Books like The Summer Hikaru Died — picked by fans

I believe this book is one of the classic staples of surreal fiction. Its disjointed, spiraling narrative and sprawling non-linear plot lines challenge the definition of what a ‘book’ is. It uses everything from footnotes to text alignment to color schemes to make the act of reading itself increasingly difficult, which matches the house’s influence on the narrators’ memories and interests.

Reading it for me was like learning Latin or watching Casablanca–it gave context to decades of experimental media inspired by it, from TV shows to DOOM game mods. Love it or hate it, it’s a solid tool for any inhuman’s toolkit. 

I grew up with and write horror stories, so it’s very difficult for a book to unnerve me; this is one of the only books I can think of that earns the honor. It is half an ecological text and half a horror story, with its romantic prose balanced by intense natural research to create a surreal, unnerving description of the natural world.

This book made me hyper-aware of everything from the grass outside my window to the cells that make up my body, and I love how it uses both existential horror and the real, biological horror of being a living creature to leave a lasting unease. Are you aware you’re breathing? Can you feel your tongue in your mouth? Your heart’s nonstop beating? You can, now.

This is a 360-page, lushly detailed, fictional narrative about a ragtag collective of kidnapped humans struggling to survive the magical, capricious influence of the fae; technically, it is not a book; it’s a rulebook for my favorite dice-playing game.

Every aspect within the book, from the short stories about its goblin markets to its essays on emotion-based magic, ultimately sets up pieces of a world that confronts its themes of ‘what is humanity’ with reader participation. My partner and I roleplayed conflicts in a bar-themed after the book’s Spring Court.

I rolled dice with other fans online and argued over the results. I commissioned art of characters I’d based on the fae. Its intimate, interconnected stories deliberately blur the line between a book series and a game series, and in this, it makes being human feel magical.

This is the least book-like book on this list, to the point where it’s difficult for me to even pitch the plot. In short, it’s a comic about four children who play a video game that turns out to have the power to destroy and reshape multiple universes.

The printed comic edition of the story is only one of several mediums it’s taken on, with the book acting as a translation for fragments of forum posts, web pages, animations, and even video games.

I added it because it rewrote my brain chemistry on what a story is, forcing me to confront how prose changes across mediums and accessibility. It’s the very definition of metafiction, and to me, it was worth it.

I picked up this book from the library and instantly fell in love. It was such a good portal fantasy standalone that I read it in one day–almost in one sitting!

The main character, Tessa, stumbles into a dangerous, magical world full of twists and turns, inhuman characters, and a dark circus that kept me hooked. She suffered memory loss from time in a mental asylum before the start of the book, which just made everything that much more intriguing as I followed her journey with the immortal Nicolai in the Mirror Lands. 

This book was magical, adventurous, romantic, and all-around fun! Plus, the ending stuck with me long after I’d finished reading. I still remember going on a walk after and thinking, “I want to read that again!”

This is a horror novel about waking up in a hospital with no memory of who you are. What makes it unique is that Ingman started writing as a prisoner. “With nothing but pen, paper, and my own mind and memory of inspiration from my favorite books by Stephen King to my favorite episodes of Twilight Zone,” he says. His incarceration “spanned over 3 prisons and over the course of 5 years 1 month and 5 days,” he says on his Amazon page. I admire his determination and ambition. 

I planned a trip to Scotland and immersed myself in Peter May’s Scottish perspective. I try to do that with my books: share the back story, the elements that make Martha’s Vineyard so special to so many people. This is the niche I have carved for myself over the past 15 years.

Peter May is a BBC stalwart; Coffin Road offers a daunting tale with an emphasis on the rugged landscape. May traces his tale right down to the water’s edge.  

And while this is a work of fiction, it offers a vivid view of the reality of living on an island: the isolation, the limitations, the beauty, and the danger. That’s what I do with my Vineyard histories.

Corkin, a research psychologist, presents a fascinating case study of her patient, Henry Molaison, a man with no memory. Molaison—or H.M., as he was known in the scientific literature until his death in 2008—was a 27-year-old with severe epilepsy when he underwent radical brain surgery in 1953 to cure his intractable seizures.

Though Molaison’s seizures largely abated after the operation, he developed an even bigger problem, which manifested almost immediately after his surgery. Daily events vanished from his mind almost as soon as they had occurred.

Like most patients living with dementia, he could form no new long-term memories. With no new memories, he lived in a perpetual present, disconnected from his past (or at least the past after his surgery) and his future.

Seriously, I’m not exaggerating, and I say this as someone who’s read all the works of Philip K. Dick: Wallflower Assassin is without exception the weirdest, wildest, most psychedelic, and gleefully anarchistic book it’s ever been my pleasure to encounter. Our narrator, Jack, has near-total amnesia, induced by a trauma he can’t remember (because amnesia). He’s stumbling randomly between alternate universes, stalked and manipulated by agents of the sinister Reality Patrol. Oh, and he’s not in his own body––his mind has somehow been transferred into the body of a deadly former Reality Patrol assassin named Max. And Max’s mind is still in there, too, disoriented and annoyed at Jack’s presence... And all of this only just begins to scratch the surface of how weird it gets.

This was the most beautiful kind of slow-burn read for me. The characters gently pulled me in as the story wove together, and before long, I couldn’t help being thoroughly invested in Gemma, Milo, and Ollie’s story. I don’t read contemporary fantasy as much, but a book like this–where themes of friendship, family, enduring love, and dealing with change and grief abound–is almost guaranteed to draw me in.

This book did just that and then some! The memory exploration aspect of the book is a unique take involving dreams and magic, and a large part of why this book hits so hard by the end! Did I cry reading it? Yes. Do I have regrets? Absolutely not!