100 books like And Then There Were None

While I am a tremendous fan of Daphne DuMaurier’s uncanny short stories, in particular, The Birds and Don’t Look Now, I reserve my greatest love and admiration for her modern Gothic masterpiece Rebecca.

While Alfred Hitchcock’s film version is justifiably a classic, it cannot capture the richness of DuMaurier’s prose nor the powerful first-person perspective of the narrator, the unnamed newlywed of a wealthy widower who finds herself cursed to always be in the shadow of his first wife, the eponymous Rebecca. It also can’t quite evoke the oppressive atmosphere of Manderley, silent and secretive, ancient and beautiful, the gilded cage of a mansion ruled over by a domineering housekeeper, the unforgettable Mrs. Danvers. 

I loved the three-part format of this book divided by time periods. The first part, set in 1935, describes an event that took place on a hot summer day in the grounds of the family’s country house garden. It’s seen from the different perspectives of thirteen-year-old Briony and her older sister Cecelia. The story evolves from there in parts two and three in unpredictable and devastating ways.

I appreciated the book’s in-depth exploration of the power of a lie and the devastating consequences of that lie. This psychological study of adult Briony’s guilt and subsequent atonement eloquently depicts how war makes demands of even the most privileged citizens. 

Katniss Everdeen is the type of hero you want to root for. She’s kind, good, self-reliant, and the type of person who makes the world a better place. And her world needs it—badly. But her world is trying to kill her, and she has to fight.

I love this book. I’ve always been drawn to underdog stories where the underdog has a heart of gold but is put in terrible situations—situations that test them until they almost break. But they don’t. They survive. And they do so on their terms even when everyone else is playing by different rules.

Elmore Leonard knew the vagaries of the movie business back to front, and he serves them up on a platter of delicious satire in this story about an East Coast loan shark, Chili Palmer, who comes to Los Angeles chasing a deadbeat debtor and winds up in his own fractured fairy tale version of the Hollywood dream.

Chili’s an endearing character, street smart with a unique blend of humility and self-confidence. When his collection job throws him into company with a group of movie people, he sees them and their milieu with clear-eyed objectivity.

Talking to an underworld associate, he says, “The movie business, you can do anything you want because there’s nobody in charge.” Leonard’s mastery of dialogue and character, along with his wit and sly affection for the industry he’s skewering combine to make this book a complete delight. 

I have been a fan of Gothic and melodrama since I first watched the 1931 film Frankenstein with Boris Karloff–and I was delighted to discover that the book is even better and so much more than what we’ve ever seen on screen.

Frankenstein’s monster is articulate and soulful in Mary Shelley’s atmospheric, dread-filled original novel, and his plight is all the more moving because of it. She wrote it when she was just 18 years old, still grieving over the death of her first child two years earlier. I feel her aching sorrow on every page. 

A classic shocker. When I first read this book sometime around 50 years ago, I was shocked at how quickly the characters reverted to a primal state.

Now, that I’m older and wiser, I’m still shocked. I’m shocked at how easily the characters went primal, because I think that is a sad reality, that for most people, civility is a thin veil easily torn by the right circumstance.

How can you not love Bridget? How she stumbles through life, all the while trying so hard to be cool. Searching for a second chance at love despite betrayals and humiliations.

Meanwhile, she notes her days and nights in her diary–the fluctuating weight, cigarette and cocktail counts, and the worry about ending up alone and being eaten by wild dogs. The result is a character so human and funny that it hurts. Write on, Bridget. 

Sometimes, you have to get your horror in small bites. When I have a limited amount of time to read (like waiting in an airport), I go straight to the original horror master, Edgar Allan Poe. No one else compresses so many terrifying emotions into so few pages. Fear, dread, loathing, anxiety, unease, and panic are something I expect–and am rewarded with–every time I read Poe.

I started reading his work in grade school, and when I found this collection in college, it became one of my prized possessions. There’s a familiarity in Poe’s tales that I have with very few other authors. I still keep this on my bookshelf for short reads like Tell-Tale Heart, The Black Cat, and The Pit And The Pendulum.

This is the single greatest work of fiction ever written, reaching heights close to perfection. A life-changing read with utterly fascinating plots and caricatures that swallows hours with joyous ease.

This book is the book I set all other books against as the ultimate judge to decide its ultimate rating, thus making the Count of Monte Cristo the perfect ten.

When I was young, I quickly developed a taste for sci-fi. Thanks to my father, I also learned to love murder mysteries. I still remember us watching Columbo together.

My love for those genres makes it feel like The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle was written for me. At first glance, the setting is normal, a country house in the 1920s. The twist is that there’s a time loop, and the only way to break it is for the protagonist to solve the murder of Evelyn Hardcastle.

Even better, for every loop, the protagonist has his consciousness awakening in a different body, allowing him to experience the events through multiple points. This setting allows for a complex, dazzling narrative filled with twists and turns. I can’t recommend it enough.