100 Books Like The Summer That Melted Everything

This was one of the best books about werewolves—that isn’t really about werewolves—I have ever read. The story is told from the perspective of an unnamed boy who lives with his aunt and uncle—who happen to be werewolves—and the struggles he and his family face while living on the edge of society to avoid discovery.

What fascinated me the most was that Jones created entirely new werewolf lore with its own culture, rituals, and traditions, and it all felt real. I loved the non-linear timeline following the boy from 8 to 16, yearning to change like his aunt and uncle. Jones encapsulated the real difficulties of living on the fringes of society for whatever reason. It’s a dark book, raw and visceral, but also really funny. 

I love haunted house stories, and this one was genuinely creepy. It is a first-person account of the growing paranoia of a couple looking to escape their own demons, with both unable to communicate the weird things happening in their house.

I love how it subverted your usual ghost story elements. Instead of leaky pipes, weird spaces appear in the walls. Instead of creepy moans, bruises appear out of nowhere. Is it psychosis? Sickness? Or is something otherworldly in the house? I don’t know. The unsettling horror is ambiguity amplified by a failure of communication, and that’s why I find it so creepy.  

I found this a captivating read. It was morbid, dark, and grim, but it was also exciting. I was quickly drawn into the world of Immanuelle Moore, whose mother was called a witch and died giving birth to her. I loved the author’s attention to detail.

The villages of Bethel and the Darkwood are so vivid that I could believe the protagonists’ lives in the puritanical, secluded world full of zealots, idolatry, sexism, and racism. The book is also beautifully atmospheric—the village, the trees, and the large cathedrals are so well described.

One of the book's main themes was self-discovery, which is why I think it’s more aimed toward YA, but I recommend it to anyone interested in witches, small towns, religion, and feminist themes. 

A 90s, queer, coming-of-age story mixed with cosmic horror, I would have read this in a single sitting if I didn’t have to get off the bus. The protagonist, Heath, is an artistic teen who recreates horror movie posters during his habitual trips to the local video store and is slowly starting to realize he is gay, something discouraged by his fellow students at his Catholic school.

I loved the lack of explanation about the supernatural elements. Was the monster all in Heath’s head? I love the ambiguity, but I also love it as a metaphor. I really enjoyed the emotional journey, which felt very autobiographical. My favorite thing is the video store itself. I’m 33, so this brought back fond memories of visiting the video store with my parents.

One thing I know: I can always trust Amanda Flower to give me a great mystery with tons of laughs. This book does not stray from this pattern.

I love how the main character, Millie, interacts with the people around her, from the young people she’s trying to set up to her good friends and even a handsome love interest from the past. Her goats make for excellent laughs, and the story moves quickly.

All in all, it was a quick, fun read.

Set at the height of the Trump era, this very New York City novel follows its title character, a lesbian former cop turned heroin addict who’s now fresh out of rehab and, in her new job as a private investigator, stumbles onto a murder she becomes determined to solve.

Maggie is a total mess—barely able to navigate a cell phone or the Internet, holding on for dear life at her Narcotics Anonymous meetings, stalking her ex outside her window in the pouring rain, and desperate to have her daughter, whom she was raising with her ex, back in her life.

The novel’s promise of a tight murder mystery kind of unravels, but it doesn’t even matter because Maggie’s fumbling, stumbling effort to put her life back together in a disconcertingly sleek new version of downtown Manhattan is a voyeuristic joy to follow.

The complicated and wonderful characters in Mia’s family really drew me in. They all have enough to deal with: the pandemic; Mia’s first breakup; her complicated relationship with her twin, who seems to do everything right; their brother Eugene’s disabilities, which mean he’s often discriminated against or underestimated; and their parents’ struggles to keep it all together and move on from heartbreaking false hopes.

When her father disappears, Mia doesn’t let her other problems or even the fear and heartbreak get in the way of her determination to find out the truth–no matter how painful–and protect Eugene from unjust suspicion.

I loved the role the complex bonds between the various family members came to play in unraveling this case and coping with its ramifications.

A Japanese ghost story, set in an imaginary, contemporary, Japanese town by a Singaporean first novelist.

I picked this out at Brighton Library because I liked the cover, but Clarissa Goenawan's Rainbirds has survived the goodreads treatment, so hopefully she's a writer to watch (I mean, there will be more of these).

Readers have recalled Haruki Murakami, because it's allegedly Japanese, and a bit off-kilter, but to me this dreamlike narrative seemed fresh and floating: ungrounded, not alienated. I thought of another Japanese writer, Kazuo Ishiguro, & The Buried Giant: a misty, off-kilter take on Arthurian Britain, in which everyone seems either asleep, or else making the journey the dead make to wherever they go, while dreaming the novel's action...

No, I give up, I can't explain the charm, you'd have to try it and see, & yes, those are goldfish, not any kind of birds on the cover, and… show more.

I adore the character of Sam Holland. She is a badass cop, not willing to take crap from anyone, even her fellow officers, with a smart mouth that gets her into as much trouble as it gets her out of. Her character is written with such nuance and honesty that she’s someone I’ve willingly followed through 22 books (and counting).

Sam works twice as hard to make sure she’s living up to her own expectations as much as anyone else’s, always afraid of falling short, something I think we all tend to be too hard on ourselves about at times. The love interest throughout the series sometimes struggles with her strong personality, even as he admires her for it, which I think lends a depth of realism to their relationship as it grows and sometimes flounders.

This book is very arty by which I mean it introduces the young reader to the world of art and art galleries. There is also a strong dose of spy-type intrigues.

A very snooty older man gets satirised for his arrogance, which I think is a nice twist for the reader and a good change from the bossy types who often appear. The father-daughter relationship is well done.