100 books like The Boys

I find this book to be an unsettling but impactful read, both thought-provoking and complex. We Need to Talk about Kevin follows the mother of a troubled teenager responsible for a school shooting.

It’s about nature versus nurture, the relationship between mother and child, and deeply seated guilt. It draws inspiration from real events, including the 1999 shooting at Columbine, which wasn’t the U.S.’s first mass shooting at a school, but it would become one of the most infamous.

Shriver’s novel raises unsettling questions about a mother’s guilt and self-justification and a community’s heartache and blame. I consider it to be a captivating and moving book.

This book really set the bar for me in terms of psych thrillers. It has an ingenious plot and is one of the first genuinely shocking ‘Twist you don’t see coming’ books.

This book is so well-crafted, deliciously dark and manipulating, and, of course, so well-written. I was invested in both the main characters and constantly changed my mind about who I was routing for and what the truth really was. Bravo! 

The scene is set at the start of this book with a prologue, a journal entry from one of the main characters, Dr Sheehan. It’s as if I’m reading his mind, or he is talking to me, the reader, and so we hit the ground running instantly–because when someone is talking to you, you listen.

The author took the time to paint vivid images in my head, but the story wasn’t slow. He was scene-setting, and it drew me right in. The twists were clever, the dialogue was natural, and it is understandable why Hollywood snapped up the rights to this book. For me, though, the way we get to know and understand Teddy Daniels and his troubles was just great storytelling. 

I’m a huge fan of Slaughter, both her Will Trent police procedurals and her stand-alone thrillers, which are deliciously dark and propulsive.

This novel goes deep into some shadowy corners of existence with its story of Claire Scott, an Atlanta woman who’s confronted with a shocking personal tragedy in the opening pages when her husband is murdered in front of her.

Compounding her devastation, Claire stumbles upon ugly secrets of her husband that help her solve the decades-old disappearance of her believed sister Julia. It’s impossible not to admire Claire’s resilience in the face of the horrors she uncovers and her will to survive them.

Over the past 15 years, I’ve walked through layers and layers of trials – including chronic illness in myself and all four of my children, special needs in one of our kids, a degenerative ankle that has led to six ankle surgeries, depression, and several seasons of financial struggle. During times when I haven’t had much capacity to read in large chunks, I have found Beside Still Waters to be a comfort and encouragement. Charles Spurgeon writes with profound insight and eloquence, but in a down-to-earth way.

The thing that first drew me to medieval Sicily was its history of Muslim habitation.

I am deeply interested in questions of how Muslims, Christians, and Jews interacted with each other during a period of history in which religious identity was one of the most prominent public facts about a person and their community.

Alex Metcalfe is one of the leading scholars studying the Arabic texts that give us insight into the cultures of Muslims in Sicily and southern Italy and their legacies after the Norman conquest of an island that had been in Muslim hands for nearly two centuries. He has written several other works, but this is the one most accessible to a general audience, and the one that covers both Sicily and the southern parts of the mainland that were also strongly impacted by Muslim presence and culture.

I can’t recommend this book highly enough! This insightful book had its genesis in a trip the author took with her daughters through Italy where she saw parallels between viticulture and the meaningful, fruitful lives we can live here on earth. 

Bestselling author Beth Moore is perhaps the best-known Bible teacher in the United States, bar none, and a hugely gifted writer. She is also known for her deep spiritual wisdom and joyful spirit despite undergoing some very traumatic experiences in her own life, including childhood sexual abuse. Moore uses Jesus’ teaching in John 15 to introduce readers to biblical principles that help us flourish.

This is an absolutely beautiful book, inside and out! I recommend both the print and audio versions, but it’s a special gift to listen to Beth Moore read her own words.

More often than not, people forget that the Vesuvian sites are, as gruesome as it sounds, large mass burials – not just of the cities themselves, but of people. The human remains of Pompeii (and by extension, Herculaneum) have been ignored or treated like some kind of circus attraction for centuries. What Lazar does is open your eyes to just how much information there is to be found from the casts and skeletons, and the potential to learn so much more about people and life in the first century. Her work is groundbreaking.

After a trip to Florence to see Michelangelo’s earlier works and then David, I struggled to understand the genius, his intense pursuit of excellence, and how his surroundings influenced his art.

The author set me in one of the most fascinating eras of history and made me feel as if I were an apprentice in Michelangelo’s shop. I wept to comprehend the artist and realized that perfection was not a choice for Michelangelo, but a non-negotiable burden.

As I now observe genius in a musician, a scientist, or a mother caring for an autistic child, I give credence to what I learned from Oliver Stone’s portrayal of Michelangelo.

This is a dazzling mix of theory, sociology, and history. Falasca-Zamponi is attentive to the myths, rituals, festivals and ceremonies, symbols, and recurring images of Italian fascism—and she is attentive, too, to the political power that Mussolini relentlessly drew from such cultural forms.

With tremendous analytical imagination, Falasca-Zamponi unpacks the significance of the fascist salute, Mussolini’s balcony poses, all the axe-and-bundle imagery, those omnipresent black shirts, and the fascists’ distinctive “passo romano” marching style. For me, the heart of the book is its intense analysis of fascist violence as spectacle. Not just spectacle, though. Falasca-Zamponi also makes the case that for the early fascists violence—“great, beautiful, inexorable violence,” in Mussolini’s words—was sublime, regenerative, glorious, salvific.

The early fascists made violence, Falasca-Zamponi suggests, as if it were art.