Books like The Godmakers

What does it mean to be human, and what happens to us when we don’t receive unconditional love?

The two main characters in this Gothic novel, a human and a "monster," are presented in such a way that I questioned which main character was more human. There’s a warning of what can happen when we deny the basic human need for unconditional love.

Shelly’s use of a frame story pulled me in from the first page.

When I first discovered this book’s existence, I knew I had to read it.

C.S. Lewis ventured into the same territory I stumbled into, and I found few Christians that I could confide in back in the 1990s, about the ideas and concepts that swarmed in my brain.

Everyone has heard about The Chronicles of Narnia, The Screw Tape Letters, and The Great Divorce, all of which are theological classics. CS Lewis is a literary giant and a must-read for Christians.

But to learn that he wrote about outer space as the heavens, and his understanding that the word for “heaven” in Scripture is a plural word, bearing its origin from Genesis 1:14, was astonishing to me. He gets it!

The concept of this story is amazing, especially at a time when they are “bringing back” different species. I am often amazed at what scientists have been able to accomplish in real life, and it’s even more fun to read about it in fiction. 

Another thing that I loved about this story is how it shows that nature cannot be contained. We can manipulate it, but we’d better not make too many assumptions about how things will progress because nature has its own way of doing things.

The characters were also great in both the book and the movie.

I loved the gorgeous tight prose and meticulously consistent details and plot points. This book is one of the earliest examples of alternate timeline science fiction and that in itself had me hooked! In fact, it came out as an early serial in the Thrill Book magazine in 1919 and its author was a woman (Gertrude Barrows Bennett) writing under a male pseudonym (Francis Stevens).

While there are some early elements of what could be confused for fantasy in it, it reads more like experiences of psychedelia once one considers the scientific causes revealed fully in the last chapter. I loved gradually discovering an underlying theme of how our personal choices and mindsets affect the people, events, and settings, we find ourselves in.

A Marsh Island was nineteenth-century New England writer Sarah Orne Jewett’s favorite novel among her many books, but it has had less acclaim than The Country of Pointed Firs.

A Marsh Island is the story of Dick Dale, who is on vacation from New York City in the Sussex, Massachusetts area (in real life, Essex County). When Dale stays with the rural Owen family following an injury, he develops an interest in the family’s daughter Doris and feels a kinship to her brother Israel Jr., who died in the Civil War.

Don James McLaughlin introduces Jewett as one half of the best-known “Boston marriage” with Annie Adams Fields and reflects on this novel’s themes of queer hiddenness and visibility in post–Civil War New England.

Even though Jewett wrote the stories in this book in the late 1800s, there is a timeless feeling to her prose that reverberates today.

I love Jewett’s attention to and reverence for the natural beauty that surrounds the fictional town of Dunnet Landing. Her descriptions of the Maine coastline—a blend of craggy rocks, forest, meadows, and sea—are visceral, sensory, and alluring. Jewett also nicely captures the hardworking, humorous, quietly resilient spirit of the year-round residents of Dunnet Landing, with a particularly keen and kind eye toward her female characters.

Her care for the everyday rituals of life, the small moments that make up an existence, are lovingly rendered and evocative. There’s a reason this is a Maine classic. 

This fascinating memoir, written in journal style of all the highly unusual, paranormal incidents that have happened to the author from the time he was a youngster. It is a chronicle of the many supernatural events experienced by one ordinary man, a former deputy sheriff. Time after time, a divine power intervenes to heal and save him, leaving him a stunned witness to his own salvation. This unusual story reaffirms my faith in the unseen and the 6th sense not everyone has.

I specifically recall the scene in which a mind-uploaded character is being subjected to interesting psychological experiments, such as having his neural processing slowed, sped up, and even completely halted without feeling any awareness of those changes.

This book is a fascinating philosophical deep dive into the relationship between functionalism and consciousness. The other thing I was personally drawn to was the story’s use of cellular automata and artificial life since these areas of computer science have been passions of mine even longer than mind uploading.

I love the way the magic moves through this novel in quiet, intimate ways.

It’s never flashy, nor is the magic there only for the sake of excitement. It whispers a twisted love. It’s dreadful and beautiful, both to Addie LaRue and to the reader. Because of it, Addie changes. Addie lives in our world, in historical times and today, and the magic exists in our world. 

One of the things I love about literary fantasy is that the main characters have true emotional arcs. We’re drawn into their experiences because we care about them. The questions they ask themselves are ones we all ask: Who do I want to be? What makes life meaningful? What do we owe the people we love?

I first picked this up in a bookshop in Bangalore, knowing nothing about it or the (now very famous) author.

I was unprepared for a novel that managed to evoke the lush and intense vibrancy of South Pacific Islands, the depravity of a real-life Nobel Prize winner who was accused of heinous crimes, and the heartbreak of losing someone to dementia – all at the same time.

This is an uncomfortable but unputdownable novel, and one that affected me so deeply I now have a tattoo of it; on my thumb is the symbol carved into wood to signal that the ’people in the trees’ live there, in memory of my beloved grandmother.