100 books like Dig Too Deep

This uplifting book made me hope for the future despite the challenges to human rights and fairness we constantly face. I love how Jasmine and Chelsea won’t accept being treated as second-rate just because they’re girls and figure out how to stand up for themselves within the school’s parameters with a blog.

The book includes the fierce essays and poems they post. The attention they get is good, then bad, and when they’re shut down by the administration, it’s so inspiring to see them take things to the next level. It’s such a powerful reminder that young people have the power to change things when they band together. It’s also a great story about how even good friendships are complicated, and everyone has to work for them.

I love it when modern stories deal with history, especially when they try to bring injustices to light. CJ's grandparents were thrown into a Japanese internment camp in World War II, and a local white man swept in and effectively stole their flower shop. It took them decades to buy it back after they were released. CJ’s family members regard the history differently, and I love how she’s a little ambivalent—sometimes, it’s just easier to ignore things, forge ahead, and let bygones be bygones.

But after some damning info come out about the scope of the exploitation, I love how CJ starts an effort to right some of the wrongs. I loved seeing CJ go from feeling unimportant to finding that she has something important to say and do.

I love watching a struggling teen come into his own despite terrible obstacles, and that’s what happens in this book. Moss is a Black teen haunted by the police’s unjust (and unpunished) murder of his father, which gives him crushing anxiety and self-doubt.

This made me empathize with him, and when things started to go well with a boy he liked, I cheered him on. But things go haywire at his high school (now crawling with police), pushing him almost over the edge. But instead of falling apart, he discovers a well of confidence he never knew he had. I also loved the honest and raw truths in this book about the experience of being Black, white allyship and privilege, and the importance of community.

I loved Ayo, this book’s fourteen-year-old main character. She’s burnt out on activism, having been raised by a famous activist mom fighting for Black rights in America. All Ayo wants is to take a break and live a normal teen life. This makes so much sense to me—why do people who are at a disadvantage have to spend their time fighting for basic rights—what if they just want to spend their time making art or writing books like selfish white dudes are free to do?

But when something terrible happens at a big march, Ayo skipped, all the education and activist spirit her mom drilled into her no longer feels like a burden. I loved how she figured out she wanted to fight and really came into her own.

Not a dread-inducing house this time but a lighthouse—in the middle of the woods. This book is so original in its elements—a haunted lighthouse, a sheriff in love with the woman who shot him, and a big-cat sanctuary—that it is completely awe-inspiring how Koryta is able to weave together a complex, creepy ghost narrative. Koryta (and his pseudonym, Scott Carson) is always a guaranteed purchase when a new book publishes.

It is beautifully written, which is one reason I love it so much. I’ve re-read it several times. I’ve never been to Kentucky, where much of it is set, but everything Ann Patchett describes is as vivid as a photograph. The protagonist, Rose, leaves her husband when she finds out she’s pregnant and enters a Catholic home for unwed mothers, intending to give her baby up.

It touched me how the very private Rose bonds with her roommate, Angie. She feels protective of her, and Angie, in turn, leans on Rose. Yet they know they will leave each other behind. I found it poignant that all the young women in the home rely on each other far more than the nuns in charge.

Ever since John Filson wrote the first history of the state in 1784, the Kentucky frontier has captured the public’s imagination. Aron goes beyond heroic accounts and stories of triumph to understand how egalitarian aims and the sense that the West could become a “good poor man’s country” failed to pan out for so many. The west did not become the land of opportunity for Native Americans or slaves, nor did it provide a fresh start for many poor white men and women. Two iconic figures, Boone and Clay, serve as familiar bookends, neatly framing Aron’s story and tying their worlds to the one we recognize today.

Following in the footsteps of scholars, such as Kristen Hoganson, who have put a new gender spin on well-chronicled events, Sachs takes a familiar story—the story of America’s first frontier—and tells it in a fresh and compelling way by emphasizing how manliness and mastery shaped public policy and household relationships. Life in the west was risky and chaotic. Settlers coped by celebrating domestic order and by demanding the right for men to rule their own households. This patriarchal ideal, however, often led to violence, both outside the home and within. The individuals Sachs spotlights like, widow and powerful businesswomen Annie Christian, and outcast criminal and murderer Bartholomew Fenton, provide a totally new perspective on frontier life. 

As a journalist, Wall reported on horse racing in Kentucky for many years before becoming a serious student of history, which makes her writing really readable. Today, most people classify Kentucky as a southern state, but before and immediately following the Civil War it was considered the west. This book explains the switch, giving horsemen credit for rehabbing the Bluegrass State’s tarnished image, albeit to serve their own financial interests. Besides introducing readers to the post-war history of Kentucky, it provides a useful introduction to horse culture. After reading it, you will understand why the Kentucky Derby is so steeped in tradition and why black jockeys, once so plentiful in the sport, are rare.

Jim Klotter, Kentucky’s preeminent historian, takes an obscure nineteenth-century Kentucky Superior Court Judge, Richard Reid, and uses his life and death to understand the tragic ways southern honor forced men to prove themselves. John Jay Cornelison attacked Reid at his law Mount Sterling law office in 1884, setting off an unexpected series of events. Reid’s story reveals the conflicts between old, traditional southern ways, and the new urban, industrial order, and Klotter tells it masterfully.  The book is filled with suspense and sharp analysis, but it is also a quick read.