Books like Echoes of Celandine — picked by fans

No list of mine would be complete without a Graham Greene novel on it.

My favourite author, the one I return to time and again. I reread this novel while I was writing my book, and it had lost none of its power or, indeed, glory since the last time I read it.

The story of a whisky priest on the run in the anti-Catholic purges in South America, it’s about faith, hope, self-worth, and fear. And redemption? Maybe. Maybe not. No one writes tortured souls like Greene. No one makes you care for them more.

This is the novel, more than any other, that inspired me to write my book.

It’s the story of Pale Fire, the final poem of the murdered American poet John Shade. It’s put into an anthology, and his editor, Charles Kinbolt, is asked to provide a preface, commentary, and notes. As these notes get wildly out of hand, another narrative starts to emerge. Did Kinbolt murder Shade? And was he using Pale Fire to identify his murderer? A great book.

Nabokov is a modernist master, and in no way can I compete with him, so I didn’t try. But it’s kind of the first metathriller and should be read by anyone with an interest in great writing.

I’ve chosen this because it was the first of the Slough House books I read. I soon remedied that, of course.

Mick Herron is a modern master of the spy novel. He showed me how to drag it into the present day and make it as relevant as the headlines while also creating characters you care about, losing nothing of thrilling plotting, and being sometimes laugh-out-loud funny.

This was in there at the back of my mind when I started my book. Yes, a modern spy novel can be done without the old cliches and baggage.

Like Graham Greene, I could have picked just about any Leonard novel for this list.

Like the Greene Novel, I was reading it while writing my book, so it seeped into my writing DNA. Although, to be fair, Leonard’s been in my writing DNA since I first read him.

No one else could take the Southern Dixie Mafia, a high diver, an over-the-hill baseball player, and a smooth African American gangster transplanted from Detroit and turn it into both a fast-paced thriller, a laugh-out-loud comedy of manners (in which lots of people get shot), and elevate it into a kind of prose poetry that blows most Literary novels out of the water.

Leonard said it was one of his favourites of all of his novels. Mine too.

In Ordinary People, the boating-accident death of the older teenage son shatters the family.

Conrad, the younger son who was also on the boat, is tormented by self-blame for his brother’s death. After a suicide attempt and a psychiatric hospitalization, Conrad is released. He is still beset with guilt and depression and begins outpatient treatment with Dr. Berger, a blunt yet also an empathetic psychiatrist.

I like the way he helps Conrad reconsider his unrealistic guilt and helps him look at the limitations of his mother, a parent unable to provide him the warmth and support he needs. I like the way Dr. Berger is portrayed as caring and skilled, an example of how psychiatrists effectively treat their patients.

Think Starship Troopers updated for a modern audience, with a compelling main character whose rough upbringing launches his career as a military leader against a vicious and unique enemy.

I found myself mesmerized by the nuance, feeling, and technology in this book. No detail is too small to be left out, and it really fleshes out the universe presented in this book. The military lifestyle is captured with stark clarity, political intrusions on the military's operations are poignant and realistic, and the characters come alive with every turn of the page.

Do not sleep on this one, it's exactly the kind of story that will keep you up at night, thinking that the future could turn out just like the ideas presented in this epic story.

This slim graphic novel populated with murderous anthropomorphic animals might not seem like an obvious choice for a live-action cinematic adaptation, but the high concept here is irresistible: In a vicious universe where murder for hire is common, a laconic assassin is hired to take out the ultimate target—Adolf Hitler. Time travel, romance, jealousy, and bloody violence ensue, with plenty of twists and turns en route. A surprisingly funny and unremittingly dark sci-fi story that combines effortless French New Wave cool with a Tarantino-esque sense of humor, I Killed Adolf Hitler could become a verifiable dark comedy hit on the big screen.

This book was the first I read by Alice Winters and it is laugh-out-loud funny. I see a lot of books that claim to be that, but this one really is. Alice has a great turn of phrase and you can’t help but fall in love with her characters. Leland is truly one of a kind. I went on to read every book she has ever written! That doesn’t happen very often for me.  

A surprisingly funny and poignant memoir, What I Thought I Knew does at least two things brilliantly—gives us a window into Alice Eve Cohen’s hopes and fears of motherhood and simultaneously gives us a window into the broken medical system here in the U.S. At 44, after a series of medical tests, Cohen finds herself not sick, but pregnant. What unfolds from there veers from an absurd comedy to a horrific nightmare, all while crashing headlong into hers and everyone else’s expectations, assumptions, and morality. This book had me laughing out loud and sobbing simultaneously. It moved me at a core level to examine my own limiting beliefs and the things I thought I could count on. What I soon discovered was that nothing was certain and everything was up for grabs—regardless of what I had previously believed.

The discovery of insulin in early 1922 was a medical milestone that has since saved countless lives–my own included. Until this moment, a diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes was a certain death sentence. But as diabetes clinician and historian of medicine, Chris Feudtner points out, the success of insulin has distorted historical accounts of diabetes by marginalising the experience of the patient in favour of narratives that focus on the development of medical technology to treat them. And Feudtner’s diagnosis is confined not just to diabetes but to the history of medicine in general. Following a personal epiphany that patients have an existence beyond X-rays and blood tests, Feudtner set out to address this problem by writing a history of diabetes as told from the perspective of patients. He does so magnificently and offers important insights about our relationship with technology that extend well beyond the treatment of diabetes.