Books like Stories 1,2,3,4 — picked by fans

What can I say? It’s the goated friendly freaks book.

This collection of super short connected stories stars one kid per tale. The kids are weird and wild, and something that has really stuck with me my whole life is that some of the kids are rotten and stay rotten. Not everyone needs to grow and change in 120 pages.

Let a character stink. Let a kid be a wet rat. Let a nasty teacher be eaten. Anyway, there’s this incredible way that the author employs a third-person limited POV that gets me every time, even on the hundredth read.

A few illustrators have graced the pages of this all-time favorite. I grew up reading an edition illustrated by the amazing Julie Brinkloe. I also have a copy illustrated by Adam McCauley, which I also really love.

Lemony Snicket is no stranger to unfortunate events, but this standalone book contains perhaps the worst of all: the news that he, the author, has consumed poison while eating the first meal of the day. Of course, this being a Snicket story, there’s more going on. This book is a bit mystery, and a bit philosophy (or is it the other way around?). More importantly, it is also a meditation on the wonderfulness of books and reading, a part of life that remains important even if one is quite sure one has been poisoned and now has an indeterminate amount of time to discover the truth of what happened.

These interrelated short stories are whimsical, sometimes melancholy, and often use nonsense language. My parents read these to me when I was a kid and I always listened intently and laughed hysterically, and later I read them to myself. Many of the stories are narrated by the Potato-Face-Blind-Man, an old minstrel of the Village of Liver-and-Onions who hangs out in front of the local post office. That says it all right there. This book creates a magical, fantasy world which provided me with fodder for the rest of my life. These have been a huge influence on me!

This is the first book in the young readers' genre that made me think that I, too, could write for this age group. 

This book is a wonderfully funny and imaginative tale about a girl, her family, and her imaginary friends. It is not really a graphic novel but more of an illustrated early reader story. The loose but expressive pencil illustrations really impressed me with how much personality you could get in such a simple drawing. 

What sets this apart is the anything-goes/freewheeling stream-of-consciousness telling of her story, which takes you from one outlandish scene to another as Dory makes her way through her day. However, this book also has lots of heart and love in the family.  

Eugene Ionesco is an absurd theater playwright. Absurd plays tell us things without overtly telling us things.

Rhinoceros depicts the way that Nazism went from something as shocking as a rhinoceros running around Europe, to a thing that everyone takes as a fait accompli. Only one character, who is no great shakes himself, alternately self-loathing and confused, wanting to do right, but not knowing how to, avoids becoming one of them.

It's a simple skillful play, depicting a chilling problem. It is perfect for MAGA-ism in America: book banning, election-stealing, vaccine distrust, and the like, because it shows how easily and seamlessly people fall into line behind horrific, but compelling, movements. Ionesco's dialogue is brilliant, as is his message; his work can show us the way to writing with meaning.

This book made me think, reflect, and laugh (if a little unnervingly!). It is a quirky tale that warns us of threats to civil liberties from AI and corporate tech giants in a Hitch-hikers' Guide to the Galaxy meets 1984 way.

Some of the writing is lyrical and literary, sometimes perplexing and banal. I was not entirely convinced by the science behind the science-fiction elements, but that is perhaps allowed because of the Theatre of the Absurd approach the author takes.

This is a wonderful selection of short stories and novel extracts by early authors of strange, weird, surreal fiction; writers whose subject is the so-called supernatural and who rail against the reduction of life to rational materialism. These works would broadly now be referred to as weird fiction. They are only as weird as the world. The book also contains an excellent introduction by the editor, speaking up for the strange, weird, and surreal.

This is the book I used to read with a torch under the bedcovers as a kid. It introduced me to many great science fiction writers. My copy had an excellent cover depicting an ice cream with an eyeball staring out of it. I loved entering the book’s different worlds. It inspired me to lie awake at night, speculating about the universe, only to awake the next morning wondering if this was the day when the school teacher would say, ‘OK enough of these spellings and sums, let’s talk about why life exists.’ I still don’t understand why it never happened.

Promenade is a gift for anyone who, like me, loves books. What I like most is the concept itself: a tribute to books, to what they make us feel. They can be the vehicle of a great journey, a refuge, or the door to a new world. The dreamlike and surreal illustrations are so evocative that they do not need accompanying text. Another concept that seems very interesting to me is that, in addition to presenting the book as a magical object, it also makes it an object of great value: it is a large-format book, with a very careful edition and a print that extols the beautiful illustrations. These are details that I love because they make it a perfect book gift. 

One of my favorite poets writing about one of my favorite artists. Cornell’s mysterious, alluring dreamscapes in his delicately crafted boxes meet their soulmate in the prose poems of Simic. In this work of only seventy-seven pages of short meditations on Cornell’s life, inspiration, and method, Simic creates the poetic equivalent of Cornell’s visual art. Simic recognizes, as did Cornell, that “The commonplace is miraculous if rightly seen, if recognized.”