67 Books Like The Dark Portal

This book is one of my all-time favorites, because even though I knew it was fiction, it felt like nonfiction as I was reading it. It was that authentic, and that alive. I truly felt like I was reading an actual history book about an event from my own world. 

The narrative structure was also amazing, telling the entire story through interviews with survivors of the zombie war, and I was riveted by those stories. They showed me what it was like to face that zombie horror, which made me desperate to know what happened, how they survived, and how they managed. Although I was reading, it felt like I was watching actual people tell their tales.

A reader begins a book only to discover that the same sixteen pages are printed over and over—so begins a journey across the beginning of novels and through continents. This is a book that breaks rules and taught me how to read it page by page—and I love that feeling.

Though first published in 1979, Calvino’s novel is remarkably timely with respect to the impact of data science and artificial intelligence on literature, as well as the “author’s position with regard to Trends of Contemporary Thought and Problems That Demand a Solution.”

Some might not consider this detective fiction, but I think—like The Aspern Papers (James) and The Savage Detectives (Bolaño)—the quest to find an obscure or missing text (or artist) fits within the genre and, indeed, is one of my favorite kinds of detective stories. 

Now look, Stephen hardly needs the bump in sales but I do love this book.

I read it in one sitting one night as a kid and was engrossed. I read it for too young for the adult themes, but I feel like that is an official stage of most peoples’ adolescence and should be in textbooks. 

This is my friend Claire and her books are so beautifully written, while their plots grip me like a vice!

This one is about spying on your neighbours, and whether you can always believe what you see… and I will say no more as you don’t need spoilers from me.

Dunstan Ramsey is not supposed to be the main character, but the story cannot survive without him.

Ramsey drew my affection during my impressionable thirties. He was modest and kind, and showed an inner strength that was expressed with patience and good humor. He also represented a dramatic figure who was new to me, the obscure hero who stands outside of the spotlight and causes important things to happen.

Ramsey’s story is full and nuanced enough to enrich three complete novels, The Deptford Trilogy, each with its own kind heroes, though not so modest as Ramsey himself.

As a child, one of my favourite stories, that went on to help shape my personal writing style, was The Whitby Witches by Robin Jarvis. As a care leaver I found the main characters, siblings who had been shunted between several foster homes because of the brother's psychic gift, relatable. The sister doesn't believe him - a brilliant source of conflict because all they have is each other, yet there's this huge wedge between them. But the best part is how well the author blends the magical with the mundane. There's a group of almost Lovecraftian creatures that can only be seen by those with The Sight, living alongside the villagers. I loved the idea of unseen people, just a shadow's width away, unknown things living side by side with a blissfully ignorant human populace. That contrast between the ordinary and fantastical had crept into a lot of my stories.

A Dead Man in Deptford was the last published novel of Anthony Burgess’s lifetime and can be seen as a companion piece to his earlier fictional biography of William Shakespeare, Nothing Like the Sun. A Dead Man in Deptford follows Christopher Marlowe’s life, and Will of Warwickshire lurks very very much in the background of this novel. This somehow adds to the poignancy, as even within his own story, the reader is always aware that Marlowe’s era will be dominated by the name of William Shakespeare. 

The First World War broke out in August 1914; by September 1914 articles and essays began to appear that defended – or attacked – the policies of the men responsible for the July Crisis. Books soon followed. And they have never stopped. No crisis in history has received more attention than that of July 1914. The topic, with its vast complexities, missed opportunities, and contradictory explanations, continues to fascinate us.

No book on the subject is more captivating than Thomas Otte’s day-by-day unravelling of the complicated diplomacy pursued by the statesmen of Europe. His mastery of the subject is impressive (he has written dozens of articles and essays on the diplomacy of prewar Europe) and his balanced treatment of the topic serves as a model of dispassionate scholarship.

This book provides a radically alternative perspective on what this event meant for ordinary people. Using a wide range of letters, diaries, and memoirs, Neiberg reveals that most people had no idea what the war was about and saw no good reason for it, while the soldiers were often confused as to whom they were fighting and which part of the world they were in. It is a short book but an enlightening read.

One of the most popular explanations for the outbreak of war between 1918 and 1939 was that it had been caused by the ‘Merchants of Death,’ i.e. the large armaments firms and their financiers who profited from international animosity. Although the conspiracy theory tendency in this belief gradually dissipated, the idea that the arms race was a significant contributory factor leading to war has long featured on any list of ‘causes’.

David Stevenson’s exhaustive research in the archives of most of the combatant states has provided us with massive and fascinating detail on the thinking of those involved and the relationship between geopolitical ambitions, strategic calculations, and financial realities. His treatment makes for fascinating reading, enhanced by crisply argued interpretations of the role of military and naval preparedness in the crises that plagued prewar Europe.