69 Books Like Below the Edge of Darkness

This book is absolutely fascinating. This author makes me wish that I could take her classes. She provides the sweet release of wonder, the gloriousness of the deep sea, the alien, and the mysterious and the magical.

She walks us through the world of the unknown, the struggle of the scientist to try to understand something we can never truly know. She also shatters us with the many ways that we must watch this world disappear, even when we never really knew it existed in the first place. We get a tiny glimpse as humans into the Wild West that is the deep, and yet our impact reaches far beyond our knowledge. We are destroying something so rich and vast it’s akin to outer space.

Break my heart, but keep putting it back together. 

This book, an anthology from women on the frontline of addressing Climate Change, is a must-read for our teams, including essays from a number of young women leading the charge, including Xiye Bastida Patrick and Alexandria Villaseñor. The book is remarkable in how clear-sighted each writer/storyteller is and how each essay rings with hope.

Lulu Miller is a woman looking to the past, and specifically to an early 20th century taxonomist, for inspiration in the face of disappointment in her own life. As someone who also looks to historical figures for inspiration, this premise always gets me.

Miller, however, gets more than she bargained for in learning about the life of this taxonomist and spends the rest of her book grappling with the good and evil that can reside within the same person, alongside her exploration of the science of time.

This book was so unique and entrancing that I couldn’t put it down. A must-read for those with an interest in science history.

And I enjoyed learning about the life of this young self-identified “queer mixed race” author, navigating their racial and sexual identity in America today, as much as I enjoyed learning about the animals that they were writing about.

Imbler twines the two in an acknowledgment that we humans are, in fact, twined with the natural world. Her metaphors that link human communities with marine communities, or the predatory “Bobbit” worm with the story of Lorena Bobbit, are engaging and revealing. 

I will never dive miles below the ocean’s surface, but this book about the deep-sea submersible Alvin, which is operated by Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, takes me from the sunlit surface to the dark world without the sun thousands of feet below.

I enjoyed learning how the submersible’s pilot maneuvers this small craft, large enough for only the pilot and two scientists, to the bottom of the sea. The author did a lot of research, including interviewing one of the Alvin’s pilots, so her book is filled with the kind of authentic details that make for good science writing. 

Some say this book is horror. I recommend it not as a horror book, but as a glimpse into illness, grief, and uncertainty through the lens of magical realism.

I see the moments along the way that are scary, but for me, those are just jump pads to the action of living, of existing, of the complicated state of being unwell, and how love will allow you to accept more than you thought you were capable of.

Does Julia know she showcased the slow decline of a chronically ill person in the way she did? I do not know. But as a chronically ill person myself, I saw poignant vignettes of tenderness around the topic.

Though the dual storylines, the unknown, the fear, are interesting and creative, it’s the quiet moments between two women who love each other, just wondering what’s next, that will stay with you.

Full disclosure: I still haven’t seen the National Geographic special, but I’ll go down arguing the book is better (much as I do love David Attenborough films). This book is something of a tome, but it’s so engagingly written that it had me up well past my bedtime night after night. 

I’ve always been intrigued by our oceans – one of my first great childhood heroes was Jacques Cousteau – but the true charm of this book is its boundless hope. It would be easy to fall into despair and catastrophization writing a book that deals so intimately with climate change, but instead, there is example after example of people who live as full participants in the cycle of life, not observers of it, whose footsteps beat a path to a world where we all flourish together.

I always had a love of all things maritime growing up, so it’s no wonder that, upon discovering an audiobook version read by none other than literary maverick Harlan Ellison, I fell madly for this icon of nautical adventure. It has everything you could want: the archetypal mad genius Captain Nemo, the ornate submarine Nautilus, exotic creatures and locales, and a unique cast of “guests.”

From the touching dedication of servant Conseil to our narrator, Professor Aronnax, to the forthright harpooner Ned Land, this exploration of uncharted waters and unwilling captives paints as vivid a picture of a life and world unseen as it does the costs of leading such a life. Few tales earn classic status quite like this one.

This book is captivating visually and narratively, and while it’s a nonfiction exploration of early deep sea exploration, it’s also a beautiful tale through the images and artifacts, both personal and scientific, to those involved in the creation of this new way of seeing the ocean world.

I find the deep sea to be such an intriguing, terrifying place, and I have a deep appreciation and reverence for the fact that we know so little about it. That it has the power to maintain mystery and secrets. As part of that, I enjoyed knowing that the people involved in this journey were seeing a minuscule fraction of the ocean’s deep sea creatures in their natural habitat for the first time ever seen by humans. It must’ve been so thrilling and special to experience, and by reading this book, the reader gets to be on that journey with them a little… show more.

This book is claustrophobic, unflinching, and horrifying, so I can’t watch videos from seafloor subs, drones, or observatories. I’m used to sci-fi that takes place in the cold black isolation of a spaceship, but here we have the cold black isolation of the seabed, which triggers all the thalassophobia. Add the meticulous routines of a crew surviving in a place where humans shouldn’t be and, above all, the awful psychological pull of the void, and you get deliciously potent nightmare fuel.

But maybe more than that, I love that Watts is one of those authors, like Richard Morgan, who creates spec-fic characters with questionable morality, who can and do alarm the reader. Everyone I know who’s ever read this book has never forgotten it, shudders when I mention it and knows who Lenie Clark is.