7. Trigger Warning: Short Fictions and Disturbances by Neil Gaiman
At a point in time probably much longer ago than many would think, Neil Gaiman grew far beyond traditional tales inspired by and on the printed page. He wrote epic poetry screenplays and episodes of legacy science-fiction shows, spoke at myriad events and concocted vignettes for mobile phone companies falling lightning fast into obsolescence. Not only did Gaiman ascend further as the premier multimedia avatar of striking fiction, he became an international symbol of stories and their mercurial powers. Whether this ambassadorship has detracted from the man’s classic output (Was I the only one who thought The Graveyard Book would spawn a multi-entry series?) or has violated some bookclub treehouse intimacy is largely irrelevant. The writer has done work well enough to be appreciated by a spectrum of media, which may be the highest praise possible.
The Gaiman of past and present coexists in Trigger Warnings, a compendium of odds-and-ends stories, as well as an original entry into the American Gods mythos. Much as he did during his post-modern residency at Vertigo comics, Gaiman shifts his lens on old fairy tales, most prominently in the one-two punch of “Observing Formalities” and “The Sleeper and the Spindle”—gorgeous retellings of “Sleeping Beauty” that fit firmly in the legacy of the author’s recent Hansel & Gretel retelling and even 1994’s “Snow, Glass, Apples,” aka Snow White with more necrophilia. The dream king also contributes a new Doctor Who prose chapter that presents gentrification as a time-traveling, animal mask-wearing, human-devouring menace. A Twitter-fueled dodecathon of stories for Blackberry displays an effortlessly nimble mind that can catch attention with 200 words just as easily as 2,000. Though this collection may revel in the elasticity and expansion of its author, the important things remain: these stories patiently escort us to foreign, intoxicating planes that make the “real” world that much richer when we return. And in that respect, Gaiman has never stopped doing his job. —Sean Edgar
6. The Unfortunates by Sophie McManus
Sophie McManus’ examination of the cruel monster love—all of the beast’s horrifying, hallucinogenic and analgesic shades, most often ensconced in some veiled corner—is composed of heather grays and the medicine powder at the bottom of pharmaceutical bottles. Her debut proves her to be a chorus, capable of pretty little pictures or vicious passages wherein the anomie of Bret Easton Ellis is whipped about with the speed and ferocity of Tom Wolfe. Set in the rich, classic milieu of East Coast Old Money, McManus treats the lucre with the same prismatic loupe as the emotion; it permeates the background like radiation, savages the leads and, refreshingly, saves the day. It is her ability to add shades to our brightest and most loathed lodestars that makes The Unfortunates one of this—or any—year’s best. —B. David Zarley
5. Golden State Stephanie Kegan
“I was never interested in getting inside the mind of a killer,” Stephanie Kegan told Paste. “I wanted to live in his sister’s head.” Kegan unravels protagonist Natalie Askedahl’s charmed life when a bomber’s manifesto reads like a letter from the character’s estranged brother. Torn between protecting her family and sparing future victims, Natalie spirals down the rabbit hole of guilt-by-association.
Golden State reads like a minefield; one misstep and the story will explode. But Kegan walks the line between sanity and chaos, weaving a tale with a flawless conclusion. The results are devastatingly beautiful. —Frannie Jackson
4. The Harder They Come by T.C. Boyle
Any nightly news program will validate the timeliness of T. Coraghessan Boyle’s latest read, The Harder They Come. The novel—his 15th since his 1982 debut, Water Music—explores the inherent American nature of violence through three short-fuse leads: Sten Stenson, a retired high school principal and former vet; Adam Stenson, Sten’s 25-year-old son whose struggles with mental health cloud The Harder They Come’s narration; and Sara Jennings, a middle-aged, establishment-hating farrier who finds herself romantically linked to the youngest Stenson. As the book’s jacket confirms, the amped-up sum of this trio leads to the book’s grim finale—a hard fall indeed, brimming with automatic weapon fire, sex and a vivid interpretation of Mountain Man John Colter’s story. Boyle’s penned a fast-paced, riveting read that mirrors many action movie scenarios—the lone hero taking on legions of less clever, less trained, less worthy adversaries. Maybe you’ll find yourself caught up in the pace of it all—but most importantly, like in real life, there are no victory bells when The Harder They Come’s final bullets are spent. —Tyler R. Kane
3. Suitcase City by Sterling Watson
Suitcase City packs all of the elements of gripping noir: a relatable anti-hero with an inescapable past who you cheer for in spite of yourself; a twisted nemesis who gets under the protagonist’s skin and into his head at a slow but insistent pace; a seedy, squalid setting that you’d never want to visit but you can’t take your eyes off of as Sterling Watson paints its darkest corners in carefully meted detail; and genuine, aching loss. When ex-football star James Teach is forced to confront his criminal past through the vengeful, deliberate ministrations of his long-forgotten ex-partner in crime, it all happens with menacing inevitability. Between the novel’s tense racial overtones and its unforgettable golden-oldie earworm—which must be read to be believed and won’t be forgotten when read—Suitcase City makes its case for Watson as an under-appreciated contemporary noir master. —Steve Nathans-Kelly
2. The Wolf Border by Sarah Hall
A zoologist on the brink of single-motherhood. An eccentric earl with a controversial scheme. Two grey wolves introduced to the English countryside via Eastern Europe. If this reads like a recipe for literary mayhem, you couldn’t be further from the truth. Sarah Hall’s captivating novel weaves the poetic with the realistic, creating a luscious tale spanning Idaho to Scotland. Hall gradually immerses you in a dreamy landscape where modernity takes a backseat to tradition and snow blankets the earth. You’ll discover that you don’t read The Wolf Border, you experience it. —Frannie Jackson
1. Language Arts by Stephanie Kallos
Central to Stephanie Kallos’ Language Arts is the notion of stimming—repetitive, self-stimulating, physical movements and behaviors considered generally therapeutic for people with autism or other developmental disabilities. Cody Marlow, a low-functioning autistic boy, derives calm and balance from ritually crumbling bricks of Ramen noodles with a mortar and pestle. His father, Charles, nurses a lifelong preoccupation with drawing repeated, identical loops, derived from his pre-pubescent days as a student of the Palmer handwriting method. An unspoken, imprecise faith in the transcendent power of stimming binds father and son, and like just about every other aspect of diagnosing and managing Cody’s condition, the question of how long to let Cody stim sharply divides father and mother. As a deeply absorbing, magnificently wrought look inside the stories a man tells himself about life in his family’s “storybook cottage,” Language Arts overflows with insight and mesmerizing twists.
Kallos makes winking reference to writers’ “sophomore slumps” when describing Charles’ failure at age 11 to deliver a satisfying follow-up to his award-winning first short story. Even with the remarkably high standard set by Kallos’ two previous novels, Broken for You and Sing Them Home, she shows no sign of faltering with Language Arts. Improbably enough, she keeps getting better. —Steve Nathans-Kelly