Fans pick 100 books like Closed Casket

As anyone who has ever grown up in Glasgow will tell you, don't mess with short people. A short, angry Scottish woman can have your proverbial eye out when riled. Especially if they’re meant to be enjoying themselves at the seaside. And that's exactly the case with Lady Hardcastle’s loyal sidekick, Flo. Granted, Flo is Welsh, and the duo lives in Edwardian England rather than 20th-century Scotland, but this pair can sort matters out faster than my mother and her wee pal, Margaret. 

Elizabeth Knowelden brilliantly reads this rollicking romp about disappearances, espionage, ice cream, and donkey rides. I like any story with a fearsome female sidekick. Fearsome sidekicks have for too long been dominated by scary blokes with muscles.

I don't know if writer Clara Benson and narrator Gethyn Edwards are best pals, but they're matched so perfectly in this book; they should be. Anyway, here's a tip. If you're invited to a party in a rambling old country mansion with secret passages and dark histories, don't be a jerk. Because then you might find yourself dead in the library like Professor Coddington. Nobody is particularly upset at a killer being on the loose, except that sort of thing can ruin a party and a reputation.

Luckily, Freddie Pilkington Soames is on hand—the most ramshackle, thoroughly reprehensible, fabulous chap one could meet—to save the day. Clara Benson really knows how to write a great character. This book made me laugh out loud.  

When I was a kid, my Mum loved Upstairs Downstairs—a TV show about a household in Victorian England and the lives of the gentry upstairs and the servants downstairs. Nobody was allowed to even whisper when it was on. 

Well, the Mrs Jeffries Mysteries would have blown her mind. Because the servants in Detective Witherspoon’s household not only do regular servanting but also solve murders on the fly. 

There are loads of great characters: Mrs Goodge, the surly cook, Smythe, the fierce-looking coachman with a heart of gold, and of course Mrs Jeffries herself, who’s like a sherry-guzzling Sherlock Holmes who can tidy.

Who doesn't want to be Posey Parker? She’s smart, she eats loads, and never gets tubby. She’s always gorgeous, though she’s not at all arrogant about it. Give Posey a compliment or a sandwich; she’ll take the sandwich every time.

On the negative side, she lives in the 1920s with the world still reeling from the first world war, and women’s rights decidedly sketchy. Also, she’s trapped on the Night Train to Paris with a sense of impending doom. (I totally identify with that, having traveled on the Glasgow to London sleeper.)

L.B. Hatheway has crafted a book that offers the best kind of mystery and a great understanding of the time's history, and Clare Wille voices it flawlessly. 

This book was an incredible ride all the way through. We have two narrators, one who is clearly dubious and the other is a detective telling the story of how his wife died of a serious illness. The same wife mysteriously turns up at his station asking for him several years after her death.

That premise alone pulled me in, but Weaver has a particular writing style that just flows, and it’s beautiful writing, darkly rich, questioning everything, and a creepy serial killer in the mix. Just the sort of book I love to read!

U.K. author Stephen Leather has written so many books and in a variety of genres. His supernatural Detective Jack Nightingale series is of interest to me here. In Nightfall and subsequent Jack Nightingale novels, our hero is struggling against demonic forces brought into his orbit courtesy of his now-dead father. Unusual, certainly. Many readers, I suspect, enjoy the injection of a new element into the now-crowded police procedural genre. 

I’ve always enjoyed Bill Pronzini’s work (including his work with wife Marcia Muller). The Flimflam Affair is the first book I read from his Carpenter and Quincannon series. This is a perfect example of how to embed historical fact into crime fiction. Although this is not a police procedural novel (the lead characters are private detectives), procedural elements are certainly included throughout. I’m envious of Pronzini’s ability to use the beginning of the 20th century as a backdrop for this fine series.

I love this book because it perfectly blends the surreal with noir and science fiction and comes together with its own brand of dark humor. While parts of this book are unsettling and strange, there’s a solid throughline of the investigator seeking the truth in a broken world.

Of all the books here, I think this one has the most damaged society, and the main character, Conrad Metcalf, is a match for it. Drugs that make you forget everything and be complacent. Baby heads. Uplifted animals. The book is never afraid to get stranger, but it also tackles some pretty heavy themes. This is a world where asking questions is taboo, and the moral and ethical implications of that shape the entire world in which Metcalf lives.

I like reading Mosley’s mystery novels because they are about people overcoming extreme difficulties, and this book is one of his best. I couldn’t put it down.

The main character is an African-American private detective working in Los Angeles in the 1950s and 1960s, and Mosley paints a realistic picture of LA during that time.  There are always a few women in distress and white policemen who don’t like the black detective and constantly make his efforts more difficult. 

If Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade served as the model for most private detective protagonists in American books (and movies), Raymond Chandler’s private detective Philip Marlowe offered a fascinating, inside-out variation. Marlowe—especially in this book, which I love as Chandler’s best—seems more analytical than Spade, more passionate than Spade, but just not quite as cool by today’s standards. 

That little loss doesn’t hurt him or this classic, however, which provides the best plot with the most expressive prose of this top 5 private detective novels. Marlowe’s war-torn pal disappears, the guy’s oversexed wife gets murdered, and Marlowe naturally becomes police suspect number one. 

In between the developments, Marlowe makes light: “Mostly I just kill time, and it dies hard.” That’s a clever way to say so long to involvement, but the longest goodbye, the real and permanent one to which the book’s title refers and we sometimes call death—that’s the… show more.