100 books like Green for Danger

I’ve pressed copies of Pat Barker’s trilogy into the hands of more friends than I can count!

Set during the First World War, the books didn’t transport me to the battlefields of France as I’d expected, but onto a hospital ward for shell shock victims and into the fictionalized life of an amazing therapist who dedicated himself to their humane treatment.

I’d done a lot of research on the subject for a documentary film and knew about the extreme, sometimes horrific treatment these men received. So I was blown away to learn that there was at least one doctor who treated them compassionately, encouraging them to heal their psychic wounds by speaking about what they’d witnessed.

Everything about these novels – the crushing psychological impact of war on the minds of men and the healing power of remembering – inspired me to explore similar themes in my own fiction.

Whenever I feel trapped, I think about this book. Told in the first person, it brought me into the asylum and locked me in there with the other patients, and even once I finished reading it, I didn’t feel completely free.

There’s something I like to call “Hollywood Mental Illness.” Movies tend to sugarcoat mental disorders and make them seem fun and entertaining. This book does nothing of the sort. I felt the isolation, the fear, and the sheer panic that these characters faced, like a huge, heavy ball in the pit of my stomach and a zigzagging anxiety that repeatedly paced across my mind. What makes it so dark and frightening is that it’s routed in so much truth, which makes it such a compelling story.

Harriet Vane, a thinly disguised Sayers (who it seemed had fallen in love with her fictional detective, Lord Peter Wimsey), gets her own book where she goes back to Oxford to the women’s college she graduated from, to help uncover a mystery.

There is a delight in the fact that the female can be as deadly as the male, offering up a new sort of equality. This became a lovely television series starring Harriet Walter, but the book is rich and wonderful and sprinkled with untranslated Greek. You feel smarter, just holding it; it made me really wish I’d tried harder to qualify for a Rhodes scholarship back in the day.

Michael Ondaatje’s novel is one of the most beautiful books I have ever read. It is not a study or analysis of Herodotus’ history, and yet Herodotus’ spirit infuses virtually every page. Taking place during World War II, it explores the intertwined lives of four characters, including the unnamed English patient, who has survived the shooting-down of his plane, although he is severely burned.

He has nothing with him but his annotated copy of Herodotus’ Histories. I loved Anthony Minghella’s 1996 film adaptation of the novel, and it is no criticism of the film to say that it treats only one of the many strands one finds in the book. Meditating on space, time, identity, and truth, The English Patient is a book that I think Herodotus would have loved.

It is World War Two in England. In Ngaio Marsh’s Death and the Dancing Footman a small group of people has been invited to a country house. One of them is killed. The remoteness of the house contributes to the limited group of people as possible killers, making it a classic closed-group story. It’s a good mystery. It also offers a thought-provoking contrast to the real-world event raging at the time, for in the book an English woman is saved by the German doctor. Marsh is not pro-Axis. She’s merely showing our universal dependency on each other to get through a terrifying situation. I loved this idea and thought it quite brilliant of Marsh. And something I think is rather unique in mystery novels.

House of Storm features a group of sequestered people who live on a Caribbean island. A murder occurs, pointing to one of the residents as the killer. To increase the story’s feeling of danger and urgency, a storm is headed for them. The house must be secured, shutters put up. Will clues be destroyed in the rain? Is the killer lurking outside or has he sneaked inside, as the unlocked door suggests? I liked the tension created by the heroine’s approaching marriage to a man she doesn’t love, the murder investigation centering around the man she does love, and the storm. I also liked the contrast with Society’s current label of “Paradise”—a leisurely life on a sunny, tropical island.

This book concerns vacationers at a small hotel in the Scottish Hebrides. A murder is committed. Due to the island and the hotel’s remoteness, the location creates a closed community. Everyone has reasons to be annoyed with others, adding tension and motives for murder. I particularly like the enveloping mood of the wild mountains and fog. Radio broadcasts of real-life events (Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation preparations and Sir Edmund Hillary’s climb of Mount Everest) add a strange link to the outside world for this group of isolated hotel guests. I felt it also underscored the contrast between their forced solitude and stay at the hotel as opposed to Elizabeth and Hillary’s freedom to do what they wished.

Actually, I tell a lie. I had read crime before my honeymoon, but only Agatha Christie, whose whodunnits always feature murders that are tastefully described and over in a couple of lines.

With Christie, it’s all about the puzzle, and boy, is she good at that. Her characters are often a bit two-dimensional, but you forgive that for the sake of her plots, which always race along and convince, however unlikely in real life.

This is one of her most famous ones, and rightly so. No spoilers here, but if you read this as I did as a teenager (recommended by my father) you are in for a grand surprise. Hopefully.

This book is not strictly a whodunnit, as Highsmith follows the murderer closely, and we see not only the murder but experience all its ghastly ramifications. 

This was her first novel, and it set the template for the rest of her oeuvre, in which a relatively ordinary person is dragged into a horrific situation by a chance meeting with a personable weirdo. It could have been you on that train; that’s the shocking thing. And soon our hero is caught in a trap from which it seems there is to be no escape.

This is a gripping read and will set you up, if you’re compulsive like me, to read all her other books, which, though often quite dark, always have the most compelling plots.

Once I got into reading crime properly, I soon found my favourite period: the so-called "Golden Age" of the 1920s and 30s, where the writing was all about a clever plot and less about nasty descriptions of murder and death.

This book was written bang in the middle of this period. Though I personally am not the hugest fan of Sayers' rather smug and entitled detective, Lord Peter Wimsey, I love this book for its supremely clever plot, with clues concealed in the most unlikely places.

It’s also a fun setting among a bunch of artists in Galloway, Scotland. One painter, a quarrelsome drunkard, is murdered. Six others are suspected. You will be puzzling over paint colours and train timetables to work out the killer.