89 books like Big Bad Bubble

I feel like I lived this story as a kid. I’ll bet a lot of kids do. A young boy overcomes his fear of the high dive. 

Step by step, Gaia Cornwall takes us through Jabari’s jump. Jabari starts by telling his dad he’s not scared at all. He clearly is. He delays, makes excuses. Dad never pushes. He wants this to be Jabari’s decision, Jabari’s victory. It’s so relatable, the perspective even changes to first person once Jabari is high above the pool. 

Everything rings true. It’s exactly what a scared kid would say and do. It’s exactly what I said and did when I was Jabari’s age trying to summon my own courage on the high dive. Except when I hit the water, my swim trunks fell off.

I’m a creature of habit. So is Scaredy Squirrel. We both know the comforts of feeling safe in perfect routines where nothing is left to chance, where nothing can go wrong…right?  

Scaredy writes lists of his emergency procedures, draws grids of his safety equipment, diagrams his secret exit strategies. I feel this poor squirrel’s pain. How many nights have I lain awake before a school visit mulling over my presentations? No plan is fool proof. So when Scaredy accidentally falls from his tree, he does what he must: thinks quickly and improvises. And discovers a secret ability he never knew he had. 

In the end, Melanie Watt gives Scaredy most of his old routine back, but now it’s balanced with a healthy dose of adventure. Perfectly balanced, I’d say.

This book does such a good job of engaging the reader. I love how Grover communicates with the reader and actively tries to stop them from moving forward.

It doesn’t hurt that Grover is my favorite Sesame Street character, and his energetic voice came through in the text.

Here’s a book about being shy in a world that rewards the bold. 

Sugar is the beloved therapy dog at school. She puts people at ease. Kids, teachers, parents, all give her pets. But not Hannah. Whenever it’s her turn, she shrinks away. Then, when Sugar gets lost, Hannah finds herself reaching out to calm her. Her fear evaporates when Sugar’s the one in need. Kate Berube evokes Hannah’s quiet bravery with a beautifully-timed wordless scene. 

When I was Hannah’s age, I was shy too. I hid when I thought my teacher was going to give me a shot. But her “syringe” was just a fountain pen. As she wrote my name, my fear evaporated. I could have used a dog like Sugar. Or a book like this.

This book is probably the quintessential book of mayhem, in my opinion.

Yep, it’s super dated, and the dialect can be difficult to get into, but I thought it was worth it, especially if you read the European version, which has an additional chapter the US publisher cut out. Abruptly it goes from a novel of unrepentant chaos to one of redemption.

This collection of short stories left me a bit depressed but in a good way. Cook writes with pure beauty and poetry. The ideas of this collection were, at times, odd and uncomfortable, but they succeeded in making me consider the darker elements that exist within all of us as humans. These stories kept me engaged through their balance of settings as well. Some stories felt present, while others crafted bleak futures that were all too believable. A few of the stories had some racy elements too, so if you’re into that kind of thing, you won’t be disappointed.

Many could argue that picking the most mind-bending Philip K. Dick book is an impossible task. His imagination spawned some of the best science fiction books of his era, which inspired several groundbreaking films (Bladerunner, Total Recall, Minority Report, etc.) I agree: it’s impossible to pick one.

But I love this book because it explores an intriguing idea from drug-induced psychosis—that of cross-chatter, or the notion that the brain’s two hemispheres can keep secrets from each other. The story follows the hapless Bob Arctor, an undercover narcotics agent trying to spy on himself and his junkie friends who are addicted to the mysterious Substance D. 

Dick conjures a mesmeric psychedelic tale, at turns hilarious, unnerving, and a poignant farewell to real-life addict friends who died too soon.  

Calvino’s Cosmicomics is perhaps the funniest and most outlandish collections of short stories I’ve ever come across. Think Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time meets Alice in Wonderland. Starting with the Big Bang and charting the entire evolution of the universe and of life on Earth, Calvino’s narrator shape-shifts from a man, to a dinosaur, to a mollusk, a single-cell organism, a subatomic particle, and even a disembodied being. In this linked collection of modern fairy tales, the author displays wild flights of imagination, combining scientific rigor with an uproarious repudiation of logic. Oh, and the narrator’s name is Qfwfq.

A surprisingly funny and poignant memoir, What I Thought I Knew does at least two things brilliantly—gives us a window into Alice Eve Cohen’s hopes and fears of motherhood and simultaneously gives us a window into the broken medical system here in the U.S. At 44, after a series of medical tests, Cohen finds herself not sick, but pregnant. What unfolds from there veers from an absurd comedy to a horrific nightmare, all while crashing headlong into hers and everyone else’s expectations, assumptions, and morality. This book had me laughing out loud and sobbing simultaneously. It moved me at a core level to examine my own limiting beliefs and the things I thought I could count on. What I soon discovered was that nothing was certain and everything was up for grabs—regardless of what I had previously believed.

Legend has it that the author first conceived the story while rowing on the River Thames. How a session at the oars could inspire such characters as the White Rabbit and the Cheshire Cat I have no idea.

Nevertheless, I have read this book aloud more times than I can count—from beginning to end, and also in odd increments, skipping about from chapter to chapter. And yet, the sentences always surprise me with their musicality and sense of fun.

Chapter 3, for example, contains this exchange: “Mine is a long and a sad tale!” said the Mouse, turning to Alice, and sighing. “It is a long tail, certainly,” said Alice, looking down with wonder at the Mouse’s tail; “but why do you call it sad?”