100 Books Like In the Blood

I had the opportunity to listen to Karin Slaughter speak at the Bouchercon Conference in St. Pete, Florida and this was her new release.

The book sounded wonderful, and my signed copy is on my keeper shelf. Pieces of Her has a crazy, explosive opening and breakneck pace with questions that pile on questions, and we hold on for dear life. I was so enthralled by this story that I bought a second copy for a friend and put it in her hands saying, “You have to read this.” She loved it and so did Netflix because it is now a series. 

This was my first Freida McFadden book, and I was drawn in from the start and though I wasn’t sure how I felt about the narrator (the maid) or the husband and wife who hired her; I love a main character who makes me cringe and that she was the housekeeper privy to the owners’ secrets kept me guessing.

The prologue set me up for an ending that I never saw coming. Is she a housemaid or something else? I read this in one sitting!

I absolutely loved this book. Sarah Morgan was nothing if not faithful. I don’t know if I could have been. But high-powered attorneys don’t think the way I do. I kept turning pages and more pages. I could not put it down.

I am an avid reader but, until recently, had not read a lot of psychological thrillers. I didn’t know what I was missing. Part of me likes crawling into someone’s fictitious mind; part of me thinks I should stay out and just watch (read) the action. It’s that curiosity thing that keeps me up at night when I know I should be sleeping. 

I have always loved gritty mysteries and Joe. R. Lansdale’s book did not disappoint. I was first pulled in by the curious and clipped cadence of the voice of the narrator, an older Harry Collins recalling a brutal murder from his youth. You could almost hear Harry’s voice jump off the page.

I was also particularly drawn to the finely crafted setting on the rugged Texas frontier, dripping with eerie foreboding. The land is as rotten as the characters who inhabit the narrative. Add in an East Texas setting and the bleak and desperate themes of racism at the turn of the 20th century, and you have a compelling read that is hard to put down. 

I really bonded with Tess. She's loyal and brave and won't back down when a friend's in need. I like the puzzle of the mystery and trying to figure out if there's a supernatural element or not.

Tess's vulnerability catches my heart, though: her troubled childhood leads her to see herself as less than her true worth compared to the healthy, faith-filled family she's married into. I'm passionate about recognizing our true, God-given worth and breaking free from the lies that hold us back.

I’ve been blown away by the high quality in a lot of 21st-century splatterpunk/hardcore/extreme horror, but nobody’s extremes have impressed me quite like Wrath James White’s.

I love the insane magic he works with a deceptively simple premise: a young man can resurrect people who forget the circumstances of the deaths and return, but he’s a bad young man. The result is a blend of classic Gothic tropes related to a woman terrorized by a powerful man combined with just about every kind of physical violation imaginable.

I respect White’s gross-outs, but more than that, I respect the bleakness, the deep, deep horror of the premise taken so far in such a bad way.

This is another novel written expressly for teenagers, and all the better for it.

Inflected by the author’s own autobiographical experiences—like Craig, the novel’s narrator, Vizzini spent a week in a psychiatric hospital as a teenager—It’s Kind of a Funny Story was the first work of fiction I’d read that articulated the adolescent experience through the language of mental health. It was here that I learned “depression” isn’t an abstracted emotion but the very real neurochemical imbalance that impels Craig to call the suicide hotline after abandoning his SSRIs.

There’s an uncanny familiarity to the circumstances of Craig’s breakdown—namely in how he struggles to remain above water at a famously rigorous college preparatory high school—and a fundamental earnestness to his story’s confessions that gilds even its grimmest moments with a fifteen-year-old's sense of impressionable wonder.

Welcome to the sweet romance of Isa, a dancer, and Alex, a baseball player, teenagers in New York with very different upbringings. Isa is a blonde, half-Cuban/half white, private school girl from a well-off family that’s falling apart behind the scenes. Alex is Dominican, attends public school, and divides his time between his divorced parents. He’s also a secret poet and leaves his poems for Isa to find on the subway train where they first met. Both have professional sports potential, but the reality is more complicated. The couple navigates challenges with their families and neighborhoods, including mental health and gangs, and you’ll be rooting for them the entire time. The author has a beautiful poem in the Rhyme and Rhythm anthology that I mentioned above.

Nellie Bly was one of the great muckraking reporters in American history. She pretends to be insane and is admitted to the “mad house.” Along the way, she exposes the horrible treatment of those suffering from mental illness, but of her treatment in a boarding home, where spoiled beef was served.

Many at the Women’s Lunatic Asylum on Roosevelt Island suffered no mental illness; they simply didn’t know how to speak English, she wrote. “I left the insane ward with pleasure and regret—pleasure that I was once more able to enjoy the free breath of heaven; regret that I could not have brought with me some of the unfortunate women who lived and suffered with me, and who, I am convinced, are just as sane as I was and am now myself.”

Her reporting led to a grand jury investigation and reforms inside the asylum.

This is the 75th anniversary edition of a book first published in 1946, a best-seller at the time, and the impetus for changes in the treatment of psychiatric patients. The narrator, novelist Victoria Cunningham, finds herself incarcerated in a corrupt and badly-run hospital with little memory of how she got there; I was disturbed by the way she had to navigate through an obscure, nonsensical bureaucracy that seems more insane than any of the hospital’s patients. Virginia is supported by her loving and loyal husband, but at times she loses track of her memories and forgets who he is. The book is frightening—especially given that it’s based on the author’s own experiences at Bellevue Hospital in New York—but also intimate and moving.