82 books like A Treason of Thorns

Neil Gaiman has probably had more of an impact on my brain and my writing than any other author. Selecting just one of his many incredible "dark and sad" books was a real challenge for me.

I settled on this one, in part because it is the perfect bookend to my previous recommendation, Doll Bones, in that it eloquently expresses the quiet joys, fears, and sorrows of childhood, as seen through the eyes of an adult who knows full well the meaning of loss, and the cost of things we can barely recognize, much less understand, when we are young.

Like the narrator of the book, I feel the ever-widening gulf between myself and my own memories. I also see it beginning for my offspring, who have both recently entered adulthood, and my heart breaks for all three of us.

In a Celtic-feeling village the reader follows the story of an absolutely ordinary protagonist, Idris. He’s a poet who chooses great peril in order to discover the truth behind a growing despair plaguing the land.

It is the end of times, according to all the oracles. But Idris refuses to accept annihilation’s cold embrace. As the villagers scrape by despite sickness and blighted crops, the bard goes on a search for hope. In the haunted, banshee-infested moor, he discovers the door on half-bald hill.

I really loved this story because it was all my favorite things—a bleak, earthy landscape with a sharp sense of foreboding haunting every page, and in sharp relief, a group of very real persons, each fostering a flame of hope despite overwhelming burdens and gnawing griefs. 

Anathema is a 1910 Russian play about a man who inherits great wealth and is haunted by a manipulative spirit called Anathema.

Although David’s intention of using his wealth to help others is altruistic, Anathema gradually leads him down a path of damnation. This play makes you think deeply about the meaning behind each character’s dialogue. You don’t necessarily trust what is said because some characters have hidden motives.

The lurking terror is not, as you might think, the antagonizing Anathema. Instead, the play possesses a uniquely impending sense of doom as David’s life comes to its end and Anathema is the one begging for truth, leaving us wondering how many souls he will mislead in his search for the inverse of damnation.

What if a Florida farm town was overrun by anthropomorphic swamp monsters and the only people standing between them and the townspeople was an ancient legend with a rusty sword and a twelve-year-old boy?

Charlie Reynolds has two dads and both are good at football, but one was the reason his mom left Florida years ago and his step-dad is the reason they’re moving back. Now Charlie must prove himself to the new football team and grapple with his dad’s abandonment, all while escaping the weird creatures crawling out of the swamp. He struggles to know just what it means to be himself and to be brave at the same time.

I enjoyed this modern Beowulf retelling with its weird monsters, family drama, and incredibly high stakes. I could never anticipate what was going to happen next. 

Professor Larson is America’s leading expert on treason and wrote this book for non-lawyers. He starts with treason in England, discusses the views of the Founding Fathers, and then goes through many entertaining treason cases or examples. Some involve familiar historical names like Benedict Arnold, Aaron Burr, and Jefferson Davis. Others involve notorious celebrities such as Tokyo Rose and Jane Fonda. A fun book on a serious subject. 

Poor George III: ridiculed in caricatures and the object of attempted assassinations!

This enormous book is a real page-turner. Its aim is to show that the changing meanings of words had a huge impact on the politics of the 1790s in Britain. The fourteenth-century statute of treason listed among its crimes that of ‘imagining the king’s death.’

In the reign of Edward III, that meant actually planning the death of the monarch, but by the 1790s, the word ‘imagine’ had taken on the modern definition of ‘envisaging’ or ‘fantasising.’ This much wider definition of ‘imagining’ had dire consequences for reformers who had no intention of arranging the death of the king but whose language might be loose enough to open them up to the charge of ‘imagining’ it. 

Elizabeth Bowen’s 1948 novel is one of the most gritty, uneasy, and compelling accounts I’ve read of the civilian experience of war. Set in London between 1942 and 1944 The Heat of the Day draws on Bowen’s own experience as an air raid warden in evoking the daily life of a city that has been gutted by bombs, rationing, sleep deprivation, and fear. At the heart of the narrative is the story of Stella, her double agent lover, and the government spy who attempts to blackmail her; and through the strange fractured relationships between these characters, their moral confusion, Bowen gives us vivid insights into the psychological as well as the physical damage inflicted by war.

This book is the first in the Verity Kent series set just after World War I in England.

Verity is a war widow and had worked for the Secret Service during the war. After declining an invitation to attend a party on a secluded island, she changes her mind when she receives a letter intimating that her husband had been a traitor. The partygoers are mostly former soldiers who had served under her husband.

This book has it all—a secluded island, many secrets, a storm, and a huge surprise. And I mean huge. Verity doesn’t know who she can trust but somehow manages to figure it all out. I’m way behind on reading this series but I mean to catch up soon!

This book so impressed me because it highlights how pressing the Dreyfus scandal was. I was especially drawn in because, while Harris knows this is a tale of anti-Semitism (and a harbinger of the Holocaust), she also elicits its distinctly modern aspects.

I was amazed to discover how Dreyfus was a polarizing figure not just because he was Jewish but because the acceptance of a Jew into the ranks of society struck many Frenchmen as a sign of how much their world was being overturned.

My suspicions about modernity were confirmed: it doesn’t merely advance our technology but affects every facet of society at once: our fashions, economy, politics, and morals (usually for the better). The book is also a great history (something else that I love).

Superpowers are a classic allegory for coming of age, and Gifts uses them as such in an especially timeless and effective way. When the children of the Uplands reach adolescence, they develop powerful gifts that can be equal parts useful and dangerous. Most of them start off applying these gifts exactly according to their parents’ instructions. But ultimately, their gifts are their own, and part of accepting them is accepting the responsibility of choosing how to use them. It’s a wonderfully moody, atmospheric exploration of uses and abuses of power.