24 books like Ghost World Sequence

I read this tiny collection of stories after chatting to the author on social media, and it's what got me reading again after two years of barely reading a thing.

Nostalgic, atmospheric, and vivid, these stories are sometimes stomach-churningly brutal. Even though a lot of them deal with the supernatural, it's the most mundane of situations that are the most anxiety-inducing. They took me right back to my own Northern childhood, with all the mystery, boredom, wonder, and terror it entailed. A very emotional collection with as much heart as heartbreak, wrapped up in chiming prose.

In my opinion, one of the finest living writers in the English language, Winterson masterfully spins a tale of historical, poetic, eccentric, dreamy and highly sensual, and gender-bending eroticism involving an androgynous hero during the Napoleonic era, and taking place in the kitchens of the emperor, on the battlefield and along the freezing march into Russia, as well as amid the canals of Venice. Always thought-provoking and rife with magical realism and plain heart-stopping imagery, tension, and poetry, Winterson tells her story in a manner that will—if not change your ideas about everything—certainly challenge them. I always feel inspired to stretch my understanding wider—and I actually fall deeply in love with the world all over again—each time I finish a novel by Winterson.

A book I’d wanted to read for a long time, but it wasn’t until later in life I was able to get it. When I was just on the early stages of my writing career, my now longtime friend, Marty, said he had a spare copy of Cabal laying around and offered to send it to me. Marty was my writing mentor at the time as he’d been writing horror for many years previous, and his work is inspiring. So, knowing I was getting a book in the mail from my mentor, to whom I hadn’t met in person yet, was very exciting. The book itself was a tired secondhand copy (which I was told it was) yet this gave it more special meaning. Even the cover was a little torn and it was a pocket edition. So, I sat back with this little book, which I still have as… show more.

This is the book that taught me how powerful loneliness can be.

Every time I return to it, I feel one character’s ache settle into me, that desperate want to belong somewhere, even if it’s a house that doesn’t love you back. I recommend it because it still feels as if I’m attempting to figure out what is happening alongside the characters, the way only great writing can.

Jackson makes you realize that the scariest hauntings aren’t in the walls, they’re the ones we carry within us.

When I was ten, I collided with the Greek myths and was left all of a heap.

For at least a year, I thought of little else but these wonderful stories. I wrote my own versions, I drew them, I was obsessed. Hermes was my favourite (and still is). Wings on his heels! Wings on his hat!

A deep love of myth and folklore has stayed with me through my life. Many years later, I wanted to introduce my younger brother to the myths and came across this book. It’s superb, especially with Charles Keeping’s powerful illustrations.

The Greek gods were the powers of the universe: fire, wind, sea, earth; love, hate, jealousy… This book, written by authors who also deeply loved the myths, makes you feel their power.

Because of this book, I crept out of bed and downstairs while my parents slept.

Why? I hoped to catch my mother’s ornaments coming to life as they do in Andersen’s tales. I reasoned that Andersen was an adult and would know about such things. Why did he put it in his book if it wasn’t true?

I never caught the china horse galloping along the shelf, but I still loved these stories. They are full of fantastical imaginings and, at the same time, thoroughly down to earth. I read the account of the mermaids’ gardens beneath the sea again and again. (And Andersen’s Little Mermaid is far better than any film of it.)

If there is a child in your life who reads, they need this book!

When I was seven, my dad bought me this book for Christmas. He’d loved it as a child and wanted me to have it too.

I loved the book as much as he did.

Dad gave the stories he loved to the daughter he loved—and, originally, Kipling wrote them for the daughter he adored. He read them to her at bedtime, and she insisted on them being told in exactly the same words—or "just-so"—each time. Which explains the book’s odd title.

The stories pretend to explain "how the leopard got his spots" and "how the camel got his hump." Like my dad before me, I read them over and over.

And just to break your heart, Kipling’s beloved daughter died at six and broke his heart.

I like a writer of ghost stories to personally believe in ghosts, as Benson did.

I also appreciate that he brings to even his scariest and most horrible tales the same sharp social observation and wit that he brought to his Mapp and Lucia stories.

Note, however, that the great M. R. James thought Benson’s stories "went over the line of legitimate horridness." Well, I love James, but disagree with him here. I dislike gross horror myself, but think a touch of Benson-style horridness now and again is enlivening (if that’s the right term for a ghost story).

Who needs Bram Stoker and boring old Dracula, when Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu had a better name, and penned the original vampire tale, Carmilla, a whole quarter-century earlier?

Personally, I dislike obvious attempts to scare or horrify me. So I appreciate that Le Fanu is always subtle, concentrating on creating an atmosphere of threat and fear, as in Schalken the Painter. He is never obvious, but always eerie.

We all think we know "A Christmas Carol" but after the Muppet version, I find myself thinking of it as simply comical.

Until I re-read it, I forget just how chilling the ghosts who visit Scrooge are. And I love "Captain Murderer," Dickens’ account of how his nursemaid terrified him with scary tales, because it takes me back to my own childhood love of terrors.

Then there are stories like "The Signalman," which is not at all funny, darkened with the signalman’s dreadful loneliness and apprehension.

Dickens was a Master. Even his humorous ghost stories have an edge of fear.