Fans pick 100 books like Can You Sue Your Parents for Malpractice?

I loved the bravery of the author in tackling a controversial question.

This book deals with the US Supreme Court’s “parental rights doctrine.” Through a complete overview of jurisprudence from the earliest days of the country’s existence, Shulman challenges the commonly-held modern idea that parental rights have long held an exalted position in American jurisprudence. He demonstrates that, on the contrary, the American state originally entrusted parents with custody of the child for the purpose of meeting the child's needs and that the notion of the custody of one’s child as an entitlement is a relatively modern one.

I think this is a message that is vital to be brought out into the public sphere, and I am happy that the author was willing to devote an entire book to it.

I liked that this book was specifically aimed at the Canadian market. It shows compassion for children, framing their rights as an important value and their advancement as a valid goal for Canadian society.

I am pleased that, unlike many others, the authors show some agreement with the premise that children should be able to have choices and participate in the decisions that affect their lives. I think this is a perspective that is lacking in many publications on the subject of children’s rights, which often focus more on the protectionist aspect of the issue than on the autonomy aspects.

This is a young adult literature novel from Canada. I found this book very inspiring when reading it as a kid. I enjoyed its subversive nature as it portrays a group of boys and girls, from two private schools, who conspire to overthrow the tyrannical assistant headmaster and headmistress that their respective schools have appointed.

The novel, while written as a comedy, is suggestive of the idea that adults should not be allowed to micromanage and tyrannize their young charges and that such administrators can be ousted. I like that it conveys this message in an entertaining way while still showing a youth’s eye perspective on unreasonable adult actions toward them.

This is my favorite manifesto monograph for children’s rights. It is very radical for its date of publication (1974) and argues for emancipating kids as much as possible from adult control. His message is laid out in a number of clear, simple, and explicit points and is accompanied by appropriate argumentation.

I love that the book does not shrink from controversy and that it adopts explicit recommendations for diametrically altering the status of young people without beating about the bush. The message is still timely today, and it would be good if more people thought to act upon it. It is a classic that should be rediscovered by today’s generations.

This type of book taught me much about my own country, Zambia. It starts with the story of David Livingstone’s “discovery” of Victoria Falls, and many characters, including a choir of mosquitos, took me for a wild ride through colonial history, the struggle for independence, modern-day Zambia, and then into the future.

I had learned about some of the historical events in school, but many were revelations unearthed by Serpell’s meticulous research. I found the characters riveting, and the storytelling complex, creative, and exciting. Reading this incredible book has also made me richer in my knowledge of my home country. 

Ever since I read this haunting book, I haven’t been able to shake the memory. Its Ozark Mountain setting is incredibly well-rendered, mostly via trailer-dwelling characters scrabbling to survive. In this community, vulnerable girls have gone missing, and young Lucy Dane is trying to work out why.

There are entrancing, regular tales of hunting, gathering, and cooking (one character has a popular recipe for squirrel dumplings). This made the story feel so authentic and tangible, lending even more fear and credence to the disturbing crimes that take place.

I love this book because it puts me inside the heartbreaking experience of a singular character named Francis Phelan—a homeless man from Albany, New York—as he wrestles with his past and journeys home after a long, self-imposed absence. By the time Ironweed begins, Francis has been homeless for many years and is haunted by his past.

I love how the main character is a mystery, yet the author uses interiority to place the reader inside his experience. Ghosts of the past become palpable to Francis, and he struggles to make his way back home while struggling to survive the hardscrabble existence of the homeless. This book unravels the mystery of its main character and employs striking, beautiful, and direct prose. This book haunted me.

A lower-middle-class girl grows up in provincial England, and we follow her from early childhood through middle age. That’s it. She has a few relationships, a few kids, and some friendships. She fights with her mother, she works, and she thinks about her life, but only in passing because she’s busy living.

The kind of book that’s not supposed to work, except it does. It was technically marketed as a novel but exists on the disputed border between connected short story collections and novels. Each section can be read by itself and is a world unto itself. This book is full of moments that express how strange it is to have consciousness, how we are caught, suddenly, in the midst of ourselves, unable to believe we are here. 

This book describes the intensity of new motherhood so accurately that I was surprised to realize it was written by a man! It brought back memories of the newborn days with my own three kids, when I was drowning in exhaustion, anxiety, and breastmilk but also felt overwhelmed with joy and love. 

When the main character decides to step in and adopt a second baby—the child of her nanny, who dies in childbirth—we get to see how mothering is both the same and different when your baby doesn’t share your genes or even your skin color. I loved how the book doesn’t give easy answers to the sticky questions around transracial adoption but instead leaves the reader pondering. I read this one years ago, and I’m still thinking about it!

This is my curveball selection because it’s fiction. It’s a dystopian book about our disconnection from our sense of touch, and it so well highlights our fears about technology cutting us off from true experiences. It tells the story of Sloan, who works at a company whose consumers prefer virtual relationships and whose partner believes in something called “post-sexual sex.” 

But she slowly realizes that people, including herself, are feeling deprived, and she goes on a journey to fight for connection. If I had a criticism of this book as fiction only, I’d say it feels very obviously topical in a way that sometimes detracts from the narrative. But as a treatise on the value of touch, it delivers entirely.