99 Books Like Death in Lover's Lane

Threat of exposure of a scandalous affair takes Lynley and his sidekick Havers from London into the countryside, where they reveal how a hidden past and the mistaken identity of a father by his son, led to murder. I love it for the writing style – George's later books became too big for me – the characters she creates with such clarity and passion, who are put into situations that threaten their lives, reputation, and ideals.

This novel gave me an insight into the cloistered grounds of a convent where two nuns are found, one dead, one mortally wounded. The killings appear to be without motive, without an obvious suspect, and are further complicated by the murder and mutilation of a third woman. A medical examiner Maura Isles and a homicide detective Jane Rizzoli (both introduced in earlier Tess Gerritsen novels) uncover an ancient horror that connects these terrible slaughters. I love the camaraderie between Isles and Rizzoli despite their contrasting personalities, and the fact that the story takes us to a distant land where it all started.

As someone who works in a college environment, I see essays and other compositions on a regular basis, each one composed under soft conditions, with results leading to low consequences. In short, they are harmless. Mostly. So, I found the premise for this thriller utterly captivating.

What if getting an A on a simple college writing assignment means encountering life-threatening dangers for yourself and the people you love? Is it worth it? In a time when most students don’t even want to think about the details, much less put in the “extra effort” to write something most people would want to read, I’m hooked when someone decides that going the extra mile is worth it, especially when the results keep me on the edge of my seat.

Having loved Allende’s previous novels, this tale of history and suspense took me into the magical worlds of South American culture, to gain a better understanding of what the immigrant experience is really like for other people. Redacting from a reviewer’s comment, “this story filled with Allende's signature lyricism and ingenious plotting, teaches us what it means to respect, protect, and love.”

This list wouldn’t be complete without a story about a journalist in peril.

Reporter Camille Preaker returns to her hometown to cover the murder of teen girls after she’s been through a tough time herself. As she covers the story and meets some interesting characters, she begins piecing things together, never realizing how close she is to the true danger. 

Camille has had a rough past, which colors her worldview and her judgment. The book explores how grief and trauma aren’t easily overcome and can’t be shelved simply because time has passed and other people have told you to move on.

I love the notion that sometimes danger is much closer than you think. As readers, we care and worry about Camille as she attempts to not just report on this story but also crack the case.

This is a very powerful book that takes the city of St. Louis as a case study to illustrate the amount of violence, discrimination, and inequities that have happened across a 300-year period, particularly with respect to race. 

Johnson develops the idea of racial capitalism throughout the book, and notes that “the red thread that runs through this entire book is the historical relationship between imperialism and anti-Blackness.” At the same time, the city has also been home to both communist and Black radical organizing into the 20th century. 

A highly interesting and important case study of American inequality and exploitation.

This book reminded me of the deep parallels in the histories of Missouri and Kentucky. I don’t tend to associate Kentucky with Missouri, but Astor’s book really drives home why that is wrongheaded. Both were border states and, during the war, both suffered guerrilla insurgencies, had divided populations, and ended up supporting the pro-Confederate Lost Cause vision of the war. And when so much writing on Kentucky’s history is focused on its white inhabitants, Astor restores agency to its African American residents, showing how they resisted slavery and then, after emancipation, created their own institutions to contest for racial equality in the face of fierce opposition.

Here's another amazing woman—angry, determined 18-year-old Adair—who travels through Missouri’s brutal Civil War landscape looking for her father. Jailed in St. Louis under horrid conditions for suspected Confederate sympathies, she brawls with a fellow prisoner, strategically worms her way into the prison matron’s good graces, then captures the heart of a Union interrogator who helps her escape.

I am not a horse person, but Jiles’s description of Adair’s relationship with her horse Whiskey is otherworldly and totally converted me. One nightmare scene follows another as Adair makes her way back to her family home, and I love the resourceful lies she concocts to save herself and Whiskey amid guerrilla warfare and martial law.

Beautiful language; Jiles is a poet, and it shows.

This book was my first Beverly Jenkins novel, and it made me fall in love with her historical romance novels. Before I read it, all the historicals I’d read were Regencies. I was thrilled to find a historical romance with black characters in the United States, which opened my eyes to a part of history I didn’t know much about.

But, the historical aspects were not the only thing that captured my attention. Galen, the Creole hero and free Black man who worked as a conductor on the Underground Railroad, is the reason I recommend this book. There is plenty of chemistry and sensuality between the couple, but his gentleness and love for Hester, a former slave, is unmatched. Galen is one of the best kinds of heroes, and Hester deserves all the love he showers her with. 

Let’s face it. Christianity has been used to support slavery, encourage white people to be racist, and send women back to the 1950s.

That’s why I found Jarod Roll’s Spirit of Rebellion refreshing and important. It was a good reminder that faith can also provide the moral courage necessary for change. It can unite people instead of dividing them.

I can’t imagine a place and time more disposed to racist divisions than rural Missouri in the late 19th century. Yet, poor white and Black farmers there found common ground as rebels against the emerging capitalist order. How? Through the Pentecostal revivals that swept the region in this same period. If that’s not a message of hope in these trying times, then I don’t know what is.