The most recommended books on paranoia

Richard Matheson is a horror legend for good reason, and most casual viewers of genre films and TV would probably be surprised at how much of his work they’ve encountered in some form or another. The Will Smith movie I Am Legend is adapted from his work. Steven Spielberg’s first film, Duel, as well. The paranoid Nightmare at 20,000 Feet is best known as a classic Twilight Zone episode, referenced and parodied numerous times in the decades since, but Matheson’s original reflects everything that’s great about his work: a fairly practical, everyman sort of protagonist (for the 1960s anyway) undone by an impossible situation.

Emily Austin is just so wonderfully weird. No one can make me feel simultaneously bizarre and normal the way she can.

From the get-go the reader is introduced to Lauren Fielding, a teenager living with a condition that makes her believe everything she is told. When the opportunity for her to surgically correct this comes up, she takes it and sets much of the plot in motion. What I love is the narrative style; a set of journal entries, scenes, and supporting materials which serve to present the events as Lauren and the people around her see it. This is a classic coming-of-age speculative fiction story with sprinkles of a possibly unreliable narrator, leaving the reader to follow along with the events and create their own conclusions about what is happening. Laura and the pacing her story provides are both memorable and noteworthy.

A Prayer for the Dying is the only full-length novel I’ve ever read entirely in second-person perspective—which makes for a white-knuckle-grip adventure as the narrator drags the reader along a dark, haunted path, which is also a little bit on fire.

This ghost story full of living people (at first) follows a hard-working and dedicated protagonist who tries to protect his little town of Friendship as it faces disaster after horrible disaster. The narrative of the story unfurls like a tidal wave—terrifying, yet impossible to look away from as it sweeps away everything in its path. This scary story is definitely not for the faint of heart.

What kids don’t like stories about a dragon? I know my students did.

This book is one from a series of dragon books by Steve Herman that has rhyming lines and colorful illustrations that remind me of a comic book. I really like it because of its messages to kids about learning from mistakes. As a teacher, I have seen too many children who want to be perfect. I think stories like this can begin to normalize mistakes so that children will learn to accept them as a natural part of learning.

Diggory Doo the Dragon deals with a lot of mistakes that bring him blame, shame, and tears. He wants to quit but then realizes that such situations later prove to be just chances to do better next time.

The story is set in the Warhammer 40’000 universe, but anyone can read it without feeling lost. I love the way the author subverts the reader’s expectation from a story of “military squad Vs. monster” to “military squad Vs. everything-on-the-planet.”

A fantastic blend of (John Carpenter’s) The Thing and Predator. An enjoyable and easy-to-read tale of claustrophobic, slow-burning tension and Hollywood 80s action hero. I loved the ever-increasing sense of paranoia they endure by gradually discovering that absolutely everything wants to kill them.

While the argument can be made that Julius Caesar was the original conspiracy thriller, this book set the stage for conspiracy theories in the modern era. With two film adaptations and multiple TV references, there’s a reason the book’s premise has imbedded itself into our popular culture.

A recurring question was constantly popping into my head as I was reading it: How deep does the deep state really go? One thing is for certain, you’ll never look at an election the same way again. 

Hofstadter’s Paranoid Style is more a work of historiography than history and attempted to explain the rise of a right-wing “paranoia” to a liberal intellectual audience in the early 1960s. By contrast, Jesse Walker’s book offers a more detailed, engaging, and sympathetic history of U.S. conspiracy theories and the individuals and groups who have made and circulated them. It’s funny and deadpan, with a keen eye for subcultural details and the singular American oddballs that have traveled from the margins to the mainstream. As Walker demonstrates, Qanon is not the first example of a bizarre, syncretic set of beliefs that has attracted a surprisingly large number of adherents.

Zoe commutes to her job every day on a crowded train on the London underground. She discovers that someone is posting advertisements in a local paper saying which women take which trains. And there's a photograph of herself, claiming she's up for some "discreet casual action." Who is behind this and why? Zoe becomes suspicious of everyone in her life—her boss, her significant other—wondering who is cruel enough to set up unsuspecting women that commute by train. She's shocked when she finds out the truth, part of which she never discovers. A final zinger.

Tolkin doesn’t hit you with belly laughs so much as tickle the upper corners of your mind with his knowing take on the mores and follies of the Hollywood of the late 1980s. (Of special interest to me, as that’s the moment I arrived there to begin my own TV and film career.) The trenchant satire is exemplified by the crime at its center: studio exec Griffin Mill, badgered by threats from some anonymous screenwriter he’s mistreated, focuses his attention on a different C-list scribe and winds up strangling him to death. Get it?  In a business full of writer-killing executives, Tolkin’s big-wig antihero literally kills a writer.