Books like Spencerville

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.

When I first learned the subject of this hot-selling book, the building of a medieval cathedral, my first thought was blah.

I mean, how interesting could the decades-long construction of a massive church be? Boy, was I wrong. Follett makes the story so compelling, personal, and moving; I couldn’t stop reading. I got so invested in the characters and the tale that I wished there were more, even after 1008 pages. Yeah.

Thankfully, Follett wrote four more books in the Cambridge series, and yes, I’ve read them all. There is a reason why Pillars of the Earth is the bestselling historical novel of all time.

The Jack Reacher character is arguably the best-known protagonist in the mystery thriller genre. In most novels I’ve ever read, the main character has a character arc where the protagonist learns from his adventures, trials, and tribulations and becomes a better person (or in some cases the opposite). Whatever the trajectory, the character changes over time, but in Lee Childs’ books, the Jack Reacher character never changes. Reacher is your quintessential flat line – nothing phases him and nothing ever changes him. He's a drifter, who walks the USA with a toothbrush in one pocket and an ATM card in the other. Reacher likes to stay out of trouble, but he’s not afraid to confront it either when it finds him. It's very hard not to like Jack Reacher and it's even harder not to like Lee Childs books (he's written 27 so far). I always read a Jack Reacher… show more.

I love this book because it’s the best fictional example I’ve ever seen of a character’s disability being eclipsed by his talent. Lincoln Rhyme is paralyzed, but his talent as a criminologist is far more important—and Deaver showcases Rhyme’s genius and passion as often as he details the difficulties of disability.

I find the book’s mystery compelling and the characters well-written, and I couldn’t get enough of the relationship between Lincoln Rhyme and Amelia Sachs. I’ve never seen a better portrayal of a partnership based solidly on mutual respect and admiration. I’m so grateful for how this story demonstrates that disability doesn’t need to stop you from making a real impact through the gifts and talents you’ve been given.

This book explores the themes of loss, grief, and fidelity to one’s marriage, even once that relationship is unraveling. The prose is precise, and the narrator’s inner life is seemingly transparent. At the same time, it’s a mystery: why did the narrator’s husband disappear while doing research for a book on mourning rituals in southern Greece? And why does she hide the secret of their marital separation—and her new life with a new man—from her mother-in-law, who insists she track down her son, Christopher?

The narrator seeks out her soon-to-be ex at her mother-in-law's command, only to discover a tragic event. The ties to a failing love and a distant family are strengthened and the reader’s expectations upended. I loved how Kitamura took existential issues and boiled them down into a deceptively quiet story.

Popular culture is littered with new archetypes of wifehood, both enacted (the “MILF,” the “trad wife,” the “Mormon Wife”) and aspirational (“I’m Looking for a Man in Finance”). 

Leonard’s highly accessible book provides a way of thinking about this taken-for-granted category and places it in a range of critical and historical contexts. One of the most important contributions she makes is to track the emergence of the “professional wife” as a new status designation and revenue raising identity.

While Come With Me has less paranormal in its blend, the book’s recipe is chock-full of foreboding suspense, eerie folklore, amateur sleuthing, and contemporary issues. Aaron Decker’s wife is tragically killed in a mass shooting. After five years of marriage, he thinks he knew her. But then he finds her padlocked hope chest. Inside are files about unsolved murders, all women victims. Is a serial killer on the loose? And why or how was his wife involved? Aaron follows the trail she left behind. Goosebumps suggest he’s not alone. Or are they from the dark secrets he unveils? Aaron’s narration is authentic and close—so close that readers eavesdrop on him speaking directly to his dead wife. Incredibly raw. Come With Me is masterful at building atmospheric and emotional tension.

I enjoy prayer and its importance in elevating me above circumstances. As I faced the difficulties of marriage, this book gave me hope and a way of positively moving forward. The depth of understanding of a husband's issues allows for prayer on a different level. Each chapter gave more insight as you prayed for your husband and yourself.

I never underestimate the power of prayer to change people, circumstances, and especially you. This book redirects your efforts to release the burdens and see your spouse and your situation differently.

This book about an isolated woman who gets caught up in Frankenstein’s quest to build a bride for his creation is actually more horrifying before Victor shows up.

The description of the Orkney Islands is stark and moody, infusing the story with atmosphere. The details of an 18th century woman’s life and its hazards are devastating. I sympathized with Agnes in her frustration, despair, and betrayal, and I celebrated her striving for autonomy.

Mostly, I appreciated how McGregor brought to life a narrow section of Shelley’s original story.

Few books have made me question my own life quite like Untamed.

I didn't connect with this book because my life is anything like Glennon Doyle's—it isn't. I connected with it because she puts words to something I think many of us experience: the quiet pressure to become the person everyone else expects us to be. It made me ask myself a deeply uncomfortable question: Whose life am I actually living?

I found myself thinking about all the ways expectations can slowly shape who we are, often so quietly that we don't even realise it is happening. How much of who we are is actually us—and how much of it is the version we've learned to perform for everyone else?

I kept thinking about how much courage it takes to stop performing and start listening to yourself instead.