Fans pick 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. 

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. 

In a sparsely populated world settling into ruin, Makepeace patrols a city’s remains alone as the last sheriff. It isn’t until the shocking intrusion of people from the outside world that she realizes she will need to leave her quiet orbit and grapple with the problem of wider humanity.

One of the things I love best about this novel is how far into it you get before it’s even specified that Makepeace is a woman. Her thoughts, dreams, and ambitions are the defining points of her character rather than her gender and she won’t let any of the people around her forget it. This is a rough novel of survival but Makepeace is as tough as they come, at times providing the only positive human note.

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.

I love this book because, even though it’s a crime story, it’s also a rollercoaster ride through the story of the marriage of Louise and Niall, who are both in various ways involved in the crime.

Each person is lying for different reasons and each of them is terrified to tell the truth to each other for fear of how the other person might react. The plot takes them through moments of dark despair, utter dishonesty, anger, and even hatred, all of which is somehow part and parcel of the marriage they have created.

There is hope, however, and they come to realise a deeper truth about themselves and their relationship which, for me, was incredibly moving in an unexpected way.

This is a new dystopian matriarchal novel, first in a series, that I’ve just discovered. Interestingly, it’s been described as the opposite of The Handmaid’s Tale.

The story is of a female-controlled society in which men are kept imprisoned and used as breeders. Neen, a female scientist who is interviewing men for their potential as sperm donors, begins to question the status quo when some of the men she meets don’t fit her preconceptions.

I was attracted to the book because its story is comparable to my book, but the tone and world-building are completely different. I loved the plot twists and the focus on ethical dilemmas.

I loved the detailed characterization of the main protagonists (including a cat) in this novel set in Gloucester. Comptom’s prose is a delight to read; it is clear, descriptive, and unobtrusive. It is rare to read about a homeless person and their struggles, especially from that time and the obvious mental illness that he suffers from. His dealings with the vending machine and the cat are humorous and touching.
The novel reminded me of the Beatles song ‘Eleanor Rigby,’ with a Father Mackenzie-type vicar and a lonely female journalist. It is sad, touching, real, and a good story. I read it in a couple of sittings.