Books like Moll Flanders — picked by fans

I’ve always thought that this is one of the most brilliantly constructed plots in literature. First serialized in 1859-60, Collins’ story revolves around the mysterious figure of the Woman in White, who always induces a shiver of dread and pity, even on subsequent re-readings. And I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a more terrifyingly memorable mastermind villain than the one Collins gives us here.

Threatened innocence, eerie encounters, dastardly deeds—this book has it all. But best of all is the character of Marian Halcombe, who breaks gender barriers to defend her sister. She is one of the models for my own intrepid Victorian detective, Esther Hardy.

Before I was an author, I was primarily a national magazine copy editor, a job I finally scored after eight years of climbing up the magazine journalism ladder.

I wrote once in a while, but this mostly meant TV recaps by the time I was entrenched in magazines. But one day, an article about a safe-driving activist crossed my desk, and soon I was speaking with him in high schools.

Around the time I checked off “swim the width of a river” from my father’s bucket list, I also read Huckleberry Finn, as the setting seemed only right. I wrote a tribute to it in the second chapter of my book. My dad’s favorite author was Twain, but what I appreciated about him was that he wrote the novel as veiled propaganda. It’s a book that professes Twain’s anti-racism perspective. He just put his cause into a novel.

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Becky Sharpe is a character impossible to forget.

Through all the twists and turns of this plot, Becky shows herself to be both conniving and resilient in her quest to use those around her for her own gain. While not an attractive rendition of human nature, she forever has a wolf at her door and does what she thinks she must to stay one step ahead.

One gets whiplash from sympathizing with her one minute and being appalled by her lack of scruples the next, but, like all the characters she hoodwinks, we are captivated by her as someone who is never boring. She hops from one doomed circumstance to the next, and we are along for the ride.

I discovered Stephen King when I was eight (I was a precocious reader), sneaking The Shining off my parents’ bookshelf. That book scared me, but it was King’s story of vampires descending on a small Midwestern town that truly kept me up at night and taught me the power of horror fiction.

In recent years, especially in the YA genre, vampires became a little overexposed, so I find it instructive to return to Salem’s Lot periodically to remind myself just how terrifying the monster can be in the hands of a gifted storyteller. 

From the brilliant first line to the ambiguous ending, this novel kept me gripped throughout its 800 + pages.

It plumbs the secret depths of Victorian Society, uncovering pornography, mental illness, prostitution, the evils of marriage and inheritance in gloriously rich prose.

It explores the lives of two very different women, Agnes and Sugar who are both dependent on Wiliam Rachkam, reluctant heir to a perfume business. Agnes represents the Victorian ideal of naive femininity, whereas Sugar is a prostitute who is writing an erotic revenge novel in which all clients are gruesomely murdered.

This novel has a surreal and baroque quality, which I loved.

Angela Carter is famous for her sumptuous language, structural playfulness, genre-bending, and seductive, logic-defying plots – and if you like gorgeous lyricism, unforgettable characters, and magical realism (emphasis on the magical), you’ll fall in love with Nights at the Circus. In 1899, journalist Jack Walser meets six-foot-two circus aerialist Fevvers, “the Cockney Venus”. Raised in a brothel and a graduate of freak shows, she’s now a star of the Victorian stage – but are her wings real, as she claims? Walser becomes part of the circus in body and spirit, as, disguised as a clown, he follows Fevvers to St Petersburg and into the wilds of Siberia, where Fevvers must draw on all her cunning and strength to survive – let alone save Walser, too. 

This story has a Huck Finn flavour to it, recast on a 1950s road trip by bus.

Orphan Donal goes from the frying pan into the fire when his grandmother, his guardian, gets sick, and he is farmed out to a nasty-tempered relative he has never met.

After all the talk of Donal having no family, his salvation comes first from Herman, a non-relative who helps him escape back onto the bus that brought him there. The two light out for the West and cobble together what will feel like family in a ragtag bunch of misfits.

I think this is one of the most beautifully written pieces of writing from across the ages. Its story of a young man and his younger brother fits exactly into my own tastes for a priceless rendering of how youths respond not only to their environment but also to their dreams/goals.

Its odd story twists—kids wanting west but getting east—are a multi-layered set of tales. I loved it for both story and writing.

Although published long ago, it is remarkable how easy it is to become involved in this book and be charmed by its main character, Tom.

Orphans abound in 18th and 19th-century fiction. What happens to him in an upper-class environment is inevitably unfair and hypocritical, so when he gets on the road—whether as a result of desire or force—the fun truly begins.

Tom says at the beginning that his tale has the purpose of understanding “human nature”, and after spending time with him on his adventures, from the estate where he grows up to his romp in London, we have a sense of the good nature of human nature. Tom’s sense of life infuses his life on the road, offering a character to celebrate despite his flaws.

A basketful of tales told by various storytellers on their religious pilgrimage. As Twain used the river and I as locations, this classic used the travelers to offer a varied yet united sequence focusing on saints and sinners.

I recommend this book because I am a storyteller and folks who like stories should enjoy these humorous, serious, and spicy tales from way back yon.