Books like V. — picked by fans

This is one of the seminal works of American literature, which happens to be set in the Midwest.

The characters' lives are filled with pointless rebellion and recreational drugs. For those of us who grew up in small-town Midwest in the 1980s, this dredges up a lot of nostalgia. We may not have been quite as debauched, but we all knew someone like Shithead, the main character, and remember them fondly.

This book has always hit the trifecta for me—interesting, moving, and funny. A story about London immigrant families in the ‘80s and ‘90s, it shows a lesser-known side of society and certainly is the raunchiest book in my list—there’s a lot of sex among its confused screw-ups.

I admit my mind was opened, and my sympathies widened by this book, and after re-reading, I can appreciate it as a masterpiece of comic chaos. I wouldn’t want to be these characters—how many books begin with a failed suicide attempt?—but I’m glad they let me into their lives.

In the dark world of hardboiled literature, anything can happen at any time for any reason—or no reason at all. In my view, that makes things easy for this debut novel about an unemployed LA factory worker named Easy Rawlins, and that makes things challenging for the story—for the character—as well. 

A man with money and power offers Easy a job looking for a missing blond-haired, white-skinned beauty. Rawlins faces only two problems: He has no experience as a private detective, and he needs to do the detecting with black skin in a segregated, remarkably unequal 1948 America. 

But I think Mosley has found the perfect genre for his character, one whose tough and humane and even psychologically insightful qualities have enabled him to adjust to, learn from, and survive in a place where laws can break out or disappear, depending on the color of his skin. Rawlins finds it… show more.

I turn to Mrs. Ramsay, the wife, mother, and hostess of this book, whenever I question my value in the world. By Victorian standards, she “has it all”: a doting (if difficult) husband, eight loving children (with whom, amazingly, she seems to have no problems), and a comfortable way of life. She alone, not her renowned philosopher spouse, not the young poet nor the dedicated artist who comes for a visit, brings meaning and harmony to a group of guests over one holiday weekend.

Mrs. Ramsay reminds me that nurturing and feeding (in all the meanings of that word) other people is a sacred task, even if our society doesn’t recognize it as such. Even a simple dinner party can partake of spiritual eternity: “Of such moments, she thought, the thing is made that endures.”

When I spend too much of my own day on seemingly mindless chores or… show more.

I love all of Tana French’s taut, riveting detective novels, but this book is my favorite.

When Cassie Maddox goes undercover to investigate a murder, she finds herself enmeshed with the dead girl’s quirky group of housemates. As she’s drawn into their lives, she is increasingly emotionally involved with them in ways that charge the atmosphere with exquisite tension and regret.

I loved the way this novel drew me into the exuberant household so that, like Cassie, I fell in love with everyone, wishing fervently for things to turn out okay and knowing there was no way they could. 

Crime novels, like bars, live or die on their vibe. The plot may have rat-sized holes and the ending might spill into deux ex machina, but if you dig the atmosphere, you’ll forgive almost any narrative sin. Not that The Mexican Tree Duck commits any worthy of confession. You’re in safe hands with CW Sughrue, part-time PI and owner of the Hell Roaring Liquor Store and Lounge up in Montana. What I love about Crumley is the lovely, complex language that pours out like gin into a martini glass. “The first time I set foot in the Hell Roaring as the sixties drifted, late as usual and dying, into the seventies, I found that soft autumn light filling the magic afternoon easiness of the bar.” 

Since watching HBO’s The Vow, I’ve been a total NXIVM geek. Scarred is definitely the best book on the subject, providing an insider’s account of the rise and fall of the Albany “sex-cult” from the point of view of a smart, caring, ethical person caught in the middle of something she can’t control.

Though a memoir, this book has the cadence of a novel. It depicts the cult in ways that illuminate its appeal while building to an inevitably disastrous conclusion. I love the way Sarah Edmondson manages to convey a clear sense of why she was drawn to this weird group of people and how they ultimately failed her. 

When I taught in Okinawa, the base library happened to have a few books by Iris Murdoch: I read one and was hooked. I read as many of her books as I could find, even buying bootleg copies in Taipei.

Several years later I was teaching in England when the librarian mentioned that the officers’ wives’ book club was scheduled to meet Murdoch but none of them had ever read her. Thrilled, I joined them in Murdoch’s husband’s messy Oxford office where I literally knelt at the author’s feet and asked her stupid questions. Were her novels autobiographical? OF COURSE NOT, she snapped. Everything, she insisted, was invented.

After her death, I read biographies of her, and of course, it turned out that the weird groups of people she wrote about were often based on people she knew. This book hosts one of my favorite groups of Murdoch characters who… show more.

Another author who always hits the mark! This is one of her newest books and I was blown away by all the twists that came out of nowhere. The couple must team up to find out who the killer was from a decades-old robbery that affected them both.

Vietnam was a war complicated by political lies, class antagonism, and generational trauma.

The author seamlessly blends non-fiction with fiction, creating verisimilitude which references memoir without always being bound by the weight of facts, freeing the narrative. The horrors and hollowness of war are recounted through intimate encounters, unrequited loves, and imagined lives. In doing so, he keeps alive the friends and lovers who have died.

I found a catharsis in the clarity and coolness of his internal voice, which needs no embellishment to deliver its emotional blow. In writing about the everyday violence both during and after the conflict, he reminds us of the importance of love and morality.