100 books like Valley of the Dolls

Hardboiled specialist Horace McCoy made his mark as an unsparing chronicler of Depression-era despair with his 1935 masterpiece They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?. His 1938 novel isn't nearly as good, but it feels so lived-in and sordid that it tells major truths about the dreamers, users, and big talents who populated '30s Hollywood. In it, Ralph and Mona, two modestly talented beautiful losers, hit Tinseltown hungering for stardom. But Ralph, 18 years before the doomed screenwriter hero of Sunset Boulevard, winds up providing stud service to a wealthy older woman and Mona finds her own private hell. The novel is a bleak meditation on exploitation, failure, and corruption in a town where, as one character observes, “Morality never crosses the city limits.”

It lacks the film version’s famous, freakish appeal, including Bette Davis's wild, classic performance. Yet Henry Farrell’s horror novel about a weird, washed-up child star and her wheelchair-bound sister powerfully captures the lazy, languid midday atmosphere of Los Angeles, in which a person’s career and sanity can dry up in the sun.

This roman à clef about billionaire Howard Hughes has everything you covet in a great beach read: money, power, sex, betrayal.

The rugged tycoon Jonas Cord and the screen siren Rita Marlowe tussle, tangle, couple, uncouple, and everything in between over decades and continents, and Robbins’s talent for saucy dialogue and spicier plotlines furiously bubbles to the surface in perhaps the last great book he wrote before his own life—as dramatic as anything he penned—and his work both began to crumble.

It’s hardly short (the original hardback clocks in at a hefty 650-plus pages), but I could not get enough of its blazing, take-no-prisoners leads as they barreled through the worlds of show business, aviation, and business to conquer the world.   

Novelist-screenwriter-director Richard Sale’s scabrous, compulsively readable 1963 novel is packed with malicious characters scrambling up Hollywood’s “glass mountain of success” only to tumble into what Jacqueline Susann would call four years later would call “the Valley of the Dolls.” Pretty much set in Movieland’s seven circles of hell, the novel charts the rise and fall of an ex-gigolo who becomes a major movie star leading man. Grabbing a "Best Actor" Oscar nomination, he becomes hellbent on knee-capping -- or flat-out destroying -- his competitors. An acid-laced smorgasbord of its era, it teems with transactional sex, unapologetic misogyny, homophobia, and groovy Swinging Sixties dialogue – all of it as despicably and wondrously monstrous as its 1966 movie version (scripted by Harlan Ellison!) is unintentionally side-splitting.

I read this book for the first time when I was in high school, and it made me realize that main characters aren’t always good people. Maria Wyeth is a selfish, broken actress who stumbles through a series of bad decisions. She cares about nothing, not even herself, but the language is so beautiful and evocative of a 1960s Los Angeles that you can’t help wondering what happens.

If nothing else, pick it up for the laissez-faire attitude of the extremely wealthy and beautiful before the age of social media.

Despite wars, plagues, and technological revolutions, the psychology of Hollywood endures and Schulberg’s novel about screenwriters in pre-World War Two Hollywood remains an obligatory read for anyone contemplating a life in showbusiness or wanting, as a member of the audience, to have a deeper understanding of the business. The book still so accurately describes the challenges of a writer’s life and work, that when I served on the Writers Guild of America West’s board, I’d sometimes read passages from the book to the rest of the board members during our discussions of potential strike issues or matters affecting Guild unity. Schulberg’s eloquent yet plain-spoken insights were simply still that valuable, convincing – and entertaining.

I’ve read this book a few times, and I honestly can’t tell if it’s a praise or a damning critique of Los Angeles. I think that West–like myself and so many others–is addicted to Los Angeles and is still a bit critical of it.

Tod Hackett is a trained artist who comes to Hollywood to work in set and costume design. Like most outsiders, he sees the city as a projection of all his dreams and nightmares. Set in the 1930s, this book is a moving carnival of outsized stereotypes and winning caricatures. The entire thing feels like a carnival. Read this if you love the Golden Age of Hollywood.

Bukowski didn't thieve, solve crimes, or use high-tech. In fact, he worked hard and was poor and isolated most of his life. But he lived in the fringe of the noir world, and beat on his machines—manual typewriters, then an IBM Selectric, and finally, with some fame and money, a computer. He was South of his No North, real and genuine for so long that when Hollywood knocked, he was ready for them. This book is his first-hand account of the dumb ego and stupid money that goes into making a movie. Hilarious and dark at the same time. A poet's novel.

I love a book that weaves fiction into historical events. The Cypress Hills are on the Canadian side of the international border where it cuts through the North American central plain. This was a gathering place for First Nations and Metis people, but the area also attracted American whisky traders and wolf hunters. The reasons for the massacre that occurred in 1873 are disputed, but fifty years later, the last living survivor, by then a grizzled bit player in Hollywood, tells his story to a young screenwriter.

Carrie Fischer became an icon after playing Princess Leia in the original Star Wars trilogy, but there’s a whole subpopulation of women who idolize Carrie and still mourn her death for an entirely different reason. We love her writing, and also who she was – honest, vulnerable, subversive, and hilarious. In my 20s, I read three Carrie Fischer novels in a row. Sometimes you have that youthful moment when you connect with the voice of a writer so strongly, that you become forever devoted to them. For me, this author was Carrie Fischer. The novel is about an actress who goes to rehab, so, like the others mentioned here, there’s an autobiographical thread running through it. I love Carrie’s honest writing, her wicked insights into the human condition, and her heroic sense of humor in the face of being a woman in Hollywood and on the planet.