Books like Turn, Magic Wheel — picked by fans

Maybe because I’m a novelist, I’ve always loved reading novels about writers—it’s a joy to see my passionate relationship with my own work reflected in these fictional solitary obsessives, my literary siblings. Reading about their own writing gives me a sense of recognition, community, and solidarity, and makes me feel less alone in this odd vocation, which is no small thing. I can’t get enough fictional evocations of the daily discipline of the writer’s life—as well as the trajectory of a literary career—from adolescence (Jo March) to old age (Leonard Schiller). 

Maybe because I’m a novelist, I’ve always loved reading novels about writers—it’s a joy to see my passionate relationship with my own work reflected in these fictional solitary obsessives, my literary siblings. Reading about their own writing gives me a sense of recognition, community, and solidarity, and makes me feel less alone in this odd vocation, which is no small thing. I can’t get enough fictional evocations of the daily discipline of the writer’s life—as well as the trajectory of a literary career—from adolescence (Jo March) to old age (Leonard Schiller). 

Maybe because I’m a novelist, I’ve always loved reading novels about writers—it’s a joy to see my passionate relationship with my own work reflected in these fictional solitary obsessives, my literary siblings. Reading about their own writing gives me a sense of recognition, community, and solidarity, and makes me feel less alone in this odd vocation, which is no small thing. I can’t get enough fictional evocations of the daily discipline of the writer’s life—as well as the trajectory of a literary career—from adolescence (Jo March) to old age (Leonard Schiller). 

Maybe because I’m a novelist, I’ve always loved reading novels about writers—it’s a joy to see my passionate relationship with my own work reflected in these fictional solitary obsessives, my literary siblings. Reading about their own writing gives me a sense of recognition, community, and solidarity, and makes me feel less alone in this odd vocation, which is no small thing. I can’t get enough fictional evocations of the daily discipline of the writer’s life—as well as the trajectory of a literary career—from adolescence (Jo March) to old age (Leonard Schiller). 

I came out as a gay man later in life (at age 24) just as the AIDS crisis was beginning, and the deaths and societal backlash during that time almost pushed me back in the closet. The books I listed here were instrumental in helping me find my author’s “voice” while I struggled to fully accept my identity. I feel passionate about the list because the books contain elements essential for every decent fiction author: humour, pathos, grief, joy, empathy, love, and understanding of the human condition. In developing this list of books, I’m reminded of how crucial it is for writers to read and often study the work and style of other authors. 

In the hands of a skilled horror author, there is something powerful about a slow-burn romance. When two characters are drawn to each other against the backdrop of dread and danger, the stakes are raised. Every moment the two have together is hard-won, special. The romance doesn’t soften the horror; it sharpens it. It gives readers something to invest in and hope for. That intense emotional investment creates tension. Survival isn’t just about escaping the supernatural threat or a human monster; it’s about what might be lost if they don’t. In horror, love is a luxury because it’s risky and a vulnerability. It's a favorite element of good horror. 

Anyone who’s attended high school knows it’s often survival of the fittest outside class and a sort of shadow-boxing inside of it. At my late-1970s prep school in the suburbs of Los Angeles, some days unfolded like a “Mad Max” meets “Dead Society” cage match. While everything changed when the school went coed in 1980, the scars would last into the next millennia for many. Mine did, and it’d thrust me on a journey not only into classic literature of the young-male archetype, but also historical figures who dared to challenge the Establishment for something bigger than themselves. I couldn’t have written my second novel, Later Days, without living what I wrote or eagerly reading the books below.

I love the thrill of the chase and have always been passionate about the dramatic. In school, I was always the evil sorceress in plays. Later, as a professional actress, I sought dramatic roles or outrageously funny characters. Psychological thrillers fulfill the need to make my world more dramatic than it actually is. I call good thrillers “fudge reading.”  Because having them in my life is like pigging out on the best fudge you can find, now, as a writer of psychological thrillers, I try and give my readers a roller coaster ride on daring topics just the way these five writers have inspired me to do.

I am a professor of history and Jewish studies at American University and author of America’s Jewish Women: A History from Colonial Times to Today, winner of the National Jewish Book Award – 2019 Jewish Book of the Year. Since childhood I have been reading stories of women’s lives and tales set in Jewish communities across time and space. Yet, the voices that so often best evoke the past are those captured on the pages of great memoirs.

I am the oldest of four children and was always close to my mom. She was a trailblazer, earning her doctorate in educational psychology in 1963 and teaching at the college level. In her early 70’s her memory started to falter, and she lived with dementia for 10 years before she died. I was a reporter at The New York Times and had published three books by that point. My fourth became All Gone: A Memoir of My Mother’s Dementia. With Refreshments. I spent years in doctors’ and hospital’s waiting rooms and these are some of the books that helped make that time not only tolerable but sometimes, even joyful.