100 Books Like The Hero of This Book

I’ve read this book three times, drawn by my fascination with death and how people die. The book is well-researched, detailing the final days of great minds—writers like Susan Sontag, Sigmund Freud, John Updike, Dylan Thomas, Maurice Sendak, and James Salter.

Like a skilled biographer, Roiphe doesn’t judge her subjects but presents their endings as they were. Yet, a discerning reader can’t help but draw conclusions. Susan Sontag, the towering intellect, fought death until the end. Dylan Thomas, the great poet, was self-destructive and pathetic at the close of his life. Sigmund Freud chose to end his life with the help of a physician.

Roiphe mentions in her preface that she would have liked to write about other famous deaths—William Blake’s peaceful passing, Honoré de Balzac’s death by overwork, Primo Levi’s fall, and more. I wish she had explored these as well. If she did, I’d devour that book too.

Harkening back to the well-established trope of inviting several seemingly unrelated guests to a secluded location (I’m thinking of the movie for the board game Clue right now) and wrapping them up in a creepy mystery, Kiersten Modglin has delivered a secluded thriller with originality, delectable darkness, and a series of great twists.

I was enthralled by the constant sense of danger and did not see the ending coming. I’ll admit that as a writer myself, the premise of authors invited to a writing retreat intrigued me from the start, but I was so pulled in by this thriller that I finished reading it in no time. Great work.

I’m going to start off by saying that this novel in verse had me in tears. Often. Camino and Yahaira live very different lives except for one thing: they share a father who dies in a tragic accident. What follows is an exploration of and window into grief from two very different perspectives, a reckoning with the truth, and a path forward for both girls that allows them to move forward with a sense of hope.

While reading it, I sometimes felt as if I was probing a wound, which I mean in the best way possible. It felt cathartic in a way I hadn’t expected when I began the book. 

I loved Terri Blackstock's book for its compelling blend of mystery, faith, and family drama. The murder of Thelma and Wayne Owens, who ran Cape Refuge and ministered to those in need, sets off a gripping chain of events and implicates a family member.

The daughters are complex, unforgettable characters, and their determination to clear the accused's name and uncover the whole truth about their parents' deaths is intense and believable.

The plot twists and shady characters kept me guessing until the end. Blackstock's addictive writing style kept me glued to the pages, and her addition of faith without being preachy was welcome.

Stylistically, Erich Segal is my idol because he has a distinct, crisp, clean writing style that he could leverage for dramatic effect. I was intrigued by the fact that he was a classicist by profession; I myself minored in Latin and Greek at the university.

Segal wrote successfully not only for scholarly readers but also for the general public, which is not an easy feat. Segal claimed that Love Story ruined his academic career, but this is actually the book people remember him for today. As a young woman, I enjoyed his novel Love Story, but as a middle-aged woman, I prefer Man, Woman, and Child because it is more nuanced and deals with post-marital responsibilities and challenges that a couple must navigate together if they want their marriage to survive.

This is book 1 in the Avery Ayers Antique Mystery series, is a wonderful cozy mystery with a delightful cast of characters, a touch of romance, and unexpected twists and turns that make the book impossible to put down.

I highly recommend it, especially to readers who love mysteries featuring jewels, antiques, and appraising, and heroines who are both smart and struggling to recover from difficulties in their recent past. It was wisely nominated in 2022 for the Mary Higgins Clark Award. 

After losing both parents to cancer, almost simultaneously, twenty-something Dave becomes father to his much younger brother. Don’t be put off by the jokey title, this book is a heartfelt and hilarious celebration of young men and the way their competitive, raucous humour can be an expression of love and support. I guarantee you will love these two boys-on-the-way-to-be-men.

This book, by Nobel-prize winner Kazuo Ishiguro, was the first novel in which I saw a character like myself—someone who grew up in a culture that was very different from his parents'. The mystery plot gets wild, but I found that the main character’s search for closure felt connected to my own nostalgia and grief over the places I’d left behind.

In Scar Tissue, a 1993 Booker Prize finalist, an unnamed narrator gives a first-person account of the precipitous decline of his mother from dementia (though her condition is never explicitly named).

“She remembers captions of New Yorker cartoons,” he says, lamenting that “it is what happened five minutes ago that is slipping away.” It is a predicament with which dementia caregivers are all too familiar.

Yet, despite his mother’s descent into oblivion, the narrator insists she be treated with dignity. “You keep telling me what has been lost,” he tells her neurologist, “and I keep telling you something remains.”

This is another book about death that will also make you laugh.

I appreciate how direct this book is while still managing to be tender and sensitive. And the artwork matches the tone of the text well. Death looks both friendly and a little creepy.

It may not be for every family, but I love how oddly funny and heartbreaking this book is.