78 books like Downburst

When it comes to Constance Greene, I hardly know where to begin.

She’s certainly the oldest and most deadly character in fiction writing today. I say she’s the oldest because she’s trapped in the body of a thirty-something-year-old woman even though she was born in 1873, long story.

She appears as a supporting character in multiple novels, as the love interest of Detective Aloysius Pendergast, but she is so much more than that. She’s eloquent, brilliant, and does not succumb to emotional distress under any threat of death.

In Blue Labyrinth, eight highly trained mercenaries pursue her and none of them live to tell the tale. At her most ruthless, she can kill with any tool at her disposal and she is loyal to the man she loves.

If you haven’t read the King and Maxwell series by Baldacci, you’re doing yourself a disservice.

Michelle Maxwell is the first one to run into a burning building and take it all in stride even if she runs out with her hair on fire. Michelle is the character that brings a new twist to the opposite cops who join together to solve the case genre. 

Michelle Maxwell never holds back, does not suffer fools and she’s deadly with a gun as well as her hands. She always speaks her mind to men in authority, which I think bends some male readers out of shape, but I love her go forth and conquer spirit. Michelle lives by the edict: “Let the bridges I burn light my way,” and she is fine with that.

The resilience of the protagonist, FBI Special Agent Nina Guerrera, dubbed the "Warrior Girl" by the media really drew me in.

She’s the only person to ever survive a horrifying encounter with a serial killer called the Cipher when she was a teenager. This terrible attack molds her into the ultimate protector for those who can’t save themselves. Nina tugs at your heartstrings with her bravery, despite her prickly nature.

Once the serial killer starts killing again, he drops hints to the media that his rampage is tied to Nina. She’s forced to confront the nightmare that nearly ended her life. Her next encounter with the Cipher is cringe-worthy, but her courage and tenacity shine through and make Nina Guerrera the woman you have to root for. 

The Shadow Box was a step outside of my comfort zone, but I have no regrets for diving right in.

The novel crashes out of the gate when a left-for-dead artist named Claire Chase wakes up from being half-strangled in her garage by a man in a mask. She’s almost sure her assailant was her husband, Griffin who is also the Connecticut State Attorney and candidate for governor.

Claire has no idea who to trust and goes into hiding in the woods. She contacts a close friend and tries desperately to unearth the identity of her attacker while she is being searched for as a missing person. She’s incredibly resourceful and quite a rugged outdoorswoman as she searches for the man who tried to murder her.

What I loved about this book is how beautifully it describes even the mundane details of interacting with the internet—the seconds of delay before your email inbox loads, the microburst of gratification when your tweet gets retweeted. The story follows the main character as he spends the morning procrastinating on his novel, constantly pulled away by Facebook and various internet distractions. 

Be aware that this book has elements of auto-fiction and “writing about writing,” which isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, though I found it refreshing. The author brings to life highly relatable experiences—like scrolling through social media on the toilet. The scene itself is all too real, though very rarely portrayed in literature.

Dealing with an addicted child or sibling is traumatic enough; when the addict is your parent, the person who is supposed to protect and support you, the fear and betrayal are ramped up to an unbearable level. One of the Boys captures this in all its harrowing detail. Two barely teenaged boys move with their father from Kansas to New Mexico, where the father’s descent into meth addiction obliterates any sense of responsibility, affection, and decency he might once have possessed. Narrated by the younger son, One of the Boys is more than a realistic depiction of addiction; it also shows how far children will go to gain or retain a parent’s love, which is what makes the story so devastating.

This is a nonfiction book and typical of New Mexico, as there are whole chapters of its history nobody really knows about. The (probably) first white American woman to come into the territory was a Jewish woman who accompanied her merchant husband and brothers. Even more interesting, merchants and traders weren’t even the first Jewish people - “Crypto-Jews” who were fleeing the inquisition came to New Mexico long before it was part of the US and kept their identity secret to assimilate. This is depicted with a character in Alburquerque and that perfectly encapsulates one of the overriding things about New Mexico and its tales – a deep sense of connectedness, across people, across the land. 

Old Cold Cannibal is a bit of an outlier in this list, as it doesn’t fully conform to the Douglas Adams/Terry Pratchett style of humor/narration or plotting. But it’s a unique book with an amazing voice. I have a soft spot for harsh 1800s white narrators whose doubling down on arrogance and (historically accurate) racism wrap around from being awful to weirdly and unsettlingly charming. Old Cold Cannibal delivers on that 100% and allows it to infuse some humor into what is otherwise a very dark and disturbing narrative that follows a journey across the pre-Civil War U.S. to find and slay a dragon. It’s a rough, but entertaining read.

Matilda moves to the small New Mexico town of Goodnight after inheriting a house, a small newspaper, and two dogs. She learns just how odd the town is when she starts investigating the murder of a reporter. The town of Goodnight is pretty bizarre, but speaking as someone who lives in a small town in New Mexico, Goodnight is more believable than it might seem to an outsider. I prefer books where weirdness is something to celebrate, and here the characters embrace their crazy with enthusiastic joy. This story is part screwball comedy and part mystery, and both work.

One of my permanent, permanent favorites. Cather’s novel about a pair of French Catholic missionaries in 19th-century New Mexico is a lot of things: a portrait of a complex and life-giving friendship, a “loveship,” if I can borrow from Alice Munro.

It’s also an immersive historical treatment of Catholic proselytizing in the Southwest and a lyric poem about the beauty of that land. It’s smart about the rigors and consolations and the inevitable condescension of missionary work. It’s smart about everything. A perfect book.