100 Books Like The Case of the Dotty Dowager

This book made me realise that women’s role in fiction didn’t have to be the ‘little woman’ or the ‘love interest’.

It was published back in 2001 when female protagonists were a rarity, but James Patterson gives us not one, but four strong women who get together to solve crimes that the police alone cannot. I love the fact that these women are willing to break the rules in order to succeed in a man’s world. But at the same time, they are a club in the traditional sense: they eat, drink, and have fun together, while watching each other’s backs.

It was a wonderfully empowering experience to discover this book (and even more so when I realised there were a whole series of books about the same group of women).

I don’t read historical fiction as a rule, so this one is a departure for me; and it’s not a traditional crime-fighting story either, but it hooked me from the first page.

I loved the concept of a matriarchal Roman Empire transported to Middle Europe and pulled forward into the twenty-first century. Then I discovered a main protagonist who has been brought up in America and has to come to grips with the fact that she is a member of the ruling family and a soldier at that. The crimes she and her sister officers fight against are political and conspiratorial, but they are crimes nonetheless.

A fascinating approach to history and a great way to reverse the stereotypes and make strong women the norm.

This book has so much I love about it: it’s set in Dublin, the home of my father and therefore part of my heritage.

It features a group of feisty women, the youngest of whom is in her fifties (way younger than me), while the rest are old enough to know better. It’s packed full of humour—who wouldn’t laugh at the idea of the older generation behaving worse than the teenagers. And there’s a huge dollop of old Irish magic to add to the mix.

Despite the fact that this wonderful group of women seem to attract dead bodies like magnets, this is definitely in the cosy sub-genre. And I loved every word of this book and the rest of the series.

This is a funny book that made me laugh out loud from the start, which may seem odd, as it’s definitely not a cosy crime novel. In fact, it’s a gritty thriller, with some quite dark elements, but definitely leavened by the humour.

I love the fact that the two strong female protagonists are anti-heroines and it’s not clear whether they are working together or against each other. There were a number of twists that I completely missed. And I found the continual switch between the two women’s viewpoints kept me guessing throughout.

A scintillating and enjoyable romp.

I love this book because it perfectly blends the surreal with noir and science fiction and comes together with its own brand of dark humor. While parts of this book are unsettling and strange, there’s a solid throughline of the investigator seeking the truth in a broken world.

Of all the books here, I think this one has the most damaged society, and the main character, Conrad Metcalf, is a match for it. Drugs that make you forget everything and be complacent. Baby heads. Uplifted animals. The book is never afraid to get stranger, but it also tackles some pretty heavy themes. This is a world where asking questions is taboo, and the moral and ethical implications of that shape the entire world in which Metcalf lives.

This book was an incredible ride all the way through. We have two narrators, one who is clearly dubious and the other is a detective telling the story of how his wife died of a serious illness. The same wife mysteriously turns up at his station asking for him several years after her death.

That premise alone pulled me in, but Weaver has a particular writing style that just flows, and it’s beautiful writing, darkly rich, questioning everything, and a creepy serial killer in the mix. Just the sort of book I love to read!

I like reading Mosley’s mystery novels because they are about people overcoming extreme difficulties, and this book is one of his best. I couldn’t put it down.

The main character is an African-American private detective working in Los Angeles in the 1950s and 1960s, and Mosley paints a realistic picture of LA during that time.  There are always a few women in distress and white policemen who don’t like the black detective and constantly make his efforts more difficult. 

If Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade served as the model for most private detective protagonists in American books (and movies), Raymond Chandler’s private detective Philip Marlowe offered a fascinating, inside-out variation. Marlowe—especially in this book, which I love as Chandler’s best—seems more analytical than Spade, more passionate than Spade, but just not quite as cool by today’s standards. 

That little loss doesn’t hurt him or this classic, however, which provides the best plot with the most expressive prose of this top 5 private detective novels. Marlowe’s war-torn pal disappears, the guy’s oversexed wife gets murdered, and Marlowe naturally becomes police suspect number one. 

In between the developments, Marlowe makes light: “Mostly I just kill time, and it dies hard.” That’s a clever way to say so long to involvement, but the longest goodbye, the real and permanent one to which the book’s title refers and we sometimes call death—that’s the… show more.

“Absolutely gripping and darkly compelling,” says the blurb—and for once, it’s right! This book is both of those things and so much more. A hell of an introduction to a series that started out as a small-press publication and has gone on to sell in the millions—and deservedly so.

One of the funniest books I’ve ever read. Set in Paris in the 1920s, this mystery has everything I want in an escapist read: a suave detective, his sharpshooting, bad-ass girlfriend, a twisty, unpredictable plot, and fabulous, quirky characters.

Many are based on icons of the era: Josephine Baker, Picasso, Gertrude Stein, Hemingway, and all the usual Midnight in Paris celebrities. I first read this in my teens, and I still reread it for the madcap humor and view of Paris in the 1920s written by someone who was there.