100 books like A Good Enough Mother

I’m fascinated by lighthouses. This interest was fostered by my late father, a merchant seaman whose life depended many times on their guidance. So, it was easy to love this book, where I learned about their inner workings through Tom, the meticulous lighthouse keeper.

When he was joined on his remote island by his wife, Isobel,  it was the inner workings of their minds that captivated me as they struggled with an ocean that had offered them a longed-for child and a crisis of conscience that was exposed in its searing complexity by the illuminating lighthouse beam.  

I’m a radio buff. First thing in the morning and last thing at night, I listen on my phone to voices from around the world. It’s a far cry from the scenario that unfolded in The Watch House, which is why I love this book about the early days of wireless.

Set on Rathlin Island, where Guglielmo Marconi conducted his wireless experiments, it explores an era where technology and superstition clashed head-on. I’m familiar with old Irish superstitions and the fate of children whose origins were suspect. Throughout this beautifully written novel, I was on tenterhooks as the young, unhappily married Nuala learned a new language from one of Marconi’s engineers. A language transmitted by air through codes, signals, and numbers, and also through secret glances and whispered forbidden words.  

As a writer, I'm intrigued by collaborations between authors. It must be an exhilarating experience to co-write a book, but are there also difficulties as the authors merge their different genres and styles into a seamless narrative? 

This book had a theme that interested me, and I was keen to see how two minds could work in creative tandem. Did the authors develop different characters? Did they write alternating chapters? Did they disagree over elements of the plot? Curiosity as well as sheer enjoyment carried me through this colorful and nail-biting story about a stolen child and the earth-shattering effects it had on the lives of two very disparate women.  

This is a book that lingered in my memory long after I finished reading it. I could identify with the challenging behavior of a teenage daughter and also with the fraught preparations involved in creating the perfect Christmas dinner. From the opening page, I was totally engrossed in the interaction between Holly and her daughter, yet filled with uneasiness as the often banal exchanges between them gave way to a darker, more sinister reality involving Tatiana’s adoption.  

This book chilled me as much as the snow that fell throughout that dreadful Christmas Day but also consumed me until the very last page.

This is the book I’ve been waiting for without realizing it. I found myself nodding, exclaiming out loud, and enthusiastically agreeing with something on almost every single page of this book (which I have annotated heavily!)

I also felt conflicted emotions while reading about some of the detrimental (but well-intentioned) practices of my fellow therapists: inadvertently amplifying trauma, causing children to ruinate on their suffering, and creating greater fragility and anguish in our patients.

Reading this book made me feel like the problems I encounter every day working with adolescents were being recognized on a broad scale, and it also validated a niggling feeling I have about superficial therapy-speak and a culture obsessed with mental health: this is NOT always helpful!

I was also relieved to find practical strategies for developing resilience and confidence in young people in spite of the cultural forces which have undermined these important character traits. 

The first generation of young people raised on the internet has faced gun violence, climate change, and a pandemic. They also understand diversity, are adept at digital platforms, and want to change the world. The inspiring stories in this book gave me the good kind of chills. These young people are marching for social justice, working to change laws, giving speeches, starting nonprofits, and more. But they need your help. After you read this, you’ll be inspired to make a difference, too.

This is the place to start since it treats the base of our national retirement system—our national pension. I don’t think there’s anybody who knows more about Social Security than Altman and Kingson. They are the founders of the advocacy organization by the same name, Social Security Works. It is their job, and they do it well, to explain why Social Security works as well as it does despite the claims of its right-wing enemies and what we have to do to protect it from attempts to privatize it or reduce its benefits. This is not just a manifesto, it contains a ton of clearly-written information about how Social Security as a social insurance system works and what can be done to make it better.

Since Capsule was actually written by a teenager, anyone from Generation Z will be able to relate to this gut-wrenching tale about friendships and memories better left forgotten. Each character is both unique and human, and the writing makes you stare into space in awe. This novel throws difficult-to-swallow truths at the reader, and leaves them without oxygen with a fantastic ending. For anyone who has struggled, this book is for you.

This Stella prize-winning novel is so mysterious, the ominous atmosphere shudders off the page.

It’s a modern-day parable about ten women who are abducted and held prisoner in the Australian desert. Gradually they realised the common thread between them is they’ve all been involved in a sex scandal with a powerful man.

Wood ingeniously takes to the patriarchy with a blow torch. It’s breathtakingly powerful. Reading the final line, I shut my eyes and my heart hurt. In a good way. 

"Would it be said they were abandoned or taken, the way people said a girl was attacked, a woman was raped, this femaleness always at the centre, as if womanhood itself were the cause of these things? As if the girls somehow, through the natural way of things, did it to themselves."

The story is a classic, of course, but what I find poignant is that famed director John Huston, adventurer and rabblerouser, chose this quiet story to adapt as his final film (The Dead), and did so, while dying, with the help of his son (screenplay) and daughter (leading role). It’s an extraordinarily faithful adaptation, even, and especially, in its slowness. (Each time I read the story, I wonder—even though I know the answer—Where is this going?) 

Joyce Carol Oates, less faithfully, reimagined the story in Marriages and Infidelities, keeping the title, but replacing Irish melancholy with American anxiety, while hewing—with Easter eggs along the way for careful readers—to its theme of intimacy and its limitations. All three versions are exquisitely sad and beautiful.