Beck's Staff Picks
A memoir so vivid and engaging it reads like a thriller. Is it a deeply thoughtful, humanizing treatment of an intensely stigmatized disorder, or a hyper-privileged white woman playing fast-and-loose with the truth? Why not both! Either way, this book changed how I think about sociopathy. Fans of true crime, unreliable narrators, and a little navel-gazing as a treat will eat this one up.
A disabled bisexual mercenary, a disillusioned knight, and a noble child bonded to a forbidden god walk into a bar... trust me, you're gonna wanna tag along on their quest. Godkiller is a well-paced low fantasy with unfussy prose, a grim-but-earnest tone, and real emotional stakes. Bonus points for the refreshing representation, including a multiracial cast, queer leads, characters who sign, and in-depth engagement with prosthetics and PTSD!
A multi-narrative coming of age/coming apart, set at a school for the Deaf and rife with messy and relatable characters. There's a lot going on here: the plot is interspersed with educational asides dabbling in everything from Black ASL to Luigi Galleani (yep, there's a whole storyline featuring a crew of baby anarchists... they're delightfully cringe). But above all, what you'll find is a wildly enriching portrait of Deaf community & history—I learned SO much.
An exceedingly human space opera with super fun science, a fascinating political landscape, casual diversity, and—I cannot overstate this—the most lovable goddamn crew you'll ever meet. Fun fact: the series was collaboratively written by authors Daniel Abraham and Ty Franck (fun fact #2: the story began as a homebrew TTRPG!!). Hats absolutely off to them for penning a nine book series that never drags, all while being funnier than it has any right to be.
P.S. If you're into audiobooks, I highly recommend these, masterfully narrated by Jefferson Mays.
The premise of Migrations dangled in front of me like the tastiest bait—an unreliable narrator, the inherent tension of the sea, a fool's errand to Antarctica, the birds, the birds—but ultimately, it was the sad, exquisite prose that swallowed me whole. A cold, lonely novel, absolutely wild with grief. Charlotte McConaghy has broken my heart. I'd let her again.
As a girl child who grew up reading The Wheel of Time, The Sword of Truth, A Song of Ice and Fire, et al. (c'mon, couldn't someone have slipped me Earthsea?!), Samantha Shannon's The Priory of the Orange Tree is the most beautiful gift—a sweeping high fantasy replete with magic and dragons and court intrigue and queer women at the center of it all. And you think that's exciting? It's an 800+ page standalone.
Some books break your heart, and some carefully reassemble it in their home workshop, piece by piece. Bursting with love for all creatures, a little spooky, and with beautiful LGBTQ+ rep (Snap's BFF comes out as a trans girl over the course of the story, and the old witch in the woods is queer, duh), Snapdragon is a remarkably wholesome, multigenerational story with a sweet, sweet ending that had me crying in the best way.
At the center of this tale is a drowned child, pulled from the river's icy waters and pronounced dead, until she miraculously awakens. It's the late 19th century, and the girl won't speak, so it's left to the cast of fascinating characters—from the scientifically-minded local nurse, to a couple grieving the disappearance of their own young daughter, to the River Thames itself—to make sense of who she is and how she survived, through religion, folklore, and emerging science. A quiet, atmospheric thriller that feels equally at home on a lazy weekend curled up with a cup of tea, and at 2am saying "just one more chapter."
Severance, by Ling Ma, is a dark, deeply unnerving horror-satire with strong anti-capitalist currents. Set in present-day New York City, Candace Chen—a millennial working for a Bible production company—reflects on her past and present as Shen Fever devastates the city & the world beyond, turning the "fevered" into walking corpses doomed to endlessly cycle through their repetitive, menial tasks and lives until they rot. If you love Margaret Atwood's MaddAddam Trilogy and feeling ALL the stomach churning feels, this book is for YOU.
The deadpan, misandrist thriller of my dreams. Set in Nigeria, this debut novel moves at a breakneck clip as it explores the rivalry and bond of two sisters—Ayoola (who keeps murdering her boyfriends) and Korede (who keeps cleaning up the bodies)—and their distinct ways of navigating a deeply patriarchal society with a shared history of abuse at the hands of men.
I've seen this book summed up as "Harry Potter, if written by Leo Tolstoy" and y'all: so here for it. The Institute is no Hogwarts. On Sacco and Vanzetti Street, the mundanities of college life mix with flashes of deep undercurrents of magic—presented as a fascinating and miserable combination of metaphysics, mania, and delusion—in a way that borders on psychological horror. Fans of Russian literature, dark fantasy, and people who are really into that nagging feeling that there's a bunch of symbolism going right over their head (me, I'm talking about me) are all in for a treat.
