74 books like Boys of Blur

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. 

One of the most unique stories I’ve ever read, A Treason of Thorns is about an alternate England where magic permeates the land, held in check by several great houses, all of which are possessed by eldricht spirits.

One of these great houses has been promised a Keeper, one who will give her life to serve it, her body slowly poisoned by its power. Violet isn’t afraid of her precious Burleigh House. At least, not until she falls in love and must choose, for the first time, whether she really can put the house first. In the meantime, Burleigh is falling to pieces and the King is bent on its destruction.

A truly thrilling, fast-paced story of risk and daring on the part of a iron-willed young woman who has everything to lose. 

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.

Through his magnificent prose, Andy Davidson reveals a wonderfully terrifying mythology as he tells the story of Miranda Crabtree, a strong young woman orphaned in the rugged bayou country of Arkansas. Aside from caring for herself in the harshest of environments, Miranda looks after one of the most unique characters I’ve ever experienced. I reluctantly refuse to say more about that relationship since I don’t want to give any spoilers. Despite its dark, fairy tale vibe, The Boatman’s Daughter includes modern threats for Miranda like drug-dealing thugs and corrupt cops, but the supernatural has a strong, constant brooding presence. If you especially like tough, female protagonists as I do, this story fits the bill.

I have to admit, this book is a bit of a personal indulgence. I’ve always been fascinated by the swamps of Louisiana and the mysteries that hide in those murky waters. Add a human arm in the mouth of an alligator and you’ve definitely gotten my attention. Some day I’m going to write a book that is set there—I just haven’t figured out a storyline yet—but when I do, I hope it’s half as good as BJ Bourg’s first book in his Clint Wolf series. I know it’s a cliché, but this book really did grab me from the start and, I guarantee, the end of the first chapter will haunt you, just as it haunts Clint Wolf.   

This book doesn’t just read like a novel – it reads like a great novel: A battle between two compelling characters set against the absurd backdrop of an effort to establish a hippo population in America’s swampland. Mooallem’s understated wit showed me that sometimes the best way to understand history is by tracking the people we’ve never heard of, and the initiatives that never succeeded.

I'm a reader who loves books where characters determine the story arc. Plot-driven books generally leave me cold. This novel has a cast of players I found easy to empathize with; even the villains. They are drawn in fascinating detail with all their flaws and all their glories to make them real people who are easy to engage with throughout the story. In spite of some tough scenes, it's a book I thoroughly enjoyed reading.

The author introduces some thought-provoking and timely themes here. The story examines injustice, wealth inequality, gender discrimination, political intrigue, the fallibility of leaders, ethics, and morality, and the ever-present problems of prejudice driven by ignorance. All themes guaranteed to engage me.

Set in 1920s Mississippi, this Southern novel weaves a harrowing tale of two teenage girls who are drawn into a dangerous world of bootleggers and moral corruption. Forced to come to terms with their hidden past, they discover that they are linked in ways that could cost them their lives.

As rich and lush as the Natchez Trace swamps where the story takes place, Mustian’s lyrical prose combined with her deep insight into the resiliency of the human spirit make this novel shine. You know a book is good when you wish you’d written it!

As in Philip Pullman’s The Subtle Knife, our protagonist in Tristan Strong has the ability to create his own portal, versus stumbling upon one already in existence (as in the wardrobe in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe).

I love the empowerment implicit in that and haven’t seen it very often in portal fantasies. I also am from the U.S. South and lived for over a decade in Chicago so I connected with a lot of things in this novel.