Agatha Christie — Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, and stand-alone mysteries
Mexican food is my comfort food. Doesn’t matter what’s going on in my world—I’m always up for it, because it hits all the right flavor points. The same can be said for any Agatha Christie novel. Though my favorite is The Mystery of the Blue Train—just like chicken street tacos with sautéed onions, cilantro, and corn tortillas are my favorite—I’ve yet to meet a Christie book I couldn’t devour. Kinda like salsa and chips.
Christie is often referred to as the “Queen of Crime,” and it’s a well-deserved moniker. Few mystery writers today approach her skill with a locked-room setup or psychological suspense. And unlike Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who gave all the clues to Holmes and only half to Watson, Christie played fair with her readers. She made sure we saw everything her detective saw, letting us use our own “little grey cells” to try and solve the case.
This year, I’m on a personal side quest to read all of Christie’s novels in order. Luckily, I found a fantastic book tracker at my local bookstore. It includes all of Poirot’s and Miss Marple’s stories, plus her lesser-known series and stand-alones. I can’t wait for the next rainy afternoon when I have the perfect excuse to curl up with a Christie novel and a hot cup of tea.
Janet Evanovich — Stephanie Plum, Knight and Moon, Wicked, and Fox and O’Hare series
I discovered Janet Evanovich while working in the tiniest bookstore in the tiniest town in the middle of Iowa. In so many ways, she didn’t seem to belong there—it was a sweet, reformed Christian town—but the store manager banked on the tourists and kept her books in stock. Part of my job was reading the inventory so I could hand-sell the books. Hands-down best job ever.
Evanovich’s novels are laugh-out-loud funny. Like “spit-your-latte-all-over-the-counter” funny. I often couldn’t help myself—I’d read parts out loud to whoever was nearby. Some customers appreciated it. Others, not so much, mostly because I’d be snickering through the entire reading.
Grandma Mazur is hands-down my favorite (and probably everyone else’s too). Ranger is positively swoon-worthy. And as I’ve gotten older and started a family of my own, I find myself deeply relating to Stephanie’s mom as she tries to keep her household from completely going off the rails.
Just a heads-up: the first Plum novel, One for the Money, features a serial, homicidal rapist as its antagonist. These days, I usually skip it and go straight to Two for the Dough, where the characters are more comfortable with each other and the tone is more, well, “Jersey.”
Joan Didion — Slouching Towards Bethlehem, The Year of Magical Thinking, and others
Joan Didion is an icon. Yes, we all know that—but I didn’t feel it until my thirties. Working in a bookstore, I knew who she was, but for whatever reason, she always seemed out of my league. Turns out, she’s out of everyone’s league—but she never seemed to realize it.
The first Didion piece I ever read was “On Self-Respect” (Slouching Towards Bethlehem, 1968). In it, she calls on all of us to explore and rely on our self-respect rather than seek external validation. At the tender age of 26, Didion argues that our own sense of self-respect informs every relationship we have, and ultimately, it’s our relationship with ourselves that shapes the rest of our lives.
Beyond the writing itself, the mythos behind the essay is almost as legendary: Didion wrote it on deadline for Vogue after another writer dropped out.
Laurie Cass — Bookmobile Cat Mysteries (Lending a Paw, 2013)
This is one of those books I have no idea why I picked up. I was wandering the library stacks one day, and there it was—not even faced out—and I just had to read it. I don’t even like cats. But since that first encounter, I’ve read them all. In order.
Cass’s books are cozy, but not in an overly sweet, Amish romance kind of way. Set in a small, idyllic Michigan town, the mysteries are solid, the characters are incredibly likable, and Eddie, the bookmobile cat, is creepy in the best possible way.
Minnie, the main character, is smart, courageous, self-reliant, and fiercely loyal. Her support system has nothing but good intentions, so she’s never truly alone—even if she does drive them a little crazy when she insists on going solo. It’s easy to identify with Minnie because, frankly, she’s just like the rest of us—trying to spread the love of reading while being constantly thwarted by mysteries… and cats.
F. Scott Fitzgerald — The Great Gatsby (1925)
Honestly, did Fitzgerald write anything else?
Of course he did—The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Tender is the Night, and an incredible collection of short stories. But when someone says Fitzgerald, the reply is Gatsby. It’s the novel that defines his legacy.
The Great Gatsby is the classic that reminds me why I love to read. It’s short enough to finish in a day, but so complex it feels effortless. I savor every line. I return to Gatsby every year or two, usually when I need to remember that beauty and brokenness often show up hand-in-hand. There’s something comforting about rereading a story where the language is familiar, the world is glittering and tragic, and the ending never changes—even when the rest of life does.
Reading Gatsby feels indulgent. It’s dark chocolate with red wine—simple, sophisticated, and still somehow a little bit frowned upon.