Books like Rules of Prey — picked by fans

As a reader of mysteries and thrillers, I always look for intriguing characters, a great storyline, and something special. Not all books in the genre have these. This one does. The secret element is that it’s extremely charming. I love the relationship between the protagonist, Myron, and his best friend, the wealthy Win. For instance, they are both TV trivia nuts of classic TV shows from the ‘60s and forward.

Additionally, Win is very much not what he seems. This other side is intriguing and adds depth to the character. In Coban’s book, I rooted for Myron (I didn’t always agree with his choices) but was on his side the whole time.

This book introduced me to the gritty world of Los Angeles police detective Harry Bosch. I love Bosch’s smarts and toughness, yet beneath his hard exterior lurks a sensitive heart. He is fond of saying, “Everybody counts, or nobody counts,” and he means it.

Whether the victim is a rich businessman or an impoverished drug addict, Bosch pursues justice with the tenacity of a bulldog. Not only that, he makes tough choices with an ironclad sense of right and wrong. After reading it, I devoured everything Michael Connelly has written. I’m that fan who pre-orders his next book as soon as the announcement hits my inbox.

I admit it: I underestimated Flavia de Luce.

She is 11 years old, self-schooled, and lives outside a small English town in the 1950s. She is overlooked and underestimated by everyone. Deep inside, I’m still 11 years old, underestimated, and overlooked. I had an insatiable desire to learn about my environment, and I often saw things others didn’t. Flavia also reminds me of my childhood living in the country in the 1980s. I ran unchecked, safe, and constantly delighted in discovering new things about my corner of the world. I wince at the de Luce family politics. I cheer Flavia’s investigations and her fearlessness. I want nothing more than to stay in Flavia’s 11-year-old world forever. She is the kick-ass kid I wanted to be. 

Did this book give birth to hardboiled literature? No, but I feel it mothered and fathered it. 

Did this book—when filmed in 1941—give rise to film noir? I would say yes or “oui.”

This book lives on in libraries and bookstores, in minds and memories, on screens big and small, as a cultural masterpiece. But please don’t get me wrong about masterpiece. Hammett’s existential story of antiheroic private detective Sam Spade wriggling out of death as he fends off the cagey but crazed pursuers of a worthless “jeweled” bird breathes more deeply, more compellingly every time I re-read it. Through the book, I face the dark—and find the gloom almost charming. 

What’s not to love about this? I first experienced The Big Sleep by viewing the classic Humphrey Bogart movie, and while I thoroughly enjoyed the film, I admit I was a bit perplexed over some of the plot points.

Reading the book cleared up some, but not all, of my confusion, and yet it’s a book I would read again and again. The classic 1930s setting of Los Angeles and Hollywood, the noir elements, and the hard-boiled detective, Phillip Marlowe, are an unbeatable combination in my mind.

Each book in this series is about the illusions we create and live with, depicted through a team of rejected British spies.

When a M15 spy screws up an assignment they are transfer to the Slough House to waste away until they retire. That’s the premise, but it’s led by a master spy, who is entrenched in the highest levels of the spy world. You don’t know what is real or what is an illusion, as situations evolve.

It’s at times insane, the characters are unusual, and the situations are full of twists and turns, from the illogical to the unheard of. I loved every minute of each book.

I’ve always been a Thomas Perry fan going all the way back to The Butcher’s Boy, and thoroughly enjoyed his Jane Whitefield series. His novel, The Old Man, was recently adapted for television, starring Jeff Bridges, who’s perfect as the protagonist. The thing I’ve always appreciated about Perry’s books is his careful plotting and attention to detail, which is particularly noticeable in the Jane Whitefield books. The other thing about his books is the way he can turn a villain —like the Butcher’s Boy—into a likable protagonist.  

The first in the series of Dave Robicheaux novels, this is handled quite well. The main character is very human, flawed by his own admission by a battle with an addiction to alcohol, but nonetheless is a tough and competent cop who definitely sees—and knows well—the seedier side. Set in the deep south, Burke takes you there with description that is so evocative that you can feel it with every sense, and the danger as the story unravels into a tale of corruption and bloody violence. I really wanted the main character to win this battle and it was one almost literally to the death. If you like great writing and to sit on the edge of your seat (near the bayou, so be careful), this is a must-read.

I was blown away by the authentic voices of the characters, the quick pacing, and the theme of justice confronting racial hatred in a courthouse and a community. Something tells me that Grisham himself might be most proud of this first novel, even over his many fine ones that followed it. Recently, I went back to read some of this book.

I wanted to remember how Grisham wrote about place and atmosphere. I found myself sweating as I took in his words describing the hot southern town. I re-read the entire novel.

This book changed my life. Honest to God. I always wanted to be a novelist and TV writer, but this book made me believe I could. I can still remember exactly where I was when I read it–late at night, in a sleeping bag in an old wooden cabin at Loon Lake, Washington.

I marveled at how the characters and story emerged almost entirely through the dialogue, which is so snappy, clever, and funny that the original book cover was just an excerpt of it against a black background. But MacDonald also manages to strike a perfect balance between laugh-out-loud humor and the mystery-crime story he’s telling without sacrificing the puzzle's suspense or pleasure.

I didn’t know if I could ever be a prose stylist, but this book showed me that I didn’t have to be. I just needed to capture how people talked, how they saw the world, and… show more.