37 books like Terrier

I’d never have guessed I’d be so beguiled by a book about moss. Or, more precisely, about Alma Whittaker, a bryologist observing moss.

I enjoyed this book's ‘differentness’. It’s an episodic story, unusually structured, with various life-like trailings-off of plotlines, characters, and marriage, but no less gripping for that.

Researching natural sciences in the nineteenth century is skilfully described, but it’s Alma who lingers in the mind. Its sentences, I thought, are beautiful too.

Imagine a world in which women are suddenly and unequivocally given the power to control their own fates and finally be seen as powerful in their own right. In this book, that’s exactly what happens when girls and women across the globe suddenly gain the ability to shoot electric currents out of their hands. 

I loved this book because it masterfully explores the question at the heart of the modern uptick in widespread misogyny: what would happen if women had the power to subjugate men the way men have done to them? Some of the women in her story want revenge, but others just want to be able to go to the grocery store at night without fearing for their lives. 

In The Power, Alderman brilliantly breaks up the monolith of women and explores the many facets of modern female disempowerment and the multitude of ways we each learn to… show more.

In the era of Bridgerton and in the wake of 2005’s Pride and Prejudice film, my heart has been swallowed whole by regency era period pieces.

This novel has the best banter I have ever read. The female lead, Abigail, considers herself a spinster (in her *gasp* late twenties) and thus past the age of romance. She resigns herself to caring for her very high-maintenance relatives. Until she meets Mr. Calverleigh.

She is so determined to loathe him, but can’t help but be charmed by his conversation. I loved watching this independent woman learn to put herself first and reluctantly fall in love with the last person she expected.

This one I read when I was much younger and think about often.

Georgia, a tomboy with an awful stepbrother and a serious lack of parental support, makes friends with an old man in an antique store who gives her the key to traveling to another world.

What sticks with me most about this book is that she spends the majority of it ashamed of her own skin, hiding who she is, dressing as a boy, and shrinking from who she truly is. Throughout the course of the novel, she finds her voice, discovers her strength, and claims the beauty what she has to offer the world.

This was such an important book when I was a teenager, as I felt incredibly uncomfortable in my rapidly changing body. To read about a girl who earns her own love was truly empowering.

Anna Feigenbaum’s book describes the origins of tear gas as a weapon of war and its transition to a crowd control tool. Tear Gas tells a story about the relationships between militaries, arms manufacturers, and police forces that has critical public policy and societal implications today. The continued use of tear gas to counter-protest movements and mass demonstrations around the globe remains a challenge for advocates of arms control, social justice, and human rights.

I chose this series, not because of the fun crimes Scotland Yard Inspector Rutledge solves, but because he is a soldier from WWI who battles PTSD. He experiences some of the symptoms other soldiers had, or have, following a traumatic war experience. His dead corporal constantly pesters him throughout the series by being a voice in his head. Additionally, after his fiancée leaves him following the war, he has intimacy issues and cannot express his feelings for the woman he loves. To cope with his sleeplessness and PTSD, he immerses himself in the cases he’s assigned. This series, in part, inspired my book. 

The Vault is the sequel to A Sight for Sore Eyes. It is a police procedural with the detective trying to identify several dead bodies found in an abandoned coal cellar. The dead seem to have no connection to each other, so the detective must also puzzle out how each of them came to be there. I recommend it because the reader has some fun: She knows the answers to all those questions from having read the first book. It’s a great twist on mystery-as-riddle whodunits. 

It is World War Two in England. In Ngaio Marsh’s Death and the Dancing Footman a small group of people has been invited to a country house. One of them is killed. The remoteness of the house contributes to the limited group of people as possible killers, making it a classic closed-group story. It’s a good mystery. It also offers a thought-provoking contrast to the real-world event raging at the time, for in the book an English woman is saved by the German doctor. Marsh is not pro-Axis. She’s merely showing our universal dependency on each other to get through a terrifying situation. I loved this idea and thought it quite brilliant of Marsh. And something I think is rather unique in mystery novels.

A cult novel from the early twentieth century, beloved of everyone from C.S. Lewis to Neil Gaiman to literally Kafka.

It starts at a peaceful suburban garden party, then plunges us into the secret anarchist conspiracy to bring down civilization, and the equally secret police force dedicated to stopping them. Duels, disguises, and mind-blowing revelations ensue, with writing just packed with Edwardian-era wit and charm.

If Anton Chekhov had risen from the dead in 1982 and written a book about the criminal underworld of South Florida, the result would have been something like Miami Blues. I am utterly fascinated by the level of social realism in this (supposedly) simple crime novel!

The villain, ex-con Freddy Frenger, is a monster, but he’s also weirdly compelling. Hoke Moseley, the protagonist, is a deeply flawed hero, if ever there was one. In telling their bizarre tales, Willeford weaves a narrative that is as gritty and detailed as it is artful and grotesquely beautiful.