99 books like Yara

This book was just something else completely for me. I went in blind, knowing nothing about the story or subject matter–which is dark and complex. The writing style is just perfection, and I can honestly say I’ve never been so obsessed with a book in my entire life. I don’t read books for a second time (because, let's face it, who has time for that when our reading lists are already never-ending), But I would happily devour this one all over again. In fact, I get jealous when I hear people start it for the very first time. 

It's dark and complex, and it will split the audience in two, with no room for an in-between. You will either ADORE this book or LOATHE it. For me, it was perfection. 

My Dark Vanessa is a highly compelling, if disturbing read. I loved the book as I related so closely to the idealistic fifteen-year-old Vanessa, who is groomed by her English teacher, Jacob Strane, believing him to be the love of her life.

The book opens to Vanessa at thirty-two, leading a lonely and unfulfilling life in a dead-end job at the beginning of the #MeToo era, when other girls come forward to accuse Strane. She finds herself torn: how can she do anything but defend him? Otherwise, she would have to admit to herself that their great love has been a great lie.

Again, I loved this book because it examines a young life from an unconventional point of view. How love and perceived romance can occur outside of acceptable cultural norms.

I love that music brings these people together. I love when a book makes me understand how what I might think is wrong or immoral is just another face of love and life.

I loved this book because it challenged ideas about relationships and motherhood.

For me, the issues around guilt and feelings of self-worth came through strongly. I loved this book because the writing was lyrical and clear, and made me suspend my disbelief to the point where I totally believed the premise that one could inhabit another’s body—and made me wonder if the burden of guilt can actually cause such dire consequences.

As a child of Japanese immigrants, I did well in school and led a pretty tidy existence. But I was an adventurous reader, curious about how other teenagers led their lives. This book – wow! The title alone drew me in.

The “hamburger” refers to the advice a young woman is given to distract a man who is “on the make.” But the woman —and the reader—quickly learn going out for a burger doesn’t neutralize a teenager’s lust. Certainly, issues surrounding sex, pregnancy, and societal expectations have changed significantly over the years, so some language and circumstances in this novel don’t age well.

What remains true is the empathy with which the author depicts his characters and the honesty in how he depicts the complexities of making choices and growing up.

I was drawn to this book by the title and the super-intriguing cover.

Something about the linen’s organic nature mixed with the haphazard cross-stitching spoke to me.

Warga captures the depths of depression with her writing to the point where I could feel the sadness and internal struggle of Aysel, the book’s sixteen-year-old main character.

How vividly wonderful is this line: … feels like my skin is too thin, like everyone can see right inside me, can see my empty and dark insides.

The concept of Aysel creating a suicide pact with Roman really hit home. I’ve experienced multiple deaths by suicide, including two school friends who went through with their pact.

This story helped shed light on what clinical depression looks like from the inside, which can be vastly different and seemingly in conflict with the seemingly “I’m okay” exterior.

This historical novel also explores the lives of lesbians in the 1950s, but in a very different way: it is told in dual narratives, from the point of view of two teen girls growing up and coming out six decades apart. In 1955, eighteen-year-old Janet finds a series of books about women who love other women: lesbian pulp novels. Sixty-two years later, Abby is studying classic 1950s lesbian pulp fiction. It’s a cleverly constructed story and I love how the two stories are woven together.

From a queer history perspective, the book is well-researched and illuminates the danger and fear faced by so many queer people during the Lavender Scare, and the important role played by lesbian pulp novels in a time when young queer girls rarely saw others like themselves. 

Elle’s had a crush on her elusive classmate Madeline for ages, and when she runs into her at the party she and her bestie crash, she’s ecstatic to finally get the chance to chat Madeline up. Unfortunately, she drinks too much and ends up back at her apartment the next morning with a bad hangover and a bag full of stolen expensive trinkets.

Somehow this accidental theft ends up bringing her and Madeline, who has quite a few secrets of her own, closer together. Reverse heist hijinks, going to too many parties, smooching, and self-discovery ensue.

Lucie Bryon’s art is expressive and lively, and the characters feel like real teens—big crushes, bad decisions, and all. 

An Ordinary Age is an antidote. It is for twentysomethings everywhere who are sick and tired of being sick and tired that the lives they wake up to everyday don't match the ones they see on Instagram. It is a book for real twentysomethings, that is, ones who deserve to know that their lives and their efforts aren't just good enough: They are well and truly good.

If some of my favorite tropes—forced proximity, grump/sunshine, and academic rivals—got together and took a doomed survival trek in the woods, it would be this book. This romance is full of swoon and laugh-out-loud moments, but also rich emotional depth and OCD representation.

I came for the witty banter and stayed for the absolutely charming warm fuzzies. (As a bonus, Talia Hibbert has wonderful fat-focused adult romances, too. Double win!)