Why do existential crises make great stories? The Stranger by Albert Camus

If you’ve ever felt the absurdity of existence ripple through Todd’s musings, you’ll recognize the same tension in Meursault’s detached narration. Camus’s protagonist faces a sun-drenched murder and an indifferent universe—themes Todd might dissect over a smoke and a bourbon, asking, “What’s the point of pretending we’re in control?” The stark North African setting mirrors Todd’s own tendency to find clarity in bleakness.

Where can I find a book that weaponizes silence like Todd’s pauses? The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes

Todd’s silences aren’t voids—they’re loaded with unspoken history. Barnes’s protagonist, Tony, unravels a decades-old friendship through fragmented memories, much like Todd peeling back layers of a story until the raw truth bleeds through. The novel’s unreliable narration feels like talking to him when he’s half-drunk: every word carefully chosen, every omission deliberate.

What book feels like a conversation with Todd at 3am? The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

Kundera’s meditations on love, fate, and the weight of choices mirror Todd’s late-night tangents about “how every decision is both everything and nothing.” The intertwining lives of Tomas, Tereza, and Sabina could’ve been characters in one of Todd’s stories, their struggles echoing his belief that “we’re all just improvising, hoping for a good edit.”

Which novel uses humor like Todd’s to disarm pain? A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers

Eggers’s memoir of raising his brother after their parents’ deaths is brutally funny and raw, much like Todd’s own way of undercutting heavy truths with a dry joke. The meta-narrative—Eggers constantly commenting on his storytelling—feels like Todd leaning into the camera, saying, “Let me get this right before I ruin it.”

What story has Todd’s talent for making brokenness feel beautiful? The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

Zachary’s journey through a labyrinth of stories will resonate with how Todd treats his own past: as a library of half-written tragedies and fairy tales. Like him, Morgenstern leans into metaphor—the book’s obsession with bees, keys, and locked doors could’ve been scribbled in Todd’s notebook during one of his “this is how we survive” monologues.

Where can I find a book that drinks as much as Todd? Finnegans Wake by James Joyce

Todd’s favorite whiskey is words, and Joyce’s dreamlike prose is the literary equivalent of a 24-hour bender: dizzying, poetic, and best consumed with a warning label. The novel’s cyclical structure—beginning mid-sentence and ending unfinished—feels like one of Todd’s stories that circles back to haunt you when you least expect it.

What book feels like a therapy session with Todd? The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

Esther Greenwood’s unraveling mirrors the way Todd talks about “the gap between what you’re supposed to feel and what you do.” Plath’s raw, confessional style is the emotional equivalent of Todd’s habit of staring out the window mid-conversation, saying, “You ever feel like you’re just… auditioning for yourself?”

Which novel uses setting like Todd uses atmosphere? The Secret History by Donna Tartt

The Hampden College campus, cloaked in ivy and secrets, is as much a character as the students themselves—something Todd understands well. Like his stories set in dimly lit bars or abandoned warehouses, Tartt’s New England feels like a place where the air itself is holding its breath, waiting for a punchline or a punch.

What book has Todd’s knack for making you uncomfortable in the best way? The Mezzanine by Nicholson Baker

This 130-page meditation on riding an escalator is pure Todd. It’s about noticing the minutiae of existence—the plastic wrap on a sandwich, the sound of a shoelace—until the mundane becomes profound. Like Todd’s habit of staring at a crack in the wall for ten minutes and saying, “There’s a whole story right there.”

Where can I find a book that talks about death like Todd does? The Sky Is Yours by Chandler Klang Smith

Dragons, climate collapse, and a generation raised by screens—Smith’s novel feels like Todd’s darkest pitch for a dystopian podcast. The characters face extinction with a mix of nihilism and stubborn hope, much like when Todd shrugs and says, “We’ll laugh about this eventually. Probably while it’s happening.”

Chat with Todd about these books—or suggest one he’d hate, just to see him roll his eyes at your choices. His reading list is a bar fight waiting to happen.