Books like Divided — picked by fans

I grew up watching the best horror movies of the 80s. My parents put me to bed watching Nightmare on Elm Street and this harbored my passion for a truly scary bedtime story. Zombies became my focus when I was trying to decide what road to take with my own writing. There’s something familiar about them, since they were once humans, but also terrifying. They don’t need to eat or sleep, they never stop, and they’ll just keep coming no matter how much you fight them off. I spent my twenties devouring every zombie book and movie I could and now I'm privileged to be a part of this classic horror genre.

Ever since I read 1984 when I was a teenager, I’ve been fascinated by this idea of how we as humans respond to desperate situations, and where better to find those situations than in the dystopia and post-apocalyptic genres? Novels in these categories are often, at their core, underdog stories. As a reader, I love seeing a character battle and overcome situations that, in the real world, would give any of us nightmares. But more than that, I love stories that touch me emotionally, that balance the line between tragic and beautiful.

My reading habits came from my mom, a voracious reader. Every book she enjoyed she would leave on my bedside table. I’d read them after school until I fell asleep and finish them up in the morning before breakfast. All of that reading allowed me to hone in on my preferred genre. If you haven’t guessed by my list, it’s dystopian. No matter the story, it will never get old because it will always have three things: Self-discovery, hope, and an intriguing world to explore. In the rare lull between books, when I can’t find a world I like, I write one for myself.

I’ve always been curious about how stories shape how we see the world. As a child, I noticed there were countless conflicting stories explaining how things worked. But which stories were the real ones? Which were true? At university, I studied the stories we tell ourselves about how the world will end. And as we live in times that can feel quite apocalyptic, I’m particularly fascinated by the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and what the future holds. If society dissolved around us, what stories would we tell ourselves to keep going? Are we telling those stories now?  

I love to read. Reading since I was 3 years old, devouring book after book. As I grew, my taste expanded. Yet it was the sci-fi book, The Black Hole, by Disney that I discovered in second grade that captured my passion for writing and storytelling. I cannot count how many books I've read, but I can tell you the ones that have left a lasting impression on me. Because of that, I began to write my own stories. I've seven books written and published, the newest one releasing soon. While my tastes in books vary, only one thing remains consistent: finding the best books that capture me and hold me hostage!

For the last seven years, I’ve worked with art and artists, particularly those who prioritize spaces like nightclubs as spaces of expression. Museums and nightclubs have both helped me bring my fullest self to fruition, from my queer experiences to my immigrant experiences. I believe something magical resides within those spaces that connect friends, family, and music, and it remains difficult to put a finger on, but you recognize it when you see it. These books are just a taste of a way to better understand that experience of collectivity—across love, friendship, and art—and I hope you enjoy them as much as I have! 

I write fiction and nonfiction. I tell the truth, but on occasion, I twist the truth to create entertaining stories to feed your soul like soul food Sunday. I write for kids: for the teeny tots and rebel rousers. Stories both short and long with characters brave, bold, and strong. Settings that transport you to a world so captivating, you don’t want to leave. My stories are like quilts, threaded with themes of love, hope, family, and food. They provide comfort, keeping you hopeful through times of despair. I handle your heart, mind, and soul with care. I love seeing children have agency on the page. I love that they do them, and they are unapologetic about what they do. 

I've been aware since childhood how people are battered by political and social forces. My family lived in Taiwan in the 1950s, when it was an impoverished, insecure place. Later, back in D.C., the Civil Rights movement and nascent counterculture and my mother's death deepened my conviction that conflict and fragility are facts of life. Novels like these five, whose characters face overwhelming situations, nurture our reserves of empathy. In my memoir of adolescence, I reexamined how, at 16, I tried to handle the jigsaw pieces of looming adulthood, gay panic, family tragedy, and social upheaval. That needed all the empathy—for myself—that I could muster.

I am passionate about words and reading, and I love books that examine and record the chaos and mayhem of human existence. When I think about why I don’t want to die, it’s mainly because I can't bear the thought of missing out on what happens next. I feel privileged to be alive during this strange, fraught time of epochal change and to be able to use my skills as a writer to record not just the facts of what happens but how it feels to witness it all, the sensibility of our time, the recording of which is, I believe, the essence of great literature.

I’ve always been drawn to stories where light trembles on the edge of annihilation. The Deathly Shadow grew from that space—where broken people must still try, even when hope is an ember. I’m especially interested in how violence shapes children—their choices, their trust, and the way they carry themselves through a collapsing world. I strive to write characters with real emotional weight and a filmic sense of presence—where every gesture, glance, and silence means something. I believe the darkest stories, when told with care, can reveal what we most need to protect. This book explores the cost of survival—and whether love, memory, and courage are enough to challenge even the worst of endings.