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Literary Titan Gold Book Award: Fiction
The Literary Titan Book Award honors books that exhibit exceptional storytelling and creativity. This award celebrates novelists who craft compelling narratives, create memorable characters, and weave stories that captivate readers. The recipients are writers who excel in their ability to blend imagination with literary skill, creating worlds that enchant and narratives that linger long after the final page is turned.
Award Recipients
Visit the Literary Titan Book Awards page to see award information.
Literary Titan Silver Book Award
Celebrating the brilliance of outstanding authors who have captivated us with their skillful prose, engaging narratives, and compelling real and imagined characters. We recognize books that stand out for their innovative storytelling and insightful exploration of truth and fiction. Join us in honoring the dedication and skill of these remarkable authors as we celebrate the diverse and rich worlds they’ve brought to life, whether through the realm of imagination or the lens of reality.
Award Recipients
The Adventures of Mrs. Hats: The Mayan Headdress by Christopher Corbett
Visit the Literary Titan Book Awards page to see award information.
Broken Things
Broken Things is a beautifully raw novel about a woman named Maggie Oliver who’s reeling from the loss of her husband and son after a traumatic accident. Left with little more than a lakeside cabin and a bucket of unresolved pain, she escapes her old life in San Francisco and holes up in the Sierra Nevadas. But this isn’t just a grief story. It’s a sharp, funny, sometimes eerie look at healing, memory, and rediscovering identity when everything else feels gone. The book swings between the very real, like Ambien-fueled breakdowns and late-night sobs, and the surreal, with dreamlike elements and mysterious happenings that might just be her imagination. Or maybe not.
I was genuinely surprised by how often I laughed while reading a novel so deeply rooted in trauma. Corso’s writing carries a dry, cutting wit that never feels forced, it’s a natural extension of Maggie’s voice. Her narration is filled with sharp observations and brutally honest reflections, often delivered with a kind of dark humor that perfectly balances the heaviness of her grief. One moment that stood out occurs during a storm, when she panics and thinks, “I’m not going to die alone at the hands of a cruel, cabin-smashing troll.” It’s absurd on the surface, yet completely relatable to anyone who’s ever spiraled into irrational fear late at night. This blend of levity and pain doesn’t undermine the story’s emotional weight; instead, it makes Maggie feel vividly real, like someone you know well enough to reach out to.
What really got under my skin, though, were the strange, almost ghostly twists. There’s a whole chunk where Maggie sleepwalks and finds furniture rearranged and the pilot light mysteriously lit, things she swears she didn’t do. Then there’s the discovery of a music box shaped like a cabin that feels like more than just a keepsake. These elements creep in slowly, and they’re not loud or gory, they’re unsettling in a quiet way. The mystery is never over-explained, which I loved. It left me with questions that lingered in the back of my mind long after I put the book down. Is it grief? Is it the house? Or is it something else entirely?
The real heart of the book, though, is Maggie’s slow, cautious return to life. Her relationship with her quirky neighbor Zach and his precocious daughter Mina adds so much warmth to the story. There is a moment when Mina simply asks Maggie, “Are you sad?” and the directness of that question is profoundly affecting. Kids don’t dance around grief the way adults do. That moment was simple, but so emotionally honest. I appreciated how Corso let Maggie be messy and weird and not always likable, she’s not some perfect, noble widow. She’s bitter, she’s sarcastic, she cries in her car. And that’s what makes her journey back to writing, and maybe even back to joy, so satisfying.
Broken Things made me feel a lot. It made me laugh. It made me uncomfortable. It made me think about my own griefs, the ones I’ve shared, and the ones I haven’t. I’d recommend this book to anyone who’s been through a loss, or who just loves character-driven fiction with a sharp voice and a touch of weird. It’s for fans of dark humor, haunted houses, and messy healing. It’s one of those stories I’m going to be thinking about for a long while.
Pages: 300 | ASIN : B0F6W5P5H3
The Coldmoon Cafe
The Coldmoon Café is a strange and beautiful book. It’s part gothic fairytale, part fever dream, and part late-night forum thread from the ‘90s. The story follows a rotating cast of mourners, monsters, and misfits who stumble into a mysterious café that only seems to exist for the broken. There’s no central plot in the usual sense. Instead, it’s a collage of scenes, slow-burning conversations, poetic memories, and surreal moments of magic and grief, set against a backdrop of found family, old rites, and quiet hunger. The café, always watching, becomes more than a place. It’s a mood, a threshold, a ritual. And the people who gather there aren’t just characters. They’re ghosts of the internet age, wrapped in myth and melancholy.
The prose is lyrical, atmospheric, and at times so intimate it feels like eavesdropping. It drifts between styles like journal entries, script-like dialogue, and immersive third-person. What surprised me most was how emotional it got. Not loud, not dramatic. Just a steady ache. Like someone humming an old lullaby at the edge of a dream. The author manages to make the supernatural feel deeply human. There are vampires, shifters, witches, and magical scars, but what resonates the most are the quiet admissions of grief, of guilt, of wanting to matter to someone. Some parts made me tear up without warning.
The pacing is uneven, I think on purpose. Some chapters are full of action, others are just two people talking in a room for pages. There’s no traditional story arc, no tidy resolutions. And it leans heavily into its origin as a stitched-together roleplay with references, fragmented lore, insider nods that could leave some readers a little adrift. But for me, that was part of the magic. It feels like a digital séance. A love letter to forgotten usernames and forum ghosts who made stories when no one was watching. There’s a strange honesty in that. A kind of myth born out of message boards and memory.
I’d recommend Coldmoon Café to anyone who’s ever felt like a liminal creature. Folks who grew up online, who found solace in dark fantasy, who know what it’s like to carry sadness in your bones but still laugh with your friends at 3 a.m. It’s for people who miss LiveJournal, who remember the beauty of broken syntax and late-night confessions. This isn’t a book you read fast. It’s one you sit with. Maybe while it’s raining. Maybe while you’re a little heartbroken. Maybe while you’re ready to believe in something weird and beautiful again.
Pages: 583 | ASIN : B0FGW3YTJR
Spear of Lugh: The Witch’s Rebirth Part III
Michaela Riley’s Spear of Lugh is the third installment in “The Witch’s Rebirth” series, a rich, atmospheric tale set in the mythic shadows of 6th-century Celtic Europe. The novel follows Merona, a powerful and timeless witch reborn across centuries, as she confronts an ancient evil, Armaeus, and embraces her destiny as the Keeper of Balance. Armed with relics of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the Spear of Lugh and the Cauldron of Dagda, Merona must navigate not only magical trials but also profound loss, divine expectations, and an aching search for identity, sacrifice, and love. As she chooses immortality and confronts her lineage, she stands poised to guide the world into a new era between the fading pagan gods and the rising tide of Christianity.
I found myself completely pulled into the world Riley has created. The writing is poetic and often breathtaking, especially in how it captures the sorrow and wonder that run through Merona’s journey. There’s a haunting stillness in the way the earth, the gods, and the past seem to breathe alongside the characters. Some passages are stunning. They read like spells themselves. At times, the prose drifts into over-explanation. Riley clearly loves this world and these myths, and the devotion is admirable. The heart of the book, Merona’s grief, her rebirth, her will to love despite endless loss, resonated with me. I was moved. I cared deeply. The final scenes between her and Murdach felt earned and emotionally honest, even amidst the grand fantasy of it all.
Spear of Lugh wrestles with the weight of duty, the seductive nature of power, and the pain of watching people you love fade while you endure. The mythology is dense, but it never loses sight of its human core. Merona is not some untouchable goddess; she’s aching, flawed, and strong because she chooses to keep going. The idea that hope itself can be more powerful than any weapon, that stuck with me. Armaeus felt like a classic villain. His menace is conceptual, not visceral. In contrast, the true tension came from Merona’s internal battles, and those were beautifully done.
I’d recommend this to readers who love lyrical fantasy steeped in myth and feminine power. It’s not a light read, there are layers, histories, and symbols in every chapter, but if you’re willing to dive in and let it wash over you, it’s rewarding. For fans of Marion Zimmer Bradley, Juliet Marillier, or even Diana Gabaldon, Spear of Lugh will feel like a homecoming. It certainly left me thoughtful, a little raw, and deeply curious for what comes next.
Pages: 338 | ASIN : B0DWVZ2CXQ
1989: An Eye For An Eye
1989: An Eye for an Eye is a riveting and emotionally tangled novel that centers around a decades-old murder case that left deep scars on a small Southern town. At the heart of the story is Ingrid, a woman haunted by her hidden identity, a web of family secrets, and a burning desire to clear her father’s name. After faking her death to go underground, she returns under a new identity, determined to expose the corruption that destroyed her family. What unfolds is a suspense-filled narrative that weaves together revenge, redemption, and revelations, touching on systemic injustice, identity, and the burden of legacy. With alternating perspectives and past secrets slowly coming to light, the novel drips with tension, building a compelling mystery around who’s guilty and who deserves justice.
I found myself genuinely pulled in by Smith’s writing. It’s not fancy or highbrow, but it’s honest and raw, and that made it powerful. The dialogue feels real, like you’re eavesdropping on two people who have been through hell together. The way he builds emotional weight around every choice Ingrid makes, especially the internal tug-of-war between vengeance and doing the right thing, hits hard. That said, the book has a big cast, and a few times I had to flip back to remember who someone was. Still, the pacing and reveals kept me hooked. It’s a big story with layers of betrayal, hidden ties, and long-buried pain. Every time I thought I’d figured something out, another twist would shake it up.
What really got me was the heart underneath all the thriller elements. The relationships, especially between Ingrid and Nicole, carry the emotional muscle of the story. You see how trauma doesn’t just affect one person, it ripples through generations. And when Ingrid gets her moment to finally breathe and step out of the shadows, you feel it. You also feel the price she pays to get there. The moral ambiguity in this book is thick. You’re constantly questioning what’s justified and what isn’t. And while some characters are undeniably evil, others live in this gray space that makes them unforgettable.
It’s gripping, it’s personal, and it asks big questions without offering easy answers. I’d recommend 1989: An Eye for an Eye to anyone who loves mystery, family drama, or stories about strong women navigating impossible choices. If you’re into slow-burning revenge tales that pack a gut punch, this is your kind of read.
Pages: 278
LITERARY TITAN 