Books like Final Chapters — picked by fans

Harkening back to the well-established trope of inviting several seemingly unrelated guests to a secluded location (I’m thinking of the movie for the board game Clue right now) and wrapping them up in a creepy mystery, Kiersten Modglin has delivered a secluded thriller with originality, delectable darkness, and a series of great twists.

I was enthralled by the constant sense of danger and did not see the ending coming. I’ll admit that as a writer myself, the premise of authors invited to a writing retreat intrigued me from the start, but I was so pulled in by this thriller that I finished reading it in no time. Great work.

I’ve read this book three times, drawn by my fascination with death and how people die. The book is well-researched, detailing the final days of great minds—writers like Susan Sontag, Sigmund Freud, John Updike, Dylan Thomas, Maurice Sendak, and James Salter.

Like a skilled biographer, Roiphe doesn’t judge her subjects but presents their endings as they were. Yet, a discerning reader can’t help but draw conclusions. Susan Sontag, the towering intellect, fought death until the end. Dylan Thomas, the great poet, was self-destructive and pathetic at the close of his life. Sigmund Freud chose to end his life with the help of a physician.

Roiphe mentions in her preface that she would have liked to write about other famous deaths—William Blake’s peaceful passing, Honoré de Balzac’s death by overwork, Primo Levi’s fall, and more. I wish she had explored these as well. If she did, I’d devour that book too.

"Everybody’s family is a little nutso. But there’s nuts…and then there’s the Kwirks." A scavenger hunt to find the ashes of their late grandfather! That premise may seem macabre, but John David Anderson has a gift for plotting the oddball, yet heartfelt, storyline with memorable main characters. With Rion Kwirk and his nutty family, he has done it again. From the opening chapter when a clown appears at the Kwirk’s door, singing a message about the death of their grandfather, I knew I was in for a hilarious, fun-filled journey—one that reminded me that being out of the ordinary only makes you extraordinary.

I love this book partly because it’s a great source of facts and statistics about death and dying throughout the ages.

However it also tells a compelling story of how dying has changed: from short lives often ended abruptly by accident or infectious disease, to what sociologists call ‘the predictable death trajectory’ of gradual death from the diseases of old age and modern lifestyles.

I’m also intrigued by the author’s vision of death and dying in the future: maybe medical advances will even conquer death itself.

I was blown away by how Mason integrated the coming-of-age story of Sam, who lost her dad in Vietnam, and the healing of her uncle Emmett, who served and has PTSD. In Country is vivid and moving. It takes on the effects of the Vietnam War on both veterans and families at home with power and elegant prose. 

I loved the spot-on depiction of Sam’s coming of age. I loved Mason’s deep understanding of Southern culture and norms. I loved the thoughtful evolution of Uncle Emmet’s healing. I adored the artful use of backstory and the larger look at the broader implications of the war that echo long after it was over.

This was one of the first books that got me thinking critically about ‘dark tourism’. Harrison inspired me to look at how the dead maintain their relations with the living. In turn, the book galvanized my thinking of the many touristic places where the dead cohabit the world of the living. These range from graves, monuments, and memorials, and made me think about how we give the dead a memorialized afterlife. Drawing upon philosophy, history, and poetry, Harrison teaches us that as we follow in the footsteps of the dead, we are not self-authored. Instead, the thought of death shapes the communion of the living. Within the ‘Dominion of the Dead’, the dead become our guardians where we give them a future so that they may give us a past. 

Now, I am no friend to graphic novels. As a novelist I prefer a story told in long strokes. For Taniguchi Jiro, however, I make an exception.

When I stumbled across A Journal of My Father, I was initially skeptical. Page after page, however, with an almost cinematic panorama laid out before me, I found myself in complete awe of the fine power of observation that Taniguchi brings to the small things in life. The simple and still finds artistic expression in his work, the every day suddenly seems notable, and anyone who – like me – often finds themselves reaching for a handkerchief, consider yourself warned: this touches you, though without a show of sentimentality.

After the death of his father, a man travels to his hometown and, through various conversations and encounters, pursues memories that have stayed with him since childhood. That doesn’t sound all that exciting. But… show more.

Dr. Ira Byock is a well-known authority in palliative care and hospice and a wonderful storyteller. In his stories, he talks about the physical realities of the dying process, the emotional despair we may witness, or how to handle family dynamics. He doesn't shy away from reflecting on his personal growth doing this work, which makes this book deeply human and relatable. Dying Well was published several years ago. It is still an informative and insightful read, especially if you are a family caregiver and care for a loved one. Please also check out his other books, Four Things That Matter Most and The Best Care Possible.

Metal Fish, Falling Snow is a terrific Australian road trip story, with a gorgeous cover. After Dylan’s mother suddenly dies, her mother’s boyfriend Pat drives her across the country to join her absent father’s family. During the trip, while experiencing the wilds of outback Australia first hand, Dylan gets to know Pat better. The novel deals with grief and evolving relationships, and is a very satisfying read.

I read this book again and again when I want to remember that death is not something to be terrified of. In fact, when I read this book, death feels more like a natural process that can be welcomed. I feel a kind of calmness towards the whole human race as we all seek to live, knowing that we will eventually die. To truly understand death, you also have to understand life.