100 books like Winter Water

I loved this book because it was so gripping. It made me long to be a writer. Although it was written over a hundred years ago, the dark story spoke directly to me.

I read it at the darkest time in my life. I was fourteen, and my alcoholic father had become a terrifying force in our home, just like Dr. Moreau, who rules his island with vicious power. I had never dreamed that a crazed leader could break an entire population, but the idea seems shockingly prescient now.

The book made me realize that I, too, could escape from the trap around me, just like the book’s hero, and learn to use my imagination to tell stories.

This novel has so many reasons to recommend it. It incorporates radical experimentation and horrifying surgeries being done in a bizarre hospital. To make it even more mysterious, there is a hurricane threatening the island which complicates the investigation of US Marshall Teddy Daniels searching for a patient who has disappeared.

I loved the creepy island hospital and the use of weather as a character.

I loved this book because it transported me to a sleepy Mediterranean island. The writing is so atmospheric that I felt like I was walking across the beach, gazing up at a slumbering volcano, with the sun scorching the back of my neck.

The story proved that buried secrets can rise up from a community’s collective memory and break it apart. It resonated with my personal experience at the time. My partner turned out to be a man with buried secrets, including a child he had kept secret. The novel’s shattering revelations echoed powerfully with the drama I was facing. It encouraged me to move out and find myself a home where people told the truth instead of lies, and I’ve never looked back.

I love this book for its clever psychological games. I’ve always adored books that convincingly juggle good and evil, and this book achieves the perfect balance.

Amnesia has always fascinated me, and this story left me wondering how I would cope if the only thing I could remember were my own name. It struck a personal note because my much-loved grandmother lived with devastating Alzheimer’s for the last ten years of her life. But I’ve often wondered if amnesia carries a positive element, too. It may rob us of cherished parts of our history, but it also wipes away shame and regret.

The ethical questions raised in this book fascinated me.

The one thing I appreciate above all else in a novel is emotional gravitas. That feeling transcends time and place; the only thing that matters is what happens to the character(s) you care about. You feel your heart beating, and when you finally put the book down, all you can say is ‘wow.’

Stacy Willingham’s debut lingers long in the memory after the book is read. Her talent at describing setting is any writer’s dream, and her characters snuck into my heart and made me care deeply, all the way to the pulse-pounding conclusion. It is the best thriller I have read in the past half-decade, only challenged by her subsequent novels.

The complicated and wonderful characters in Mia’s family really drew me in. They all have enough to deal with: the pandemic; Mia’s first breakup; her complicated relationship with her twin, who seems to do everything right; their brother Eugene’s disabilities, which mean he’s often discriminated against or underestimated; and their parents’ struggles to keep it all together and move on from heartbreaking false hopes.

When her father disappears, Mia doesn’t let her other problems or even the fear and heartbreak get in the way of her determination to find out the truth–no matter how painful–and protect Eugene from unjust suspicion.

I loved the role the complex bonds between the various family members came to play in unraveling this case and coping with its ramifications.

I never realized before that a horror novel could also be a spellbinding thriller. Early on, I learned about the awful things this supposedly respectable couple was doing in their basement and the ghastly purpose they had done it for. But pit it against the naivete of the bumbling private detective who stumbles into the disaster, and for me, the story was thrilling and horrible at the same time.

Again, the author’s prose just took my breath away. I found myself holding my breath while turning the page and then letting it out when the chapter finished. This is one hell of a story!

Domestic suspense is having a moment. These aren’t your “damsel in distress” stories where a woman waits for someone to save her. I like women who bounce back hard after a setback, and this book is exactly that.

Without spoilers, when Stella’s husband goes missing after a bombing, she can’t accept the fact she has to start over. I love the fact she wants answers, and when she doesn't get them, she strikes out on her own.

Kimberly Belle creates strong female lead characters in her books, and if you’re like me, they keep you turning the pages. Kimberly is always one of my must-buy authors—The Paris Widow is no exception.

This book takes place in Boston during the broiling hot summer of ‘74. The protagonist of Lehane’s sublime novel is Mary Pat Fennessy, a hard-bitten mother from the Southie projects who took a look at this list of tough guys, chuckled, punched the #5 guy in the throat, and took over his spot.

Mary Pat’s teen daughter is missing, the Irish mob may know more about it than they’re letting on, and all the while, the desegregation of the public schools has turned the city into a violent racial hotbox. In Small Mercies, Mary Pat navigates searing issues of loyalty and justice. Race and grief, and as intense pressures converge on both her and the city, she responds the only way she knows how—by coming out swinging. 

I’m not only a mystery/suspense writer but also a fan of the genre, as I read or listen to about forty whodunnits a year, just under one a week. I tend to read these books with one eye toward the superficial story, yes, but I also study them from a technical standpoint, saying to myself, “Oh, I see what the author did there,” “Man, that was a nice way to frame that conflict,” or, “What the hell? I think the author wrote that chapter by getting drunk and taping crayons to their feet.” The point I’m trying to make is that the plot devices and metaphors tend to blur together after a while. 

But this book? Man, it stood out. I mean, Kat Rosenfield had me hook, line, and sinkers with the book’s opening line, “My name is Lizzie Ouellette, and if you’re reading this, I’m already dead.” It's… show more.