Fans pick 100 books like Sunburn

A story of someone going missing is always something that affects me viscerally. I was drawn into the intrigue of a woman who is apparently happily married one minute, and then blood stains are found on the floor of the couple’s kitchen the next.

I loved this book because it was a who-dun-it with great descriptive scenes. It was well-written and left me hungry for it when I was forced to put it down to do my chores. A taut, gripping saga about real-life people in real settings is always something I find fascinating.

I had to read this when it came out because it felt ripped from the headlines. Sarah Lai has left behind her Hollywood dreams of filmmaking for a quieter, simpler life. But a journalist reaches out and drags her past to the forefront by asking questions about Sarah’s experiences working with a celebrated producer. There have been… complaints. From women. A lot of women.

Sound familiar? This is a wholly fictional take on past events, but it also forces the reader to examine the ways in which we might be complicit in holding up systems, and what we can do to break bad patterns.

Engaging, timely, and I couldn’t put it down. Again, women find their voices and stand up for other women around them. That’s a narrative I can’t miss. 

I found this novel incredibly chilling and scarily relevant to today, given its 1965 setting. Inspired by true events, Flint’s spare prose totally transported me to the blistering New York heatwave in which her character, Ruth, is accused of murdering her own children.

I love how complicated Ruth is, how her story asked me to question what makes a ‘good’ mother, and how deeply Flint left me thinking about how women, in general, are judged by the police, the press, and the public.

I love how clever this book is! It seems like a simple premise, but the Sliding Doors-style structure, allowing us to follow Joanna into two different versions of the future, prompted me to think of all the similar moments of fear I’ve experienced and how they, too, could have ended in an ‘impossible decision.’

I was thrilled, angered, and gripped by both storylines individually, but it’s the way they knotted unexpectedly together that made me ask: What would I have done in this situation?

Jane Casey’s books started my lifelong love affair with the crime fiction genre. This one, in particular, the first in the Detective Maeve Kerrigan series, will always hold a special place in my heart. I fell in love with Maeve immediately: she’s brave, strong, true to herself, wonderfully flawed, and totally relatable.

This book is a fantastic introduction to the series and the first time I’ve become invested in the life of a fictional character since Harry Potter. The cast of believable, leap-off-the-page characters brings the story to life and stayed with me for months after I put the book down. The writing is delightfully sharp, deliciously entertaining, and utterly devourable. I challenge you to read this without getting hooked on the entire series!

Crime novels can often take themselves too seriously, but a fair proportion of Scottish crime writing tends to buck this trend.

Douglas Skelton has several novels that, while dealing with unsavory, violent characters and deadly situations, make us laugh with the sheer joy of witty dialogue and the blackest of black humor.

This book is one of these (even the title makes me smile!). The fast pace, quick-fire jokes, and knowing references to film noir of the 40s and 50s make this a compulsive, entertaining page-turner.

I’ve always hated guests who overstay their welcome. And this story about unwanted guests made me cringe.

I wanted to personally help Elliot, who invited his wife, Gemma’s parents into his home. To Elliot’s surprise, his in-laws settle into his house all too comfortably and start encroaching on his life and privacy. Imagine that. And then as Elliot finds out: Gemma’s parents have no intentions of ever leaving.

They are here to stay in his lovely house.

My all-time favorite amateur detective is Miss Marple, and if I had to pick a favorite book she is in, it would be this one. I love the idea of a quiet, mostly ignored spinster who most people dismiss being the one character who seems to know exactly what is going on and what people are up to.

I really like the way Miss Marple figures out why the main character thinks she is going mad and proves that she isn’t. In this book, Miss Marple really proves her status as one of the best amateur detectives, and I love it.

No fake this time. Instead, a likely real but unknown Cézanne portrait sends Antoine Verlaque, chief magistrate of the artist’s hometown, Aix-en-Provence, to identify the sitter, authenticate the painting, and find out who killed to get hold of it.

I love how the story shifts back and forth between the present, as Verlaque and his partner track down the thief and murderer, and 1885 when Cézanne meets the woman in the portrait. Longworth beautifully evokes the town’s atmosphere—I could almost smell the delicious aroma wafting from the pastry shop that provides the vital clue.

For me, this is another masterful interweaving of historical fact and wildly creative imagination. It’s a prime example of in-depth research wielded to tangibly ground the reader in the book’s world; you learn about everything from 19th-century psychological theory and forensics to quilt-making and housecleaning techniques.

Part of what I really love about the novel, though, is that unlike in The Handmaid’s Tale, here Atwood deliberately blurs the lines between “good” and “evil” and “victim” and “villain.” Grace isn’t entirely likable, and she’s pretty much entirely unreliable. So, embodying her perspective as a reader is a continual guessing game of whether or not she’s telling the truth about her role in the murders at the book’s center. At the same time, it’s also a kind of ethical guessing game, for even if Grace is guilty, Atwood makes the role society and class play in her downfall so painfully clear… show more.