Books like The Trio — picked by fans

I find Tom Ripley such a wonderful character—a con man who commits crimes under the guise of someone else, a male protagonist written by a lesbian.

I love the levels of deception the reader is pulled in, so is on the side of the criminal throughout, hoping for him not to get caught in his awful, amoral behaviour.

It is a masterful use of the narrative voice in crime fiction at its best.

This is actually just the first book of Ferrante’s four Neapolitan novels, which tell a single riveting story of two girls, Lila and Lenù, from a depressed Naples neighborhood. Lenù is the narrator, taking us through fifty years of friendship and the latter half of the 20th century. (Her actual name is Elena, like the author—another doubling, especially since she writes under a pseudonym.)

I am a sucker for event: a lot happens and we get to know a huge cast of characters from the neighborhood. But our anchors are these two friends and rivals, vibrant and injured, striving to transcend their origins.

Fitzgerald’s mastery of the English language is beautiful to behold. This book is one of the most eloquent expositions of the control of his prose while at the same time confronting his greatest weakness in life: an inability to find happiness and true love that loves him back. Set on the French Riviera, Tender is the Night is honest and painful. It’s an insight into Fitzgerald’s melancholy world of excess.

This is both fantastic to be a part of and tragic. The tragedy and the beauty are juxtaposed in the most fantastic way–this makes this book one of my favorite romances. I read this book for pure enjoyment. Each sentence makes me smile with its beauty and its profundity. 

I like this because it reveals the dichotomy between what people say and what they do. People think words tell you about a person. What if everything they say is lies? Sally Rooney does that thing I love–she gives you clues as to why people do the things you don’t understand.

She writes imperfect heroes and heroines. You don’t like them, but then you understand them and root for them. A damaged girl who lives in pretense can’t manage life when she no longer has to pretend anymore. So she reverts to self damage rather than expose the chance of total destruction because if she choses what heals she may get destroyed when the expectation of safety gets shattered.

Why give something a chance when life says it never works out? Doing what she’s always done may hurt her, but at least she’s assured of the outcome. The… show more.

This novel made me uneasy.

I loved Rosa Burger's character, sympathized with her dilemma, and didn't want to see her harmed. And because she faced agonizing moral choices, I had to question my own. Rosa's parents, anti-apartheid activists in South Africa, were imprisoned; both died in jail. Their cause was just, their sacrifices laudable. I never doubted my own opposition to apartheid, but that was easy from a distance; I can't know what I would have done if I had lived there.

How can I judge Rosa for choosing her own path, even a frivolous one, away from both politics and her troublesome country? And can I judge her if she later goes home, becomes active, and risks her parents' fate? But then I wonder, are people who replicate their parents' life choices inauthentic? Shouldn't they think for themselves?

This is one of those ideas that I wish I had thought of—Germany of the Thirty Years War meets Appalachia of the early 2000s. I enjoy the unexpected things that time travel can bring, like a high school library being the most potent source of knowledge in the world or a high school cheerleader confronting the king of Sweden. And for those who appreciate historical accuracy, Flint does not disappoint.

For me, it’s the characters that really connect me to the story. There are a lot of them—from both 2000s America and 1630s Europe—but Flint gives enough time that I really feel like I got to know a lot of them.

This is the best novel I’ve read about bubonic plague.

Student historian Kivrin travels back in time to England of the Middle Ages—unknowingly at the start of the Black Death. The cause of Black Death was the plague bacteria, unknown to people of that time.

What makes the book memorable is its depiction of everyday life, where children who get lost in the forest must find their way home by the tolling of the village church bell. Ultimately, the bell tolls for all the plague’s victims.

The vivid characterization makes me experience people of a time so distant their minds feel alien to us, yet still deeply human.

I read fiction to experience the delicious sensation of seeing the world through a protagonist’s eyes—the exhilarating leap into another time and place. As a teen, I often daydreamed about bumping into a favorite music performer. Part coming-of-age tale, part fish-out-of-water adventure, this novel follows innocent and strait-laced Mary Jane as she gets a crash course in how other people live when a famous rock star and his movie-star wife check into rehab at the house where she’s working as a summer nanny.

I shared Mary Jane’s sense of awe and curiosity and admired the grit and care she brought to the often out-of-control adults around her. This novel is a joy to read and a masterclass in character creation and development—I recommend it for aspiring and experienced writers.

I don’t know about you, but when I learned history in elementary school, we skipped straight from Ancient Greece and Rome to the Norman Conquest with the briefest of nods at Byzantium to acknowledge there was something in between. It was all very simple and straightforward—and completely left out the crumbling kingdoms left behind in the wake of the fall of Alexander the Great’s Empire.

I can still remember opening Gillian Bradshaw’s Horses of Heaven for the first time and thinking, “What’s Ferghana? Or Bactra?”  Gillian Bradshaw wrote a number of books set in the wake of Alexander’s empire, but this one is the one that really stuck with me, told through the eyes of a girl picked to go as attendant to a Greek aristocrat from Bactra being married to King Mauakes of Ferghana (now Afghanistan).

This is somehow the antidote to Roth’s novel. It is a daunting read, often thought of as a Viennese answer to Proust. What was fascinating was its very unsentimental and often quite funny representation of wealthy Viennese society. Musil is a seductive writer and it is easy to keep reading even while wondering when something might actually happen.

Like Roth, the effect of the novel is cumulative–only after reading it suddenly comes together. It also balances the presentation of Vienna as a city of musicians and poets and gives us the politicians, the mathematicians, the scientists, and the economists. The central character is himself a mathematician with little comprehension of the finer arts.