Fans pick 100 books like Crazy Like Us

It’s hard for me to overstate the importance this book played in my understanding of college-aged American adolescents. I loved the clarity, organization, and simplicity of the writing here. Bringing in time-tested wisdom from philosophers, ancient faith systems, and cross-cultural perspectives gave me the sense that I was reading about principles and values that will endure far beyond our fleeting cultural moments.

I loved the contrast of wise maxims against trendy and misleading slogans that create a more brittle and distressed generation of young adults. I loved the mix of psychological research, historical anecdotes, and individual college students’ stories, all profiled seamlessly in the book. The sections that look back at historical forces that led to the helicopter and then bulldozer parenting were particularly fascinating.

I love that this book takes a compassionate look at the difficulty of Gen Z without being too harsh or alienating the young adults who… show more.

Although Madhouse reads like a Stephen King novel, everything it recounts is actually true. At the turn of the twentieth century, Henry Cotton, a psychiatrist and the medical director of the New Jersey State Hospital at Trenton, thought he had found the solution to mental illness. His unconventional approach to treatment, however, left more people dead and disfigured than effectively cured. Andrew Scull’s deeply-researched narrative of Cotton’s medical interventions is a horrifying, yet entirely gripping, account of the lengths people have gone in the name of psychiatric treatment.

This classic account by a renowned sociologist is critical reading for those interested in the anti-psychiatry movement, a crusade that viewed psychiatry as more coercive than therapeutic and, in some cases, questioned the reality of mental illness itself. For one year, Goffman embedded himself in St. Elizabeth’s mental hospital in Washington, DC, where he ultimately concluded that the defining features of the asylum – similar to those of prisons and other “total institutions” – did more to shape the patient’s behavior than the supposed illness for which the patient had been admitted in the first place. Goffman’s observations left a significant impact on popular ideas about asylum care and helped contribute to widespread deinstitutionalization several decades later.

I love this book first and foremost because it is essentially the OG of madwomen narratives. Written in 1892, it is a super-creepy, sensory, trippy exploration of one woman’s sanity slowly being shredded by male medical “expertise”—in this case, a doctor’s prescription for postpartum depression: utter isolation in a bedroom with no intellectual stimulation... in order to alleviate postpartum depression (?!). Unsurprisingly, rather than “recovering,” the heroine drags readers down a terrifying rabbit hole of hallucination, self-destruction, and—ultimately—murder.

It’s a masterful, Hitchcockian deep dive into psychosis written over a half-century before Psycho. But it’s also an extremely satisfying example of feminist revenge-writing; Perkins not only drew on her own experience after suffering this “treatment” but sent a copy directly to her practitioner after its publication. Pow!

I once worked on a film shoot at the infamous Friern Barnet Asylum in London, an imposing building that boasts the longest corridor in Europe at over a third of a mile long. It was my job to lock up after filming was over each night, and to do so, I had to walk the long corridor with just a flashlight for company… and the ghosts rumoured to haunt the building! I have never forgotten the feeling of dread and despair in that place, and my heart went out to the patients who were isolated in the creepy basement wards. Barbara Taylor gives an inside perspective on this fearsome institution in her book, which is both an achingly honest account of mental illness and addiction, and a critique of community care.

There is an uncomfortable question in the world of mental health and treatment that everyone thinks about, but no one says out loud: If medicating mental illness with psychiatric drugs was really working, why are people getting worse?

This book examines over fifty years of research to find the answer and comes to a startling conclusion. I think it is the single most comprehensive and explanatory book on the market about the true nature and outcomes of psychiatric drugs and that it should be required reading in all medical schools.

It is also divided into multiple diagnoses (schizophrenia, bipolar, depression, and ADHD), which I found particularly useful as someone who focuses mostly on the history and treatment of depression.

A book about pharmaceutical corruption and manipulative science can rarely make me laugh out loud, but Bad Science does just that.

Not only did the book make me a better advocate for my health by teaching me what red flags to look out for in research and shady science journalism, but it kept me consistently entertained to the point where I was disappointed when the book ended. It should be required reading in all high school science classes. 

My favorite kinds of books are ones that challenge conventional wisdom in a way that feels intuitively familiar and true. This is how I felt while reading this book.

As a therapist, I know how capable and resilient people can be, but I also come into contact with prolonged suffering in my work. I really enjoyed reading about the heroic and remarkable people he profiled, and I loved how Bonanno weaves in science with personal narrative.

I felt like his examples and interviews really brought to life the data on resilience, and I got a ton of practical and useful ideas for how to respond to challenging situations, from big-T trauma to everyday difficulties. 

Though this is technically an academic book, it is extremely readable and the best account of the manipulative marketing, hidden court cases, and corruption that occurred during the development of Prozac and Zoloft.

It’s one of those books where, if my mother or I had read it before I was medicated at 15, I’m quite sure we would not have made the same choices. 

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.