 We Need to Talk About Kevin is one of those books that sticks to your ribs in the worst possible way. It’s not just a story about a kid who grows up to do something horrific, it’s about parenting, blame, and that uncomfortable question: what if you just don’t like your own child?
The whole thing is told through letters from Eva, Kevin’s mom, to her estranged husband. She’s brutally honest about how motherhood never felt natural to her. She didn’t want to give up her career, she didn’t feel that rush of unconditional love everyone talks about, and from the very beginning Kevin seemed… off. Cold, manipulative, like he was always two steps ahead of everyone else. And that’s where the book gets under your skin. Did Kevin turn out the way he did because Eva never bonded with him? Or was he born this way and nothing could have changed it? Shriver never gives you an easy answer, and that’s what makes the story so unsettling. The writing is sharp and unsparing. You go into the book already knowing Kevin is going to commit a massacre, so the whole time you’re reading with this sense of dread. But the scariest parts aren’t the violence. They’re the little family moments where Kevin seems to know exactly how to twist the knife in his mom, and she can’t get anyone else to see it. It’s not a light read, and honestly it’s not one I’d hand to just anyone. But if you want a book that will mess with you and leave you thinking long after you finish, this one delivers. The movie with Tilda Swinton and John C. Reilly is good, but the book? Way darker, way smarter, and way harder to shake off. Download the eBook or audiobook with your SPL card. If you prefer a physical copy, ask about interlibrary loan. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian
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 Amy Tintera’s Listen for the Lie is one of those books that feels like it was designed to mess with your head, in the best way. Picture this: Lucy flees her small Texas town years ago after her best friend is murdered. Everyone thinks Lucy did it, but the catch is... Lucy doesn’t actually remember the night in question. Blackout, blood, no memory. Not exactly reassuring, right?
Fast forward, and now a popular true-crime podcaster drags Lucy back home to “set the record straight.” The book jumps between Lucy’s very sarcastic, sharp inner voice and the podcast transcripts that read just like the shows we all binge when we should be sleeping. That format makes it ridiculously addictive, you’ll keep telling yourself “just one more chapter” until suddenly it’s 2 a.m. The best part? Lucy herself. She’s messy, she’s funny, she’s self-deprecating, and you’re never totally sure if she’s guilty or not. The whole time, you’re caught between “there’s no way she did it” and “oh God, maybe she did.” Add in a small town where everyone holds a grudge, and the gossip feels like another character in the book. This isn’t just a whodunit, it’s more like, who do you trust? Who’s lying, who’s remembering wrong, and who’s twisting the story to suit themselves? If you like thrillers with unreliable narrators, podcast vibes, and a little bit of dark humor, Listen for the Lie will absolutely hook you. Check out the book, or download the eBook or audiobook with your SPL card. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  Okay, so let me just say it: this book destroyed me. Like, ugly crying, tissues everywhere, the whole thing. Human Acts is not the kind of book you breeze through on a lazy Sunday, it’s the kind of book that grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go.
Han Kang, who, by the way, won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2024 (well deserved) takes us straight into the Gwangju Uprising of 1980 in South Korea. If you’ve never heard of it, you’re not alone. Most Americans know nothing about it, which makes this book even more of a gut punch. She’s basically saying, “Look. Remember this. Don’t turn away.” And you can’t. The book is broken into different voices, people who lived it, suffered it, survived it, or didn’t. Every chapter feels like peeling back another layer of grief. Sometimes the writing is so sharp and raw that I had to stop, stare at the wall for a while, and then talk myself into picking it back up. It’s not easy. It’s not comforting. But man, it’s powerful. Han Kang builds this sort of memorial out of words, and reading it feels like standing in front of a monument where silence and tears are the only possible response. So yeah, this book devastated me. It broke me apart and left me different than when I started it. But isn’t that what great literature is supposed to do? Get the book at the library or download the eBook with your SPL card. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  Reading My Dark Vanessa was an extremely difficult and unsettling read. Russell doesn’t just tell a story; she dissects the decay beneath the surface of a power imbalance, carving into the marrow of consent, memory, and grooming until you’re left raw and unsettled.
Vanessa, the protagonist, is both victim and unreliable narrator of her own life. She’s fifteen when her teacher, Strane, begins his predatory “romance,” but the brilliance of the novel lies in how Russell captures the long echo of that abuse. The way Vanessa clings to the idea of being “special” even as her adult self unravels under the weight of truth. You want to shake her, you want to protect her, and sometimes you even want to believe her rationalizations, which is the exact trap Russell sets: she forces us to experience the seduction and the horror side by side. I had to put this down a few times. The book holds a mirror to the way society excuses powerful men and shames girls for their own exploitation. It makes you complicit in Vanessa’s struggle, and that’s the point. It’s supposed to be uncomfortable. The language is sharp, the atmosphere suffocating, and the emotional honesty is almost unbearable at times. At the end, you don’t walk away with neat answers or triumphant catharsis. Instead, you’re left with jagged edges, anger at Strane, grief for Vanessa, and maybe a gnawing reflection on the blind spots in your own perception of abuse. Dark, devastating, and unforgettable, My Dark Vanessa is less a novel than an autopsy of trauma, and reading it feels like opening wounds you didn’t know you had. It's a great book, but it's very upsetting. This book is available for download as an eBook or audiobook. Ask us for interlibrary loan if you prefer a physical copy. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian  Stephen King’s Fairy Tale isn’t just another “kid discovers magical portal” story. It’s really a story about a boy and his dog. More specifically: what lengths would you go to if the dog you loved most in the world was slipping away from you?
Charlie Reade is just a regular teenager dealing with more grief than most adults. After the tragic death of his mother, his father sank into alcoholism. Charlie and his father are setting their lives back on the right path when he stumbles into an old man’s life, then inherits his ancient house, his secrets, and most importantly, his elderly German shepherd, Radar. And if you’ve ever loved an old dog, the kind who looks at you with cloudy eyes with a softness like you hung the moon, you’ll understand why this book hurts in all the right places. Radar is failing, her legs going out, time running short. Charlie can’t accept that. And that’s where the fairy tale kicks in. There’s a way to save her. But, of course, it involves descending into a hidden kingdom where magic is tangled up with decay, curses, and tyrants who seem ripped out of the Brothers Grimm after a couple decades in prison. Charlie, who should be worried about school and baseball, instead walks willingly into horror because the alternative, losing Radar, is worse. That’s the thread King pulls on, and honestly, it’s brutal. If you’ve ever carried an old dog up the stairs or made the terrible vet appointment, you’ll feel every ounce of Charlie’s desperation. The fantasy kingdom, the monsters, the battle between good and evil—they’re all window dressing for the bigger, simpler story: love is irrational, loyalty makes us reckless, and sometimes the scariest thing in the world is watching your best friend fade away. Yes, it's long Some villains feel more like fairy tale sketches than flesh-and-blood monsters. But the book’s heart: the boy, the dog, and the impossible choice makes it worth the sprawl. By the end, you’ll ask yourself the same question King forces on Charlie: what would I risk, what kingdom of nightmares would I march into just for more time with my dog? Check out the book at the library. We have it in Large Print, too! You can also download the eBook or audiobook with your library card. Aimee Clark, IT Librarian |
The SPL StaffWe work here at the library, and we’re into all kinds of books! How Do I Get These Books?See our Quickstart Guides page for information on how to use the online catalog and how to get eBooks and audiobooks for your specific device. You can also contact us there if you need more help!
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