Books like Everybody Says Hello

Though Tolkien’s Middle-earth was a centerpiece of fantasy for me, Lewis’ Narnia offset and balanced the more serious grave nature of Middle-earth with its more light-hearted adventures told through the eyes of children, where it feels like a fairy tale as everything in its world is simply extraordinary. 

The Chronicles of Narnia’s symbolism strikes me as being straightforward in its Christian allegory, which I find quite relatable. The aspect of being as children following the will of “our Heavenly Father” (in their case, walking in Aslan’s guidance) in what is truly a beautiful and imperfect world resonates so well with me, as it is a beautiful picture.

Its fairy tale style fantasy as a magical world just brings out the beauty of fantasy when its storytelling is kept simple. A simple beauty from levity, I love in contrast to the sorrowful beauty of Middle-earth that affects me on a… show more.

Yes, I’m suggesting reading the fourth volume of the epic Dark Tower saga first.

Typically, medieval-ish fantasy isn’t my thing, but in Stephen King’s hands, the world simply sucks you in. It’s commonly cited as one of King’s best works for a reason.

Caveat: While this book is largely a standalone 700-page flashback to the main character’s younger days, you could skip the first 70 pages, resolving the previous book’s cliffhanger before the story within a story kicks in. But it might also be fun to arrive en medias res to read the resolution and spend a three-book flashback figuring out how you got there.

You can’t read all 7.5 Dark Tower books out of order, but dropping out of the timeline for this one is worthwhile.

I loved how this sequel to tech startup workplace culture parody The Circle is a lot like starting any new job in real life.

Your coworkers may know legends of a corporate past you aren’t yet privy to. In time, these stories will emerge as a prequel from your point of view, whereas your own presence on the payroll is a sequel for those who have more tenure.

How’d this person get promoted? What was the company like in the scrappy startup days before the merger? You don’t know about the second annual holiday party scandal? Have I got a story for you…

It’s hard to call any David Mitchell book a “sequel” since he writes in one big interconnected universe spanning multiple time periods, but Slade House was my entry point into his wonderful world, and I haven’t looked back.

Short and eerie, the five interconnected short stories (each set 9 years apart) making up his seventh novel serve as a perfect standalone primer to Mitchell’s special brand of magical realism and recurring characters.

This book has one of the most unique premises I’ve ever come across in any book, much less a romance—Tiffy is just out of a toxic relationship and needs a cheap apartment fast. Leon is a palliative care nurse who is working graveyard shifts and needs extra money to help his brother. They come to an agreement—without ever actually meeting each other—to split the flat: Tiffy is there while Leon works and vice versa. 

They begin to communicate through Post-it notes, and it’s honestly the most beautiful development of a relationship I’ve ever read. I was tearing through the pages to eagerly find the moment when they finally—finally!—meet in real life. An exceptional book from start to finish! 

A daring satire on race, politics, and cultural identity in America that somehow manages to be both outrageous and deeply sobering.

Beatty’s voice is like Richard Pryor meets Zora Neale Hurston—sharp, fearless, acerbic, wickedly funny, and incredibly smart.

Notably, although Beatty is an American writer, his book was published in the UK (likely because America prefers to live in denial about race) and went on to win the Booker Prize in 2016.

I loved the voice of Tiffany, the murderous head sorority girl of this novel, so much so that I was very willing to overlook the fact that she was a serial killer. (We all contain multitudes, right?!) Like My Sister, the Serial Killer, this book manages to be tense, dark, and funny all at once, which truly ticks so many of my reader boxes.

This book is also set in Los Angeles, where I live, and I guffawed at its satiric portrayal of a certain type of Angeleno: perma-blonde pumped full of glamorous toxins and is willing to take anyone down a notch if it means “manifesting her highest self.” I thought this book was a truly dark, murderous blast. 

Sebastian Dangerfield, a scruffy Yank studying at Trinity College Dublin under the GI Bill, loses his wife, finds a lover, and talks to himself–“In my heart where no one else can hear me.”

The book was banned for decades after publication in the 1950s, not so much for indecency (though there is that) as for sheer insolence. The Irish writer Sean O’Reilly asks: “Is there, even after all this time, something risky, illicit perhaps, about Sebastian Dangerfield whispering in your ear while your heart is bursting with laughter?"

Another 1950s anti-hero in the same gang as Holden Caulfield and Jake Donaghue. Another bad example for my guidance.

Technically, Stephanie Plum isn’t an amateur sleuth because she works as a bounty hunter, but since she was never trained and tends to succeed despite her bungling and ineptitude, I consider her an amateur sleuth. Besides, when you’re sorely in need of a good laugh to release some endorphins, you can’t go wrong spending a few hours with Stephanie and her colorful cohorts. This twenty-seventh outing in the long-running series is one of the best when it comes not only to the humor, but it offers up a well-plotted story, and lots of red herrings. Plus, there’s plenty of Grandma Masur in this one. What more could you ask for?

In this book, three thieves make a plan to dig a tunnel to rob a bank, and I just love a mischievous picture book topic.

The art is so clever because we can see where the thieves are digging and the hilarious mistakes they have made as they end up in places that are definitely not the bank. The art is so charming and the digging teacher is perfection.