Books like The Fraud — picked by fans

I’m a novelist, essayist, and journalist who’s written extensively about the problems and consolations of faith, about belonging in and out of faith, and about the tribes of what I think of as the In Between. When you’re in between, you’re neither in it nor out of it, whatever “it” might be for you. You bear an “infinity of traces,” as the writer Antonio Gramsci called these formative influences. My first novel looks at these influences directly, while my second one looks at them indirectly. I’m late in the game with a third novel now—a detective story that investigates a murder along with these same themes. 

I started my academic life with two passions: listening to those I was researching and writing in ways that were accessible to all readers. I wasn’t willing to bow down to orthodoxies that would stifle my capacity to think and to write and make my way into new and emergent ideas and practices. Questions of ethics threaded their way through it all, not the kind of rule-based nonsense of university ethics committees, but ethics that enabled me to consider how matter matters and to re-think what we are in relation to each other and to the Earth.

I’m a novelist, essayist, and journalist who’s written extensively about the problems and consolations of faith, about belonging in and out of faith, and about the tribes of what I think of as the In Between. When you’re in between, you’re neither in it nor out of it, whatever “it” might be for you. You bear an “infinity of traces,” as the writer Antonio Gramsci called these formative influences. My first novel looks at these influences directly, while my second one looks at them indirectly. I’m late in the game with a third novel now—a detective story that investigates a murder along with these same themes. 

I’m a novelist, essayist, and journalist who’s written extensively about the problems and consolations of faith, about belonging in and out of faith, and about the tribes of what I think of as the In Between. When you’re in between, you’re neither in it nor out of it, whatever “it” might be for you. You bear an “infinity of traces,” as the writer Antonio Gramsci called these formative influences. My first novel looks at these influences directly, while my second one looks at them indirectly. I’m late in the game with a third novel now—a detective story that investigates a murder along with these same themes. 

I've been an avid reader of murder mysteries since I was a kid when my grandmother gave me my first Agatha Christie novel for Christmas. What I love about Christie and the books I’ve picked here is that just when you think you have the whole thing figured out, the writers give you a big SMACK up side the head. So, whether the mysteries are cozies, courtroom dramas or femme noir, they all give you that moment toward the end where you cry out loud, “No way!” and then flip furiously back through the pages to see how you missed it.

Ever since I read The Chronicles of Narnia as a child, the concept of magical, sentient animals and their relationship with humans fascinated me, so it was no surprise that when I started to write the Blood of the Fae series, a massive, mysterious feline sauntered onto the pages and carved out a significant role in the story. Over the years, I’ve found many new favorite animal companions in the pages of books, and I’m working on building up a real-life collection of animal companions including ducks, chickens, a sweet kitty, and many more lovable critters to come (alas, none of them show signs of developing magical abilities)!

My passion for small islands began as a child. I spent my summer holidays on the Isles of Scilly, where everyone knew each other, and the sea wiped the landscape clean, leaving it pristine each morning. Since then, I’ve visited dozens of islands, keen to understand the islanders’ survivalist mindset. I worked as an English teacher before becoming a writer. It allowed me to share my love of storytelling, but the tales that linger with me still take place on small islands where the consequences of our actions are never forgotten. I hope you enjoy exploring the ones on my list as much as I did!

I am a novelist and journalist who has been writing about war and refugees for nearly two decades. In 2018, I went to the Greek island of Samos, which held one of the most inhumane refugee camps in Europe, to talk to people there about their lives and hopes. Out of this, I wrote several articles and later two books, including The Good Deed. My hope is to counteract the demonization of refugees, so rife in the world today, by bringing out all that we humans have in common, such as our need for shelter, food, family, safety, and love. 

I have long been fascinated by how personal and singular the experience of grief is. There is something soothing and relatable about reading others’ experiences—the more strange, nonsensical, or even supernatural the better. My own novel, The Secret Garden of Yanagi Inn, is a retelling of The Secret Garden, but with an adult protagonist moving through grief over the death of her complicated mother, striving to see a bright ray of hope on the other side. Each of the books on my list about unusual manifestations of grief tackles this same concept in new and surprising ways, and I hope they touch you as they have touched me.  

Only in my recent life as a reader did I realize that my favorite novels often follow a precise pattern: either the author or the main character is a woman. Or both. So, why this sort of bias from a male reader? I found a plausible answer in my belief that female protagonists, more than male ones, serve as the ideal lever for compelling plot twists—the deae ex machina of contemporary storytelling. No wonder the protagonist of the first novel I wrote is a woman. No wonder she’s gifted (or, rather, cursed) with supernatural powers. As for my choice of topic, could it possibly have turned out differently?