68 books like One in Vermillion

Novelist-screenwriter-director Richard Sale’s scabrous, compulsively readable 1963 novel is packed with malicious characters scrambling up Hollywood’s “glass mountain of success” only to tumble into what Jacqueline Susann would call four years later would call “the Valley of the Dolls.” Pretty much set in Movieland’s seven circles of hell, the novel charts the rise and fall of an ex-gigolo who becomes a major movie star leading man. Grabbing a "Best Actor" Oscar nomination, he becomes hellbent on knee-capping -- or flat-out destroying -- his competitors. An acid-laced smorgasbord of its era, it teems with transactional sex, unapologetic misogyny, homophobia, and groovy Swinging Sixties dialogue – all of it as despicably and wondrously monstrous as its 1966 movie version (scripted by Harlan Ellison!) is unintentionally side-splitting.

It’s not often that a thirty-something man nails the depiction of the interior life of a seventeen-year-old girl, but Jesse Ball did exactly that in his 2016 novel. Scrappy, arson-obsessed Lucia Stanton just might be my favorite literary teenage hero of all time. I think of her as a mix between Holden Caulfield’s charming disaffection and Juno’s precocious wit.

Ball imbues Lucia’s voice with intelligence and a hint of world-weariness, but he still manages to convey her innocence. You learn a lot from her, but you also want to protect her. My copy is dog-eared and underlined into oblivion. It’s one of those books I think is woefully underrated, and I recommend it any chance I get.

Is there anything hotter than a man willing to launch himself into a wilderness fire to save complete strangers? If you think there isn't, may I direct you to Marsh’s three-book series with action, suspense, drama – and scorching-hot men risking everything to help others. Burning Up introduces the reader to a close-knit group of smokejumpers, vengeful arsonists, regrets, and lost love… and reminds us that the riskiest jobs often result in heartbreak. I doubt that I could handle the stress of loving someone who lays down their life every single time they go to work, but I do find the psychology of the risk-taker fascinating and sexy: real heroes are rare and maybe that’s what makes them so irresistible… even if they are fictional.

I loved this book because it shows her female character's resilience and strength in reinventing her career in fire after a debilitating accident on the job as a firefighter. Split-second decisions matter in the perilous world of fighting fire.

When Anne Ashburn finds a new career as a fire investigator, she must investigate a string of suspicious fires that endanger the lives of her former colleagues. The hero in the story teams up with Anne to find answers, and a heated attraction soon ignites. This story has enough twists and turns to confuse even the best GPS.

You weren’t expecting me to recommend a Leverage tie-in novel, were you?

From my perspective, a book based on a television series is just as valid as a television series based on a book—and if you don’t share the same view, you might need to adjust one of your mirrors. I love The Con Job because takes the nerdy, cozy world of Leverage and places it in San Diego Comic-Con, giving the characters a real-world experience that many of us will have experienced ourselves.

There’s not a lot of music in this one, which may disappoint those of us who watched Leverage for the Rimsky-Korsakov, but there’s plenty of math and physics and a few inside jokes. It’s a comfort read, in more ways than one—which is probably why I keep reading it.

Steven James is one of my favorite authors, and this novel is one of his best works. I connected with the main character, Travis Brock, a person blessed with an eidetic memory. Travis remembers everything he sees, but like an eyewitness to a crime, some things seen prove haunting afterward.

Threats, trouble, and conflict kept me turning pages. This story's ending, with one of the best twists I have ever read or heard of, left me with a sense of urgency to read the sequel as soon as it is published.

I started this book for the unlikely main character–Sister Holiday, a chain-smoking, tattooed, queer nun–but it was the mystery that kept me reading. I always love it when a writer can make me feel like I am the one on the line, like I am fighting for my life or to prove my innocence. This book did just that.

I found I was holding myself tightly as Sister Holiday investigated but just kept finding more evidence against herself. The snippets of her past life made me feel for her more and more, taking the character from an unlikely hero to someone I cared deeply about. I can’t wait to get my hands on the second in the series.

The premise of this book is amazing—a therapist brings a group of horror movie-style survivors together for a therapeutic experiment—but the execution is even better. I love the natural and inevitable way that Gregory links his characters’ stories and the empathy with which he explores their psychological (and physical) scars.

There is a lot in this book that is grim, but there is also a lot of hope. Maybe none of us are completely fine, but none of us are completely broken, either.

The first of the Virgil Flowers novels, which is an offshoot of the (also spectacular) Lucas Davenport series. The story follows BCA investigator Virgil Flowers through the Minnesota backwoods as he works an arson/murder case. This book is different from a few of the others on this list in that it isn’t going to ruin you emotionally. It’s funny. Hell, its just fun. The hero is a well-meaning horndog who regularly forgets to bring his gun to work. The case is twisty and satisfying and the characters are so well fleshed out that when it’s over you just want to pick up your phone and invite them out for a burger. I eat this series like candy. 

Fieseler brings his journalistic eye to this forgotten 1973 tragedy when an LGBTQ social club in New Orleans was set ablaze, killing 32 people. I appreciate how Fieseler not only details the fire and the mainstream media’s utter disregard for the crime but, more importantly, how he focuses on the individuals who perished and those who survived, situating their stories within the burgeoning LGBTQ rights movement of the era.

I’ve been haunted by this book since the first time I read it. Its power rests in its narrative force of witnessing and remembrance and the immediacy of Fieseler’s prose.