The best fiction within fiction with a heavy dose of an age-old mystery waiting to be solved

I was introduced to the beguiling novels of Jonathan Carroll by the owner of a bookstore where I worked when I was young. Thirty years on and I still greatly anticipate a new novel by this unclassifiable author. 

It follows the efforts of a teacher and his girlfriend to write the biography of a deceased children’s author whom they idolize. I love that Carroll’s books begin with familiar scenarios but soon take off into a very unique kind of magical realism.

Carroll always writes with a sure, sweet touch; his dialogue is whip-smart, his characters larger than life, and his stories always zip along with an easy conversational tone. You can start anywhere with his books, but there’s a special place in my heart for this one.

I absolutely fell for and into this seductive and sublimely entertaining book about a journalist investigating the enigma of Stanislas Cordova, an infamous and reclusive horror movie director. Nobody knows where he is or even if he’s still alive.

The invention of Cordova’s legend in the book is inspired; I love how Pessl builds layers of fake pop culture references and internet rabbit holes that feel so real you can almost hear the flicker of celluloid of one of Cordova’s movies playing out in your head. Even years after reading this book, I still recall it vividly in my mind’s eye.

I knew Joel for over twenty years before his untimely death in 2013. He was a huge inspiration as a writer (and human being) to me. The narrator, Martin, has recently bought a house and found some old VHS cassettes, one of which has a copy of a French art film, L’eclipse des sens–the work of the director Jean Rien. Soon, despite Martin’s world coming apart, he becomes obsessed with the director’s work, and he embarks on a hallucinogenic odyssey of discovery into the underworld.

Lane was also an award-winning poet and it shows; his words are concise and beautifully chosen, his prose icy, mordant, political and desperately sad. His was a voice of the lost. Although Joel is gone, he left behind an incredible contribution to the genre of weird fiction.

I’ve loved this book since the day I unwrapped it in that bookstore I used to work at in 1992. Over the years I’ve re-read it several times and found it reveals more of itself the older I get. Harrison’s writing is hugely influential for a lot of writers, not only for his exquisite way with prose but also because he uncovers complex truths and epiphanies hiding inside ordinary people who find themselves occasionally touched by the fantastical. 

The heart of this novel is a fictional book—the imaginary memoirs of a travel writer traversing Europe in pursuit of a magical realm. Everything revolves around it, and this exquisite book is like a puzzle box that the years have only served to slowly unlock for me.

This is a love-it or hate-it novel. Either you find it tiresome, or you give yourself over whole-heartedly to its unique madness. It has at its heart a film, The Navidson Record, a documentary about a photojournalist who moves his family into a pretty house and discovers that the house is bigger on the inside than the outside, and getting bigger.

As he and his friends try to explore the limits of the house, it rearranges itself around them. The film is described in the text by an old man, complete with a mountain of scholarly footnotes by a tattoo artist. But this book is also powered by a genuinely unsettling, often terrifying descent into hell. It’s a deranged funhouse of a novel that you will probably never forget.