Books like That Time of Year — picked by fans

This book isn’t just about historians or history writing, but I love it because it addresses some really important questions related to history writing: why was the preservation of memory gendered labor, with different types of memorialization expected of men and women, and how was the past preserved in forms other than chronicles?

It also grapples with the fact that some events and people were purposely forgotten or intentionally left uncommemorated. This practice of collective amnesia or whitewashing the past is something I find particularly compelling. It’s a fascinating look at the gendered practices of memory, and a great reminder that chronicles were not the only means by which the past was preserved for posterity.

Alice Lake finds a man on the beach outside her house, but when she asks the man who he is, he can’t give her any answers because he says he doesn’t know who he is either. He’s lost his memory and his identification. Alice decides to help the unknown man and invites him into her home.

While Alice tries to help the unknown man figure out who he is, she also can’t help but wonder who she’s let into her home. He seems perfectly harmless, but is he? It reminds me of what I’ve felt in relationships. I’ll like someone, but then I’ll get to know them and start to wonder who they really are. I’ll look at a friend and wonder, where did you come from?

A fast-paced thriller that hooked me from the very first chapter, this is an intricately plotted book full of twists and turns I didn’t see coming. In fact, I was so invested that I read it in a matter of days.

I loved that the main story takes place on a camping trip in the mountains. The characters felt very realistic, and the mystery of the two missing friends kept me on my toes until the big reveal near the end.

In Everything You Are, Braden is a cellist who has lost the use of his hands—in his case, through a tragic twist of fate. Enter Ophelia, granddaughter of the man who sold Branden his cello and made Ophelia swear that he will always play it. Author Kerry Anne King weaves a magical spell around these two characters as, together, they find their way to forgiveness. This is a story full of twists and turns, culminating in a beautiful ending that depicts the healing power of music.

Seriously, I’m not exaggerating, and I say this as someone who’s read all the works of Philip K. Dick: Wallflower Assassin is without exception the weirdest, wildest, most psychedelic, and gleefully anarchistic book it’s ever been my pleasure to encounter. Our narrator, Jack, has near-total amnesia, induced by a trauma he can’t remember (because amnesia). He’s stumbling randomly between alternate universes, stalked and manipulated by agents of the sinister Reality Patrol. Oh, and he’s not in his own body––his mind has somehow been transferred into the body of a deadly former Reality Patrol assassin named Max. And Max’s mind is still in there, too, disoriented and annoyed at Jack’s presence... And all of this only just begins to scratch the surface of how weird it gets.

I was immediately drawn to a fellow Latina's story by virtue of being of Colombian ancestry and experiencing similar mystical and unusual experiences in my family. I have relatives in Colombia who lived through the political violence of the 1980s, and I could understand the dread she described in her book.

The reckoning between a concrete reality and a magical world was part of my writing challenge. I felt as if I had found a kindred spirit who shared a heritage of magic and mystery and the Latina approach to integrating this into our lives unapologetically.

I planned a trip to Scotland and immersed myself in Peter May’s Scottish perspective. I try to do that with my books: share the back story, the elements that make Martha’s Vineyard so special to so many people. This is the niche I have carved for myself over the past 15 years.

Peter May is a BBC stalwart; Coffin Road offers a daunting tale with an emphasis on the rugged landscape. May traces his tale right down to the water’s edge.  

And while this is a work of fiction, it offers a vivid view of the reality of living on an island: the isolation, the limitations, the beauty, and the danger. That’s what I do with my Vineyard histories.

This is a horror novel about waking up in a hospital with no memory of who you are. What makes it unique is that Ingman started writing as a prisoner. “With nothing but pen, paper, and my own mind and memory of inspiration from my favorite books by Stephen King to my favorite episodes of Twilight Zone,” he says. His incarceration “spanned over 3 prisons and over the course of 5 years 1 month and 5 days,” he says on his Amazon page. I admire his determination and ambition. 

Beautiful, heart-wrenching, and masterfully written this memoir starts with twenty-eight-year-old MacLean waking up in a train station in India. He has no idea who he is or how he got there. MacLean doesn’t waste any time diving into the terror and the humor of his situation. He becomes increasingly ill and is eventually placed in a psychiatric hospital in Hyderabad. Turns out he’s had a rare reaction to the anti-malarial drug Lariam. Fun, right? With lines like, “Faking sanity isn’t as hard as it might seem. You just have to shut up.” You betcha it’s fun! 

Moon Brow describes the social tensions between ideals of freedom, religion, and authoritarianism that provoked Iran’s 1978 revolution, but only increased under Islamic rule. Amir, a formerly rich, wild playboy, flogged by the morality police after a drunken orgy, joins the army to escape shame and find meaning for his life in the brutal and futile 10-year war against Iraq. Commanding artillery in the borderland, he encounters the mysterious, sprite-like woman he calls “Moon Brow,” who, after an Iraqi shell maims him, becomes a magical force in his PTSD hallucinations. Her true identity will come as a rebuke for his comparatively pointless existence, while his sister’s spurning of her rich, pretentious suitor will be another rebuke, of his machismo. A brilliant evocation of the illusions that sustain violence.