100 books like The Resurrectionist

I love this one for its extremes of thought rather than any extremes of violence, though it implies the slaughter of an entire civilization. It’s the mountains and the mountains beyond mountains, each range more sublime than the last, more likely to dash your comprehension against their rocks, that is the genius here, the idea that no matter how horrific something seems, what’s really horrific is always right behind it, outside your capacity for seeing it completely.

Lovecraft is the master of describing the indescribable, and I think this novella is where he does it best. (Un)Naturally, the book’s greatest triumph is the shoggoths, creatures that defy both form and understanding, and madness comes to life. Brilliant!

This book originally consisted of six short collections of novellas and stories, but they’ve since been gathered into a two-volume set, so I’m hoping I can count them as one. They go together, and I think they’re nearly all excellent.

When I was a kid, these stories helped build a bridge for me, from the likes of Stephen King (whom I still adore) to new imaginative worlds of horror that include all kinds of transgressive imagery.

I love how Barker combines the fantastic with the visceral, blurs lines between the monstrous and the human, and makes desire dark, dirty, and wonderful. I also love these stories for all they taught me and helping usher in modern extreme/hardcore horror.

From the mind of a nineteen-year-old member of the English Parliament, this book inaugurated the splatter side of the horror tradition, and it freaked late 18th-century critics out. I love it for all its gruesome irreverence, for how far it’s willing to go for shocks, for its wild, gender-bending sexuality, and so much more.

Although I find parts of it genuinely disgusting, I think it’s more amusing than scary… that said, its inset storytelling and interwoven major plotlines are a hoot to follow. The corruption of the title character is so, so easy and goes so, so far.

The object of his primary lust is so ridiculously pure… orchestrated to maximize the impact of the final confrontations, of course, and they are extreme.

This was Poe’s only novel, and I don’t know why more people don’t read it. Yes, it has problems with race and some political issues… most novels of its time do… but it also contains the scary elements for which Poe is best known (extreme claustrophobia à la live burial, storytellers with questionable sanity) as well as cannibalism and other terrors collected very efficiently in the guise of a seafaring adventure tale.

I love its almost unwavering intensity and grimness, how it dares to create a world where nearly everything is horrible. What I love most is probably its mind-boggling ending, which I see as an open door for much cosmic horror to come.

I really bonded with Tess. She's loyal and brave and won't back down when a friend's in need. I like the puzzle of the mystery and trying to figure out if there's a supernatural element or not.

Tess's vulnerability catches my heart, though: her troubled childhood leads her to see herself as less than her true worth compared to the healthy, faith-filled family she's married into. I'm passionate about recognizing our true, God-given worth and breaking free from the lies that hold us back.

I attended an author event at the coolest bookstore in Tampa in The Exchange building, and Lisa Unger was being interviewed by Colette Bancroft, the book editor for the Tampa Times.

Well, the book sounded wonderful, and it really is. The heroine in this story is smart, clever, and managed to keep one step ahead of the unusual, troubled boy she is hired to babysit. I loved this story and now have a signed copy on my keeper shelf.

I loved this book because it addressed what I think is at the heart of much of our mental health crisis – that the stories that we tell ourselves can shape our mental health.

As a therapist, I know intuitively that how we think about our distress can shape the course that our illness takes. Does the story promote resilience and flexibility? Or does it fragilize us and lead to worse mental health?

Aviv tells compelling stories from a number of cultures that helped me explore these important questions further. 

This riveting American Gothic novel, set in 1865, follows a widowed Civil War Army nurse home to New Hampshire after her bloody stint of tending the wounded and sick, only to find that her beloved, but unstable, sister is dead in a fall from the roof of the asylum. The cause is ruled a suicide, but she is not convinced and determines to find the truth at all costs. The period is synchronic with that of The Abolitionist’s Daughter and the depth of research fascinated me. Blakemore’s writing and extensive attention to sensual detail is exceptional. Since I have my own yet-to-be-titled historical mystery due for release in the Spring of 2022, I loved delving into this twisting page-turner with a woman of determination in an equivalent period of history.

Theoretically for Young Adults (meaning older teenagers), this one is also for adults of any age. It’s about exclusion, anxiety, depression, suicide, all matters that have touched my own family with tragedy, 

Helena Close knows about mental illness and what it feels like, and she describes it in visceral detail. But she is a sharp and funny writer, and she takes no prisoners when it comes to the false assurances of a certain kind of charlatan ‘counsellor’. 

The heroine of this book seems set to drown in sorrow, but she learns, slowly and with help, how to swim up out of pain and fear towards the light. So uplifting!

A stunning biography of a brilliant mathematician, John Forbes Nash, and his descent and resurrection from madness, that became a hit movie.

Nasar makes both the mathematics and the personality of an early, unusual and important game theorist come alive for even the most math-adverse reader. This is an unusual account of recovery, of a mind apprehending the world of human competition, and a poetical love and coming-of-age story.