100 Books Like The Raven and Other Favorite Poems

What truly is there left to say about this masterpiece of classic fantasy that hasn’t been said a million times already?

After devouring the light appetizer that is The Hobbit, my teenage imagination was utterly blown away by what I only later understood to be the quintessential blueprint for nearly everything that’s followed throughout the years in this genre.

The sheer level of minute detail and painstakingly developed mythos is nothing short of a masterclass in world-building—a must-have skill for writing this kind of epic tale—but it was the story itself, with its core principles of friendship, loyalty, and sacrifice, that resonated so deeply with me.

Reading this book reminded me that understanding another person is a continuous struggle, and that we lose the most when we mistake appearances for truth. Even for someone like Genly, an emissary whose role is to bridge cultures, truly understanding Estraven proves painfully difficult.

What stayed with me was the tragedy of that gap: how insight often arrives too late.

Estraven’s sacrifice, made so that Genly could reach safety, and Genly’s decision to visit Estraven’s family afterward, left me with a lingering sense that remembrance itself carries moral weight. Sometimes understanding cannot undo loss, but memory—how the living choose to carry it—can still salvage a trace of good from tragedy.

Le Guin’s novel taught me that empathy is not a destination, but an act that must be fought for, again and again.

Like the other books on the list, The Shining felt personal, more like something that was happening to me than a story I was reading.

Like Jack, I could feel myself hanging on while the menace around me grew more real, more concrete. And more overwhelming. Even today, I can feel the terror of losing control, of becoming part of the menace, part of the threat to everything of meaning and value. Snowbound with horror, and Spring will never come.

This is a chilling dive into the depths of cosmic horror. Lovecraft’s masterful storytelling and vivid descriptions transport readers to a world of ancient, otherworldly beings and unspeakable horrors.

What sets Lovecraft’s work apart is its ability to induce a sense of existential dread and cosmic insignificance. His tales explore the darkest corners of the human psyche, revealing the terrifying potential of the unknown. The titular story, The Call of Cthulhu, is a prime example of Lovecraft’s ability to craft a truly unsettling narrative.

If you dare to venture into the realm of the truly bizarre and terrifying, I highly recommend this book. Be warned, however: once you’ve encountered the cosmic horrors that lurk in the shadows, you may never look at the world the same way again.

This is a picture book, but not for very young children. The quiet, almost understated text and art add to the power of the story: a small boy’s experience of coal mining in Nova Scotia in the 1950s. (Though it wasn’t written till 2017). Reading it as an adult, and despite having lived in Nova Scotia as a teenager, I was completely rocked and almost disorientated as I began to grasp the reality of it. I’m not sure which aspect I found more disturbing – imagining the men in the long dark tunnels under the sea, or the boy’s complete acceptance that he would follow this way of life in his turn.  

This almost dialogue-free graphic novel brought me closer to Nature, giving me an opportunity to stop and listen, to admire, and to be more present.

The beauty and intricacy of the illustrations reminded me of why I enjoy being in the woods so much – the unexpected animal encounters, the surprising small changes in the plants around me, the different speed of life.

To expand our compassion (and our own world), we have to recognize that there are more than Human characters and stories that need to be heard. 

This is pretty much a perfect (or should I say purr-fect?) picture book. It is a collection of 13 charming short poems, each one about a different cat, accompanied by wonderful watercolor paintings. The cats—ranging from “Sylvie the Boss” to “Romeo”—put on a good show of being independent from their humans, but the reader quickly learns otherwise. My favorite poem is about “Henry” who sleeps blissfully on his human’s wedding dress, “…the white silk gathered like a cloud/Around me.” Like the best poems, what is unsaid is just as important as what is said. Here, it is left up to the reader to imagine how the wedding dress’s owner feels upon discovering Henry’s new favorite sleeping place! Readers and cat-lovers of all ages will adore this book. 

This author is well known for her nonfiction picture books that clearly explain science topics, in this case, the growth of plants. Step by step, Gibbons walks young readers through pollination, the growth of seeds, and how seeds are distributed, such as by squirrels and birds. Then she goes on to talk about how plants grow. The whole process is reader-friendly, and the illustrations are clean and attractive. A great introduction for kindergarten through third graders.

Sometimes, you have to get your horror in small bites. When I have a limited amount of time to read (like waiting in an airport), I go straight to the original horror master, Edgar Allan Poe. No one else compresses so many terrifying emotions into so few pages. Fear, dread, loathing, anxiety, unease, and panic are something I expect–and am rewarded with–every time I read Poe.

I started reading his work in grade school, and when I found this collection in college, it became one of my prized possessions. There’s a familiarity in Poe’s tales that I have with very few other authors. I still keep this on my bookshelf for short reads like Tell-Tale Heart, The Black Cat, and The Pit And The Pendulum.

An exciting and mysterious author illustrating a particular period of American literary history. The composer musically interpreted Poe’s times and personality in a major symphonic work.

McKay composed several dark and dramatic pieces during his career, including an arrangement of March to the Scaffold from a classical piece and an original work called To Bury the Dead for an anti-war stage play.