90 books like A Beautiful Crime

I love a clever sociopath. I felt myself strangely rooting for the main character, hoping that he would continue to evade the law and get away with his crimes. I liked the way the author built up this person, showing how smart, adaptive to changing circumstances, and manipulative he could be. I liked the backstory of social deprivation breathing life into his mysterious persona.

Ripley’s constant need for a new identity, desperate to escape from his past and humble origins, as well as grappling with his sexual identity, sustained my interest throughout the novel. It made me wonder what percent of the population would do anything to become someone else.

I had the pleasure of hearing Sarah Waters speak at the Derby Book Festival in 2015, bought a signed copy of her latest novel, and have been recommending it ever since. The Paying Guests is set in the wake of World War I, and the historical context is beautifully rendered. Frances Wray and her mother have been living a quiet and orderly life on a street where the houses have ‘a Sunday blankness to them… every day of the week.’ It’s a life stuck in time, in a house whose ‘heart stopped… years ago.’ Then the Wrays’ new lodgers arrive, and they are noisy, gaudy, messy, dramatic, attractive. The two worlds collide with Frances caught between them, and what follows is both a captivating love story and a gripping crime story.

One of the qualities of mystery fiction that continues to draw me to the genre is the complex interplay between past and present. Nava’s 8th Rios novel utilizes separate narrative lines that resonate and then, like a parallel perspective drawing, converge in a powerful emotional twist. The first line is the story of Bill Ryan, a young gay man who, after being cast out of his home in Illinois, flees to 1970s San Francisco to discover himself and the gay community. The second line is Rios’s recovery from alcoholism and his investigation of Ryan’s suspicious death during the beginning of the AIDS epidemic. Ryan and Rios serve as foils: Ryan is a man losing the war with his self-loathing. Rios, in contrast, is winning his war.

Eileen is one of the most twisted and unconventional literary heroines I’ve ever read. Behind her quiet demeanor and dull face hides her mind, which is like a killer’s, always furious and seething.

While working at a juvenile correctional facility, Eileen meets Rebecca, another key character far removed from most women of their generation. Seductive and deceitful, Rebecca cajoles Eileen into joining her act of crime–a violent, underhanded plan to restore her idea of justice. 

I love all of Sarah Waters’ works, but Fingersmith ranks among my most obsessively adored books of all time. I find it a near-perfect interweaving of meticulously researched historical fiction—penned with Dickensian flair and grace—and compulsively page-turning thriller, marked by brilliant and utterly unforeseeable plot twists that will leave you slack-jawed.

It somehow manages to be wickedly funny, poignantly tragic, powerfully feminist, and gratifyingly steamy all at once. I also loved the Korean film adaptation of it, The Handmaiden, which not only embraces Fingersmith’s anti-patriarchal themes but ingeniously weaves anti-colonialist elements into the by setting it in Japan-occupied Korea in the 1930s.  

In this book, barrister-turned-novelist Sarah Caudwell strikes a perfect balance of intricate, cozy mystery and zany British humor.

While I adored all of the books by this author, I particularly loved the Gothic threads that run through this last one, as well as the satisfying queer aspects of the storyline. If I could live inside any mystery series, it would be this one: the characters are so much fun, especially the narrator, Oxford professor Hilary Tamar.

Interestingly, Professor Tamar’s gender is never disclosed—a pretty radical concept for a series that started in the 1980s—which manages to avoid ever feeling gimmicky and which helped me to reflect as I read on my own expectations and assumptions about gender in mystery stories.

I adore historical mysteries, particularly those that confront the unsavory realities of racism, sexism, and homophobia in our not-so-distant pasts. This book delves into all of these in such a striking, fully inhabited way.

What I loved most about this book was the immediacy and urgency of its voice, which drew me in from the first page and never let me go. It’s a harrowing story, and the narrative frame gives it a pace that always manages to drive forward while still allowing enough space for the setting to come to life.

This book is a gripping story that reads like a thrilling noir caper.

I felt drawn into the main character’s story, both as she navigated the mystery and in her stirring relationship with her family. The intersection of her identity as a queer woman from a Chinese-American family provided so much of the story’s heart and stakes—I found myself reading to see how these tensions would resolve as much as to figure out whodunnit.

Determined to escape the clutches of his sinister mafia boss, ruthless Ash Lynx stumbles across a dying man bearing a strange drug and the codename ‘Banana Fish’. As bloodshed looms over New York City, Ash meets Eiji, a gentle Japanese photographer. Together, they attempt to uncover the mystery behind Banana Fish, as danger stalks ever closer to their fledgling friendship. Dark and brutal, Banana Fish is centered on the trauma of Ash’s past as a child forced into prostitution. Handled with respect and care, the author offers Ash a chance to heal through the compassionate nature of a true friend, warding off the demons plaguing Ash’s memories. Survivors are rarely given the opportunity to be as complex and conflicted, so Ash is a character who remains of deep personal importance.

This story is a gem.

Young Lewis is a believable and relatable character and the aging Chester Wheeler is a classic curmudgeon (at first). Their highly unusual cross-country journey in an old RV is an absolute delight, with both the young man and the old man demonstrating that age is not a barrier to friendship and personal growth.