100 Books Like No One Is Talking About This

I read this while on vacation, and though it was a wonderful trip, I kept thinking how much I was looking forward to getting back to the hotel room to continue reading.

The protagonist’s all-consuming job working for a tech company made me realize how much I wished I had used social media less. I loved how the book made us see how Mae’s job, at first exciting, took her to places she didn’t want to go.

In today’s online world, the completely interconnected one of this book is a cautionary tale.

I’ve got two kiddos, and between the bodily, emotional, and lifestyle changes alone, I’ve found motherhood to be a WILD ride. And I’ve never felt more seen as a mom than in this book.

From the heartbreaking joy to the numbing boredom to the rage and the shocking invisibility that can come with motherhood, particularly during those early days, it made perfect sense to me that the main character turns into a dog. Because motherhood does shape you into something else.

This book captures that loss, that feral transformation, perfectly. Also, I wish I’d come up with the title. 

I was overwhelmed by this crazy, lovable, frightening novel. It fit right in with my paranormal/horror bend when I read it many years ago, and it provoked my interest in writing a few titles in the genre.

It fits the unique, quirky character theme perfectly with a first person narrative by a young, charismatic fry cook-writer-memoirist named Odd (real name) Thomas with a sixth sense, able to see demons when they arrive just before tragedy occurs. Yowza. His accomplice is his girlfriend and love interest, aptly named Stormy, who is not similarly gifted and seems to have more common sense than Odd.

This book filled me with pure wonder. The futuristic setting felt like a glimpse into a world we’re on the brink of creating, where technology can be both a refuge and a battlefield. I loved the way it combined a digital universe with a gritty, imperfect reality—it made me think about how much potential the future holds, both thrilling and terrifying.

The sense of exploration and possibility was so vivid that I found myself daydreaming about what could be long after I turned the last page. It’s a story that reminds me how powerful imagination can be. The characters aren’t perfect, which made them feel real, and I was hooked by the idea of ordinary kids taking on extraordinary challenges. This one made me feel like anything was possible in the future.

Long Way Down does an incredible job of telling such a contained story, telling everything within the span of a single elevator ride.

Reynolds uses the elevator trip to make the protagonist encounter ghosts of multiple dead people in his community, all connected to his murdered brother, and question if vengeance is the right answer to his grief. This is a well-deserved classic, and a must-read for all novel-in-verse fans!

I loved the novel’s unforgettable narrator, Perry L. Crandall, who has an IQ of 76.

A masterpiece of narrative voice, Lottery is easily the most engulfing book I’ve read in ten years. (I had a beloved sister with developmental disabilities and expected to be reduced to mush by page 5, but instead I was filled with joy.) The story follows Perry and his loathsome, money-grubbing sibs after Perry wins a boatload of dough in the state lottery.

This book is not what you think it will be, in about a million ways, and the ending is a heart-filling surprise. It made me want to be a better person. Everyone I’ve recommended this to adored it. (P.S. I’m not related to the author but I wish I were.)

I turn to Mrs. Ramsay, the wife, mother, and hostess of this book, whenever I question my value in the world. By Victorian standards, she “has it all”: a doting (if difficult) husband, eight loving children (with whom, amazingly, she seems to have no problems), and a comfortable way of life. She alone, not her renowned philosopher spouse, not the young poet nor the dedicated artist who comes for a visit, brings meaning and harmony to a group of guests over one holiday weekend.

Mrs. Ramsay reminds me that nurturing and feeding (in all the meanings of that word) other people is a sacred task, even if our society doesn’t recognize it as such. Even a simple dinner party can partake of spiritual eternity: “Of such moments, she thought, the thing is made that endures.”

When I spend too much of my own day on seemingly mindless chores or… show more.

In contrast to John Berger’s Marxist aesthetic, Barthes’s approach to visual experience and photographic images draws upon the tradition of semiotics and, to a degree, postmodern theories of text and intertextuality. Barthes leads his reader into the codes and conventions of the image. How images signify is thus made a central topic that provokes self-reflection and reflexive challenges to conventional image analysis. Where Berger’s work is expository and analytic, Barthes's book is exploratory and novelistic (Barthes would have his reader approach the work as a kind of intertextual fiction). As the title of the work suggests, this is Barthes at his most personal and reflective. His fascination remains with the photographic image which is presented as one of the defining aesthetic objects of modernity. But the act of photography is now itself complex, mediated, and open to a range of concrete experiential impulses.

Here the viewer of the photograph is… show more.

Andrew O’Hagan is a contemporary master of the literary essay, and in this book we have three long non-fiction pieces linked by his investigations into the online world. O’Hagan was the ghostwriter for Julian Assange’s doomed autobiography, and here he tells the story of this adventure – it’s a publisher’s nightmare but a dream for the psychoanalyst, as the line between Assange’s invented self and the reality of his life begins to collapse. The other two essays also explore mercurial identities online, with a portrait of the rumored, shadowy inventor of Bitcoin, and the brief life of a Frankensteinian amalgam of O’Hagan’s own making – a cyber-persona who has an address, a credit card, and who can buy drugs on the Dark Web. O’Hagan even manages to meet his creation’s mother.  

I go to Ben Lerner’s writing for the shimmering atmospheres of his fictional universes. 10:04 is set in contemporary New York City and follows the narrator-writer through his urban routines. But between his health scares, relationship worries, and professional commitments, the novel thrums with a strange, uneasy beat as the narrator questions the fabric of modern life in a large city. He feels the sublime abundance of the commodities that surround him, whose very abundance is precarious. The book meditates on the fragility of the global supply chains that bring cans of ground coffee onto supermarket shelves and into our baskets. There is also a superstorm approaching, which threatens the city’s power. Lerner is wonderful on twenty-first-century, first-world malaise.