Books like Ecstasy — picked by fans

What I love about this short story collection by a true master of the writing craft is how psychedelic it is, without any actual references to drugs or counterculture.

Every story is a mind-bending trip delivered straight to the dome through innovative language and upended logic. I love the rabbit holes Borges sends his readers down, like the first story’s development of an entire other human civilization through the discovery of its never-ending encyclopedia.

The title Labyrinths is so fitting – reading these stories is like making your way through a literary maze with psychic surprises and twists around every turn of the page. 

Early in this book, a character uses his kitchen oven to dry out some psychedelic mushrooms harvested from the rooftop garden at his flat in World War II London. Dosing the characters (and somehow the reader) with Amanita Muscaria is an appropriate way to set the tone of this book.

Mushroom experiences are fun and giggly and clever, at times, but they can also open the mind to the evils mankind is capable of and the intricate conspiracies seemingly hiding in plain sight. Which is what I love about Gravity’s Rainbow – Pynchon’s writing is hilarious, but then he’ll hit you with a gut punch so poignant it will linger in your mind for decades. 

What I loved most about Night Boat to Tangier is the same thing I love about all of Kevin Barry’s books – the delivery.

Whether it’s City of Bohane, The Heart in Winter, Beatlebone, or this book, the best part of a Kevin Barry novel is always the writing and the voice. The story is almost secondary.

You might expect the story of a seasoned drug importer reuniting with his estranged daughter to be a spectacle, but what I loved about this book was the way many of the tendrils of the story were allowed to uncurl slowly, and some not at all.

I like to imagine Kevin Barry was at the ferry station one day and looked at a couple of aging, shaved-head, tattooed Irish thugs leaning against a wall waiting, and asked, “What’s their story?” Then he wrote it. 

I imagine just being in the same room as Shane MacGowan would have given me a contact high, and that’s the effect this book had on me.

It’s a series of conversations (one imagines over many, many drinks) with the woman who was his longtime partner and who would become his eventual wife, writer Victoria Mary Clarke.

Besides the absolutely unbelievable stories from this genius of Irish music’s childhood (which I loved), some of the best parts of the book are when Victoria is trying to get into his head around his unparalleled levels of drug and alcohol consumption. When he tells her he started drinking at 5, standing on the kitchen table and singing for bottles of stout, it’s understandable.

I loved hearing the real stories behind his public, on-stage persona, which were as real, drunk, and gritty as his music and voice. 

I absolutely loved this book based on true events. Don’t be fooled by the name either. This is intense as it gets. A historical thriller slash romance that made you wonder how much the heroin can endure. Believe me, you are in for a ride. 

So much heartache poured from the pages, and you keep on reading in the hopes that love will conquer, and the evil will be stopped. Every character's persona was well developed and got under your skin as you became part of their lives and struggles. One of my favorites and a book I would read again.

Great writing is the key to my heart, and this book is gorgeously written. Isobel, a newly arrived Scottish immigrant to Salem, MA, carries a dangerous secret gift—the “magic” of synesthesia. The story takes place two generations after the infamous witch trials, and while Isobel’s unique color awareness means she can support herself as a seamstress and embroiderer while her husband is at sea, it also means she’s vulnerable to suspicion. Meanwhile, she meets Nathaniel Hawthorne—yes, that Nathaniel Hawthorne.

While Albanese explains that Isobel isn’t specifically “Hester” of The Scarlet Letter, by the end of the novel, I completely believe that she is. Here's a strong feminist perspective on a classic case of a woman wronged. I can’t wait to pick it up again.

The beauty of this novel is that it takes sweeping historical change – the Highland Clearances of Scotland – and manages to make history intimate, showing the impact of events on one vulnerable old woman. In the nineteenth century, much of rural Scotland was forcibly "cleared" of people to make room for sheep grazing. Outside of Scotland, this great tragedy of Scottish history is not as well known as it should be, and neither is Smith’s book.

I love its deliberately naïve style, as we see the world through the old woman’s eyes and feel her pain as history crashes down on her. It’s full of the beauty of the natural world, but it’s also chilling, as it demonstrates the indifference of outsiders to a long-established way of life. 

The murder of Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley, has baffled historians and authors for centuries, yet the queen’s consort is often a minor figure in the greater tragedy/romance of Mary. While writing my own book, I was eager to know more about the ill-fated lang lad other than the results of his self-centred scheming conspiracies–David Rizzio’s assassination, his own murder at Kirk o Field, and ultimately Mary’s downfall. And so it was refreshing to read this excellent biography which gives Darnley centre stage. By recreating his childhood and family background, particularly around his ambitious mother, Margaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox, Caroline Bingham offers a fascinating portrait of this flawed character who stole the queen’s heart and then broke it. 

At times her account made me feel sorry for this gullible pawn in the Game of Queens.

Witch Wood tells the story of a high-minded, ardent and scholarly young Presbyterian minister, David Sempill, who is called to a benighted Tweeddale parish in 1645 at the time of the War of Three Kingdoms, and how his desire to root out covert witchcraft amongst some of his most ‘devout’ parishioners at a time of civil war and plague leads to tragedy and exile. The Marquis of Montrose, on whose biography John Buchan was working at the same time, has a walk-on part in the story. John Buchan considered this his best work of fiction, and I agree.