Books like The Turn of The Screw — picked by fans

I love this book because it turns reading itself into a haunted space.

House of Leaves doesn’t just tell me something is wrong; it makes me physically experience disorientation on the page. I admire books that take big formal risks and still keep a human pulse underneath the invention.

This one made me feel trapped in a maze made of rooms, footnotes, fear, and obsession, and I mean that as high praise.

What one reads as a child often makes a powerful impact. While not exactly a haunted house novel, I first encountered this tale of a bedridden young girl who finds that she dreams of what she draws (with a magic pencil) through the legendarily creepy 1972 adaptation, Escape into Night, (of which only black and white videotapes remain) and afterward read it and thought it very atmospheric.

Every attempt by Marianne to ‘correct’ her defective artwork somehow makes the situation more nightmarish, and the house she initially draws is particularly disturbing in the way naïve drawings can be, as are the sinister, crude stone entities that gather around it, imprisoning the boy who she has drawn–and trapped–inside; and the landscape, literal and psychological, is eerily memorable.

This is a really atmospheric graphic novel–a form that can be brilliant at conveying creeping unease (see also Charles Burns). Dowdy Abbey lives with her newish dentist husband (she’s his second wife) and alienated daughter Crystal in his picturesque lakeside house. Living mostly inside her head, Abbey starts to believe there is a dark secret concerning her husband’s first wife, Sheila, who is dead. She starts to dream and then sees what appears to be the ghost of Sheila. Yet, is the increasingly alarming entity what it seems?

This graphic novel pulls off what the supernatural genre almost never manages to–genuinely keeping the reader guessing as to whether or not it’s all happening in Abbey’s head–while also delivering surprising and deft twists and turns all along the way. Loved it.

I found a second-hand copy of this then-basically forgotten book back in the ‘80s, a brittle mass-market paperback that had for its cover a totally inappropriate picture of a withered corncob on parched red earth (the actual setting is a remote part of Ireland).

However, the cover also blazoned an endorsement from H P Lovecraft (himself only intermittently in print in those days), so I gave it a punt. Though most of Hodgson’s stories are set at sea, this, his best novel, centers on a ‘found’ manuscript that tells of a recluse encountering monstrous, pig-like entities in an old house that is on the border between dimensions.

Is he mad, or are they real? Genuinely uncanny, this late Victorian tale is also a precursor of modern, visceral, non-ghostly supernatural fiction.

Are there any ghosts in the most famous ghost story of all time, "The Turn of the Screw"? Fans have been debating that for over a century. I am awed and frequently challenged by James’ prose style, in which so much is rendered carefully ambiguous.

In his greatest offerings—"The Jolly Corner," "The Real Right Thing," and, a personal fave, "The Friends of the Friends"—he was able to elevate Gilded Age ghost stories to the realm of high art. Among his most central gifts was a Hawthorne-inspired interest in the nature of guilt, self-deception, and the spectral world inside our minds.

I recently visited Henry James’ grave in Cambridge and found that anonymous fans continue to leave him little tributes to this day.

I love this book and keep it on my desk because opening it to any page is to be invited to share the humanity of a writer who knows how to deliver a universal tale through a deeply personal story. Thomas is the master of the short form, creating whole chapters in half a page and taking on grief in this slender, transformative volume.  

More on the wacky side, and far more entertaining, is Terence McKenna’s True Hallucinations: Being an Account of the Author’s Extraordinary Adventures in the Devil’s Paradise. For those who will never try “heroic doses” of psilocybin mushrooms deep in the Colombian jungle, this is a wild, vicarious ride, an amalgam of science, literature, myth, and exotica from an adventurer whose genuine inquisitiveness in things psychedelic goes hand in hand with mythomania—what an exuberant explosion of literary and philosophical high kitsch! If not persuaded, there follows the endorsement from The New York Times: “The polysyllabic sentences he lards with intellectual references are an attempt to lend credibility to the otherwise debunked subject of drugs.” Yes, a hatchet job from The New York Times could not make for a more valuable endorsement.

A story with magic and mystery, like my first book, Daughter of the Burning City is unlike any book I have read. The magic system within the book is called “Jynx-work” and the users of the magic often inhabit the traveling city circus of Gomorrah Festival, a place of vice and sin shunned by the more pious world around them. 

Sorina is the first illusion worker in years. She creates tangible illusions, ones with personalities and free will to exist outside of her control. But when they start dying like real people would in a series of gruesome murders, there appears more to Sorina’s magic than meets the eye. I love magic mysteries because they keep readers engaged and wanting to unravel the questions left behind during shocking twists.

Efficiency has become the catchword and hell-hound in our society. And in Hiroko Oyamada’s mordant fable, efficiency has taken on the form of a sprawling factory, a city unto itself, which is regulating, ordering, and arranging its brave new world one rote directive after the next.

Here’s what I saw when metaphysically touring the interior: An emaciated Kafka stooped over one of the desks, half-obscured behind a tower of documents, staring out bleary-eyed at the ledge of a window where black birds are gathering.

Across from him, a nerve-bitten Nietzsche paces, furiously smoking a cigarette, and refashioning his notions of the abyss to fit the conditions in which he finds himself atrophying. The abyss, now an omnipotent complex, an unnamable morass with a bottomless capacity for soul-feeding.

People are no longer staring into the abyss, they are wearing it, breathing it, speaking it, and perpetuating its slow-drip filtration to the… show more.

When my mother died, a friend insisted, “Now you’ll come to know her in ways you never imagined.” I thought the notion was ludicrous. My mother and I were close, our relationship strong. As it turns out my friend was right. In Watch Me Disappear, Janelle Brown explores this idea. When Billie Flanagan disappears, her husband and teenaged daughter Olive find out more than they could have imagined about Billie’s secret life.