Books like Autumn Country — picked by fans

The Elephant Vanishes includes two of my favorite stories by any contemporary writer.

Set in the forested vicinity of a factory that makes elephants, “The Dancing Dwarf” follows the adventures of a marvelous dwarf who once danced for the king, alas, now pursued by soldiers of the revolution. The other side of the spectrum, “The Last Lawn of the Afternoon” partakes of the fantastic only by osmosis. The care this teenage boy takes mowing and trimming his assigned lawns feels so real it reminds me of myself.

This range keeps the reader slightly off balance and full of expectation, which might not be so exciting if we weren’t in the hands of one of the finest practitioners of the craft anywhere in the world.  

Isabel Allende shows us marvels from South American traditions, archetypal stories with the excitement of passionate lovers and desperate bandits.

Once you finish the stories—not one a clunker—your mind will have been temporarily readjusted to the dangerous and fantastical world of deeply hidden human motivations. It’s as good as her autobiographical Paula, which is an education between covers. At first, I wouldn’t read Isabel Allende because two friends told me she imitated Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

I later learned they had not actually read any of her books. I decided to see for myself. Not true, I told them. Read the books.

This collection reads like realistic stories from the perspective of a single point-of-view that throws common life into the realm of the weirdly uncommon.

In fact, I kept reading to figure out what I was reading. What changed in the process? My own perception of the world in which we live. These people may be like us, but the writer looks at them with new and different eyes. These stories sneak up on you and take over your mind for a marvelously short time because it’s a short book of short stories—one I recommend because it’s so unusual.

Daniyal Mueenuddin derives the marvelous from the depiction of wealthy and poor Pakistani characters surviving as gracefully or gracelessly as humanly possible.

Reading at times like social anthropology, at times like magical realism, the stories are folk tales with inspections of and lessons about human foibles. Characters come to life with large and small schemes, machinations, and quasi-unconscious action that arises from a combination of tradition, desperation, and privilege.

The underlying humor, both dark and loving, is something the writer shares with the reader.  

In classical detective fiction, the story of the crime is like a puzzle, and piece by piece, clue by clue, we arrive at the big picture. Subdivision is, in some ways, a classic puzzle mystery (it even involves a puzzle!)—except it doesn’t start at a crime scene. It starts with a woman arriving at a guesthouse in the surreal and Kafkaesque Subdivision where she now lives. She can’t remember why she is there or really anything from her past.
Unlike more classical detective fiction, she is not a guide; I followed her—tracking, assembling, interpreting—but when certain elements of the real (maybe) slid into focus, they did so mostly despite her. I couldn’t put it down, and notwithstanding its fairly cerebral tone, I cried at the end.

Derek Raymond’s 4th book in his Factory Series is sublimely dark and poetic. It’s brit-grit with an industrial, dirty backdrop and hard feel. Some lines are funny in their harshness with a cliched bad PI turned up to max.

This is a British hard-boiled, hard-drinking, and damaged detective with all the atmosphere of a French noir clashing with Ted Lewis’ Get Carter.

I Was Dora Suarez is a prime example of brit-noir with a flawed protagonist chasing clues and signs in an equally damaged world. Despite the bleakness of the characters and situations it’s impossible not to be gripped and have your face thrust against the glass to see.

This is an absolute classic of the comic novel genre, so popular that it found its way onto the big screen. This dark comedy plays out more like a farce as we follow the misadventures of Henry Wilt, an underappreciated and frustrated teacher. His life spirals out of control due to a series of absurd and ridiculous misunderstandings. The novel’s momentum is driven by these absurdities and gross misinterpretations, all skillfully woven together by the flawed actions of a cast of colorful characters, each caricatured to deliver maximum comedic impact.

Tom Sharpe imbues his characters—whether it's the incompetency of the police, Wilt’s oppressive wife, or Wilt himself—with wit and cynicism. His writing is a blend of slapstick, satire, and dark comedy, frequently veering into the absurd and ridiculous. Despite the over-the-top plot, the novel maintains a consistent pace and a dry, ironic tone. As a comic novelist myself, who values… show more.

The Wild Boys is at once dystopian and utopian, featuring a band of boys who’ve gone rogue and have perfected strange and poetically beautiful sex rites which allow them to ritually and meditatively conjure or reproduce more wild boy offspring. At once science fiction and fantastical in its imaginative scope, it is also, like all Burroughs’s work, a profound exploration of social control, the excesses and assumptions inherent in state and religious terror, and the sexual and erotic oppression and misunderstanding that is the real enemy of freedom. Fearless and experimental, Burroughs inspires me to be bold, blunt, and not afraid to disturb or offend in exploring the poetic and erotic relationships between all manner of ideas.

I never met Alex Finley, but we worked for some of the same people, and her book triggered a flood of memories for me. Black humor thrives in counterterrorism work—partly because laughing is a more acceptable way to release tension in the workplace than crying or punching tech support.

This is broad satire but with a hefty dose of authenticity. Anyone who has worked in a bureaucracy will laugh at this novel, but if you’ve worked in an intelligence bureaucracy, you’ll be snorting coffee from your nose.

This is the dirty realist poet, Charles Bukowski's, last novel and is filled with intriguing code and name-dropping of people he knew and was influenced by. As well as being as poetic as hell. Pulp also gives a glimpse of what it might have been like if Bukowski had lived on and ventured fully into crime fiction or pulp noir.

I love the book’s surface-level simplicity to draw you into its world. However, it then subversively lets bigger themes creep in: including surrealism and spiritualism, as the author faces his own death. All this with Bukowski’s deftly poetic touches.

This showed me how semi-autobiographical elements can fuse and influence fiction and vice versa. And, that it doesn't have to be hard to absorb or distract from the story. By acknowledging layers in writing which are there for those who want to peel back and discover them. And when they don’t,… show more.