Books That Have Stayed With Me

(Even If Some Left Louder Echoes Than Others)

It’s impossible for me to say I liked one book more than another or that I disliked any of them. Every story I read becomes a part of me, shaping the way I see the world and the way I understand people. Some books left me breathless with their intensity; others lingered in quieter, more delicate ways. But each of them mattered.

1. The Phantom of the Opera – Gaston Leroux

This novel is more than a story—it’s a haunting. There’s something raw and tragic in Erik’s love, something almost unbearable in his suffering. He isn’t just a villain or a victim; he’s a ghost made of longing and rage, haunting not just the opera house but the very idea of love itself. Christine’s innocence, her torn loyalty, her fear—all of it is so fragile, so human. The novel left me questioning how much love and cruelty can intertwine before they become indistinguishable.

2. Phantom – Greer Rivers

If Leroux’s Phantom is a gothic tragedy, then Rivers’ Phantom is a modern echo of that same desperate yearning. This book took the obsession, the secrecy, the twisted devotion, and reshaped them into something equally mesmerizing. The Phantom here is not just a specter of the past but a man caught between love and vengeance, making choices that feel both wrong and inevitable. I was completely enthralled by the way this book reimagined the legend.

3. Fairydale – Veronica Lancet

This book is a fairy tale with its wings ripped off—dark, twisted, yet so beautifully crafted that I couldn't look away. It has the kind of atmosphere that makes you feel like you’ve stepped into a world that is both dreamlike and nightmarish. I love books that challenge morality, that make me question who the real monsters are, and Fairydale did exactly that. It blurred the lines between love and control, between salvation and destruction, and left me utterly spellbound.

4. Wuthering Heights – Emily Brontë

There’s no love story quite like this one—because it’s not a love story at all. It’s a storm trapped between two people, an endless cycle of passion, revenge, and self-destruction. Heathcliff and Catherine don’t love each other in any ordinary sense—they consume each other. Their emotions are wild, uncontainable, sometimes horrifying, yet always intoxicating. I love how Brontë refuses to give us easy answers—her characters are deeply flawed, yet unforgettable.

5. The Secret History – Donna Tartt

This book is like being let into an exclusive, secret world, only to realize too late that you don’t belong there—and maybe no one truly does. It’s cold and intellectual, but underneath, it’s seething with desire, obsession, and guilt. I felt complicit in the characters’ actions, drawn into their arrogance, their hunger for beauty and power. Tartt makes murder feel inevitable, like a fate written in the stars. It’s a slow, creeping kind of darkness, and I was completely enthralled by it.

6. The Mayor of Casterbridge – Thomas Hardy

Michael Henchard is one of those characters who frustrates me, but I can’t bring myself to hate him. His downfall is so gradual, so human that it feels painfully real. His story is a reminder of how a single decision, made in a moment of weakness, can unravel a life. Hardy doesn’t offer redemption easily—his characters suffer, and we suffer with them. It’s not a book that left me enamored, but it left me haunted.

7. King of Pride – Ana Huang

I don’t read romance often, but there’s something enjoyable about the way Ana Huang builds tension. The slow unraveling of pride, the guarded hearts learning to trust—it’s comforting in a way that darker books aren’t. It didn’t shake me to my core, but it provided a kind of emotional ease, a safe place where love wins in the end. And sometimes, that’s exactly what a book should do.

8. The Epic of Gilgamesh

Ancient, mythical, timeless. Reading this feels like listening to an echo from the past, a voice carried through thousands of years. It’s the foundation of so many other stories—the first hero’s journey, the first search for immortality. There’s something solemn about it, something distant yet powerful. I admire it more than I love it, but I respect the weight of its legacy.

9. The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald

Gatsby is the embodiment of yearning—of chasing something that’s already slipping through your fingers. His love for Daisy isn’t love at all—it’s an illusion, a golden dream wrapped in wealth and nostalgia. There’s something unbearably lonely about this book, something that lingers long after the last page. I appreciate Fitzgerald’s sharp critique of the American Dream, but more than that, I feel the ache of longing that pulses through every word.

10. Vow of Deception & God of War – Rina Kent

Dark, dangerous, and utterly addictive. There’s a thrill in reading books where the stakes are high, where love is tangled with power, where the characters are drawn to each other despite all logic. I enjoyed the intensity, the sharpness, the way the stories refused to be soft. But compared to the others on this list, these books didn’t leave as deep an imprint on me. They were like a quick, electrifying shock—thrilling in the moment, but not something I carried with me as deeply as, say, Wuthering Heights or Phantom of the Opera.

Each of these books gave me something—a lesson, a scar, a moment of clarity. Some are books I’ll return to again and again, losing myself in their pages, finding new meanings each time. Others are books that marked me for a brief moment before slipping away. But none of them are forgettable.

How can I ever say I truly disliked a book, when every story has the power to shape me in some way? Some books whisper, some shout, some leave a lingering silence. But all of them matter.

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