For as long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by the macabre. From my ancient Egypt obsession in elementary school to the bat skull sitting on my desk as I write this, if it has to do with death, it likely gives me life. I'm equally enamored with animals, so learning about the Tower of London ravens, “probably the most cared for, and certainly the most loved birds in the world,” is an ideal way to spend an afternoon. There’s no question Yeoman Warder Christopher Skaife provides his beasts with top-notch care, and truly, he must; for, according to legend, if a raven grows dissatisfied with the roost, the entire kingdom will fall. At the same time, I’m inclined to believe his devotion to his role stems from his genuine, loving relationships with Munin, Merlina, Erin, Rocky, Jubilee II, Grip, and Harris. If you’re curious about British history, how to care for a harbinger of death, or translating English to "Ravenish," then you’ll devour this listen as quickly as I did. —Editor Haley

I stumbled on Out of Body into Life while researching astral projection, which enthusiasts say enables their conscious souls to travel all around the universe while their physical bodies lie quietly in bed. It became a mini-trend during the pandemic, and though I never quite got up either the bravery or the discipline to project myself, I loved learning about the complex methodology and mystical experiences of people who did. One in particular stood out: Kwame Adapa, a consciousness explorer whose studies range from his native West African Akan people to researching out-of-body experiences with Robert Monroe’s Monroe Institute. As I devoured Adapa's astral travel memoir-slash-grimoire, I found his calm, even reading to be a reassuring, even hypnotic conduit for his utterly fantastical accounts of interstellar beings and cosmic adventures. While the audio quality isn’t always perfect, there’s something intriguingly authentic about its flaws; in an era when most content is a complex effort of multiple stakeholders and disciplines, encountering such an intimate conveyance of ideas from author to listener is refreshing. I don’t know if “odd” is the word for it, but if paranormal phenomena are your cup of tea, strap in for a far-out journey. —Editor Kat

When I say I couldn’t stop thinking about The Need for weeks after listening, I mean that I physically could not stop; it wasn’t a choice or an exercise in contemplation, but an inevitability. The uncertainty wrought by Helen Phillips’s polarizing 2019 sci-fi thriller—a work that deftly blurred the line between reality and delusion—seeped into my own life, demanding constant introspection. The story follows Molly, a paleobotanist and mother of two, who has recently come across plants of unknown origins at her dig site as well as a series of peculiar artifacts marked by slight irregularities: a Bible referring to God only by feminine pronouns, a toy soldier fit with a monkey’s tail, and a soda bottle with its familiar logo ever-so-slightly altered. While trying to navigate the overnight buzz born from these bizarre discoveries alongside all the routine body horrors of new motherhood, Molly finds her world utterly upended when an intruder in a papier-mâché deer mask appears in her living room. The trespasser does not harm her or her children, but instead leaves behind a note with a series of disconcerting instructions and a strong indication that they know more about Molly’s life than she would like. And things get even more unhinged when she learns who’s behind the mask. This listen is compelling for its exploration of womanhood in all its complexities, and for getting unapologetically odd along the way. Fans of alternate realities, twisty plot devices, and visceral prose will not want to miss this one. —Editor Alanna

The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared is a reminder that you can get the most out of life—if you're willing to put yourself out there. I turn none-of-your-beeswax years old in a few days, and I'm not thrilled about the number. So when my friend recommended I listen to an offbeat tale about an age-defying centenarian, I was on board. I instantly fell for quirky, 100-year-old Allan Karlsson, who's fed up with younger people telling him he can't enjoy vodka at his age despite being in excellent health, and decides to escape his nursing home through a window wearing nothing but his slippers. The comical and heartwarming journey involves everything from a suitcase of money to gangsters to Einstein to elephants and much more—and that's just in the first audiobook of this truly unique trilogy. —Editor Rachael

After discovering the Franco-Czech novelist Milan Kundera’s works when I was a precocious teen—an age when philosophical mind games, metaphysical complexities, and erotic challenges meant the world—I was hooked by his polyphonic narrative experiments that grappled with aesthetics and philosophy. Kundera's works are packed with references to European writers, thinkers, and musicians, as well as plenty of metafictional moments. It’s been more than 25 years since I read Immortality, and yet I still remember a scene in which Hemingway and Goethe argue in the afterlife. "Instead of reading my books, they're writing books about me," Hemingway says. "That's immortality," Goethe says. "Immortality means eternal trial." This is difficult material, and Kundera has fallen out of fashion (despite having been nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature several times and receiving the prestigious Franz Kafka prize in 2020). But listening to Richmond Hoxie narrate the story—which definitely helped with all the French and German phrases and names—was mesmerizing and rewarding. While listening, I was confronted with how my life experiences and insights have given me a fresh perspective to appreciate it all over again. — Editor Jerry

My entire life, I've relentlessly adored bleak stories. Ones that begin with a metaphysical fabric of dread and end in death. It's been a struggle to identify why, especially given the fact that I've been hypersensitive, (clinically) depressed, and anxious since around age 9—but the closest I've come to reconciliation might be Thomas Ligotti's The Conspiracy Against the Human Race, a controversial piece of nonfiction philosophy unlike any other. This strange tome makes for a particularly unsettling and dreary philosophy that might be best summed up as: "Life is a confidence trick we play on ourselves." (His words.) I make no apologies for largely agreeing with the perspective at play here; I've long felt cynicism and pessimism are, in an objective sense, closer to our reality than other philosophies. And while, perhaps, fully enjoying every joyful moment that comes along might be the cure to this existential disease, that won't prevent your bitter end either. This listen isn't for everyone, but it made this particular weirdo feel seen, and gave me a small measure of comfort in its baroque, somewhat misanthropic wisdom. —Editor Sean

I always feel some indignation when something that I LOVE receives mixed reviews. How do you not all see the brilliance?!? I want to rage, but in the case of Islanders, I have to acknowledge that this is a super weird listen that's definitely not for everyone. One reviewer noted that it "seeks a difficult audience: one that has simultaneously spent the requisite hundreds of hours it takes to slavishly obsess over Love Island, and enjoys the slightly experimental aspects of this literary-dramatic crossover." I'm someone who bounces between literary and popcorn fiction—without a lot in between—and Elinor Cook's Love Island-esque story, which subverts everything we think we know about reality TV, satisfies both of those loves for me. Written as part of the emerging playwrights program—though it was never staged—this is a one-woman play, performed in audio by Daisy Ridley, who delivers as the unnamed narrator who signs up to join a dating show to escape her own painful reality. The narrative voice—written in first person plural, which is only the first odd thing you'll note about this listen—is so perfectly matter-of-fact and so very English. But not in a Masterpiece drama kind of way. Rather, the tone reeks of "keep calm and carry on," and it works because she (or they, or we) are delivering a bucketful of truths about the "we-ness" of people who go on shows like this. The idea that the participants in these shows aren't just narcissistic content creators in need of constant affirmation shouldn’t seem like such a hard leap to make, yet somehow acknowledging the humanity of these contestants feels outside the rules of the game. It reminds us that we have to shed some of our own humanity to indulge in these shows, which is its own nugget of hard truth. —Editor Emily

I'm a mild-mannered fiction enthusiast who prefers deeply developed character studies over propulsive plots and action, so Mort(e) was not my natural go-to listen, but something about it called to me. Within minutes of listening to narrator Bronson Pinchot (he may have cast a spell on me), I turned into a ravenous fan-girl, all-in and ready to see this “war with no name” through to the end. I may have also identified a little bit with the cat at the center of the insanity. The novel begins from the point of view of Sebastian, an aloof but observant house cat whose only true companion is a dog named Sheba. Through animal eyes, he describes Earth’s descent into chaos as giant ants break through the planet’s crust to wreak havoc on human civilization. As Sebastian is transformed into Mort(e), I felt changed into a bit of a warrior-minded former house cat myself. Don’t judge—just suspend your disbelief, enter beast-mode for a little while, and see where it takes you. —Editor Tricia

These short stories are, in a word, strange. Author and performer Geoff Sturtevant has created a collection that taps into the odd thoughts that we usually keep to ourselves, weaving humor and horror in a way that will have you simultaneously laughing and muttering "wtf" to yourself. The multicast production forces you to embrace your inner weirdo, and if you’re anything like me you’ll soon find yourself questioning the mundane moments in your life that have previously gone unmarked. When he’s not delivering wild stories, Sturtevant delivers packages in a brown truck—often to my house! In his introduction, he shares that he wrote Occupational Hazards for people to enjoy while they work. So the next time I see him, I’ll be asking what’s on the top of his playlist while he’s driving around.— Editor Katie