Fans pick 100 books like I Heard Her Call My Name

This book is quietly hilarious. I loved being “inside” Patricia Lockwood’s mind. As a fellow lapsed Catholic, I resonated with her upbringing and living in the strange shadow of religion. Lockwood weaves a contradictory coming-of-age story with profound wit and lyricism.

She also explores the complexities of what she calls “The Portal”—the internet of things that boggle the mind even as they bring solace. I loved how Lockwood used “the portal” to understand her conservative upbringing and eventually find her own irreverent path in the world.

The book led me to follow her online presence too, and helped me learn new ways to “be” online. As Lockwood writes in Priestdaddy: “Part of what you have to figure out in this life is, who would I be if I hadn’t been frightened? What hurt me, and what would I be if it hadn’t?” 

I’ve always loved so-called monsters, and Emil Ferris, with her comforting voice and detailed, luminous drawings, elevates “monsters” to a transcendent place. This is a compelling graphic novel, a must-read for anyone who has felt labeled “monstrous” by societal norms or felt at all marginalized.

In reading My Favorite Thing is Monsters, Emil Ferris’s deep empathy for outsiders is felt in every line and drawing. The child’s point-of-view of 10-year-old Karen’s wild imagination felt like the author and protagonist were sharing their private diary with us. All this, and a mystery too, as Karen, who sees herself as a werewolf, tries to solve a monstrous murder mystery.

Mandy Keifetz’s book is about grief over a lover’s suicide, but her voice is so wise and amusing that her story didn’t make me sad.

I’ve lost humans; we all have. I lost my best friend and my best dog. How can we grasp what was there and now is gone? I instantly related to this story—the author is a fellow New Jersey girl living at the misfit margins and drifting along, gig by gig. She’s scrappy and willing to do what it takes to survive. I love being swept into a curious mind through a book.

I enjoyed the book’s spiral narrative, which drills down on loss with the sense of a dog chasing its own tail in fury and glee. And then, yes, there is Pascal’s Wager. Why not keep one foot on the side of belief in an afterlife or soul’s lingering on? What do you have… show more.

Kara Swisher has spent decades writing about and reporting on the tech kings of the world, including Elon Musk, Bill Gates, and others. Her insights into the rise of tech giants from the early 1990s to the present illuminate the forces that have shaped our world

I loved Swisher’s insight into these powerful men. She’s blunt, funny, and direct in how she exposes their flaws, and the book feels like it’s written by someone who understands and is fed up with these white, controlling male demigods of tech. I imagine the book’s title refers to how she’s burning all bridges by telling all.

As a journalist who was raised pre-internet, I could deeply relate to Swisher’s outrage in lines such as “What struck me was how easily people could be manipulated by fear and rage, and how facts could be destroyed without repercussions.”

This memoir hurts and heals in equal measure, with thoughtful retellings of childhood trauma (CW: sexual abuse), an adult mugging, and all of the moments that fracture a life and reshape an identity.

No one is more self-made, in so many ways, than McBee, who takes readers on a journey of discovery, forgiveness, and survival. And the emphasis isn’t solely on surviving, but on what it means to be unapologetically, wholly alive in the world. For anyone who has lived through major trauma, or loved someone who has, this book is a vessel of hope.

Another YA book set in New York, but this time in the world of a performing arts school. August Greene, a trans boy from a conservative Pennsylvania community, not only gets accepted into a prestigious performing arts academy in the big city but gets to live his authentic life while doing so. Trouble is, his parents don’t know he’s trans. McSmith is heavily involved in the NY theatre scene, and he writes with insight and accuracy about both trans issues and trans representation in the performing arts. 

This book is a milestone in transgender literature for kids. Published in 2015, it follows a fourth-grader’s attempts to get classmates, teachers, parents, etc. to see past the surface: she’s a girl named Melissa, not a boy named George as everyone perceives. An argument often leveled against transgender kids is that they can’t know they’re transgender because they’re too young. This novel counters that by compassionately and realistically portraying a child who knows her identity from an early age, and it shows how devastating it is when the people who should love and support Melissa instead reject her assertion of her identity. It has a happy ending, but it leaves the reader thinking about how many transgender kids don’t get that—thereby inspiring advocacy. 

“I want to be a boyfriend who is a girl.” — Pen Oliveira, protagonist and all-around badass. While this YA novel isn’t specifically about being trans, it does explore gender from the angle of a girl who dresses like a boy, hangs out with the boys, and likes girls—much to the consternation of her parents. Pen does a lot of heavy thinking about what “girl,” “boy,” “man,” and “woman” mean, whether any of these labels apply to her, and the damage that results when others saddle her with expectations according to their own definitions of those words. I love books that make me rethink my definitions of femininity and masculinity, and this novel gave me a lot to mull over for a long time. 

I picked up Transmutation when it was very difficult for any book to hold my interest—during the constant low-level depression that colored the seemingly endless extended lockdown in Sydney in 2021. It held me spellbound. I had an inkling it would: I adored DiFrancesco’s earlier work, Psychopomps, which I read in 2019. The stories of Transmutation are electric and warm and sad. Like the other stories and novels on this list, they never fully answered my questions, never wrapped anything up in a neat bow. They left me immensely satisfied.

I loved the unique way Daniel José Older explores the Cuban Revolution and the disappearance of ordinary citizens fighting in the war, including Marisol, whom we first meet as a spirit haunting her nephew Ramon.

Ramon sets out to uncover stories about his missing aunt, and along the way, falls in love and uncovers his mother’s own secrets related to Marisol’s disappearance.

This book reminds me about the interconnectedness of family and how family stories get told and passed on from one generation to another.