89 books like Endless Flight

Josef Roth is now recognized as one of the greatest German writers of the twentieth century. As a historian myself, I was entranced by reading it by the way in which the book catches the vast temporal arc of the transformation and then fall of a society that had for centuries been a major force in European history, the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Now forgotten, this was the world of Vienna’s great resplendence, then fall.

The story is told through the generational story of one family, the von Trottas. Impending loss is conveyed alongside great affection as a whole world is lost in the disasters of the First World War. The book was first published in English in 1933. In the words of another of Josef Roth’s books, “I was there,” which he was.

Without Reservations gave me hope following the death of my beloved husband of 37 years. Living with his unique and nontraditional worldview, I’d grown into and inhabited a wider, less conventional way of being than my suburban middle-class upbringing had prepared me for. But once he was gone, what and who was I going to be? Steinbach’s travelogue goes to many of the places my husband and I traveled in England and Europe, and that brought reminiscences of great pleasure. But it was her inner journeying in search of her soul that gave me the courage to embark on the inner travels toward self-discovery and the independence I faced in a newly widowed existence.

I love how, as with my novel, the writer weaves together the stories of two women who lived in entirely different eras. I also appreciate how she brought real-world people and events, like JFK and the 1906 earthquake, into her fictional world. But what I found most evocative about The Obituary Writer were the author’s portrayal of the institution of marriage and how her “older” protagonist—the one dating further back in history—dedicated her life to helping others deal with grief and loss. This altruistic passion was similar to one that my historical protagonist discovered on her journey of personal growth.

Michael Connelly is the immensely successful author of the Harry Bosch books, but The Poet is the first book in his much shorter Jack McEvoy series.

McEvoy is a reporter who has a penchant for chasing down serial killers, and unfortunately becoming a target as well.

The psychological horror here comes from Connelly’s exacting and precise account of who the killer, dubbed the Poet, is and how he came to be.

I discovered this along with McEvoy and came to realization that he was becoming a target before he did. It’s a long book, but I found that I did not want to put it down before I learned how it played out.

Robin Robertson’s noir narrative The Long Take might seem like an unusual choice for this list.

Essentially a long noir poem, The Long Take concerns Walker, a Canadian veteran of D-Day with acute PTSD who finds life unraveling in the urban landscapes he inhabits after the war.

With a poet’s precision, Robertson follows Walker as he moves from city to city, taking it all in. Homelessness, crime, race—nothing is spared.

Why, you’d think you were in a 40s film noir, reading about it all, and then you find Walker on the streets of LA in 1948 seeing some of those very films being shot, films like Act of Violence and Criss Cross.

An outstanding achievement, The Long Take is a wholly original work of art.

What I love about this book is the journey it takes you on, from despair to hope. At the start of the book, Mark is at the height of anguish with his depression. You read about what he did to start his recovery process; what worked and what didn’t, what he did wrong and what he got right. It gives you hope that you can make a similar journey and hope is the antidote to depression because it’s the main thing it takes from you, so it’s the main thing you need to find and cling on to; even the smallest amount of hope helps.

Neil Ansell is such an honest writer. I came to this book because I loved his other writing about nature and followed him back through time to the five years he spent living alone up a Welsh mountain, seeing no one for weeks on end, exploring and working in the woods and hills around him.

It’s a rich and deep description of place, but more than that, it’s a gradual unfurling of Ansell’s sense of self. In a later book, he writes of that time of prolonged solitude, ‘You slough off the skin of self, all self-awareness, and are left with pure sensation. Nothing has a name; it is only itself.’

Ansell is a slow-burning writer who I trust completely to take me, however slowly, to a new understanding.

I love the way that Grant has written this book as part American political conspiracy theory, part zombie apocalypse. It certainly takes the political drama into a whole new place!

I liked the mechanics of how the world came to be infected with zombies and the “living with Zombies” society Grant has constructed, which I found to be well thought-out, researched, and believable. I loved the surprises in this book, the unusual relationships that Georgia Mason has with her brother and with their parents, and the general quirks and habits of her and her brother Shaun.

I enjoyed the criticisms that the book makes, particularly around journalism, religion, social media, and politics, and perhaps on the American psyche of distrust towards authority, while appreciated that it did not descend into full-blown conspiracy theory paranoia.

This was the first Iain Banks book I ever read, and it does not mess around. It has one of my all-time unreliable narrators in Gonzo hack Cameron Colley, a man with a personal connection to the violent crimes he’s investigating. It also features some very clever use of second person to insert the reader directly into the story. This one is certainly not for the squeamish, but Banks is one of those rare writers who can portray elaborate violence in a way that is artistic and thought-provoking rather than merely gratuitous. The fact that the book is underscored by some well-considered social critique, as well as complex, layered characters, elevates it far above a standard crime thriller. 

It’s not often you read the opening chapter of a novel (in this case the Prologue) and go back to read it again before continuing with the rest of the novel because you’ve never read anything like it before. And the book just gets better from there. Combine an African culling song with a tortured journalist investigating crib deaths and a heroine real estate agent who sells haunted houses, then put that all in the hands of Chuck Palahniuk, and you have a supernatural horror dark comedy/satire unlike anything you’ll ever read. Except maybe another Chuck Palahniuk novel. After reading this, I was inspired to write Breathers.