100 Books Like The Secret Scripture

A haunting, erotic, somewhat mystical story of sexual obsession. Set near Newbury sometime during the last century, it has an old-fashioned air, portraying English provincial life as it used to be.

The narrator is a sensitive, naive young man who deals in fine ceramics. He falls passionately in love with a Danish woman, and they marry, but she has a dreadful secret that leads to tragedy. The book's title refers to an antique figurine that plays a part in the plot.

After reading this book three times, I still find it fascinating–and I still have to concentrate to follow the complex plot. The death of a young British army officer during the Battle of the Somme in the First World War lies at the root of a mystery that involves three generations of an aristocratic family living in a decaying country house in Hampshire’s Meon valley.

With its skillful interweaving of past and present, I think this early book by Robert Goddard is one of his best. 

I was intrigued by the first chapter, in which a terminally ill woman is writing a confession about an event in her past. The content of that confession is not revealed till the end of the book, and meanwhile, the suspense is maintained with a clever interweaving of past and present told from different characters’ points of view.

After the woman has died, her husband, a retired schoolmaster, his children, and grandchildren visit their holiday house in Devon, intending to scatter the ashes of their beloved matriarch. But panic ensues when the baby of the family disappears.  

I love reading novels set in Oxford, where I spent some of the happiest years of my life, and this book includes some vivid descriptions of the city and its environs.

The narrator is an eccentric woman, a mathematician with a troubled past, who works for academic families as a nanny. She takes a post with an unlikeable couple in the hope of befriending their withdrawn 8-year-old daughter. But when the little girl goes missing, the nanny comes under suspicion. This is an unusual story with some quirky characters.  

This book stayed with me long after I made it my Summer read that year during a blisteringly hot July. It details a darkly destructive love affair between Stella, the wife of a man running an asylum, and Edgar, a murderer who is incarcerated there. McGrath’s vivid descriptions of the asylum and its grounds reframe the gothic tradition through an unflinching, contemporary lens. The doomed obsession of the novel’s star cross’d lovers reminds us that our own hearts can become institutionalised if we do not balance passion with compromise.

I read this probably when I was in my early twenties. Randle McMurphy was, and still is, to some degree, an inspiring character: a rebellious soul, a flawed genius, a bit of a wrong’un at times, but also a hilariously cocky piss-taker.

There’s something deeply human in the portrayal of this character and his conflict with institutionalised authority, as represented by the frankly terrifying Nurse Ratched. It may be set in a psychiatric hospital, but I find the themes relatable to the wider world, the constant pressure to conform or be crushed. I still feel incensed by it.

The Patient is a very quick read and easy to get sucked into, questioning everything you might know or think. I love how it was told through a series of online posts during which the narrator, a young psychiatrist, slowly reveals his story, never quite knowing if what he experienced was real or if he was going crazy.

I love how the sci-fi aspect took it out of our real world just enough to feel fantastical but not too much to be unrealistic or like a classic high-fantasy novel. The pace was fantastic, the twists and reveals were perfectly placed, and it was just the right amount of horror. I appreciate any book that is unexpected and leaves me thinking about it for days after I’m finished.

In 1995, in the attic of a decommissioned mental hospital in New York State, a curator of New York State Museum, a local volunteer, a psychiatrist/ documentarian, and a photographer found a trove of suitcases, doctor’s bags, steamer trunks with Chinese motif, housekeys, photographs, earrings, belts, upright ladies Saratoga trunks (“so named because they could hold enough clothes for an entire summer season in the resort town of Saratoga Springs.")

The researchers ventured further into the hospital's now vacant sites, an abandoned bowling alley, and its burial grounds. Finally, they obtained permission to get a few hours with the medical records, which were stored in an abandoned hospital building contaminated with asbestos and lead, requiring them to don protective gear and booties.

Their hope was to bring the forgotten patients who’d spent years in the institution back to life. This book and its intricate details haunted me. There are so… show more.

My new book features the classic “book within a book” trope as a key plot mechanic, but I think Moxon is going for the gold medal in the category of “books within books within books,” with multiple competing characters claiming to be authors and demonstrating unnatural control over their domains, while bemused but frequently baffled readers attempt to decipher what nested reality is foregrounded and what the hell it all means regardless.

It starts off as a spiritual quest for inner-city redemption, starring the inmates of a forgotten asylum and the local parish that tries to tend to them; then an inmate reveals a deeper story of solipsistic villainy that blows away their current problems, and then at least one if not multiple authors involved throws all the cards up in the air and reshuffles them into a multiverse-spanning road movie.

All this, plus the prose is dense and thoughtful… show more.

Faces in the Water was first published in 1961, though it received far less attention and acclaim. The “story,” such as it is, is narrated by Istina Mavet, a shy, introverted young woman (again, based closely on the author) who, like the author, spends ten years in a New Zealand psychiatric hospital. Faces in the Water recounts long, dull years of cruelty and suffering. But don’t let this put you off—Frame’s style is marvelously poetic. The narrative is abstract in places and was at first difficult for me to get into, but once I began to see things from Istina’s perspective, the story came to life, and I found it brutally beautiful.