100 books like The Call is Coming from Inside the House

This book, about a young recluse losing grip on reality, unable to discern truth from her own memory, had me hooked. I found the writing vicious and fierce, the imagery haunting, and the overall focus on memory and trauma as horrors that can both shape and betray us distressing in the very best of ways. Memory and one’s sense of self are important to my own work, and as such, this book managed to tap into some personal unease.

That it’s also so sharply written (and wonderfully f*cked-up) is the icing on an already delicious narrative cake. Recommended for those who like their horror to mess with their sense of reality—personal and not. My favorite read of 2023.

This book stressed me out. What starts as the tale of a married couple dealing with a death in the family devolves into something chaotic. I couldn’t stop reading because I was desperate to see where this downward spiral would take me next.

I resonated deeply with the main character and her quest to be so perfect that it drove her to the brink. I, too, sometimes focus on perfectionism so hard that I feel the subtle whisper of insanity. I love it when stories relate to the darker thoughts we keep hidden inside.

In my own work, as is likely obvious, mental health is a huge focus. I’m someone with a history of depression, anxiety, and anorexia. That middle element here, anxiety, is something I’ve seen written about a great deal, but rarely have I experienced it as profoundly as I did in this book.

When Alice starts losing control of her reality when her spiral begins in earnest… It was like reading what a panic attack feels like. And I mean that as the highest of compliments. I think this might make this read a difficult pill for some to swallow, but I was left in awe of Elliott’s skill.

The book is captivating in its own right, the story (and story within the story) entertaining and engaging, but this personal connection to the feel of it all has cemented it in my brain.

Full disclosure: I was an early reader of this book and have offered it a blurb. But I wouldn’t have done so had it not significantly impacted me.

Aiello’s memoir, though not strictly horror, uses aspects of genre and pop culture—including aspects of horror—to detail their own history with mental illness and the surrounding difficulties and stigmas attached to it. They go to great and much-needed lengths to dissect how mental illness has been made out to be one of the great boogeymen of our lives via its myriad portrayals in culture (as a villain, a threat, a diabolical force, etc.) and detail the damage that’s been done as a result.

This is a powerful book in which I saw myself reflected all too often.

Recently published and super accessible, this book is a modern catalogue of lesbian and bi culture for women. It looks at the recent evolution of queer female visibility in the mainstream and across pop culture, asking what material changes this visibility has for the life of queer women everywhere. It’s funny and pacey and broad in scope, as it asks: How is lesbian culture changing?

Anna Birch’s I Kissed Alice is an enemies-to-lovers story about two gifted artists, Rhodes and Iliana, at a school for the arts who despise each other in person but fall hard for each other’s online fanfiction personas. Rhodes’s depression and anxiety consume her in the race to win a prestigious scholarship and navigate a complicated dynamic with her alcoholic mother. I found Rhodes’s on-page therapy sessions incredibly refreshing and relatable, something I don’t see enough of in YA fiction. The characters in this story are unlikeable and flawed—extremely so—but for that reason, my heart clenched often at their actions, assumptions, and reactions. Bonus points for the beautiful fanfiction graphics illustrated by Victoria Ying.

Much extreme horror presents us with cardboard characters who are ripped and torn with no real consequence – but Aaron gives us deeply felt people who pulse on the page, which means it really hurts me as a reader when he subjects them to brutal and unforgiving fates.

His fiction aches like unacknowledged truth, displaying an empathy that doesn’t gloss over the horrors of this world and the next, and feels intimately personal whether he's delving into family dramas, failed relationships, queer themes, or sophisticated splatter.

While his work mostly details the horrors we inflict upon each other, even with the best of intentions, it’s too broad to be kept in one box – and if it was, it would surely cut its way out and come for your heart next. 

This book is a gripping story that reads like a thrilling noir caper.

I felt drawn into the main character’s story, both as she navigated the mystery and in her stirring relationship with her family. The intersection of her identity as a queer woman from a Chinese-American family provided so much of the story’s heart and stakes—I found myself reading to see how these tensions would resolve as much as to figure out whodunnit.

It’s a queer re-telling of The Gift of the Magi, both adorable and melodramatic—and I loved it! Yin and Ari celebrate their own space they’ve carved out with help from supportive friends and family and their own hard work, which fits Herrera’s Dreamers/refugee theme and is handled with trust, compassion, and love—but isn’t sugar-coated, either.

They’ve both got instincts and baggage around things falling apart or not working out and a hesitancy to think they can do enough for each other. This brilliantly written psychology leads to a series of good (yet terrible) choices. Watching them try to do something truly special for each other—even though they’re breaking their own rules for the gift exchange—had this wonderful bittersweet edge to it that ultimately ended on a note of joy I really loved, even if it got a little bumpy along the way.

Set in a London congregation at the height of the AIDS crisis, this is a powerful novel that packs a lot into one Easter weekend. Its ingenious triptych structure underlines the fact that there’s often more going on than a superficial understanding of either faith or sexuality would like to believe. The oldest book on this list by a couple of decades, this is one of the first novels to engage seriously with what it means to be queer in an institution that prefers to ignore that fact, and it was both a challenge and a comfort in my own coming-out years.