100 books like Every Anxious Wave

When I say Slaughterhouse-Five is funny, people eye me like I’m a monster. But it is. The New York Times even has my back on this.

Is the novel also gut-wrenchingly tragic and horrifying? Of course. It’s one of the most potent stories ever written, and I’m not sure I’ve encountered anything whose biting satire eviscerates the absurdity of war (and of existence) so well.

Vonnegut balances humor and grief on the head of a pin: “Billy turned on the Magic Fingers, and he was jiggled as he wept.” 

The Compass Rose is certainly less well-known than many other Ursula K. Le Guin books, but I think it’s a fantastic example of a book that takes you to unexpected places. It’s a fascinating and varied collection, but my favorite piece by far is “The Author of the Acacia Seeds and Other Extracts from the Journal of the Association of Therolinguistics.” It starts out wonderfully nerdy and weird, with a scholar’s detailed reporting of the “writings” of an ant as written, using touch-gland exudation, on seeds in an anthill. From there it gets weirder, and more esoteric, until it lands in a place sweeping and unimaginable. It’s one of those stories that did something a story had never done to me before, and because of that, it holds a very special place in my heart.

And speaking of, who better than Le Guin to inspire sci-fi and fantasy stories that are truly unexpected? Dispatches from Anarres, edited by Susan DeFreitas, is an anthology of stories by Northwest authors, all inspired by and in tribute to Le Guin, and the offerings are rich and unique. Like Michelle Ruiz Keil’s poetic war cry of ghost cats in “The Kingdom of the Belly,” Jason LaPier’s fascinating tale of the life of a bee colony—with some of the coolest names I’ve encountered in fantasy—in “Bee, Keeper,” and Stevan Allred’s clever Ib and Nib folk-story interludes. I read much of this book in an ER waiting room as my husband was being examined and then treated for a scary collapsed lung, and the uniqueness of these stories kept me beautifully distracted.

I read Sequoia Nagamatsu’s Where We Go When All We Were is Gone on audiobook, having picked it up knowing nothing about it. The first story opens on a wildlife refuge where experts protect and study… Godzilla. Mothra. And other wonderful monsters of Japanese pop culture. Right then and there, I knew this was going to be a favorite book. Nagamatsu’s stories are nonstop rampant imagination, from the man who can stretch his neck and send his head on long journeys in secrecy via the sewer (!), to the clone child that emerges from an underwater cave—but as much as I can fall in love with a book for its creativity, Where We Go goes deeper, often centering its tales on grief and loss. This short collection is equal parts droll and poignant, fun, and devastating.

With almost 3000 positive reviews on Amazon alone, it’s not hard to see that Mariah Stone’s first in series, Highlander’s Captive, is a good book. But why do I love it? Because this medieval highlander romance doesn’t just make me swoon, but it tugs at my heartstrings. There’s such a depth of emotion here that it’s hard to put down, and even when you’re finished, you’re going to want to come back again and again. 

In Memphis during the 1950s, there was Black and there was White, but the two rarely met. One of the few places where they did was in clubs and recording studios, and the sparks they struck started a fire that came to be called rock ’n’ roll. 

In this wonderfully rich stew of a book, author and filmmaker Robert Gordon walks the streets of Memphis, exploring the sights and sounds and smells of a unique, endlessly fascinating world. 

As Gordon’s publisher says, “This is a book about the weirdos, winos, and midget wrestlers who forged the rock ’n’ roll spirit.” As Rolling Stone says, “If you haven’t read this book, do it now.”

Of all the legendary bands that are part of the history of Rock and Roll, Pink Floyd is the one that appears to have the least amount written about them. That is why this book is so important and so good. Other books had touched on their history, but none of them went as deep and thorough as this one.

I grew up with the Beatles. I went from 8 to 16 in the time it took the band to go from Love Me Do to Let It Be. I measure my own growth from infancy to adolescence during their lifespan.

The Beatles were more than a band to anyone of my age. They were a planet we all lived on. There have been hundreds of books about them, but few are more insightful than this one by their suave and urbane press officer.

Derek started off his career as a hard-bitten newspaper hack of the old school. Working with the Beatles changed his life. I can relate to that. The Fab Four changed all our lives. 

Some people consider this the second serious biography about Jimi Hendrix after David Henderson’s bio. Charles Cross had a great budget and the benefit of being based in Seattle. Since it was published in 2006, it also had the huge advantage of a treasure trove of updated information, culled from decades of numerous people doing research on Hendrix, who had a huge renaissance in the late ’90s, when his family won the rights back to his catalog. This Jimi bio was just a tune-up for his more successful bio on another Seattle Rock legend, Kurt Kobain, which was entitled, Heavier Than Heaven.

When I was 15, Liz Phair’s album Exile in Guyville completely turned me on to indie rock. Until then, everything I heard was baked for the radio. Liz’s dry, quivering voice, slipping in and out of key, singing candidly about sex and the unspeakable aspects of relationships, challenged the boys club and spoke to me in a way that Courtney Love and Shirley Manson hadn’t. I think it was her ability to tell a story, or maybe it was that nothing seemed “over-produced.” Either way, many years later, this book gave me important insights on the way Chicago indie-rock functioned in the ‘90s and how much bullshit Liz Phair had to put up with just for being herself.