The most recommended unreliable narrator books

This book inspired me to write my own account of dealing with my mum’s Alzheimer’s.

This darkly comic yet gripping novel reveals the humorous aspects of the disease. Maud, an eighty-year-old who grapples with forgetting even the cup of tea she just made or recognising her own daughter, surprisingly unravels a seventy-year-old mystery.

The story delicately weaves warm and uplifting moments with touches of comedy, anxiety, and sheer terror that arise when one realises the advancing years and the struggle to be heard in a society that often overlooks the elderly. The portrayal of dementia in this novel is both sympathetic and profoundly moving, capturing the emotional complexity of the experience.

Maud's character is both exasperating and compelling, embodying the kind of older protagonist I yearn to encounter more in literature.

Kit Quinn is a psychologist who is brutally attacked by a prisoner while working. The same prisoner is under suspicion of murder and Kit is called in.

She, however doesn’t think they have the culprit. So ensues a fast-paced race to solve the case. This was one of the first psychological thrillers I ever read and served as a fantastic intro to the genre. It probably pushes the boundaries of believability but it remains one of my favourite books

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.

The Lesser Dead is set in the past, but it’s not what you’d expect from an historical vampire novel. The setting is New York City, 1978, and so the atmosphere is more like the American police movies and TV shows that I grew up with than a gothic shocker.

Told by an unreliable narrator with an authentic, claustrophobic voice, the story follows an internecine conflict between two groups of the undead beneath the streets of Manhattan. Buehlman expertly mixes a twisting plot with believable vampires, who both disturb the reader and elicit their compassion, making this my favourite vampire novel of the 21st century.

This was the very first thriller book I read, and it terrified me. I  was 11 years old when I picked this book up and delved into the world of Fred (who calls himself Ferdinand) and his kidnap victim, Miranda. Approaching this from a young mind, I saw something of romance in the obsessive tale, but that romance soon revealed itself to be a terrifying story of abduction, stalking, and murder.

Why do I still love this book? Maybe it was the first time I realized I wanted to be a writer. But it was stunningly written, provocative, and left me thinking about the characters. It is a classic that should always be in print.

Based on the case of child killer Mary Bell this book is an unexpected page-turner and is written with so much heart. It’s dark, compulsive, and the prose sparkles.

This is another dual timeline book we follow Chrissie as a child living a hard life and eventually committing murder. We meet her again as an adult with a new identity and a daughter of her own. Nancy Tucker is a psychologist I believe and it certainly comes across.

The entire cast in this book is written with such tenderness and insight. A really difficult book dealing with a tough topic but also a story of redemption and understanding.

On the surface, Blood Sugar seems like a suspense thriller told in workman-like prose without literary pretensions: it just sets forth what happened next and next and next, hooking you with suspense that keeps tightening until your fingers are sore from gripping the book.

Many might finish the novel and see nothing more. I however saw Rotschild doing here what Nabokov did in Lolita. The key lies in the fact that the story is told in first person by an unreliable narrator. After you’ve finished it, you find yourself pondering what really happened and who the various characters really are—because, remember, you don’t know anything about any of them except through the eyes of that unreliable first-person telling the story. 

As a military spouse who has lived abroad and is always a bit wary about my surroundings, so much about this uncomfortable novel resonated with me. Two American women become unlikely friends while waiting for an inevitable military coup in an unnamed Central American country. The older woman narrator, Grace, who has married into the ruling family, takes naïve Charlotte under her wing. Both women seem to connect over their background, dislocation, and fractured family life, but nothing is as it seems. The unreliable narrator, the political ugliness, and the encroaching war all make this a thrilling read. The reader never knows what poses the biggest threat to the female protagonists: ex-husbands, runaway children, or firing squads. 

This early American novel starts off with an episode of human spontaneous combustion, followed by repeated episodes of characters hearing disembodied voices.

Brown’s novel uses these Gothic devices and a couple of real-life murder cases to explore religious and political issues that preoccupied Americans in the years after the Revolution. How do we know whether we’re really being guided by reason? What is the basis of authority?

Most editions of Wieland include Brown’s prequel Memoirs of Carwin, which complicates the story by placing one of the main characters in an Illuminati-like organization. American Gothic literature pretty much starts here.  

The title of this novel caught my attention immediately, as I have been navigating difficult relationships with both of my daughters over the last several years. 

I decided to buy this book after reading the first sentence: “The first time I saw my granddaughters, I was standing across the street, didn’t dare go closer.” How awful, I thought, not being able to approach your own grandchildren.

I’ve never read anything by Hila Blum before, and now I consider her one of the best writers I’ve come across in a long time. This is timely and provocative, and her unreliable narrator, Yoella, will seep into your soul.