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Credit...Suzanne DeChillo/The New York Times

By Sadie Stein

Dear readers,

I don’t require a dedicated ghost-story season. To me, that would be like loving people only on Feb. 14, or pretending canned tomatoes don’t exist. Besides, as I understand it, ghosts don’t work on schedule.

But in case you’re stricter than the undead and I, here are two less explicit examples of the uncanny that take the definition of “haunting” and bend it like the sad, stale Laffy Taffy at the bottom of your trick-or-treat pumpkin. Of course, they can be read at any time of year — in costume, if you see fit.

—Sadie

“I Used to Live Here Once: The Haunted Life of Jean Rhys,”by Miranda Seymour

Nonfiction, 2022

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For the past few months, this terrific biography of Jean Rhys has been my insomnia companion: a substantive piece of nonfiction to dip into when I wake up at 2 a.m. and only an hour’s reading will put me back to sleep. (Unlike Sally Rooney, I love biographies of writers.) Yet it’s anything but lulling — rather, it feels like the kind of book whose charms are thrown into relief by the privacy of sleeplessness.

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