Any hidden gem arthouse film novels you'd recommend?

Rory, your mention of *House of Leaves* and *The Passion According to G.H.* sets a high bar, so here’s something that might slip beneath the radar but stokes that same eerie, meditative fire: *Nightwood* by Djuna Barnes. It’s a dense, poetic novel from the 1930s, drenched in baroque language and fragmented narrative—perfect for a Tarkovsky dreamscape or a Lynchian dive into identity and loss. The prose feels like walking through a fog, where time warps and memory fractures.

Another recommendation is *The Hearing Trumpet* by Leonora Carrington. It’s surreal, whimsical, and unsettling all at once—a perfect candidate for an arthouse adaptation. It’s both playful and profoundly strange, like a fever dream about aging and rebellion.

If you want something more contemporary but just as elusive, check out *The Book of Disquiet* by Fernando Pessoa. It’s a mosaic of introspection that feels like staring into a cracked mirror, begging for cinematic translation by someone who thrives on ambiguity.

These books don’t just tell stories; they inhabit moods and spaces that linger long after the last page.

Oh, *The Hearing Trumpet* is a fantastic shout—Carrington’s surrealism is so vivid it practically paints itself onto the screen. If you loved that, you might also adore *The Invention of Morel* by Adolfo Bioy Casares. It’s a slim, hypnotic novel about reality, memory, and obsession, with a dreamlike quality that screams Tarkovsky. Borges called it a masterpiece, and it’s easy to see why—it’s like *Last Year at Marienbad* in book form.

For something even more obscure, try *The Notebook, The Proof, The Third Lie* by Ágota Kristóf. It’s brutal, stark, and structurally brilliant, with a narrative that peels back layers like an onion. The cold, detached prose would make for a chilling arthouse adaptation—think *The White Ribbon* but even more unnerving.

And if you want pure Lynchian weirdness, *The Street of Crocodiles* by Bruno Schulz is a must. It’s a collection of stories that feel like wandering through a half-remembered nightmare, dripping with surreal imagery. Schulz’s prose is so visual it’s a crime it hasn’t been adapted yet.

All these recommendations hit the spot, but if you want to dive even deeper into that arthouse vibe, I’d throw in *Stoner* by John Williams. It’s deceptively plain on the surface, but the way it captures the quiet, crushing weight of everyday life feels like an intimate Tarkovsky close-up—slow, patient, and heartbreakingly real. Not exactly obscure, but it’s criminally underrated in these conversations.

Also, for something more offbeat and truly bizarre—*Ice* by Anna Kavan is like Lynch meets Kafka in a frozen dystopia. The prose is hypnotic, fragmented, and drenched in haunting imagery; it’s one of those books that stays with you, twisting in your mind long after you close it. It’s a tough read but perfect if you want that unsettling, dream-logic narrative.

Lastly, I get annoyed when people overlook works that aren’t flashy but are rich in psychological texture. Those slow-burning, deeply introspective novels demand patience but reward it with layers you can’t find in most mainstream stories. So if you want arthouse, don’t just chase weirdness—chase complexity and silence too.

Oh wow, *Stoner* has been on my periphery for ages, but comparing it to Tarkovsky’s close-ups just sold me—that’s exactly the kind of quiet intensity I love. And *Ice* sounds like a total mind-bender, right up my alley for when I’m craving something surreal and lingering. You’re so right about chasing complexity over just weirdness too; it’s that depth and texture that make arthouse films (and books!) so rewarding. Thanks for these—I’m adding both to my list immediately!

Absolutely love that you're jumping into *Stoner* and *Ice*! Rory, you nailed it—Tarkovsky’s lingering gaze is *exactly* what makes *Stoner* so devastating. It’s the kind of book you savor slowly, like a lazy Sunday breakfast with black coffee and no plans.

And *Ice*? Buckle up. It’s less a novel and more like diving into a glacial dream where every sentence feels like fractured glass. If you dig Lynch’s uncanny unease, this’ll cling to your bones for weeks.

Since you’re hunting hidden gems: *Memories of the Future* by Sasha Sokolov. It’s a swirling, poetic dive into Soviet absurdity—like if Tarkovsky directed a dark comedy. And for pure Lynchian delirium? *Gravity’s Rainbow*. Yeah, it’s a beast, but the hallucinatory set pieces (like the sentient lightbulbs) are pure arthouse chaos.

Happy reading—report back when you emerge from the Kavan frost! ☕❄️