Recently I described this book to a friend as “like The Secret History, except everyone is a theater major specializing in Shakespeare.” And yeah, I can’t think of a more concise summation of If We Were Villains.

It’s probably unfair to compare a newer book to one with such acclaim (and the coveted honor of my favorite book), because ultimately the newer book won’t live up to the older one in some ways. But instead of focusing on that, I will say that IWWV hit the same dark academia pleasure centers in my brain as TSH while having its own unique features and strengths. It’s more of a mystery, and maintains tension well surrounding not only the whodunnit but between every character in the book. And it’s the first book in awhile that made me stay up too late to finish, and that made me want to screech in excitement when I did. (Does it mean what I think it means??)

Working with books has made me a bit jaded about the magic of literature; it’s much harder for me than it once was to be deeply impressed with a book, or to feel transported, or to view it separately from its status as a consumer product. (Yes, I’m depressed about that, too, and I hope that I can get past it in time.)

But Sarah Perry made all of those things happen for me in Melmoth, which examines centuries of guilt and self-punishment within an atmospheric Gothic frame. It hooked me with things I love, snowy Prague and historical documents and old libraries, then showed me things and took me to places I didn’t expect. It presents moral ambiguity and refuses to wrap things up with easy answers or to descend into utter hopelessness and nihilism. It invites the reader to consider how we treat those who are different from us, how we parse the differences between what is lawful and what is truly right, and how we live with ourselves when we fail or act with cruelty.

In these ways, Melmoth is sort of timeless and inextricably tied to this specific moment in history. Besides all that, it’s a great read, brimming with beautiful language, images that made me wish I were a filmmaker, and deftly-written meta interludes. A book that I will remember, and likely revisit.

Read this thing.

If you would like to read a Lovecraft tale without all the racism and with a lesbian protagonist, The Red Tree is your book. Focusing on floundering writer Sarah Crowe as she flees her native Georgia to rent a farm house in Rhode Island, it’s redolent with classic Gothic ambiance and dread. The past won’t die and who can tell what is even happening in the present? Certainly not Sarah, as she becomes obsessed with the foreboding old oak tree on the property, and the manuscript she found in the basement tracing the tree’s sinister history.

Hauntings, dreams, unreliable narration, literary allusions galore, that scary tree... I devoured this. It’s a book with that hard-to-describe sense of magnitude, the feeling that the story transcends the bounds of being encased in paper and ink, that there is so much more going on. Which makes the horror all the more unsettling.

An instant favorite.

I put off reading this for three years because I disliked the art. Don’t be a snob like me.

I knew I would love this, but I wasn’t expecting to love it even more than I loved Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda. It’s just so nice to read well-written bi girl romance that ends happily, you know?

A superbly English supernatural romp featuring a young monster hunter and her faithful butler as they bring down fearsome beasts for profit and tangle with their nemesis. Elements of dieselpunk, Lovecraft, and cryptozoology (gotta love an appearance by Black Shuck!). As with all the Marcus Sedgwick books I’ve read, this one has a great time doing its own weird thing, with no mind paid for fitting into the rest of his oeuvre, and I had a great time reading it. Perfect for young graphic novel readers with an eye for macabre adventure.

It’s always a delight to find stories about queer women without outright tragic ends. This one takes place in a richly detailed 1940s San Francisco, and contains quite a lot of romance and a bit of magic. I went into it knowing only that it was much-praised when it was released a couple of years ago, but after the first chapter I couldn’t stop thinking about it until I discovered how the narrative threads all wove together. Though I would have liked more substantial fantasy elements, and perhaps a longer book, I had a great time. Just pulpy enough to be fun, but realistic enough to carry some emotional weight.

I wish more people would read this book. The stories in it are bizarre, honest, funny, and heartwrenching. How can you not admire the guts of a writer who has the Gaza Strip appear in miniature on a character's head as the weirdest and most morbid mohawk ever? How can you not laugh at the surreal humor of a girl tripping on acid while being dragged along to her girlfriend's parents' Mensa party? I keep thinking about these stories, turning them over in my head on my commute and during odd, empty moments. It's gotten me to seek out more short stories and to write my own again.

Used for the collection of short stories written by a woman category if the Book Riot Read Harder Challenge.