Fiction Books Novels & Stories

He was old school if he read a wide variety of the comics that inspired them. “That’s really cool,” she told him honestly. He smiled. “Not as cool as reading nonfiction for fun. That’s seriously impressive. I never read nonfiction unless it was for school.” “Fiction and nonfiction both have their places in terms of entertainment and how informative they are. I feel like fiction does a better job of overall explaining the human condition and how people tick than nonfiction does because of the variety of characters’ emotions and motivations.” “That makes sense. I suppose there are psychology textbooks but those are clinical and often use terms laypeople can’t understand.”

“I can’t even imagine how many books are in here.” “Too many,” Leo replied with a faint chuckle. “Most of them are just for show. But there are a few I actually read.” “Let me guess,” Chloe teased. “Crime novels? Or maybe biographies of great leaders?” “Guilty,” he admitted in a warm voice. “And you?” “I always loved fiction,” she said, a wistful note creeping into her voice. “Fantasy, mostly. Stories about impossible worlds, where anything could happen.” “Maybe one day, you’ll pick one off the shelves here,” Leo said gently. “Who knows? You might find a new favourite.”

This is a work of dark fantasy fiction and should be read with an open mind and a clear understanding of its mature and controversial themes. Happy Reading ! You can follow my F******k page, Mia X Novels, for more stories ! * * * * *

Seventy-five is clearly just the tip of the iceberg. On My Bedside Table Now The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova, and I am Legend by Richard Matheson. And everyone is telling me I forgot The Vampire Files — some 12 novels by P.N. Elrod. Urban fantasy set in 1930s Chicago, featuring a hardboiled P.I. named Jack Fleming. FacebookTwitterFlipboardEmail Sign Up For The Pop Culture Happy Hour Newsletter Stay pop culture savvy with NPR’s guide to TV, books, movies, music and more, sent weekly.

Academic books, pet care manuals, colouring books, novels… Novels were another thing Margo and I bonded over. And even though it had been a while since I actually finished one, I always added highly recommended titles or new projects from my favourite authors to my collection. I used to be strictly a romance genre girl until Margo came into my life. She liked to tease that my bookshelf was to blame for my incurable faith in love. So she introduced me to what she called ‘real life’ genres — thrillers, sci-fi, and fantasy. Yes, fantasy.

I walked downstairs to my boutique with a mug of coffee in my hand and a book which I'm currently reading. It was still raining outside making a puddle of water in different places on the street. I sat down in front of my counter and took a sip of my coffee. "Um, heavenly." I said and put the mug on the counter in front of me as I opened my book and started to read. I was reading a criminal novel. I only read three genres and that is romantic, criminal and fantasy.

Wow. I was drooling. It wasn't just a room with books. It was a sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with hardcovers, a rolling ladder, a massive fireplace that looked like it hadn't been used in decades. The scent of old paper and leather hit me, comforting and familiar. I ran my finger along the spines. ‘The Art of War’, ‘Sun Tzu’. ‘Histories of the Roman Empire’. Biographies of kings and conquerors. Heavy stuff. Interspersed with them were fiction classics. Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Dumas.

Some of them read multiple times judging by the cracking of the binding. History. Military strategy. Economics. Law. Psychology. Philosophy. One entire shelf of biographies of powerful men across different centuries and continents. And then something that surprised me. Fiction. A whole section of it tucked into the far corner like something private. Novels. Some of them old enough that the titles had faded. I pulled one out carefully. A Russian novel. Thick. Dense. The kind of book that required patience and silence and the willingness to sit inside discomfort for extended periods.

Neither one spoke for a few moments; they simply stared at one another, at a loss of what to do next. Rick cleared his throat again, and that seemed to break the spell. “I’ve got spy thrillers and murder mysteries over here, by author,” he managed, gesturing to the right. “Next sections down the right side are sci-fi, romance, and the other fictional genres. Left side is all the nonfiction, biographies, and so on.” Faith chuckled.

The usual genres one would expect to find at a book fair, too: history, fiction, non-fiction, folklore, fantasy, fairytales… everything. I had wondered and hoped that I could find the fiction book about the female alpha, but there was nothing of the sort to be found. I would rummage through the boxes each day, hoping to find something, but nothing. Nothing at all. Picking up a large pile of books from a box, I strolled towards a table that was getting empty to fill it up again.