100 Books Like The Wolf Gift

This is part of a book series, and as soon as I plucked the first one off the shelf at the British Council Library, I was hooked. This was the first series of books I was able to start and finish since I gave birth. Having been such a voracious reader before, it was a relief to get back to it.

But the Prisoner of Azkaban held my heart because the boy who lived finally met someone who could be just his person. His grown up. And Sirius Black was just so cool. Magic counts as supernatural, right?

This book is at the top of my list because it’s one of my very favorites. Dunkle spins a gripping, atmospheric story with memorable characters, and you can tell she’s done her research on medieval Scotland. I love the old Celtic tales woven in, and the sweet romance between Maddie and the woodcarver. But what I like most of all is the theme of redemption. Maddie is a true hero, brave in the face of an unimaginably powerful, ancient evil. She showed me that you don’t have to be big or strong or rich or “somebody” to make a difference. You just have to be willing, have faith, and do your part.

Werewolf Cop is a hard-boiled noir quite unlike the other books on my list, but Klavan’s powerful voice drew me in and never let go. The book wasn’t entirely hard and gritty like I assumed at first. I especially like the way Klavan portrays the relationship between the main character and his wife. My favorite quote from the book is: “Bloody hard to know who the good guys are, isn’t it?” “It is,” said Zach. “I’m not even sure that’s how it works... It’s more like—messed-up guys, some fighting for the good, some for the bad, and the rest just wandering around bumping into the furniture.”  

I saw the 2010 movie first and then later found the book version in a thrift store and had to grab it. Both book and movie deftly create a gloomy, gothic, Romantic atmosphere; the book develops the characters and relationships further. It’s the age-old story of a man seeking to rid himself of a curse, pursued by the law and betrayed by someone who was supposed to protect him—I’m a sucker for that kind of tale! If you enjoy the classics like Dracula and Frankenstein, but find it harder to get through them or connect with them emotionally because of the older language and style, give this book a try.

I absolutely loved this novel, not just for the craft (the writing is beautiful), but for the suspense created when a troubled man eavesdrops on a psychologist’s sessions.

Fascinated with one particular client, he gets deeply and actively involved in her search for identity and her ties to Nazi Germany. As a practicing psychologist, I tried, unsuccessfully I might add, to imagine how I would handle a similar situation.

Set in my town, 1970’s San Francisco during a tumultuous era marked by psychedelics, feminism, and the Zodiac killer, I even recognized the building where Ullman’s fictional psychologist practices because some of my colleagues have offices there.

 I love books that are told from a first-person point of view by a main character that is flawed yet lovable. Sam is easy to relate to. Throw in a sexy vampire love interest, and it was impossible to stop reading. Just the right ratio of mystery, suspense and romance. This is easily my favorite book to date.

Lady Oracle was one of the novels I read in the several years after first having the vague notion that I might like to write a novel akin to Steppenwolf but that would be set in the approximate present day and have a female protagonist. As Lady Oracle’s main character is a writer who, after periodically reinventing herself, now fakes her own death, flees her intellectual, non-dancing husband, and holes up in an Italian village, I saw possible avenues for my own husband-leaving Kari. Would Kari flee to another country? Would she have secret lovers or a history of being fat? Would she, too, fake her own death? Kari ultimately didn’t follow many of Joan Foster’s paths, but she might have.

Geographer Tim Cresswell’s work has helped me convince architectural historians that examining how we move through spaces is vital to understanding the full range of the built environment’s cultural meanings. He states the obvious: we all live in physical bodies. And yet historians emphasize the written word and architects emphasize visualization. What about the other senses? Cresswell argues that mobility is a socially-constructed movement much like place is a socially-constructed space. We can learn so much by paying attention to the ways society controls movement: Who is allowed to occupy which spaces? When? With whom? And how has that changed over time? Cresswell’s ideas helped me analyze the lived experiences of multiple people in the same domestic spaces, and ultimately connect the manipulation of architecture and landscape to modernity’s regulation of bodies and ideas. 

Mounk’s book is not about mental health per se, but I found that he provided a clear, compassionate framework for understanding the current obsession with identity politics – which, in my experience, relates to our current mental health crisis.

Prioritizing race, gender, and other aspects of identity means that we focus less on universal aspects of the human experience. As a therapist, I know that understanding our suffering from a universal perspective brings healing and transformation. We lose so much when we lose this.

Mounk’s book helped clarify my thinking about identity politics, and I didn’t find it narrow or polemical. 

This book didn’t win as many critically acclaimed awards as others on my list, but I love how TE Carter shows how, as members of society, we make so many assumptions about people based on their actions. It’s a bias that never disappears, and the main character knows it.

But most importantly, this novel questions whether anyone can truly heal after tragedy. Of course, bad things happen to everyone, but I think the scars from a heart-wrenching catastrophe never mend.