100 Books Like There Once Lived a Woman Who Tried to Kill Her Neighbor's Baby

Eowyn Ivey’s work hits every one of my interests: lush writing, Alaskan wilderness, family drama, untamed beasts, folklore and fairy tales, parenthood, childhood, and the struggle to survive…I mean, really, it couldn’t be more perfect.

Her debut novel references the Russian fairy tale “Snegurochka,” about a girl made of ice. It’s an absolutely gorgeous and transporting book that also happens to have been a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize—again, perfect, right? 

Machado is a master storyteller, a writer who plays with form and structure and our narrative expectations to create entirely new ways of telling tales. This collection was her groundbreaking debut.

I’ve always loved fairy tales and folklore for the ways they play with character archetypes, repetition, and deceptively simple story shapes. Machado does the same thing here, upending our ideas about wives, lovers, and monsters with these tales that might trick you into thinking you know what’s coming next—until she flips you over and turns you around. She’s a new Brother Grimm, a fairy-tale writer for the modern age.

Oyeyemi plays with symbol, myth, and magic in all of her books, and this gorgeous novel is no exception.

This book turns the Snow White story inside out to tell a twentieth-century tale of race, beauty, and family. I’m always blown away by the range of Oyeyemi’s imagination and the depth of her skill. She is an absolutely extraordinary storyteller.

I picked this book off the shelf of my local used bookstore as a teenager, opened it up, and changed my life.

Carter’s collection of retold fairy tales is a contemporary classic for good reason: it’s frightening and wild and fraught and powerful and absolutely unforgettable. It upended my understanding of violence, of womanhood, of the stories I’d grown up being told, and it remains one of my favorite books to this day.

This book shows us that not everyone had a devastating experience under the Soviets. I love it because it’s about average people and (somewhat) average events that become extraordinary because of the political circumstances. 

What was it like for a teenager to date when the KGB might be watching? How did families manage to cheer at military parades of sophisticated equipment when they couldn’t find toilet paper to buy?

These wonderful stories entertained and informed. They weren’t funny, but a few made me chuckle from the absurdity. 

Reading this book felt like drinking a pitch-black winter night. That’s the best way I can describe it. Somehow, Valente managed to masterfully bottle the frigid sensation of a bleak midwinter and transport it to the page.

I’ve always loved this book for how mythic and grandiose it feels even in the short amount of pages it has. This is something that I feel would come alive in an animated adaptation where you can really capture the eerie and surrealist imagery used.

I love, love, love this book, for so many reasons. My top two are: 1) It sits squarely in that odd ‘fantasy in a technological world’ niche (Imagine 1984’s world filled with fairies!) 2) It has an odd, dark humour feel to a book that I like (think Gaiman or Pratchett) And oh! The characters? Funny, clever, nuanced. Bum that was three wasn’t it? I’ll come in again.

This book is so sweet, and I loved the epistolary format! My husband and I wrote each other many letters (yes, by hand) and emails while we were dating, so reading all the exchanges between Izzy and Brodie brought me back to those first fluttery feelings of falling in love. Izzy is such a sweet heroine, and Brodie really saw her, which I also loved!

This is a fairy tale. I’ll state this upfront because at first glance, it’s a bit of a hard read. And why is it a hard read? Because—to me, anyway—it feels like wish-fulfillment fantasy on steroids. It’s like the rantings of a terribly abused boy. Of course, much fiction—especially fairytales which is this book’s genre—is wish fulfillment. But the story feels very uncomfortable. Mio is so over-the-top happy about having been transported into the kingdom of his father the king that one feels as if one is listening to a pitiful delusion.  I found myself reading the book with two minds. One mind kept saying, “Dive into the reverie and joy of a boy who has found his dead father in a faraway land and who discovers that he’s important to the world.” And simultaneously, my other mind was thinking, “Oh my heavens! This little boy… show more.

This book's heightened literary consciousness suggests a lifetime of practice, but it is, in fact, Gwendolyn Kiste's debut (she has quickly become one of contemporary dark fiction’s most celebrated, leading figures). Throughout Untether, the author examines both societal and individual forms of suffering (e.g. depression, dissociation, and the dangers of socially imposed normativities). My favorite piece is “Skin Like Honey and Lace,” which depicts a group of women who achieve social induction by taking skin from strangers and applying it to their own bodies. A staggeringly accomplished collection.