100 books like High-Rise

A very dark turn in my list, indeed. A hole opens up in their apartment, who knows who or why? It doesn’t matter. They dub it the funhole, and would do what any of us would do, and start sticking things inside of it. Things get dark, fast.

If you want to be up all night, unable to sleep, give this book a whirl.

I read Olivia Laing’s book at the height of my own loneliness: isolated, in lockdown, at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic. Part memoir, part art history, part cultural criticism, the book managed to be both intimate and expansive—just what I needed as I sat by myself in front of a computer, anxiously refreshing virus graphs.

I became absorbed by the lives of Andy Warhol and Edward Hopper, Henry Darger, and David Wojnarowicz, artists I’d heard of but knew nothing about, and by the various aspects of loneliness I’d never previously considered. It’s the perfect example of the type of hybrid writing that I find truly magical.

A bracing slap to the face, this book. Or maybe a punch to the gut. The conceit is the series of portraits of hoarders based on the reality show of the same name, and the recipe is to combine their testimonials—“I save old soda cans and turn the tin snips into flowers,” say, or “I want desperately to change”—with lists of objects, described as though in a slow camera pan across a filthy room. But the alchemy is the way Durbin mashes the two together, not quite at random but not correctly either. It’s a harrowing litany of fragments, so specific that the unspoken point is all too clear: what’s broken is much bigger than any of these individual people or things.

Matthew Revert and I go way back. He’s a true polymath in that he’s a designer, musician, and also the author of multiple novels and collections. My favorite of his is Basal Ganglia, a novel about two lovers that live in this insane pillow fort. There’s a movie, I think it’s called Dave Builds a Maze, that kind of taps into the full-flung dive into implausibility to explore personal space and intimacies but of course, Revert’s just hits different. 

This is actually a children’s novel that I first read at school, and it had a big impact on me. It’s not so well known, and there are other books called "The Guardians", so don’t get confused. This novel was written in 1970 and is set in the not-so-distant 2050.

The world that John Christopher created for this novel really captured my imagination, the difference between the overpopulated "Conurbs" (from conurbation) and the privileged "County" (a land of rolling hills and manor houses).

It’s not too far-fetched, and I think that’s why it spoke to me, as I could easily envisage the world of 13-year-old Rob Randall, who dreamed of escaping the state boarding school in the Conurbs to go to the County. Rob doesn’t fit in and digs a hole under the Barrier that separates the two worlds.

Do not read this series if you have Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). 

Coral is on vacation when her world lights up. It starts with a fire so intense that the ash entirely blocks out the sun, not for a season, but for years. The sky is perpetually grey, and her world goes seriously cold. She must survive the elements, but the real threat comes from the desperation of those left alive and fighting for their lives. This is a brutal world. 

As a paranoid survivalist, this book had me taking notes. Some books you read and forget, others teach you something. Most authors push a moral agenda, but this book teaches real-life skills, like how it’s a good idea to burrow into snow when it’s REALLY cold, or why hanging out in caves isn’t just for Neanderthals, and my personal favourite, how to spot a cannibal. 

I discovered this book in 1985, reading and re-reading the book during high school and, eventually, buying the worn-out copy from the library before graduation.

While it may seem to be a dystopian story – it takes place after a nuclear-biological armageddon, after all – it’s an early example of hopepunk. Candy Smith-Foster repeatedly puts the good of others, including her macaw, Terry (short for Terry Dactyl), ahead of her own welfare. Not bad for a preteen facing the destruction of all she knew.

How much of an impact did this have on me? One of the reasons Kendra’s name starts as Foster-Briggs is to honor Palmer’s masterwork.

This one captured my heart completely, and I sobbed at the end. Although dystopian, it is a timely story about the consequences of racism, oppression, and fear in America. The main characters are a boy and his missing mother. His quest to find her will touch you deeply.

I love emotionally gripping books that carry a deep message or meaning, and this one does that beautifully.

Christine has a brain injury, which causes her memories to degrade every time she sleeps. She wakes up every morning as a blank slate, and her devoted husband explains who she is and then helps her get through the day. Unbeknownst to him, she starts keeping a journal—and soon realizes that his story about how she was injured is a little different each time.

I'm never in the mood for a thriller with a big twist in the penultimate chapter. I always want one with a big twist at the end of every chapter, and this book absolutely delivers. Is the husband a good guy or a bad guy? I changed my mind a dozen times over the course of this book, expertly manipulated by the author. I read the whole thing aloud to my wife on a long drive, and the time went by in a blink.

I have always been fascinated by Russian authors because of their command of presenting human nature and its fears. I picked up this book because the author is from Russia.

Yevgeny wrote this novel at the height of the  Russian Revolution in the aftermath of the First World War. He projected a society in a distant future, fearing that complete control of the state would turn us into monotonous machines. Anyone daring to be different would be eliminated to ensure compliance and similarity.

My only reservation is that the book borders on science fiction rather than historical fiction.