest are in there as well. Yep, you are swept up and around the globe.) Some of the international cast of characters are hilarious, including an over-the-top star turn by Richard Burton. But, it’s not all fun and games. There is a mystery of identity, unfinished business, and unresolved love, with all its joy and heartbreak. Jess Walter is a genius writer. I’m in awe of his craft. But equally important, I’m a sucker for a good cry after so much laughter.   

I love the magical realism aspect of this novel, which Benjamin handles with such a deft hand you don’t question whether or not the impossible is possible. A fortune teller’s prediction and old-world superstition create a heavy weight that exquisitely-drawn characters must navigate. The power of belief and its effect on destiny is a complex topic. Is it good or bad to know our future? Should we act on what we’ve been told? Should we ignore it? If we believe something does that make it happen? If we disbelieve does it not happen? Every character is a gem, including Klara: an extraordinary magician who convinced me we must embrace the mysteries of the world even if we can’t comprehend them.   

I was deeply affected by Foer’s descriptions of the shtetl in Poland, the cruelty that affected its villagers, and the inescapable effect of this tragedy on future generations. Foer’s ancestry mirrored what I knew of my own family history, and the desire we have to document those stories before they disappear. But Foer alternates the “old world’s” dramatic scenes with hilarity. The Polish blind driver who guides Foer on his search to discover his family’s past employs a “seeing eye bitch” (a dog) to help him navigate the countryside. And his narrator’s constant quirky misuse of English makes for a unique voice that I still—twenty years after reading the book—can’t get out of my head. The novel is at times heartbreaking, at times uproarious, and always oh-so-satisfying.  

This classic is the perfect example of why Morrison is considered one of the all-time greatest American writers. Her storytelling is visceral, and made me experience what it might feel like to be enslaved and bring that suffering forward to future generations. Morrison’s characters’ trauma is our country’s trauma, and for that reason, this novel should be required reading for us all. Her use of magical realism is grounded in both history and indigenous belief. And yes, there are light moments here and there, as Morrison is a master who knows you can’t have a great novel if you don’t laugh occasionally. If you haven’t put this novel on your list, do not pass go or collect $200. Read it, laugh, cry, and learn from the experience.