Books like Queenpin

I have a sister—a twin, actually—and I would do anything for her.

But if she murdered someone… would I cover it up? I couldn’t stop asking myself that while reading this, even as I found myself laughing at how effortlessly funny it is. Ayoola’s total indifference is what hooked me—she doesn’t question herself, doesn’t spiral, she just acts, and there’s something unsettlingly magnetic about that.

And Korede, fully aware and still complicit, pushed me to think about how far love can stretch before it turns into something else entirely. It’s bright, biting, and way more layered than it first appears, and I couldn’t get enough of that tension between devotion and control.

This science fiction novel, written by Daniel Abraham and Ty Franck under the pen name James S. A. Corey, was the beginning of the Expanse series (now totaling 9 novels and additional stories). It is one of the best space science fiction novels of the 21st century and became the basis for one of my favorite TV/streaming series, The Expanse.

The books dive deep into the political, social, and cultural complexities of sending humans to live on the Moon, Mars, and the asteroid belt, and it’s a nuanced reflection of our current ideas and ambitions when it comes to spaceflight. I am particularly drawn to the depiction of humans who, after multiple generations off Earth, consider their primary identity to be Martian.

Dashiell Hammett is one of the great stylists in American literature.

His characters are absolutely real, and the plot is a wonderful tour of the seamy side of 20th-century America. What I absolutely love about this story is that it ends, not with the apprehension of a killer, but with the sense that the pursuit of mystery in the first place was not worth it.

To pull this off—to undercut the idea of a mystery at all, is a great achievement. The book, then, is stunning for its characters, descriptions, and serpentine plot.

This book largely takes place over a three-day battle. It showcases the stupidity of war, the cowardice, the luck, the incompetence, and yes, sometimes even the breathtaking courage.

As you’d expect from Abercrombie–the so-called Lord of Grimdark–the ‘heroes’ are no such thing, but rather, flawed and broken individuals who go to war out of obligation or ambition or because they know no other way of life.

Joe Abercrombie writes superb action scenes. Visceral, urgent, bloody. He’s also particularly cruel to his characters. I’m not sure if he’s picking on me particularly or if it’s just the dark alchemy of his literary soul that makes him such a popular author, but he’s always a bit of a bastard to the characters I like the most.

This book takes the tired and worn trope surrounding mankind’s search for the fountain of youth, twists it violently, and asks, “What if this were viable, although exorbitantly expensive, tech?” I loved not only this fresh, original angle, but Morgan’s thoughtful treatment of it.

With immersive world-building and a gritty protagonist, Altered Carbon dragged me through a truly surprising and original murder mystery that kept me guessing through the final reveal – though it wasn’t the murder plot that kept me hanging on.

Morgan’s not-particularly-likeable protagonist not only darkened the story, he pressured me to revisit difficult moral questions and to reconsider them from his perspective. He pulled me into the story, shook my moral compass, and then made me believe that perspective was standard in his world.

I read this book during a camping trip with my family, and I got so sucked into the story that I kept sneaking off to read in the tent (which seems appropriate, given the plot). We’ve all read stories about husbands and fathers who hide secret second families, but in this case, it’s a mother who is secretly married to two different men. 

The story illustrates how mothers are human and flawed like everyone else, and it made me reflect on all the ways our culture expects women to sacrifice for their families. I found myself questioning what we mothers owe to our children versus what we owe to ourselves. 

This book is bonkers, and I mean that in the best possible way. I loved it when I first read it, and my love for it has only grown throughout the years. I re-read it every few years, trying to pick apart why it works so well for me.

I love Hendrick’s prose, the sharp, noir rhythm of it, and the protagonist, Sherri, is my favorite type of noir heroine to read: crooked but with her own moral code. But mostly, I’m obsessed with how fearless this book is: there’s no taboo left uncrossed. I re-read this book when I need to be braver as a writer.

I loved the voice of Tiffany, the murderous head sorority girl of this novel, so much so that I was very willing to overlook the fact that she was a serial killer. (We all contain multitudes, right?!) Like My Sister, the Serial Killer, this book manages to be tense, dark, and funny all at once, which truly ticks so many of my reader boxes.

This book is also set in Los Angeles, where I live, and I guffawed at its satiric portrayal of a certain type of Angeleno: perma-blonde pumped full of glamorous toxins and is willing to take anyone down a notch if it means “manifesting her highest self.” I thought this book was a truly dark, murderous blast. 

Like my two other favorite books on organized crime, this book broke the mold. It was written at a time when the public was zeroing in on the violent aspects of the mob, when in fact what drove the mob was its ability to take over legitimate businesses, sometimes entire industries.

I was fascinated with the intricate details described by Kwitny in this book. There is no better book describing how the Mafia, in its heyday, got its claws into legitimate business. Kwitny did fine work exposing how that was done, and it was well-written and fascinating.

The Valachi Papers, a 1968 book written by Peter Maas, is the life story of Joe Valachi, a former member of the Genovese crime family, who testified in 1963 before a Senate committee, revealing until-then confidential information about the American mafia. The book was made into a film in 1972, starring Charles Bronson as Valachi.

Maas describes in vivid detail Joe Valachi’s initiation into and rise within a mafia family, frequently relying on Valachi’s own gutsy descriptions. Although it is a biography the book has the verve and pace of a thrilling work of fiction. In many ways better than even a well-written novel, The Valachi Papers is an edge-of-your-seat reading experience.