Fans pick 100 books like Evergreen

This book is so horribly, deliciously meta. 

This was a book I’d meant to read since it was released, but I never did. Then I was asked about the accuracy of Kuang’s depiction of the publishing industry and curiosity made me crack it open. Kuang crafts a slow-moving trainwreck that you can’t turn away from, even though, at times, you desperately wish to. It gave me hives and heart palpitations. Twice, I fell asleep listening to it and had nightmares.

It wasn’t just the industry descriptions that produced such a visceral reaction. Instead, it’s because Kuang nails that emotional author spot in the Venn Diagram between your writing as a piece of your soul and your writing as commerce. Also, she’s only 28. And I’m not bitter about that at all.  

As a child, I used to sit in the shoe closet, waiting for it to open up to Narnia. This book brought me back to this feeling of magical longing; only the irresistible hook is secrets hidden in ordinary maps.

It is expertly plotted, magical, and mysterious, and the characters are dynamic and diverse. My tastes usually tend toward dark thrillers, but this one snuck its way into my heart. Important: when you finish, read all the way through the acknowledgments.

I started this book on a plane, continued to read in my seat after the plane landed, and was seriously annoyed at the flight attendant when forced to deplane. This is one of those books with a simple twist on the fantasy genre I wish I’d thought of—a race of beings who subsist on eating books.

Dean’s world building is superb, the protagonist is a badass, and the portrayal of the fractured relationships among characters—especially with her son—complicated and relatable. I finished it (in a chair at the airport) in one sitting, and it was worth it. 

I’m a sucker for any book that dangles codes for me to solve, so that’s what immediately drew me into this novel. In it, the clues are in poetry form, taken from the diary of a murdered patient of the protagonist, Dr. Lydia Weston. But beyond the tantalizing codes, I appreciated that this novel stayed true to the style and attitudes of the late 1800s, something that doesn’t always happen with historical fiction.

Ritu Mukerji is also adept at bringing a sophisticated nuance to her exploration of racism, classism, and sexism. An added bonus is that rather than merely playing one on TV, Mukerji is also an actual physician and clearly knows her medicine without overwhelming a layperson like me. 

I have read this book by Alma Katsu three times now. About the often-forgotten period in US history where American citizens of Japanese and Okinawan blood were locked up in internment camps, Alma does a fabulous job of telling the story without picking sides.

From an Asian-mixed family myself, I could see aspects of my relationship with my mother mixed in the story. A brilliant blend of historical events and elements of Japanese folklore, Alma’s skillful storytelling not only entertains but also educates, shedding light on a dark period in American history when the humanity of certain groups was unjustly questioned because of their race.

This book is more than just a dark story; it explores identity, demonization, and the human spirit's resilience. 

This book, while it takes place in America, made me think of my mother who grew up in Japanese occupied Korea―she was forced to give up her Korean birth name for a Japanese name; forced to go to Japanese school and bow to large portraits of Emperor Hirohito; forced into the war effort at age twelve only to lose a finger while sewing buttons onto Japanese Imperial uniforms; Meanwhile, in America, a similar and heart-wrenching story unfolds in Weedflower, a story of innocent Japanese Americans going about their lives when Japan bombs Pearl Harbor. Suddenly, Japanese Americans are no longer considered American―they are the enemy.

Twelve-year-old Sumiko has always struggled to fit in, but when the war breaks out, struggles turn to fear for her and her family, so much so, they have no other choice but to burn all precious possessions from Japan including photos of family members… show more.

But the memoirs didn’t delve into the emotional and psychological impact of the forced removal and incarceration──until this unflinching one from 2005, and it’s another among the best.

Removed along with her family from their farm on Vashon Island, Washington and incarcerated at the Minidoka camp in Idaho, Matsuda Gruenewald, like most of those who underwent this experience, remained silent about what happened to them until she refused to be further confined by “the self-imposed barbed-wire fences built around my experiences in the camps.”

During a 2004 return to the Minidoka site, she wrote about her pilgrimage: “I had been saddled by feelings of paralyzing helplessness for so long. I wondered, Once I open up and start talking, will I also cry? And if I do so, will I be able to stop?”

Told from multiple points of view, this story details the horrific internment of fourteen Japanese American teenagers and their families during the height of World War II. The history of Japanese internment camps is often glazed over in Social Studies classes in favor of celebrating America’s successes in the war, but I was taken by Traci’s unflinching portrait of the teenagers’ lives and choices as they grapple with how to be Asian American in a world that refuses to acknowledge their citizenship and identities. 

This book explores family history and heritage, but this time with time travel. The art here is gorgeous, and I love how Kiku discovers more about her family’s legacy of resilience and strength through her time travel.

I loved this story about a Japanese-American boy who accidentally becomes pen pals with a French Jewish girl. Alex isn’t thrilled to find out Charlie is a girl, but as time passes, their friendship becomes an unshakeable bond—and then Charlie’s letters stop coming, and Alex’s family is forced into an internment camp by the US government. Alex siezes an opportunity to volunteer for a Japanese-American infantry regiment (the highly decorated 442nd), hoping all the while that he can somehow, miraculously, find Charlie.

This book is bittersweet and infuriating, cleverly juxtaposing the prejudice and mistreatment faced by Alex’s family with the ever increasing restrictions and cruelties faced by Charlie in German-occupied Paris, and it contains some of the best depictions of combat I’ve read in a YA novel.