70 books like Antkind

The main mystery in this book is not a mystery to the reader. It’s a mystery to the main character, Stevie. I love this twist.

I don’t think I’ve ever read another book where the protagonist is trying to uncover their own past, and the reader knows what answers she’ll find if she succeeds. (Though there are a few surprises that the reader isn’t privy to until Stevie unearths them.) The heart of this story is its romance, which is beautiful, heartwarming, and heartbreaking all at once.

I loved everything about this book, honestly. I read it in two days, and the only reason I didn’t read it in one sitting is because I have a small child and that precludes sequestering yourself in a room to finish a book. 

Yes, this is the published shooting script of the film.

When I read the premise of this story, I knew it would be special. I remember the author stating he got the idea of someone receiving a postcard through the post with the words "You have been deleted from X’s memory. Do not attempt to contact her" and how it intrigued him. From that idea, the entire idea of deleting the memory of a romantic relationship gone wrong, unfolded.

I love story ideas that stop me from breathing. The film (and script) is lovely, yet holds a twist or two up its sleeve. It is, underneath the science, a tragicomic love story. Genius.

Matilda—both in prose and musical form—is one of my favorite stories about bullies getting what’s coming to them, and the victim emerging with a better life.

Matilda’s parents and older brother are terrible people; her schoolmates and headmistress are not any better. But Matilda has a champion—an ally—in her corner: her teacher Miss Honey. With the confidence and support that just one friend brings, Matilda stands up to all the others.

She speaks up for herself and won’t let the bullies get away with their bad behavior. In doing so, she charts a happier course for her life—an end result to which anyone who’s being bullied can aspire.

Reminiscent of Ray Bradbury at his very finest, this absorbing collection of supernatural tales has it all: fascinating characters, palpable atmosphere, and delicious, chewy plots. McHugh brings the uncanny into the every day, most often through the experiences of women, and often using a distinctly Irish lens. From the Irish countryside, in all its windswept, boggy, or tangled forms, to modern office life, this is a glorious kaleidoscope of experiences that feel real even as the surface of human experience is punctured to expose the void beneath.  Each story in this collection has a lot to offer, and - another thing this writer has in common with Bradbury - you’ll find yourself returning time and again for rereading 

Books on the war’s campaigns usually aggregate large numbers of people into bland terms like “regiments” and “refugees,” singling out only a few key players as individuals.

This book takes a refreshingly different approach, examining one of the war’s major operations from the level of participants of all sorts, from senior government officials down to the soldiers, civilians, and spies caught up in the fighting. The campaign itself has heretofore been almost entirely overlooked, or seen only in terms of a few of the battles that were part of it.

The result is a vivid account of the many components of a major campaign, and the legions of individuals involved.

Published in 1990, this book reflects the era in which it was written and may be slightly over-written for modern tastes. The short chapters draw you through the story as we see inside the heads of different characters, so the reader is often one step ahead of Allie, the protagonist. As Allie’s subdued flatmate starts to idolise her, I was keen to discover whether easy-going Allie would realise something was wrong. When their roles start to change halfway through the novel, it seemed things could only go one way and I started turning the pages faster. This is an interesting early example of the genre and I can see why it was made into a film.

Steamy slow-burn with tension you can feel rolling off the page? This one is for you! This new-to-me author was an epic find and I cannot get enough. The world-building is beyond exceptional, the characters and their struggles–both physical and mental–are realistic even as it’s a fantasy! I one-clicked the rest of the series even before I finished the first book! 

My favorite of Miller’s books, Tropic of Capricorn is based on Miller’s life in Brooklyn in the 1920s. It’s a dizzying stream-of-consciousness array that sweeps you along. Miller’s occasional poignant reminiscences about the magic of his boyhood and friendships contrast with the soul-sucking realities of adulthood and workplace bureaucracy that try to stamp out the embers of wonder and passion like a boot heel. Like most of his books, Capricorn celebrates the absurd miracle of consciousness. Miller’s influence on my education as a writer was indispensable. His books didn’t serve so much as a template as how to write, as how to be a writer, specifically how to observe and appreciate the vast madness of the world, reject conformity, and the embrace the anarchist spirit of artistic creation.

In A Dance at the Slaughterhouse, Lawrence Block’s alcoholic and unlicensed PI, Matthew Scudder, investigates two cases. Scudder is introduced to the first when shown a copy of the movie The Dirty Dozen, over which someone has taped a gruesome crime involving a child. The second involves sex games and a potential murder for hire. Scudder is a PI who often skirts the law, and sometimes strays into brutality. His friend Mick Ballou, churchgoing butcher and Irish mobster, and his lover call-girl Elaine, help him sort things out. This book includes superb characterizations, interesting insight into the world of alcoholism, and a very dark nature. The book also delves into the world of vigilante justice. In this arena, the worse the bad guy, the more satisfying the justice, and in this case, Block is spot on.”   

One of the many wistful and beautiful photos in this book caught my eye in an exhibit at the New York Historical Society in 2021.

Her photography, and the attendant essays, evoke not only the isolation of quarantine, but the ways we rediscovered the desire for human connection. What could be easier than meeting a friend, careful to stay 6’ apart? Or sadder?