100 books like Indigo

I literally could not stop reading this book. To this day, it’s my favorite book by Kennedy Ryan.

It is an achy, angst-ridden novel that I couldn’t put down. Both Iris and August were compelling characters, and when they first met at the bar, their chemistry was undeniable. But Iris was in a relationship, and each time she and August met in the story, I could feel the longing. 

The book covers tough subject matter involving domestic violence, and it’s quite graphic. I skipped over the parts that were “too much” and focused on the burgeoning relationship between Iris and August. He showed her in so many ways how much he loved her, and I spent the entire novel rooting for the happily ever after they both deserved. 

This book has everything I love about the billionaire trope—a filthy rich alpha male used to controlling every aspect of his life falling hard for one woman. 

Dante and Vivian were forced into a marriage of convenience because Vivian’s father blackmailed Dante—unbeknownst to her. In the beginning, Dante is rude and unkind, but as the story progresses, Vivian gets under his skin—in a good way.

I got a kick out of watching him slowly fall in love with her and the way that love manifested in acts of kindness—big and small. Dante softened toward Vivian and became willing to do anything to make her happy. His transformation from a hateful brute to a loving future spouse was not only enjoyable to watch, there were times when I actually sighed because Vivian was a lucky chica indeed. 

This was the first novel I read by Maureen Smith, and it sent me down a path to reading all the Wolf books. Not only that, I had to read her other books, too.

The way she writes her heroes, you can’t help but fall in love with them, and that was the case with Marcus Wolf. I simply fell in love with him. He’s a successful attorney who falls head over heels for Samara, a woman he initially meets at a fashion show. 

These two had great chemistry. Their relationship was hot and heavy right from the beginning, but what made Marcus swoon-worthy was how smitten he was with Samara, which resulted in a full-court press to make her his for all time. 

Diego is so very bad, which makes him swoon-worthy good. This book is a combination of two books which I read years ago (Mi Cariño and Mi Cariña), long before dark romance was an official subgenre in romance. 

Diego is wealthy, uber-alpha, and obsessed with Marcella. He’s so obsessed he kidnaps her and won’t let her go. Despite his outrageous behavior, he’s good to her and wants to build a life with her.

I set aside my reservations about his behavior, which I’d never tolerate in real life, and allowed myself to be entertained by a story with a hero who will stop at nothing to hold on to the woman he loves. 

This is a very powerful book that takes the city of St. Louis as a case study to illustrate the amount of violence, discrimination, and inequities that have happened across a 300-year period, particularly with respect to race. 

Johnson develops the idea of racial capitalism throughout the book, and notes that “the red thread that runs through this entire book is the historical relationship between imperialism and anti-Blackness.” At the same time, the city has also been home to both communist and Black radical organizing into the 20th century. 

A highly interesting and important case study of American inequality and exploitation.

All my selections capture unheralded activists undertaking the “social learning” at the core of movement building. Inevitably, a movement against one injustice will uncover larger and denser fabrics of inequality and disempowerment. Lipsitz and Perry collaborated in producing an incredible synthesis of personal biography and broad social and historical analysis. This book opened my eyes to the forgotten history of a northern freedom movement that challenged entrenched and enduring structures of big city inequality. Lipsitz follows Perry from a campaign to open up jobs for St. Louis bank tellers in 1963, to an “unviolent” campaign organizing Louisiana timber workers for voting rights and labor rights in 1965. Perry's subsequent efforts as a St. Louis war on poverty housing coordinator were educations in themselves: most memorably, he organized rent strikes and coordinated an unprecedented campaign to remedy the devastating effects of lead paint poisoning on children.

I love this book mainly because the main character is an ordinary young woman with grit who defies all hostility in Missouri during the Civil War, including neighbors who turn against her.

I went through lots of emotions with this character during her journey to finding love, from anger and trepidation to wonder and exhilaration. The setting, historical context, and unsentimental yet tender and poetic writing make this book a triumph. 

This book reminded me of the deep parallels in the histories of Missouri and Kentucky. I don’t tend to associate Kentucky with Missouri, but Astor’s book really drives home why that is wrongheaded. Both were border states and, during the war, both suffered guerrilla insurgencies, had divided populations, and ended up supporting the pro-Confederate Lost Cause vision of the war. And when so much writing on Kentucky’s history is focused on its white inhabitants, Astor restores agency to its African American residents, showing how they resisted slavery and then, after emancipation, created their own institutions to contest for racial equality in the face of fierce opposition.

I love Lidie Newton. She is a newlywed who accompanies her abolitionist husband from Illinois to Kansas Territory, at a time when the territory is mired in partisan rage and violence. Lidie narrates the story, and her straightforward, often insightful accounts pulled me in immediately. I was right there with her as she forged her way through numerous exploits, some humorous, others heart-breaking. The story is populated with characters who are both colorful and believable, and I came away with a heightened understanding of the role played by events in Kansas and Missouri during the frightening months leading up to the Civil War.

Let’s face it. Christianity has been used to support slavery, encourage white people to be racist, and send women back to the 1950s.

That’s why I found Jarod Roll’s Spirit of Rebellion refreshing and important. It was a good reminder that faith can also provide the moral courage necessary for change. It can unite people instead of dividing them.

I can’t imagine a place and time more disposed to racist divisions than rural Missouri in the late 19th century. Yet, poor white and Black farmers there found common ground as rebels against the emerging capitalist order. How? Through the Pentecostal revivals that swept the region in this same period. If that’s not a message of hope in these trying times, then I don’t know what is.