100 books like The Pillowman

I was six years old, and already a lover of Hallowe’en, when the special joy of stories took hold of my mind. It has never left. By the time I was an adult, I had come to value finely crafted fiction, the beautiful nuances of thought and expression possible in the hands of the greatest writers. At the same time, I never lost my youthful enthusiasm for the ghost, the deep forest just at twilight, the unused room at the back of the house where no one goes. To my delight, I have found there is an entire tradition of such work—gothic shapes rendered by the highest quality writers.

The first thing I ever wrote was a play about a goose girl, and I’ve been fascinated with fairytales ever since. As a poet, I adore how the images speak deeply to our subconscious—fur, hair, mirrors, blood, snow, fairy fruit. As a nonfiction writer, my book explored witches and princesses, whilst my latest adult novel looks at a fairytale salon in Paris attended by Perrault. I hope this list convinces you that fairytales aren’t only for the nursery but are as important to literature as Greek myths—shaping our narratives and reemerging in surprising places. 

The first thing I ever wrote was a play about a goose girl, and I’ve been fascinated with fairytales ever since. As a poet, I adore how the images speak deeply to our subconscious—fur, hair, mirrors, blood, snow, fairy fruit. As a nonfiction writer, my book explored witches and princesses, whilst my latest adult novel looks at a fairytale salon in Paris attended by Perrault. I hope this list convinces you that fairytales aren’t only for the nursery but are as important to literature as Greek myths—shaping our narratives and reemerging in surprising places. 

The first thing I ever wrote was a play about a goose girl, and I’ve been fascinated with fairytales ever since. As a poet, I adore how the images speak deeply to our subconscious—fur, hair, mirrors, blood, snow, fairy fruit. As a nonfiction writer, my book explored witches and princesses, whilst my latest adult novel looks at a fairytale salon in Paris attended by Perrault. I hope this list convinces you that fairytales aren’t only for the nursery but are as important to literature as Greek myths—shaping our narratives and reemerging in surprising places. 

For ten years I’ve been perfecting my own dystopian saga, and with that has come a great love for the genre as I’ve studied and dissected it. Having been involved in the political arena as well, the utopian language politicians have always caused some great concern for me, and through my study of dystopias, these great authors have not only seen dark futures of their respective countries and times, but they’ve always tried to bridge the gap between fiction and societal reality, which I am a great admirer of.  

Like a caricature, satire lets you see reality better by exaggerating it. When satire is done right, every element, from the overall plot to the characters to paragraph-level details, is there to cast an exposing light on some part of our real world. They are books that exist on many levels, expose hubris and essential misunderstandings, and generally speak truth to power. They should leave the reader reassessing core assumptions about how the world works. I’ve written a best-selling nonfiction book about machine learning in the past, and I probably could have taken that approach again, but AI and American politics are both ripe for satire.

Most of my public success has been as a novelist. My MFA, from the Iowa Writers Workshop, is in poetry. When I grow up, I want to be a short story writer. The dirty truth is, though, I’ve been making trouble with stories since I was a kid. During my first attempt in 10th grade, I wrote a story that got me suspended for two weeks. No explanation. No guidance. Just a conference between my parents, teachers, and principal (I wasn’t present), and they came out and banished me. I dropped out of school shortly after. I reckon that experience, both shameful and delicious, shaped my life and love of narrative.

I have more than 20 years of experience in the field of leadership development and assessment. I am a trained theologian and English/German linguist, and I hold a passion for the more fundamental questions concerning the human condition. In my business consulting practice, I invite clients to become better versions of themselves and to transform their organizations as well as societies by consciously adhering to doing the right thing. 

I have been a professor of politics and law for decades, first at Harvard and then Oxford, and so on; I spent these decades trying to understand what makes democracy work. I think we’ve been focusing on the wrong things, and as a political and legal theorist, I want to help us think about a better way forward—one we can carve for ourselves every day of our lives.

I became fascinated by North Korea during a six-month fellowship in Tokyo in 2008. Japan was still dealing with the aftermath of the return of some of its abducted citizens in 2002. It turned out that North Korea had been abducting people—South Koreans, Japanese, and others—since the 1970s. I began interviewing some of the returnees and embarked on an eight-year journey that took me back to Japan and South Korea many times. Throughout my research and reporting, I became convinced that the truth of the abductions, much like the truth of the region, lay between Korea and Japan. I was drawn to books that tried to come to terms with the uncomfortable relationship between two cultures whose similarities are trumped by their mutual animosity.