100 books like Anywhere But Here

Bernadette can be difficult to like, but that's partly why I love her character. She's unapologetically authentic with sharp edges and a serious dislike of Seattle. Rather than grimace at her put-downs of my hometown, I laughed because she included inside jokes only Seattlites would understand, and there was a granule of truth in all of it.

I'm intensely interested in the challenges and rewards of motherhood. Portraying it as something emotionally draining and frustrating, utterly consuming and ultimately wonderful, Maria Semple captured what many of us experience using Bernadette as her medium.

Oh, Celeste Ng is a terrific writer. The story follows Mia and her daughter, Pearl—enigmatic newcomers to town—whose lives become entangled with Mrs. Richardson and her seemingly perfect family. The relationships between the mothers and their teenage children ignite a firestorm of intrigue. I love Ng's nuanced critique of female friendship.

When my mother died, a friend insisted, “Now you’ll come to know her in ways you never imagined.” I thought the notion was ludicrous. My mother and I were close, our relationship strong. As it turns out my friend was right. In Watch Me Disappear, Janelle Brown explores this idea. When Billie Flanagan disappears, her husband and teenaged daughter Olive find out more than they could have imagined about Billie’s secret life. 

Sometimes a mother fails. In My Name is Lucy Barton, the title character fled her home because of her abusive father. Although her mother loved Lucy and her siblings, she was unable to protect her children. Many years later when Lucy falls ill and her mother visits her, the two reconnect and develop a shared understanding. Strout addresses the imperfection of a mother while retaining the magnetic pull between mother and daughter. 

A YA novel must be every bit as well-written—with thoroughly developed characters and an absorbing plot—as an adult novel, and maybe more so, given an adolescent’s interest is often pulled to TikTok, Instagram, and Snapchat, not to books. Sixteen-year-old Jenna Boller’s only had her license for six months when Madeline Gladstone, president of the shoe store chain where Jenna works, taps her to be her driver for the summer. They set out on a cross-country road trip to check on the stores, but both learn unexpected lessons about each other and about themselves in the process. I love the cross-generational relationship that develops, and that gawky, self-conscious, and insecure Jenna comes into her own in a most surprising way: Like Dorothy with the ruby slippers, Jenna finds she’s had the power all along.

I love this book because I love imperfect, flawed heroines…and as a fifty-something woman, Nan spoke to me.

How many times do we think of running away—even if just for a bit—but responsibilities and maybe even fear keep us from acting? Not Nan—she takes off, simply leaving an abrupt note for her husband, Martin (which takes place before the book opens). The narrative alternates between letters to Martin and journal entries (Nan spills her thoughts into a turquoise leather tooled journal with a black string fastener and a silver button—I love that detail).

The lyrical descriptions of each place Nan visits are so vivid I felt like I was riding shotgun. And I loved taking that journey with Nan and living in her head, because honestly…being in her head felt a lot like being in my own head, flaws and all. 

The author had me at the first line: “Boop loved her daughter to the moon and back, but Justine had a way of sucking the joy out of a room faster than a vampire bat.” This road trip story about three generations of women (Boop, her daughter, Justine—who’s not in the car, but her presence is—and Justine’s daughter, Eve) set against a background of family secrets, has a decidedly Southern tone. One imagines a narrator relating the story from a rocker on the front porch, a glass of sweet tea in her hand. Although there are lighthearted moments, this is a serious story, about familial expectations, mental illness, family secrets, estrangement, and three women trying to find their way back to themselves and to each other. Travelling with this unforgettable grandmother/granddaughter duo is a gift. 

Whenever I re-read this book, I’m gob-smacked that it’s a debut novel. Taylor Greer just wants to avoid the fate of her peers—unwanted pregnancies and dead-end lives in the small Kentucky town where she was born—when she points her Volkswagen Bug due West in search of something different. She has no idea how different her life will become when she stops at a gas station in Oklahoma and a stranger puts a small child in the passenger seat of her car. The story of how Taylor and the child become a family with the help of some unlikely friends, is one that’s stayed with me from first read. Kingsolver’s writing is quietly and deeply dazzling and paints a stunning picture of what it means to find sanctuary, family, and home in a way you never imagined. 

I attended college in Ripon, Wisconsin, a stunningly beautiful area that dumped inconceivable snow, ice, and cold all winter long.

As someone from California, I was not prepared for it, and I nearly froze that first winter. Green Bay is but a stone's throw away from Ripon, and it is just as bitterly cold. But that is the environment that greeted several immigrant Somali families.

The teenage girls contended not only with limited knowledge of English, but with sandals made for the desert, and cotton clothing designed to protect them from the sun. It was a bitterly cold winter, but they made it.

Not only did they survive that first winter, but they excelled in English, turning their experiences into captivating tales and eloquent poetry. They write of personal experiences too, like wearing a hijab, one young lady writing that some people thought she wore it because she had no… show more.

I read this book for the first time when I was in high school, and it made me realize that main characters aren’t always good people. Maria Wyeth is a selfish, broken actress who stumbles through a series of bad decisions. She cares about nothing, not even herself, but the language is so beautiful and evocative of a 1960s Los Angeles that you can’t help wondering what happens.

If nothing else, pick it up for the laissez-faire attitude of the extremely wealthy and beautiful before the age of social media.