Books like Night's Bright Darkness — picked by fans

In this non-fiction piece that unfolds like a novel, Hammer takes the reader around the globe, providing much detail on the terrain, flora, and fauna of many disparate biomes.

The reason for the detail and the varied settings is the pursuit of a thief, always quick to dart off to the next deal, to the next domain, wherein a prize might be claimed, smuggled, and sold. Without knowing each other, a relationship develops between the investigator and his elusive perp.

I could not stop reading this novella once I started, largely because of the characters I came to enjoy and the relationship they explored with each other. Despite fifty or so years of friendship established already, so much is still before them at this point in their lives. The distance in this book is physical, as Rachi lives in Chicago and Raffi in New York.

The emergence of secrets and how they are handled introduces a different sort of distance. Amid both kinds, the strength of their relationship is tested, and the depth of their friendship is reiterated. This book's writing, topics, and discussions provide so much food for thought that a second read is inevitable.

The distance in this novella takes a unique form as Toni, working on the building of her bookshop in the space of a one-time bakery belonging to her family, discovers something special in the walls. The discovery takes her to the arrival and experiences of her ancestors in Chicago’s Little Italy, the same locale of the soon-to-be bookshop.

My favorite part of the book is the relationship that develops between the Toni of today and the Vittorio of the past, as well as the understanding Toni comes to about her ancestors through Vittorio’s voice. Time and death present forms of distance, but Vittorio’s message transcends both, reaching Toni in a positive way. The possibility that someone can forge a beautiful relationship with a deceased ancestor is a neat feature of this book.

I find this to be the perfect book about an artist’s coming of age in a different time and place. Thea, a young woman living long ago on the American prairie, is discovered to have musical genius. She nurtured, pushed, and even loved while everyone around her knew that her destiny lay out in the wider world, onstage. 

It’s not possible that Tolstoy died and lived to tell about it, but that's what this book feels like.

As Ivan Ilych’s illness progresses, the reader sees how shallow his relationships are, and how fruitless is his striving to “get ahead.” As I read this book, I felt the vast chasm between the living and the dying, how alone Ivan is in his suffering. Ivan Ilych is no hero: he is an everyman. He squarely faces the pointlessness of his life, and ultimately throws off the things of no importance.

Through his experience I anticipated my own death, and felt how important it must be to live my life remembering that all the stupid stuff doesn’t matter. What does matter is my relationships with God and with other humans. Everyone who expects to die someday should read this book.

I was so struck by this candid memoir from Angela Patrick about what happened to her when she became pregnant in the early sixties at nineteen that it made me consider my mother’s lucky escape when the same thing happened to her. Both were Catholic and unmarried, but Patrick, unlike my mother, turned to her family for help and was exiled to a mother and baby home. It’s a tale of shame and sorrow, coldness and cruelty – and the scars that remain when a baby is given up.

This is a touching story about love and forgiveness, of oneself as well as of others. The novel is partially historical: the narrative shifts between the 1940s and the present day. The storylines are linked by a beautiful rose ring that is important to the heroines in both eras. Both storylines include love, loss, and love re-found, but not before the modern-day heroine must face what her heart is truly telling her. More than one character finds the redemption that true forgiveness can bring, but each also discovers the journey can be challenging. This novel drops a surprise twist in the middle, so keep your eyes open! I had tears in my eyes when the stories converged and brought closure.

I sort of always knew that the tortuous line of Catholic popes was a road of corruption, war, treachery, conquest, and gathering of secular and sectarian power.

When I started reading this book, my preconceptions were severely beaten. The history of papal rule turned out to be far more bloody. What disturbed me greatly, something I should not have found surprising is that this process is happening even today. I could have dismissed this work as simply another anti-Christian smear campaign were it not for the solid research and undeniable supporting facts. I had to accept the veracity of what I read, understanding why the Church never adopted the concept of separation of powers. To do so would mean its destruction. What to do? More research, of course.

There are a bazillion romances about good girls attracted to bad boys.

Here’s one about a good girl attracted to a good guy, but neither of them can seem to get past his bad boy past. It’s easy to give lip service to redemption – sure, people change! But to build a life on that change? That’s another thing.

There’s a lot of forced proximity in West Castle that helps bring Caitlyn, our good girl (who has her own flaws), and Jared, our bad boy (who is trying so hard to be a better man), together. The romantic tension kept me reading through to the end!

If you’re older, you probably read O’Connor’s short story “A Good Man is Hard to Find” for one or more lit classes; if you’re younger, you may have never heard of her as she is now “problematic” according to the unfunny woke-on-steroids crowd. I love O’Connor because I love characters with moral failings, I love mordant humor, and I love the possibility that even the most irredeemable among us can experience moments of grace. The brief details in her stories do such heavy lifting in terms of irony, for example when a Wellesley undergrad hits Mrs. Turpin in the head with a copy of Human Development in the short story “Revelation.” The action itself – a privileged white college student from an elite school inflicting violence upon a rural white woman – also speaks to our ongoing culture wars.