100 Books Like Son of the Shadows

This book was like a fisherman with bait on the hook. I was the fish; the fantasy setting and the author’s magnificent ability with words were the bait.

Mary Stewart was, of course, the sportswoman out to snag something in my soul. I was prepared to be entertained, but the story carried a surprising amount of weight, asking questions like What do we live for? Can humanity ever be enough? Merlin came into an understanding of his place in the world — not through romance or fantasy adventures as we so typically read —  but through internal revelation.

With his journey, I was invited into soulful reflection and some uncomfortable truths of my own. In the end, I decided Mary Stewart knew very well what she was doing. The stinker.

I read this book over a decade ago, and it still has its claws in me.

The writing prose is lyrical and gorgeous. The world-building, centered around a blend of Christianity and Jewish cultures and religions, is beautiful and spellbinding. The characters are each so creatively written, and the sex – oh my god – is just both tastefully and devastatingly written.

This book is a cult classic. I have recommended it to others so many times over the years.

This book is so underrated, it’s painful. A truly engrossing read. Han Alister must rise up from the slums of the city to embrace his magic, and find revenge for his innocent sister’s death. She was his heart, and when her life is extinguished, so is that part of himself. Or so he thought, until Raisa. A princess by birth, she’ll have to overcome her so-called privilege to have a chance at real happiness with someone less than a commoner—a reformed thief and gang leader. Or is he? Will revenge prove a more powerful conviction than love? Magical twists and surprises abound, and the depth of this world will suck you right in. If you’re not cheering for Han by the end, do you even like morally gray heroes? 

I loved Till We Have Faces, but not just for the most obvious reasons, like the story’s content. For me, it was the realization that C.S. Lewis was allowing me to discover the meaning of the story gradually.

The novel invited me into a mystery and let revelation slowly come. I’ve found so many of my greatest ah-ha! moments in life have come this way—not because someone preached a message, or commanded me… Not because a person told me the answers up front… Not even necessarily because outside circumstances demanded it. The much-needed revelation slowly unfolded in my heart and mind as I probed (and sometimes wrestled) for the truth.

I was quietly led and guided to the truth… and that’s exactly what this story does.

Tenebris Rache. I hated him, I really did. But, there was also something niggling at the back of my mind. I devoured all nine books, and by the end, I was cheering for this man, and one of my favorite female characters of the series. Buroker writes the complexities of life and relationships so well, you don’t even see the moment it all changes coming. And then you’re hooked, because deep down, we all know the best bad guys have a wound in need of healing. 

There is nothing about this book, and the heroine in it, that isn’t fun and hilarious. Jen is mouthy and wild, and more than willing to tempt Decebel—a hunky, dangerous werewolf—to throw all his rules against getting involved with humans to the wind. This grumpy and sunshine book hooked me before the grumpy/sunshine trend was even a thing. But don’t let the fun fool you—dark magic is at work, and they will be up against life-and-death odds if they’re going to make it as a couple. 

I grew as a person after reading Outlaws of Sherwood, largely because McKinley penned this mythic retelling of the story in such an introspective way.

I realized that life was grounded in reality, not in the fantastical, possibly “legendary” things that are said about us… or done to us. I also realized the difficult choices I had to make in the midst of conflict didn’t entirely define me—though they might in the eyes of everyone else.

What was more influential to my own life story (and vitally important) was my own inner perspective—the way I viewed myself, the way I related to my own situation, whether healthy or unhealthy. This story shaped me as a person and set the stage for me as an inward-looking writer.

When I first discovered a copy of The Singer—left well-worn and dog-eared by its previous owner—I felt I had immediately picked up a book that was written in a beautiful ancient language.

In its simplistic style, the story explored an entire society through the lens of their need for truth, sacrifice, and redemption. The story spoke to me in a way none ever had. I was left in a whirl of soul-searching—critiquing my own world and its dominant values and ideals, examining my spiritual beliefs. But most of all, I was left in a state of quiet wonder.

The truth really was plain to see. Beautiful and simplistic, I just needed to open my eyes and take hold of it.

The humanity! I could not imagine being trapped in a body that I no longer had control over. To make a decision about purposely ending your life and then finding the love of your life is awful.

From the care takers point of view, I felt every feeling of letting myself go just to have to remind myself of the reality of the situation. There was no arguing with a brick wall. Only acceptance. The grief was real.

Here's another amazing woman—angry, determined 18-year-old Adair—who travels through Missouri’s brutal Civil War landscape looking for her father. Jailed in St. Louis under horrid conditions for suspected Confederate sympathies, she brawls with a fellow prisoner, strategically worms her way into the prison matron’s good graces, then captures the heart of a Union interrogator who helps her escape.

I am not a horse person, but Jiles’s description of Adair’s relationship with her horse Whiskey is otherworldly and totally converted me. One nightmare scene follows another as Adair makes her way back to her family home, and I love the resourceful lies she concocts to save herself and Whiskey amid guerrilla warfare and martial law.

Beautiful language; Jiles is a poet, and it shows.