100 books like The Sheltering Sky

Everybody loves this book because it, of course, has become an international classic of literature and one of the best works F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, which takes the reader on a time-traveling secretive world of the upper-class set in New England life in the 1920s.

In F. Scott's work, we are casually and comfortably introduced to an America where new money met old money, and the tender tightrope one had to walk in order to vie for position, marriage, and peer acceptance in a world founded on wealth and prestige.    

In his tragicomic novel The Good Soldier, Ford Madox Ford’s thickheaded narrator John Dowell trolls, over and over again, through the detritus of his life, searching vainly for the origins of his predicament—namely, that he has been duped by his wife and her lover, his supposedly best friend and the “good soldier” of the novel’s title. When Dowell finally succumbs to the utter hopelessness of his situation, he turns away from his audience in a brash attempt to bargain with a misbegotten universe, and his dreams of an impossible reconciliation with the world become our own: “Is there any terrestrial paradise where, amidst the whispering of the olive-leaves, people can be with whom they like and have what they like and take their ease in shadows and in coolness?” In his greatest moment of anguish and uncertainty, Dowell grasps for the poetry of language to sate his weary soul.

I loved Margaret Atwood’s book, a cautionary story that shows how the extreme distortion of religious ideologies can lead to devastating outcomes. Offred endures unimaginable hardship under the guise of religious piety, but the reality is much more twisted.

Her determination to survive in such harrowing circumstances is inspiring and challenges us to reflect on our views and norms. 

When it comes to finding inspiration in our memories, Marcel Proust is literature’s gold standard. The French novelist devoted the balance of his life to the art of refracting his memories through the lens of his writerly self. Proust understood implicitly that our memories are triggered by sensory experiences—sights, sounds, smells, and touch, to be sure—but most especially through the pleasures of the text. In Du côté de chez Swann, the first volume of his epic À la recherche du temps perdu, Proust interrogates the ways in which memory is catalyzed by the senses, while comprehending, at the same time, the manner in which the reality of our memories becomes shaped by the ruinous work of nostalgia, of a sentimentality that exists beyond our ken.

I remain astonished at how Nabokov could write a novel with such an objectionable premise (in essence, of an adult man sexually attracted to a 12 year old girl) and yet write it in a talented and compelling way such that I as a reader felt involved and even sympathetic to Humbert.

On re-reading the book, I am impressed by the author's ability to write about a forbidden sexual relationship without dwelling on the erotic. Humbert is witty, intelligent, and self-aware. He is damaged in everyone’s judgment and unaware of the effect of his actions on others. 

I read this book in college and still recall it vividly.

A family seeks to marry off its daughters in prewar Japan, but while the world around them is evolving, they cling to tradition, insisting that the betrothals and marriages must happen in order. The youngest has a suitor and is eager to move forward with her life, but the first in line isn’t interested in being matched or hurried, which provokes a cascade of crises. Although the goal is finally achieved, there’s no sense of triumph.

Even in translation, the story is rich, complex, and naturalistic, and the characters seem so real that I once dreamed about encountering them on the street.

I read Ann Tyler for her unrivaled ability to create heartfelt stories illuminated by humor about family in all its broken splendor.

The trepidatious Macon Leary is our accidental tourist, writer of an advice column full of tips for making travel feel like staying home. He’s lost his son; his wife has left him. He’s back living with his two brothers and sister when Edward, his choleric Welsh Corgi, starts biting people. This bit of bad luck pulls him into the orbit of the irritating, opinionated, big-hearted dog trainer, Muriel, and on a journey back to a life worth living for both Macon and his dog.

Read The Accidental Tourist if your family (or certain members thereof) make you crazy. You will feel seen. (It’s also a terrific movie.)

This book was a birthday gift from a good friend and fellow writer at The Guardian. It captured my interest immediately because I enjoy Patterson. This exciting action thriller explores the seedy life of Las Vegas, where love and murder are lost and found for a few quick dollars.

I especially enjoyed his tale with wild twists, where his main character, Jack Morgan, is continually beaten down and challenged through incredible odds and tribulations.  

Peter Cameron is one the most stylish and original writers working today.

This novel from 1997 is a vivid, haunting journey to an imaginary version of Andorra. I’m tempted to say that the whole arc of the story is an armchair voyage, but to elaborate would give away the ending, which is one of the more thrilling, shocking, and satisfying final pages I know. I sometimes reread the book to see how Cameron pulled it off.

The narrator, who says he’s in Andorra after a tragic event, moves into the Hotel Excelsior, a setting that becomes a character. The entire novel has the disorienting immediacy of a fever dream and an undercurrent of ambisexual tension and sensuality, all served up with Cameron’s incisive wit. 

It’s unusual to read a novel that doesn’t feel like anything else you’ve ever read, but Nancy Lemann’s voice is so original and arresting, this book stands alone among reading experiences for me.

It’s a love story between Louise and her wealthy wastrel paramour, Claude Collier, all set against the backdrop of humid, overgrown New Orleans. Lemann’s sentences are so atmospheric, I felt drugged by them.

Even now, I have a hard time distinguishing my memories of having been to New Orleans from the descriptions of it in the novel. I reread it every year or two, not for the story—which I know by heart—but for the feelings it induces.

Did I mention it’s super short and one of the most hilarious novels I’ve ever read?