100 books like First Rider's Call

The Bloodwrath is basically Berserkergang, not possession, right? It affects badgers almost exclusively. What a bummer to be a badger and bear a burden that no one else has!

But it’s a bit more like possession in this book. Lady Cregga has the Bloodwrath more strongly than anyone has ever observed before; her personality seems to reflect this, as she’s impatient, brusque, and aggressive (even for a badger). She’s wounded and loses her sight, and the Bloodwrath goes away.

Even though her personality appears to be tied up with her madness, the Bloodwrath must be something external, since it can leave her without destroying her. Is it an inborn quality or an effect brought about by her personal choices, an appetite that can be satiated, or something else?

The brand of possession is fairly standard: a Drakhaoul possesses a man, enabling him to transform into a dragon—but the man must replenish his strength vampirically.

I like the interplay of personal responsibility and victimization, the use of supernatural powers to protect one’s friends at the cost of innocent suffering.

The Drakhaoul has a name and personality; it’s definitely a discrete being, but it’s also a part of the hero. But then the hero successfully exorcises his demon. But the demon’s memories are left behind, and the hero starts to wonder if he’s going mad.

The demon’s absence, not its presence, drives the hero to madness and despair (even though he hates the demon). The hero simultaneously hates and longs for a dark power, which is and is not uniquely his.

This book features a sort of contest between “real-world” and “fantasy-world” accounts of the hero’s behavior.

Some warriors experience “the Thrill” when they fight: battle is invigorating (because it gets your blood, oxygen, and adrenaline flowing); this is the stuff of modern psychology or biology.

No, wait, the Thrill is basically a supernatural being. Naturally: Sanderson’s world incorporates creatures who appear when various strong emotions are in play. But his handling of psychology is realistic in other respects, so that explanation makes sense, too….

But why does the Thrill affect the hero more than others?  Maybe he’s just a bloodthirsty barbarian. No, wait, he has a special relationship with the supernatural creature. But doesn’t that mean they’re kindred spirits, and maybe the hero is a bloodthirsty barbarian?

Greek tragedy is similar to fantasy except for matters of form (e.g. the chorus). Euripides was a startlingly modern playwright, especially when it comes to psychology.

Heracles can be portrayed as a monstrous monster-slayer (I’m looking at you, Sophocles), but in Euripides he’s noble, brave, and domestic. He performs his labors because he’s the kind of guy to use his powers for good.

Hera, being a jealous jerk, drives him mad; Madness herself is unenthusiastic about the whole affair, recognizing that Heracles has made the world a better place.

But insane Heracles knows that he’s murdering innocent people. Is that who he really is? Is it all Hera’s fault?

Due to the financial success of The Exorcist film, a sequel was ordered (The Exorcist II: The Heretic) which had no involvement from the original writer and director and was universally panned. William Peter Blatty then wrote a screenplay for what would have been a sequel to the original film that ignored the second entry. William Friedkin, the director of The Exorcist, was attached but backed out. Blatty turned his inactive script into what became the novel, Legion, which he eventually re-adapted and directed in 1990. The majority of the book is dialogue, so it’s easy to see its origins as a screenplay, but that does not make it any less effective.

This story takes a minor character from the original novel, Detective Kinderman, and chronicles his confrontation with a patient in a mental institution claiming to be possessed by the spirit of a dead… show more.

Dostoevsky’s central character is Nicholas Stavrogin, a Russian aristocrat, around Hamlet’s age. He has the aura of the mysterious stranger, arriving from beyond, haunted, solitary, fearless, and living outside all normal social bounds and conventions. He carries direct Christ allusions, stavros meaning ‘cross’ in Greek. Everybody from his own generation is in love with him, male and female. A few years earlier, adoring disciples travelled the world with him. He taught them that if it could be mathematically proved that the truth excludes Christ, he would choose Christ.

But Stavrogin lost his faith, and thereafter plunged into a life of violence and debauchery, seducing a number of women in the town, even, it is rumoured, raping a twelve-year-old girl. Without faith, he is equally without passion. Having lost the one indispensable thing, he kills himself.

I love The Host because it has two female heroes, but one is a parasite inside the other. When a parasitic alien race, the Souls, invades earth, Wanderer is placed in the body of Melanie Stryder. When implanted, Souls are supposed to completely subsume the host, but Melanie Stryder won’t give up her mind or her body that easily. Melanie is a hero because of her strength and willingness to sacrifice anything to maintain her autonomy. Wanderer is a hero because of her empathy and willingness to defy the construct of her society and forge a new path. The book is the most interesting portrayal of the capacity for sentient beings to develop empathy against all odds that I’ve ever read. It’s also a remarkable portrayal of a most imaginative female bond.

I’ve spent much of my adult life searching for media that gives me the same feeling as sitting down to my favourite Halloween movies as a kid. The gorgeous, autumnal crunch of Hocus Pocus, the spooky-but-not-scary atmosphere of Tim Burton’s 90’s offerings, the magic and adventure of Willow and The Dark Crystal. It was a big, specific ask, and yet I found it so perfectly in Frances Hardinge. 

My favourite of her books (so far) is A Skinful of Shadows. A twisting, turning, spooky adventure about a girl harboring the spirit of an abused circus bear who must save herself, her doofus brother, and said bear from being hollowed out and used as hosts by their horde of ghoulish ancestors. It’s cozy, clever, spectral perfection.

I’ve read countless books set in New York City or its boroughs, and I’m going to confess that sometimes they can feel a little generic. Not A Girl's Guide to Love and Magic.

The plot in this book is driven by Cicely’s quest to save her aunt through a scavenger hunt of sorts that is all tied into the excitement and action of the West Indian Parade on Labor Day in Flatbush, Brooklyn.

I also love how while this is technically a young adult book (Cicely is a sophomore in high school), it can be a great read for most older middle-grade readers, especially those who want to read up.

Blatty’s classic novel is recommendable as much for its cultural impact, which is of course inextricably bound up with its legendary film adaptation, as for its own content. With the story of young Regan, a 12-year-old girl in the modern technological world who becomes possessed by an ancient demon, Blatty, a committed Roman Catholic, deliberately set out to communicate a vivid sense of supernatural evil to a modern, skeptical, jaded audience. Many people don’t realize that The Exorcist is actually a Christian novel. As Blatty himself later put it, if he could get people to believe, even fictionally/emotionally, in demons, they would also know what it feels like to live in a universe where God and angels are real. The result, regardless of your religious beliefs, is unforgettable.