Who would have thought a story set in London in 1975 could provide such enlightenment about the Spanish civil war that ended thirty-six years earlier? But it did, and that’s why I liked it.

An elderly Brit living in Cleaver Square is being haunted by the ghost of the dictator, El Caudillo, Francisco Franco. It sounds gruesome, but the mood is light, sometimes funny, and always informative. As I got more into the story, I understood the connections, and this unraveling of a secret was just the thing to keep me engaged. I thoroughly recommend it. 

I’ve been a devoted Salinger fan ever since Holden Caulfield made me cry in the fifties. After that, I devoured every Salinger book I could find, thereby acquainting myself with the fascinating Glass family.

In this book, narrator Buddy Glass reads a letter written years before by his precocious brother Seymour at age seven. You get the picture: Salinger is at it again, wryly wrangling quirky commentary on everything from family relationships to discourses on God. And it’s funny too, of course.

This book was first published by The New Yorker in 1965, taking up almost the entire issue (yes, I have one!), and it’s a little hard to find, but give it a Google. It’s the last piece Salinger published during his lifetime.

Kit Quinn is a psychologist who is brutally attacked by a prisoner while working. The same prisoner is under suspicion of murder and Kit is called in.

She, however doesn’t think they have the culprit. So ensues a fast-paced race to solve the case. This was one of the first psychological thrillers I ever read and served as a fantastic intro to the genre. It probably pushes the boundaries of believability but it remains one of my favourite books

I love this book because nothing is as it seems, especially Autumn, the unreliable narrator, who is searching for her missing twin sister, Summer, who disappeared in a way that defies all reason.

It kept me guessing until the very end. And even though the answer Autumn uncovers about what happened to Summer is completely unexpected, given the circumstances of Autumn’s life experiences, it made perfect sense. I thought about this book for a long time after reading it.

This book expertly navigates the topics of mental health and sexual violence, as well as the plight of missing black women, which largely go unnoticed and underreported by the media. 

As a model unreliable narrator, you couldn't pick a more disarming armed robber than Mark "Chopper" Read. He described his pseudo-autobiographical book series as "the truth, the half-truth and nothing like the truth," which may be the most honest statement he ever made. None of this is to suggest that Read wasn't every inch the ultra-violent toecutter he sketches out in his writing. It's just that every word in Chopper is working toward the same goal: building a larger-than-life self-caricature to outshine and outlast the man himself. The cover quote boldly declares, "I regret nothing." The final line of the book admits, "I regret everything." Chopper Read lived and died within that contradiction, and his story's all the more mesmerising for its gunsmoke and mirrors.

I don’t know if I’d feel as surprised if I read this book today for the first time. But when I encountered it decades ago, I was gobsmacked when the murderer was revealed. This is an unusual Agatha Christie mystery, set in ancient Egypt and inspired by her husband’s archeological digs. In my view, Christie can’t be topped. She’s also the one who introduced me to the unreliable narrator with her fabulous Murder of Roger Ackroyd. 

Sometimes I need a book that will inspire me not to continue writing, but to start; kinda like when I binge watch YouTube book talks—that’s the feeling this book brings over me—inspired. It’s a book that helps me write anything because I’m a person who struggles with—yet craves the ability to— strip a piece as bare as possible. Strip a story of its fluff and dissect its roots. I need to know what to save for later, and Gornick expressing the difference between situation and story is something I always go back to in order to help declutter my work. 

Families. What would we do without them? Molly Keane strips a family down to its bare essentials in this fabulous novel.

It's fabulous because Good Behaviour has something of the best fairy tales about it, a magical quality in the setting and the life described. It also, and this is why I loved the book so much, has a fantastically awful mother.

I was lucky; I had a wonderful mother, and yet I’m paradoxically drawn to depictions of her opposite. I love reading about terrible mothers and frequently introduce them into my own work.

Aroon, the galumphing, unloved, and unreliable narrator of the story, is the hapless victim of, at best, her mother’s indifference and, at worst, her outright cruelty, which makes the climax of this novel all the more satisfying.

I was hooked by the unexpected opening sentence: "The first time I saw my granddaughters, I was standing across the street, didn't dare go any closer."

What had gone wrong? Why was a grandmother so estranged from her own grandchildren?

As the novel unspooled, it double-backed into other surprise twists, and the characters and motivations weren't as clear-cut as they'd seemed. Leah, the mother of the two granddaughters, wasn't being juvenile, impulsive, or heartless when she broke off contact with her parents. Yoella, the grandmother, wasn't as loving and innocent as she thinks she was—and how much does she realize, in fact?

I loved the way the book sometimes said more between the lines than in the actual words. 

Occasionally, there comes a book that is so compelling it demands to be read, breathless, from the very first page to the very last. Dead Girls Can’t Tell Secrets is one such book. This story contains so many twists it resembles a shockingly mangled slinky I delighted in attempting to untangle. I failed to predict the ending, but had fun guessing with every new bit of information the author revealed. It’s exactly what I look for in a young adult thriller.