100 books like Skin Tight

Erik Larson is known for his masterful ability to combine meticulous research with rich prose to breathe life into history. This book, with intersecting narratives of a serial killer and a brilliant architect set at the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago, painted such a living picture for me that I still felt stuck to the canvas even when I wasn’t reading.

I learned about astonishing true events and characters I barely knew existed. The contrast between the great inventors on the grand stage of the fair and the killer haunting its shadow was superbly done.

A classic must-read for anyone who is satiated by oxygen. I love the psychology of the main character. His decline after committing an atrocity is notable for its detail. The concern shown for him by his friends and family, who do not know the truth, feels natural and warranted in spite of the reader's knowledge.

Is it possible to feel empathy for someone who commits such an act? In a strange way, I found myself questioning my own biases on the topics of crime and punishment after reading this classic. 

Does this book qualify today as non-fiction? Everything about this tale is eye-opening and applicable to our present. Written during the Great Depression, this is a must-read for anyone who has a feeling that not everything is what it seems.

I adore the gripping narrative, notable arcs, and subtle humor, which give this stark tale some needed levity. I always come away from this book with a lot of questions: How can we as a civilization do better? How did Aldous Huxley so accurately portray life in the 21st century? If I had to build a bookshelf of must-reads for my kids, which I may actually do, this book is on the list.

This was a transformative read for me, taking me so deep into the world of turn of the century New York City that it felt like Carr was introducing me to new possibilities as a writer.

Carr is a historian as well as a novelist, and many of the landmarks, neighborhoods, and streets in this book took on a deeper meaning for me afterward. The crime narrative, which takes place during a pivotal moment in the evolution of modern criminology, is so propulsive and fascinating that I was holding my breath through some of the wonderfully spooky scenes.

I devoured this book with as much pleasure as his characters took in the scenes where they dine at Delmonico’s.

Pandemic includes my two favorite themes: molecular biology and viral infections. It introduces a problem I’ve seen discussed in a scientific journal. If a gene editing tool (CRISPR/Cas 9) is used to raise pigs whose hearts have important human proteins so they are recognized as “self” by a human’s immune system, the waiting lists for heart transplants would be a thing of the past. However, a virus, avirulent in the pig but fatal to people, could accidentally be carried along with those hearts. The ensuing coverups make things exponentially worse.

Gerritsen’s Life Support is a suspense-filled cliffhanger that makes use of spongiform encephalitis, a brain disease caused by prions. Remember Mad Cow Disease? It’s a type of problem that stretches the meaning of “infection.” The story is based on the fictional use of fetal pituitary cells from aborted fetuses to return youthful strength and vigor to elderly rich people. The group making millions from this obtains fetuses from a Mexican village where the cows are dying. A year later, several of their patients die of Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, an extremely rare human type of spongiform encephalitis. Corpses accumulate and suspense builds during the coverup.

This witty and wryly humorous murder mystery features two amateur sleuths. Maggie, a reporter from up north, is vacationing on an island off the coast of Florida when a murder takes place. She investigates, is stumped, and convinces her irascible boss, editor C. B. Greenfield, to come down and help. Thereafter, she grouses about him as he puts his formidable intellect into solving the mystery.

Studies since the publication of the book have found it to be in error on a few minor points (e.g., the DNA encoding the Shiga-like toxin of E. coli O157:H7 is on a virus infecting the E. coli cells, not on a plasmid), but that doesn’t make the story outdated. The toxin is as nasty as it is portrayed, no matter how the E. coli acquired it, and the blame leveled at the meat-packing industry and the USDA for the contamination that causes the problem is spot on. The only reason the disease isn’t more common is that most fast-food restaurants deliberately overcook their hamburgers.

In the best true-crime books, the crime itself is often indicative of a much deeper underworld that has violently broken through our norms, revealing a portal that the author then bravely descends into. Krakauer’s voyage into the fanatical religious roots beneath a horrific double murder had me riveted.

His razor-sharp prose is so clear and haunting, and I was spellbound as he moved effortlessly between the past and present narratives. This book starkly reminded me of how important it is for America to always confront the demons of its past with open eyes, unglazed by anything but the facts, and what the consequences can be when we bury it.

My favorite true crime books—and most of my favorite non-fiction books—tend to be character-driven, read like novels, and tell a larger story through the protagonist’s lens. I found myself getting lost in George Jung’s journey as a drug smuggler and loving that sometimes it felt almost incidental that he was at the criminal nexus of a massive cultural phenomenon taking place.

I also love it when books and protagonists create conflicting emotional reactions. Jung’s likeability, coupled with the destructiveness of the business he helped pioneer, rings true to life; I found myself rooting for him at times, then despising him, and always wondering where the chips would fall in this improbable journey.