Fans pick 34 books like The Shadow

About half the size and nearly twice as epic as J.R.R. Tolkien’s seminal The Lord of the Rings, this tale of a rabbit clan in search of a new home and their defense of it thereafter rocked my middle-school mind and has scarcely left it since. 

From the canny Hazel to the delightfully brash Bigwig to the terrifying General Woundwort, Adams made sure to populate his grand lapine journey with compelling heroes, striking villains, and a mammoth mythology that takes you deep into their world.

It was the first book that I actively felt winded upon finishing, having been through such an odyssey and one whose 1978 animated film adaptation stands as much a classic (and a personal favorite) as the text that spawned it.

I felt my net worth increase 25% just from reading this book, for Ian Fleming lavishes his world of French casinos and international crime in such opulence that you can feel the velvet smoking jacket slip over your shoulders with each turn of the page.

The debut of super-spy extraordinaire James Bond is so far removed from the celluloid pandemonium we all know and love that one would be forgiven for thinking MI6 veteran and fellow writer John le Carré was the real man behind the typewriter.

Fleming’s Bond is a cold, calculating career agent but also a human being, one with genuine weaknesses and failings that spoil the otherwise glamorous countenance of his operation but which also make the victories that much sweeter. Nobody does it better!

This was the first time, upon finishing the first in a series, that I immediately cracked open the sequel, just to make sure my favorite hero came out alright. Burroughs, creator of Tarzan, is a giant among pulp and fantastic fiction. His tale of a gentlemanly Virginian war veteran thrust among the alien warriors of Mars is one whose DNA is woven into all modern sci-fi and fantasy and has been celebrated by everyone from Ray Bradbury to Carl Sagan.

Best of all, the place where it all began still holds sway more than a century on from its debut. John Carter, soon-to-be Warlord of Mars in the Barsoomian tomes that followed, is a model hero and a beautiful celebration of loyalty, strength, compassion, and friendship.

I always had a love of all things maritime growing up, so it’s no wonder that, upon discovering an audiobook version read by none other than literary maverick Harlan Ellison, I fell madly for this icon of nautical adventure. It has everything you could want: the archetypal mad genius Captain Nemo, the ornate submarine Nautilus, exotic creatures and locales, and a unique cast of “guests.”

From the touching dedication of servant Conseil to our narrator, Professor Aronnax, to the forthright harpooner Ned Land, this exploration of uncharted waters and unwilling captives paints as vivid a picture of a life and world unseen as it does the costs of leading such a life. Few tales earn classic status quite like this one.

This is the first book I responded to in a big way when I was fourteen.

It had everything: close-up tricks, illusion secrets, magic history, an exposé of phony mediums and spiritualists, how to escape from ropes and boxes, pick locks, read minds, and walk through a brick wall.

And most important, it also had a hero I could identify with – Houdini, master magician, escapologist, daredevil, pilot, author, historian, and champion of truth and justice. And he was Jewish, like me.

I found the book incredibly rich on many levels. It confirmed in me that I wanted to be a magician and that magic was wonderful.  

Pulp magazines were the forerunners of comic books, and two of the greatest pulp characters, Doc Savage and the Shadow, inspired Superman and Batman, essentially kickstarting the superhero industry. I grew up and cut my future fiction writer’s teeth on paperback Doc Savage and Shadow pulp reprints—the primary authors behind these respective pulp heroes.

Lester Dent and Walter B. Gibson clash and eventually join forces to combat a Depression-era menace that could only spring from classic pulps in Malmont’s brilliant meta novel. L. Ron Hubbard and H.P. Lovecraft also make the scene creepily in this intoxicating brew tailor-made for pulp fiction and 20th-century noir-fiction lovers.

For anyone wishing to learn sleight of hand, this is the place to begin.

What makes the book so good are the more than 1500 illustrations combined with carefully written text. The book is loaded with more performance material than you’ll ever use, but so what?

The variety of magic taught is astonishing.  Bill—a noted sculptor as well as a magician—became a dear friend long after he had written this book. 

My wife and I once went to a magic convention with Bill and his wife Yvonne. The moment we walked into the main hall, he was surrounded by adoring fans who recognized him from his goatee and turtleneck and had grown up with his book by their bedside.    

The public library in my hometown came through for me and happened to have what would turn out to be one of my favorite reads. Though this is a book smack in the middle of a series (book 8, I think?), I didn’t know that before checking it out, and it didn’t dampen my appreciation for the story at all.

It works just fine on its own, thank you very much. I was drawn to the conflict set up in the book, one of magic born not of spells and learning but powered through chaos, disorder, and fire! What’s not to love about that?

This is another important resource from my teenage years.

Henry Hay was the closest thing I had to a mentor. He had very good advice, a sense of humor, an encouraging attitude, patience, and an understanding of how to relate to an audience.

This is where I learned the basic repertoire of magic effects that were the features of my magic shows for many years. Some tricks may seem outdated, but the advice is golden.   

I instinctively gravitate toward characters stricken with identity issues. It's one of the reasons I've spent years specialising in writing comics, where alternate personae and false realities are fundamental storytelling tools. Growing up, I first read the story of Robinson in a conjuring book, and it caught my imagination fiercely. Like Houdini, Robinson's commitment to maintaining his performance identity was full-blooded—to the point that the myths surrounding his death have virtually swallowed the story of his life. Steinmeyer navigates a complex tale of dual identities with the ease of a seasoned magician. Chung Ling Soo, one of the world's greatest vaudeville stars, died on stage in 1918 when a bullet catch trick went tragically wrong. William Robinson, however, had been fading away for many years by then.