Fans pick 81 books like The Boy Who Stole Attila's Horse

Hedayat (1903-1951) was an Iranian writer who knew that death and the mythic experience of Kairos time exists a hair’s breadth away from what we commonly experience as human life.

The Blind Owl was the book that gave me permission to write fiction: instead of writing a novel in standard form, I wanted to create a liminal space, a threshold world between real and unreal; to invite readers into an unfamiliar (and hopefully transformative) vision of humanity.

This is exactly what Hedayat does in The Blind Owl: we are immersed in a fable of otherworldly, repetitive, poetic, dark, and mesmerising power. The story (of jealousy, despair, the cyclical nature of life and death) has a rare depth and a sense of universal reach precisely because it has one foot in the liminal.

Kristóf (1935-2011) was a Hungarian writer who fled to Switzerland during the war and wrote in French.

The Notebook (the first in the trilogy) is currently number one on my list of all-time favourites. It has all the elements of storytelling that I love: deep, psychological insight into the human heart; adroit use of archetypes, which give the book a timeless, folkloric feel; concision (no waffling) and a poetic, pared-back language that creates a sense of startling immediacy.

Kristóf writes about World War II through the eyes of two young brothers in a Nazi-occupied country (unnamed), and she shocks us awake not through sensationalised violence but through matter-of-fact narration.

It reads like a cross-between dramatic monologue and biblical parable – she stretches the novel form and opens up new possibilities for writing. 

Like meat, this book was hard to digest. It made me feel anxiety, turmoil, and pain despite my uncertainty as to what exactly triggered these responses. The isolated experience of a woman believing herself to be a tree, attempting to achieve spiritual happiness while others overstepped their boundaries, felt so very violating and personal.

I love it when stories slice me down raw, revealing wounds I did not know existed beneath my skin.

Diop is a French writer (b.1966) and this book won the 2021 International Booker Prize.

I don’t seek out war stories, particularly those set in the trenches of the Great War, as this one is, but At Night All Blood Is Black isn’t your standard war novel.

I was hoping for something beyond the mud and the bayonets, the horror and its unending aftermath. I was hoping for an understanding of the paradox of being human and, even though the book is unapologetically bleak, I wasn’t disappointed.

How come? The love between the soldiers, Alfa and Mademba, is at the heart of the story – it’s a key source of its power – and then Diop delivers a blindside, which I’m not going to give away. Read it and disappear. Let the language be your lantern in the dark. 

In Ordinary People, the boating-accident death of the older teenage son shatters the family.

Conrad, the younger son who was also on the boat, is tormented by self-blame for his brother’s death. After a suicide attempt and a psychiatric hospitalization, Conrad is released. He is still beset with guilt and depression and begins outpatient treatment with Dr. Berger, a blunt yet also an empathetic psychiatrist.

I like the way he helps Conrad reconsider his unrealistic guilt and helps him look at the limitations of his mother, a parent unable to provide him the warmth and support he needs. I like the way Dr. Berger is portrayed as caring and skilled, an example of how psychiatrists effectively treat their patients.

This book holds a special place in my heart. I first read it in college, in a Russian Literature course where we analyzed the book’s characters and major themes. This experience trained me as both a writer and a reader.

This is a book concerned with Big Ideas: How can we reconcile the suffering of innocents with a benevolent God? How do we keep from falling into nihilism? These are the questions I come to literature for—questions that perhaps have no answers but whose contemplation is nevertheless worthwhile and transformative.  

This one was very unique in that it barely introduces the dystopian world in the first book and focuses on it much later in the series despite the significant impact it has on the characters from the very first page. The lead is male, which is becoming less common these days, and gives us a more calculating look into the world of dystopia. I enjoyed seeing things from another angle as that really reminds me to explore those less-common threads in my own writing as well. And what could be more interesting than people disappearing on their birthday and then finding out who is taking them, right?

Besides well written non-fiction and sapphic romance, my favorite type of book is always going to be middle grade fiction.

In AfterMath, 12-year-old Lucy is struggling with the death of her younger brother from heart failure. When she changes school, she comes into the aftermath of a school shooting where her classmates struggle with grief of a different kind. Chock full of character development and with a solid plot, this takes a gentle look at grief, trauma, gun violence, terminal illness, and the real-life things that we have to face, no matter our age.

I love a story where children are resilient, though I wish they didn’t have to be so resilient all the time. 

This rare story had me laughing out loud, sobbing, and sighing at the beauty of it from beginning to end. It’s not about a ghost in the paranormal sense, but the story revolves around a family haunted by the death of a son.

Pup (James) Flannigan, the youngest of eight siblings, is used to being the silent observer at his raucous family gatherings. When his oldest brother dies suddenly, grief and denial rattle the family to its core.

I fell in love with Pup immediately! He’s a funny, sensitive guy who’s powerless against his family’s tide of sadness until an art teacher encourages him to pick up a camera. Pup’s slow transformation from helplessly observing to using the camera lens to bring the damaged, grieving people he loves into clear focus is a beautiful thing to watch.

Although this novel isn’t about a historical biblical woman, both the setting and the premise bring the latter half of the New Testament to vibrant life. In Corinth of the first century, a girl thief is befriended by a Jewish teacher named Paul, leading us into a fast-paced story of action and intrigue. Afshar’s novels brim with authentic historical detail as well as great empathy for what it meant to be a woman in this time in history. Turning the last page of the story, I felt like I’d lived and breathed alongside this long-ago woman.