100 books like Early Riser

No one has taught me more about life than Terry Pratchett. No one has taught me how to wrestle with my demons (both literal and metaphorical) or how to be a better person no matter what fate befalls me. Humanists don’t need a bible, but if they did, the collected works of Terry Pratchett would be that book.

More than just fantasy, humor, or satire, his words work at a profound and subtle level. All of his books are favorites of mine, but this one is my most favorite of all. It’s a book about witches and magic and fairy tales. It’s also a story that contains stories within stories, but most of all, it’s a book about knowing who you are.

Maybe it’s because, as a woman who worked in a historically male-dominated industry, I always root for the underdog—be it a newbie with the chutzpah to say no to a pushy buyer or a small town fighting off a huge conglomerate. Give me a character who is a caricature of an amusement park scion, dialog dripping with sarcasm, and a zany plot that spits in the eye of corporate America.

I led the applause as S. V. Date gleefully poked fun at the greediness of big business while indicting a state government that, for a price, was more than happy to go along for the ride.

Skippy Dies is nearly 700 pages long, but I wished it had been longer, it was that fun to read. It’s both tragically sad and laugh-out-loud funny—a difficult feat for any writer to pull off, and Irish novelist Paul Murray does so brilliantly. I’m not giving away anything by saying that the protagonist dies—after all, he dies in the book’s title—but I won’t reveal how or the circumstances. Let’s just say that if you are a diminutive, shy, buck-toothed 14-year-old at an all-boys boarding school in Dublin and somehow manage to develop a crush on the girlfriend of an older, drug-dealing, violent bully…well, things can’t turn out good. The cast of characters—the teenagers, the teachers, the school principal—are wonderfully drawn. Murray’s dialogue captures the boasting machismo as well as the angsty insecurities of teenage boyhood. A real gem.

This is THE book for neurotic hypersexuals. It set the genre. I think it’s wild, brilliant, horny, thoughtful, introspective, delusional, and absurd at the same time. I mean, for the love of God, there’s no plot! It’s the protagonist (Alex Portnoy) rambling to a psychologist about his clear Oedipal Complex. The man is torn, trying to be a good Jewish boy who betters the world, but he has some nasty sexual desires (and messed-up feelings about his sexual partners) that are holding him back. 

This book is one of my obsessions. (It’s fitting, given the obsessive nature of the book.) Ironically, I felt really seen and sane while reading it. No, I’m not as neurotic and horny as Alex, but boy, do I struggle with some of the same obsessive thought patterns as that man!

This is the second book in the Guards sequence, but it’s easy enough to start here. This detective story set in the sprawling, smelly metropolis of Ankh-Morpork, featuring dwarves, werewolves, and (occasionally) humans, is a laugh-out-loud and anarchic book, managing to be hugely joyous and page-turningly compelling at the same time. Insanely silly and utterly real, with characters so solid you can see (or in some cases, smell) them long after you turn the last page.

There’s nothing childish about this rip-roaring fantasy adventure. I loved it long before Brandon Sanderson became a household name. While the book is steeped in whimsy, it sidesteps the pitfalls that render most Middle-Grade books inaccessible to adults. With realistic character motivations, a (strangely plausible) explanation for how all librarians could be secretly evil, and a cohesive magic system that could stand right beside any of Sanderson’s adult offerings.

I especially loved the way the book sucks the reader in with its deftly executed frame story. There are layers upon layers of storytelling here. I loved that, and I am not embarrassed to say it.

This is the first book that made me laugh out loud as a kid. When I read it to my son, I remembered why. Not only is Fudge just a bonkers character, but this novel—the second in the Fudge series—features the silliest pet ever, a myna bird named Uncle Feather.

Uncle Feather’s catchphrase is "Bonjour, Stupid" and of course, he says it at inappropriate times. As an adult, I still think "Bonjour, Stupid" is funny. You can imagine the effect it has on an 8-year-old.

Paris pulses with intrigue as a young mail courier becomes entangled with a mysterious opera singer and a series of dangerous encounters. Featuring outstanding descriptions, this stylish thriller weaves together music, romance, and underworld secrets against the backdrop of a vividly depicted cityscape.

The 1981 film adaptation of the same name, directed by Jean-Jacques Beineix, is celebrated for its stylish cinematography and influential soundtrack, which includes opera performances and an electronic score by Vladimir Cosma. Its lush romanticism became a significant cultural phenomenon in the early 1980s and helped popularize France's cinema du look movement.

I found this book hysterically funny, and the dialogue more imaginative than any book I’ve ever read. The characters are without equal in terms of their originality, including the children of Jack and Babette Gladney.

The sheer number of meaningful topics this story covers is also without equal. The author’s observations are extremely keen. At its core, it is about the fear of death, though it is not a depressing story in any sense. It’s no wonder why it won the 1985 National Book Award.

Witty writing is important to me both as a writer and a reader, and Palahniuk’s prose is sharp,  aggressive, and biting, with more wit than most writers know what to do with. It’s a hard feat as a writer to be witty and aggressive and still maintain the flow of the story, and Palahniuk does it over and over, with this book being a stand out for me.

Not too many books can make me laugh out loud, shudder, cringe, and keep turning the pages like this one did.