Books like Effigy — picked by fans

Have you ever felt this deep, internal calling, one you can’t escape from, that even as time goes by, it remains there, whispering in your inner mind, telling you, driving you, to create things that aren’t real? To make them into words that then form adventures? For as long as I can remember I have felt this, and feel it is what I was meant to do. I love, and try to incorporate in my own stories, elements that involve magic, uncommon or new creatures, extensive worlds, flawed characters, a pinch of love, and everything else (including, possibly, a kitchen sink) that can be found in a made-up universe. 

One of the questions that I’m constantly asked by other authors is how do you make characters memorable in a genre that has done it all? My criteria are twofold–the characters need to be flawed and relatable; no one can truly relate to Superman. Secondly, I believe there is strength in a group. When I write with a diverse group of characters with their own personalities, the characters tell the story for me. I find that if I can emphasize and start having fun like I’m part of the group, I become enthralled with the novel. I am passionate about characters and letting them breathe and feel real.

Have you ever felt this deep, internal calling, one you can’t escape from, that even as time goes by, it remains there, whispering in your inner mind, telling you, driving you, to create things that aren’t real? To make them into words that then form adventures? For as long as I can remember I have felt this, and feel it is what I was meant to do. I love, and try to incorporate in my own stories, elements that involve magic, uncommon or new creatures, extensive worlds, flawed characters, a pinch of love, and everything else (including, possibly, a kitchen sink) that can be found in a made-up universe. 

Have you ever felt this deep, internal calling, one you can’t escape from, that even as time goes by, it remains there, whispering in your inner mind, telling you, driving you, to create things that aren’t real? To make them into words that then form adventures? For as long as I can remember I have felt this, and feel it is what I was meant to do. I love, and try to incorporate in my own stories, elements that involve magic, uncommon or new creatures, extensive worlds, flawed characters, a pinch of love, and everything else (including, possibly, a kitchen sink) that can be found in a made-up universe. 

Science fiction is rightly famous for experimenting with new and strange social worlds, but fantasy tends to fall back on the usual feudal tropes: the whims of kings, the valor of knights, the always-temporary powerlessness of farm boys, the technicalities of succession. Which is a shame, because fantasy provides just as much opportunity to reimagine what society could look like. That’s what I try to do in my books, and at my job, where I’m working to bring 21st-century data literacy and quantitative reasoning to a state government stuck resolutely in the ’90s. When I think of books that have done what I’m trying to do, these five are at the front of my mind.

My first two lessons as a geophysicist were confusing opposites. My supervisor told me that I must carry my investigations to professional conclusions, while the very best physicists showed me that good scientists are the most parsimonious about what they conclude. It's a battle between humility and the need to tell a story. We human beings crave a nice, neat ending, and we often only get one in fantasy, for the real world is complex. It was this insight that led me to start every story I ever wrote with at least a concept for the ending. If we are going to go anywhere with our narratives, we better first consider where that is.

I have been fascinated by this topic ever since the first newspaper stories exposing American involvement in torture began to appear in the early years of the so-called War on Terror. This fascination has persisted up to the present, as it remains clear – given recent accounts of Ron DeSantis’ time at Guantanamo – that this story refuses to die. Equally fascinating to me have been accounts revealing the extent to which this story can be traced back to the origins of the Cold War, to the birth of the National Security State, and to the alliance between that state and the professions (psychology and behavioral science) that spawned “enhanced interrogation.”

A love of literature and a summer with relatives in Belgium—a country divided by language and culture—inspired me to travel to Santo Domingo in 1988 to learn Spanish and study the fraught dynamics of two countries speaking different languages but sharing an island. My time in the Dominican Republic and Haiti inspired a lifelong exploration of complex issues. Today I write about risk, drawing on psychology, culture, policy, and economics, as in Why the Cocks Fight. My third book, The Gray Rhino, calls for a fresh look at obvious, looming threats. The sequel, You Are What You Risk, explores risk perceptions and attitudes through a comparative, socio-cultural lens.

I have been fascinated by this topic ever since the first newspaper stories exposing American involvement in torture began to appear in the early years of the so-called War on Terror. This fascination has persisted up to the present, as it remains clear – given recent accounts of Ron DeSantis’ time at Guantanamo – that this story refuses to die. Equally fascinating to me have been accounts revealing the extent to which this story can be traced back to the origins of the Cold War, to the birth of the National Security State, and to the alliance between that state and the professions (psychology and behavioral science) that spawned “enhanced interrogation.”

I have been fascinated by this topic ever since the first newspaper stories exposing American involvement in torture began to appear in the early years of the so-called War on Terror. This fascination has persisted up to the present, as it remains clear – given recent accounts of Ron DeSantis’ time at Guantanamo – that this story refuses to die. Equally fascinating to me have been accounts revealing the extent to which this story can be traced back to the origins of the Cold War, to the birth of the National Security State, and to the alliance between that state and the professions (psychology and behavioral science) that spawned “enhanced interrogation.”