100 books like The 13th Witch

I read this book at the tender age of ten and instantly became ever so slightly obsessed with vampires; I love how the atmosphere builds slowly, sucking me to the point that I am genuinely afraid that the wolves might attack.

The description of the locations and the journal and letter writing are wonderful story breakers, and what a uniquely wonderful story it is. For me, it is a timeless masterpiece.

I love this book because, after a period when I could never find the time to read, I picked it up in my local supermarket, and my love affair with reading began all over again. Being a huge fan of Dracula, I was intrigued to discover if this title would carry the same level of eeriness, and I was delighted to find that it did!

The story provokes thoughts of ‘Could this be real?’ I finished it early one winter morning and found myself a little nervous to step outside into the darkness to call my dog in, which is a rarity for me. It was a thoroughly enjoyable, albeit jumpy, read.

I found myself completely absorbed in the story from the beginning. It was incredibly difficult to put down. Suffice it to say that there were a few overcooked dinners for a few days!

I loved how the author combined elements of the story, supernatural/gangster, and the location, which took me back to my childhood days in London.

I had moments of breath holding anticipation, along with tears of sadness and joy, I found it to be a totally delectable read.

This was another of my lockdown reads, and again, I became completely immersed in the story from the word go. There are some incredibly dark moments, which, however, balance beautifully with many heartfelt moments. It was most definitely an emotion-inducing story for me.

I loved the fast pace and the author's ability to keep me literally on the edge of my seat, mustering all kinds of feelings, from frustration and anger to great joy. I found the characters strong, and the magic thought-provoking, and this was another story that I was so sad to say goodbye to.

Neil Gaiman has probably had more of an impact on my brain and my writing than any other author. Selecting just one of his many incredible "dark and sad" books was a real challenge for me.

I settled on this one, in part because it is the perfect bookend to my previous recommendation, Doll Bones, in that it eloquently expresses the quiet joys, fears, and sorrows of childhood, as seen through the eyes of an adult who knows full well the meaning of loss, and the cost of things we can barely recognize, much less understand, when we are young.

Like the narrator of the book, I feel the ever-widening gulf between myself and my own memories. I also see it beginning for my offspring, who have both recently entered adulthood, and my heart breaks for all three of us.

Thomas Ligotti writes dark magical realism short stories. The Shadow at the Bottom of the World is an unforgettable collection written by a modern master of atmosphere. His stories rarely have complicated plots, but the feeling they leave you with is the whole point. In the thousands of books I’ve read, I can safely say he writes like no other-- he enshrouds your spirit with dread. The title story showcases a small town that encounters the arrival of a threatening breed of darkness. Written with the stunning imagery of Bradbury, the mysticism of Lovecraft, and the disquieting tone of William S. Burroughs, this collection will have you brightening the blaze in the fireplace, just to make the shadows retreat.

This novel is a graphic and passionate family saga. I came from a big family and could totally relate to the story of many generations.

I read it in one math class in high school and got punished by the teacher. I clearly remember the teacher’s distorted face when he threw my book out of the window. “Could this crap be more important than math?” I said YES. Yes. Yes. Yes. A thousand yeses.

He failed me, which was fine. Allende’s magical realism allowed me to aspire to become a novelist. I did become a writer, and I would still say YES to my math teacher.

A friend recommended this book when I told her about my Shepherd theme. A neurotic fugitive, hiding on a deserted island, discovers that he is not alone. This novella is classed as magical realism—there’s a foreword by Borges—but like my book it eventually provides a scientific explanation for the strange occurrences. And like almost all my other choices, it’s a first-person narration, so we are kept wondering how much is true. It flags a bit after the initial premise, but once the revelations start, it grips you. Amazingly for a book written in 1964, its speculations address issues at the forefront of digital technology and science today. I won’t say more, except: don’t read the introduction or foreword, which contain plot spoilers!     

I loved this atmospheric debut, often described as a collection of interlinked short stories. Set on an isolated group of islands off the coast of Virginia, the stories span more than two centuries of the same family’s history: from the 19th century and far ahead into a post-apocalyptic, post-pandemic future. There are intimations that a supernatural ‘second sight’ runs in the family and the book’s Southern Gothic vibe is nothing short of intriguing. But for all the hints of magic realism, the focus on female characters contending with obstacles of class and gender at different points in history is rooted in an understandable reality. Beautifully written descriptions of the natural environment, poignant characters, and local color all demonstrate Taylor’s imagination to be visionary and impressive. 

The Cicada Tree is a wonderful Southern Gothic magical realism mash-up leavened with humor and illuminating reflections on the human condition told in voices that drip with authentic Southernisms. Analeise Newell, this novel’s protagonist, is a complex, not-as-kind-as-she-knows-she-should-be eleven-year-old who drinks whiskey and is a piano prodigy. Her close friendship with Etta Mae, a budding coloratura soprano, sheds light on accepted racial inequities in the Deep South of the 1950s, building to (in the author’s words) a “chain of cataclysmic events with life-altering consequences-all of it unfolding to the maddening whir of a cicada song.”