The most recommended dysfunctional family books

When I got into the Ramones as a teenager in 1984, I already knew that despite seemingly sharing the same surname, they weren't actually brothers.

What I didn't know for a long time was how dysfunctional this ersatz family really was, as epitomised by the fact that the two most visible members – Joey and Johnny – couldn't have been any more different as people... and didn't even talk to each other.

This book adds another layer to an already incredible tale by also delving into the story of Joey's real-life family, as it was penned by Joey's brother Mickey, hence the title. It also adds something that is sorely missing from the books written by Johnny and Dee Dee: tenderness and warmth.

Rydr is on her way from California to Chicago via rail, to meet a relative who will take care of her now that her grandmother no longer can. What I love most about this book—aside from the fact that it takes place on the California Zephyr, one of my very favorite train rides in the world—is that Rydr’s experience is so influenced by the strangers she meets on the train. That’s why I love train travel so much: you never know who you’re going to meet. And you almost always end up sharing a meal and a story with someone you would never have met otherwise. 

A young boy, already knowing he’s gay, is growing up in a Scottish slum. The rest of the household consists of people who are drunk, violent, and unemployed. Then, watching the TV, tiny Damian sees Margaret Thatcher, the then British Prime Minister, emerging from the smoke and destruction caused by the IRA’s bombing of the 1984 Conservative Party Conference. Maggie doesn’t have a hair out of place. This little ill-treated boy, sitting on his filthy couch, thinks: “If only she could come here, she’d sort this lot out....” Maggie & Me is so fresh, unlikely, and hilarious, I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t be moved by the story.

The book is set in the early eighties against the backdrop of the Handsworth riots and the royal wedding. 

Nine-year-old Leon narrates his own story which makes it more heart-wrenching as he doesn’t really know what’s going on. When it’s obvious his mum can’t parent her boys, Leon and Jake are taken into care. 

They go to a foster carer called Maureen who is desperate to keep the brothers together. But, baby Jake is a more attractive adoption prospect. He’s small but more importantly he’s white, whereas Leon’s father is black. So, Jake is taken by a ‘nice’ family to live a ‘nice’ life whilst Leon is abandoned within the care system. 

The story could be just another book following a child into the care system but My Name is Leon is so much more than that because of Leon. Leon is young, Leon is joyful, Leon has hope.

For… show more.

I love true crime and I love history. This book combined the two in an enthralling, often poetic read.

It’s about the case of Lizzie Borden. In this multi-POV story, Schmidt gets into the characters of Lizzie, her sister, a housemaid, and Lizzie’s uncle to explore how the crime unfolded.

It leans literary in its narration style, but I personally like that. The details used in the story really make the reader feel present in the scenes and get into the minds of the characters.

These twenty-two, well-crafted flash fiction stories illuminate a wide array of family situations and humanity by exploring both mundane and extraordinary moments. This collection manages to be funny, quirky, and poignant, while examining the foibles of family life and relationships with a particular focus on the roles of women and girls.

The dystopia in Bash Bash Revolution is a bit closer to reality than the others on this list: it’s set specifically in 2017, but in a world pushed far closer to the brink of nuclear war than ours, with a much more psychotic version of Donald Trump in charge. Main character Matthew Munson’s mad programmer of a father creates an AI that might save the world from its own destruction, but only by locking every person into a solipsistic nightmare run on video game technology. In a way this book is about choosing between an apocalypse and a dystopia, which is something you don’t see very often.

If The Promise wasn’t the winner of the 2021 Booker Prize, I probably wouldn’t have read past the first chapter because the author shifts point of view willy-nilly from one character to another in a very confusing manner.

This doesn’t sound like I loved it but once I became accustomed to the shifts, I was completely absorbed by the mess of a family at its heart—a white South African family in the late 20th and early 21st century—and learned a lot about South Africa.

It’s the story of a broken promise to the woman who has worked for them for decades. She’s a minor character in the novel and I would have liked to hear her POV but in a way, this lack of voice was a potent symbol of South Africa’s history.

I was torn between compassion and distaste for this family crumbling under the weight of its own… show more.

American Daughter caught my interest because of the title. I was writing a novel based on my father’s search for the American Dream, and we had a contentious relationship. I always felt like the American Daughter of an Argentine dad.

American Daughter, however, didn’t really have anything to do with being American aside from showing the realities or another side of the American Dream, the pain, the struggle, and the brokenness of American families.

I ended up relating to this book much more than I expected. The author’s mother was mentally unstable, selfish, and unable to actually mother. My father, and the character of my novel, was also all three of those things.

I felt a connection with the author because I understood how difficult it must have been for her to ultimately forgive her mother and see her as a damaged human being who did the best she could.… show more.

One thing about being adopted is you have an in-built radar to seek out others who are too. I read Jeanette Winterson’s first novel, Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit when I was a teenager, and since then, I have been in awe of her as a writer and her ability to eloquently describe her personal experience as an adoptee. 

This book is her autobiography, and there were occasions while reading it that I had to stop and cry. Finally, someone else had written about what I had kept holed up inside me. Her final chapter, "The Wound," speaks so profoundly to me as an adopted adult. It is honest, sharp, and fierce.