#84. "Billy Lynn's Long Haltime Walk" by Ben Fountain

For most people, one of the most important parts of patriotism is supporting the troops. After all, this group has been praised for sacrificing their lives in order for us to enjoy freedoms. While that noble truth remains common, there is something more damning at the heart of Ben Fountain's densely layered "Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk" that suggests that we could be doing better. Over the course of one weekend, Fountain focuses on a troop, dubbed by the media as "The Bravos," who experienced some crucial combat. But what should've been a simple victor turns complicated as a fallen soldier's story comes into the mix and a halftime show brings forth endless traumatic experiences. Fountain argues that while we should support the troops, we should also try and do a better job of understanding them. 

#83. "Strange Case of Dr. Jekkyl and Mr. Hyde" by Robert Louis Stevenson

 

For many people, the greatest horror stories come from external forces. The idea of something uncontrollable breaking through a safety net feels horrifying, keeping audiences questioning how they would fight back. For Robert Louis Stevenson, he decides to explore the war of the self, producing one of the most memorable novellas of the late 19th century with two characters in one. "Strange Case of Dr. Jekkyl and Mr. Hyde" begins as the mystery of a scientist getting wrapped up in a murder mystery and famously ends with the discovery that the real enemy lies inside, waiting to break out. Is he capable of controlling everything, or is he doomed to give in to the torment inside? It's a morality tale like no other, and one that becomes more horrifying once you realize that Mr. Hyde is not an exception. He has the potential to exist inside all of us.

#82. "Rebecca" by Daphne Du Maurier

When looking at the greatest ghost stories ever written, one has to consider Daphne Du Maurier's "Rebecca." This isn't to say that a ghost even appears. The titular character is there, but she never speaks. The whole story centers around the new Mrs. de Winter as she enters into a marriage that gives her access to the illusive Manderley mansion. It's a wondrous place, but it's also home to one of the most beautifully written Gothic stories of the 20th century. What follows is a story all about the discomfort of feeling like an outsider, like the world is going to swallow you whole with just one slip-up and make you another victim. "Rebecca" is a novel that captivates the human spirit (sometimes literally), finding ways to explore a feeling of inferiority wrapped in a mystery that remains just as sharp and shocking over 80 years later. Du Maurier's masterpiece offers plenty of inspiring passages, and it's a world that the reader will not want to leave.

#81. "Shutter Island" by Dennis Lehane

There are few things as difficult to write as a good horror novel. If you present something too seriously, it seeks to become too droll, drawing the reader out. There is a need to constantly be surprising the reader, compulsively pulling them into the surreal fears inside of them. The best of the novels have a pulpy undertone that is needed to achieve genuine shock, making you question reality. Dennis Lehane's "Shutter Island" may be one of the best examples of this, managing to convey a murder mystery at a mental institution with enough trashy language that it becomes something more perverse. Even amid the whirling subtext, he paints an incredible picture of surrealism, making it easy to overlook what's brilliant about the book. The truth has been staring us in the face the entire time, and you're going to be surprised how well it works at conveying the story's third act twist.

#80. "Strangers on a Train" by Patricia Highsmith

There's something sinister at play every time you pick up a Patricia Highsmith novel. Over the course of a career that's included such masterpieces as "The Talented Mr. Ripley" and "The Price of Salt," she has found ways to make the internal struggle into a breathtaking mystery, asking ourselves why we give into certain impulses. That may be why her debut novel, "Strangers on a Train," manages to excel even better at capturing something more perverse than love or espionage. With one of the best hooks for a novel, she captures a novel-length exploration of our fascination with murder. It starts with the simple concept of what would happen if we did it and proceeds to go into painful, wrenching detail about how that secret attacks our ego, wondering if there if the perfect scheme is truly obtainable. Even if it's a murder story that gets to the point quickly, everything that follows is an intense and necessary understanding of crime's ability to hypnotize, drawing even the most innocent person askew. Highsmith knocks it out of the park, making you doubt yourself by the end even as she criticizes the actions. Ther's nothing as delicious as this page-turner, and the perfect way to kick off such an essential career in literature history.

#79. "Room" by Emma Donoghue

When discussing dark stories of kidnaps and psychological turmoil, it is often easy to get stuck in the darkness of its subject. How could you not when it's perceived as an event devoid of laughter and joy. While this isn't the entire reasoning behind Emma Donoghue's sometimes clever "Room," it's enough of an entry point to understanding why she chose to explore a sad story from the unlikeliest of protagonists: a young boy who never knew anything outside of Room: a toolshed in the backyard of a man who holds him as his Ma captive. The results are searing with emotion, but one has to question if it also doesn't have a bit too much limitation in this approach, managing to sound twee and tonally misguided. While that is true in small doses, Donoghue's final product shows an emotional growth that isn't just symbolic of breaking out of a terrible situation but finding a boy experiencing a new phase of his life, learning to let go and embrace the new. It's frustrating while heartwarming, creating an odd mix of satisfying results. 

#78. "Robin" by David Itzkoff

To read David Itzkoff's biography of Robin Williams is to feel like a veil has been lifted. For generations, certain things were taken for granted. Things as simple as the idea that he was always a success, starring in noteworthy movies and headlining comedy clubs are debunked here, reflecting a tragic reality for an artist who felt like he could do anything. His mind ran miles faster than anyone he met, his kindness and openness become shocking when you realize that he was often reserved privately. So much is contradictory about Williams' life, and that is some of the reason that his death in 2014 remains so shocking, ripping a hole in the space-time continuum. How could a man whose sole purpose was to make everyone else happy so crippled with sadness?

What Itzkoff proposes is that it's always been there. Even if he's never spoken about himself in any vulnerable way, his performances were reflective of a man keeping the demons at bay. He was shielding himself from ever being truly exposed, and he used humor to deflect any criticism. You can find it in everything from Mork & Mindy to even his major films like Mrs. Doubtfire and Good Will Hunting. Here was a man who reflected characters experiencing some regret and triumphing, as if he was trying to teach us all how to fight their own depression. It may be why he remained so revered, and why this biography is a definitive character study of a man whose otherwise still a mystery, never likely to be understood by anyone outside of his head.