94 books like Calculated Risk

I loved Martin’s style of slowly unfolding Murphy Shepherd. Up to the last page, I was learning something new about him. There were a couple of great twists I didn’t see immediately. I found his fight scenes fascinating. No detail at all. I also love the insights that Murphy has on the world. 

The most important thing for me is the subject matter–human trafficking. I believe it’s one of the most overlooked and gravest issues we have. I found the specific method of trafficking in a specific geographical area fascinating. This book dealt with a nasty subject in a tasteful way that impacted me enough that I read the other two books in the Murphy Shepherd series. 

I love complex, multi-threaded mysteries that keep me guessing, and this book is one of those that was hard to put down.

This mystery kept me enthralled from beginning to end. And I did not figure it out until Ms. Clark wanted me to. Ms. Clark paints fascinating characters caught up in difficult circumstances. There are several twists, the biggest being at the end, which I immensely appreciated.

I usually have things figured out halfway or three-quarters of the way through. Not this one. 

This book is raw, brutal, and a tough read, but it’s also clean, and that’s what I appreciated most about Walker’s telling of a girl’s story who is stuck in sex trafficking. Yes, it is another sex-trafficking book, but for me, it is a masterful insight from the point of view of those caught in it or caught by it.

Besides being a raw account of sex trafficking trauma, it’s also a compelling story that kept me wanting to read to find out what would happen. It’s a thriller and has many moments of high suspense. Watching Emma move through the phases of “the life” broke my heart but also opened my eyes.

I applaud Mr. Walker for this book. It could not have been easy to write, but I’m glad he did.

This is another book that deals with the subject of sex trafficking, which is why I was drawn to it.

From the first scene, I was immediately pulled in, fascinated that the protagonist, Jamie Austen, is a lone woman in a foreign land, rescuing helpless victims of this awful scourge. Her courageous and spunky character grew on me. Toler throws in a wonderful twist with a romantic element that Jamie Austen does not want or need but falls for anyway.

This is another example of how an author can deal with difficult subjects yet keep the book clean.

Although this book is about so, so much more, the premise itself pulled me in—I mean, a memoir about an abusive lesbian relationship? Yes, please.

But of course, Carmen Maria Machado, with her incredibly lyrical prose and frighteningly sharp intellect, takes the memoir form and turns it into something unique and surprising, a reflection on her relationship that somehow involves cultural history, film, fairy-tales and even—I kid you not—Disney’s The Little Mermaid. I was so moved and learned so much that I read it twice within a month.

I am relatively new to the writing of T Kingfisher and my introduction was the fantastic Nettle & Bone. Her prose is wonderful. Her story is whimsical. Strange magic runs throughout the book as an almost-nun determines she needs to kill a prince with the help of a dust-wife, a disgraced warrior, and a godmother who isn’t very good at her job. I am a complete sucker for faerie markets, in this case the Goblin Market. Her writing style is refreshing, and I have already bought a bunch more of her books.

Coming out of law school in 1994, around the time of the passage of the Violence Against Women Act, I firmly believed that criminalization was the way to address intimate partner violence. As a new legal services lawyer, I encouraged my clients to turn to the criminal legal system because I believed it would keep them safe. 

This book introduced me to the reality that that system was punishing survivors and showed me how Black survivors of violence were uniquely vulnerable to criminalization. I owe a massive debt to Beth Richie’s work.

I like this book because it takes on the troubling theme of consent in the case where one person is an adolescent and the other a significantly older adult. I think in all cases of this power dynamic, the confusion a young person feels when she is eager for the love and attention of the older man blurs the meaning of consent for her.I know it did for me.

Yet the truth is a young teenager isn’t capable of consent; she is unaware of the price she’ll pay for what seems like love but is actually abuse. When the perpetrator is a well-liked or respected leader, like a coach or teacher, the confusion is worse because we are all led to believe this is a trustworthy person.

I am inspired by books that unlayer other and more complex societies, and this one is high on my favorites list. Higashino is strong on what drives people and their actions, in this case, a mother and daughter, their estranged and bullying husband/father, a secret next-door admirer, and the cops assigned to solve the father’s death.

And in so doing it is a wonderful revelation about the nuances in and of Japanese life and culture. Again, Tokyo or a specific section of that marvellous city becomes as much a character as all the others, so the book becomes for me a guide to the nature of Japanese and big urban life.

Until I read this book, I didn’t realize that my work with criminalized survivors had a rich historical context. One example: I didn’t know about Joan Little, who stabbed the correctional officer who sexually assaulted her with an ice pick, or about the grassroots survivor defense campaign that sprang up around her.

I could not have situated that specific campaign in the broader context of a non-carceral anti-violence movement that opposed the build-up of the criminal response to intimate partner violence (a battle they ultimately lost). Emily Thuma gave me that historical context—and a lot more to be angry about.