16 books like Little Grey Rabbit

Sent off to the old Derbyshire farm to convalesce, Penelope Taverner opens a door, steps into the world of the tragic stand-off between Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth of England, and hardly notices she's time-travelling.

She's just there, among people who dress a little strangely: accepted as exactly what she is, the daughter of an old family connection, come to stay for a while. Nothing can be done. Mary of Scots can't be saved; nor can the courageous Babingtons. It's intense and a bit voyeurish in a way, because the time-traveller is always going to walk away unharmed from tragedy, if not untouched.

I loved this story when I was a child, but what I notice most as an adult writer is Alison Uttley's method with the time travel: a real innovation. No clunky explanation, no clever rationale. It's all about hints and glimpses, haunting fragments; drifting into each… show more.

I’ve had so much joy imagining events below stairs in Baker Street, it would be wrong not to include a tale from above stairs. This one finds the great detective grappling with a Christmas goose, a stranger’s hat, and the stolen jewel of the title. My father used to bring me the Conan Doyle books from the library when I was a child, and would often wonder aloud what tales Mr. Holmes’s housekeeper could have told. Many years later, as a birthday gift for him, I wrote my first Mrs. Hudson novel. 

Shaun Tan is an artist and writer, and an Oscar winner to boot, and I love the dazzling originality and quirkiness of his work. This one’s on my list because it includes the (very) short story "The Nameless Holiday". Which is not at all about Christmas. But sort of is, in an opposite-of-Christmas sort of way. (No spoilers - you really have to read it to see what I mean.) Anyway, late December always feels like a brilliant time to read it again. Another one I go back to every year. 

Can I make this list and not include a golden-age detective story set in a country house at Christmas? This one has all the ingredients required for an afternoon by the fire, looking out at the wintry weather—a locked room, an appealing detective, and a cast of people compelled, rather unwisely, to spend Christmas in each other’s company. "If you ask me, there very likely wouldn’t have been a murder at all if it hadn’t been for him getting ideas about peace and goodwill, and assembling all these highly uncongenial people under the same roof at the same time.” 

Dylan Thomas’s compressed and lyrical account of a young lad’s Christmas has always enchanted me, and it continues every time I read it or hear it read. I recommend listening to the author reading it, available on YouTube. It is delightful poetic prose, moving, amusing, and always surprising. I envy his style here and his wit, feeling, and language proficiency. I wish I could write like that.

As a six-year-old, I was enraptured by the 1974 BBC TV adaptation of this book, thrilled by the notion that I, too, might one day find a magical route into hidden worlds.

As my reading skills improved, I did just that, thanks to a library card and books like this one. Pearce’s tale is haunting and beautifully told, and there’s an ingenious little piece of time-travel plotting involving a pair of ice skates that blew my preteen mind.

A Japanese ghost story, set in an imaginary, contemporary, Japanese town by a Singaporean first novelist.

I picked this out at Brighton Library because I liked the cover, but Clarissa Goenawan's Rainbirds has survived the goodreads treatment, so hopefully she's a writer to watch (I mean, there will be more of these).

Readers have recalled Haruki Murakami, because it's allegedly Japanese, and a bit off-kilter, but to me this dreamlike narrative seemed fresh and floating: ungrounded, not alienated. I thought of another Japanese writer, Kazuo Ishiguro, & The Buried Giant: a misty, off-kilter take on Arthurian Britain, in which everyone seems either asleep, or else making the journey the dead make to wherever they go, while dreaming the novel's action...

No, I give up, I can't explain the charm, you'd have to try it and see, & yes, those are goldfish, not any kind of birds on the cover, and… show more.

R.Murray Gilchrist was a Derbyshire man from a good Derbyshire family, liked or loved by the local people he met and helped, but a loner, a total oddity in the wild English Peak District of a hundred years ago: who wanted to be an artist of all things.

His stories are grotesque, sad, touching, and strange; all at once. He doesn't seem to set out to frighten the reader, not at all, but there's a sense of eerie, rather dreadful, longing that will haunt you. As Ellis Reed says (read the article), this was Lovecraft before Lovecraft, but with no cute tentacled monsters to lighten things up. Don't read them all at once.

George MacDonald was a Scottish preacher who turned to fantasy fiction, and became a sort of Victorian superstar: “Queen Victoria gave copies of Robert Falconer to her grandchildren. Everybody read his books—Lewis Carroll, John Ruskin, H.G. Wells, Charles Dickens, Edna Lyall, Mark Twain . . . as well as the queen herself.”

I don't think I can explain the attraction to modern reader, you'll get it or you won't: I first met his novel-length “romances” (Phantastes and Lilith) when I was eight, suffering after a horrible trip to the dentist, and found the stories very weird and comforting. Whereas most “fairy tales” are quite brutal, if you're paying attention.

I find H.Rider Haggard's famous tales of adventure (e.g. King Solomon's Mines) pretty disgusting: bunch of white guys in southern Africa, where they can slaughter and loot at will, far from the constraints of “civilised” society.

But “She” is one of a kind. A perilous wilderness, where the people who put pots on the heads of strangers have a very sinister outlook on life (these are cooking pots, and this is a stranded population, desperate for protein). Their immortal goddess (originally Ancient Greek?) lives in a tomb, doesn't seem to eat or drink; talks like a spoilt, entitled Victorian debutante, and fascinates our hero.

I imagine the author, a humble civil servant when not dreaming of glorious gory derring-do, met young ladies of her kind socially, and was snubbed a few times. She pays... and I won't spoil the horror of it for you, but it's pretty bad! A guilty… show more.