Fans pick 100 books like Memorial

This novel is an immersive read with heaps of empathy for all its characters but especially for the two sisters whose perspectives are at the center of the story: the twin who disappears to live a secret life, passing as white, and the twin left behind.

We don’t get the perspective of Stella, the vanished twin, until 14 years after her disappearance, 150 pages into the book. By then, I was fully absorbed in the grief and unanswered questions of the people she’d abandoned, eager to finally know where she’d been all this time and to understand her complex motivations and the emotional and mental toll of relinquishing—and hiding—her racial identity, her community, her sister, and her past. I picked this book up and didn’t put it down until it was done.

Christie Tate’s candid memoir made me feel like I was part of her therapeutic group experience. I could hear the dishes breaking when she took her anger out on them, and I jumped with joy at her successes.

With humor and vulnerability, she explores the complexities of relationships, mental health, and self-discovery. The book's engaging narrative and relatable insights make it a page-turner, providing a perfect distraction during a flight. Tate's wit and vivid writing create a sense of connection, making it an ideal companion for a solo journey.

Whether you're seeking introspection or simply a captivating story, this book offers a thought-provoking companion to your airborne adventure.

Although this book is about so, so much more, the premise itself pulled me in—I mean, a memoir about an abusive lesbian relationship? Yes, please.

But of course, Carmen Maria Machado, with her incredibly lyrical prose and frighteningly sharp intellect, takes the memoir form and turns it into something unique and surprising, a reflection on her relationship that somehow involves cultural history, film, fairy-tales and even—I kid you not—Disney’s The Little Mermaid. I was so moved and learned so much that I read it twice within a month.

Being someone who often ponders life's "what ifs," I was quick to snap this novel up. The plot revolves around a suicidal woman, Nora Seed, who finds herself in a mysterious library between life and death, where each book serves as a portal to a different version of her life had she made alternative choices.

Though the story shares thematic elements with traditional time travel narratives—such as the exploration of alternate realities—it’s not time travel in the strictest sense. Instead, it has a dreamlike quality that offers a clever means to explore the deeply personal and relatable concept of self-discovery.

As Nora samples all the different lives she could’ve lived, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own life choices and the paths I didn't take…and be grateful for the ones I did.

I love this book because it is raw. For those who dismiss erotic writing, because they think there are only a finite number of ways to write about sex and sexuality, I recommend this book. The raw and transformative way it writes about the attraction, longing, and pain of sex is joyous and agonising to read.

I love it because I don’t actually like either of the main characters, and liking the characters can often rescue a book from otherwise poor writing. I loved this book despite disliking the main characters. 

Malibu Rising was the first book I read by Taylor Jenkins Reid. As soon as I finished, I read three more of her novels. All of them made me feel great. Hers are stories you can lose yourself in and come out feeling refreshed and optimistic.

Malibu Rising centers around the adult Riva siblings, children whose parents stopped parenting long before the kids were equipped to care for themselves. Particularly impacted is Nina, the oldest, who has spent her life making choices that prioritize the well-being of everyone except herself. 

This is a book about dealing with old wounds, the kind that hide under the surface of successful lives. It’s a story that takes us on multiple journeys of self-discovery and healing. For me, a book doesn’t get more “feel good” than that.

I’m a big fan of stories about people striving for creative expression and the ups and downs that accompany that path, even better when that desire is tangled up in and complicated by love—or picking oneself up after catastrophe.

I was deeply moved by the emotional richness and psychological complexity that Taylor achieves. I read this book when it first came out in 2021, but I still sometimes think about the love triangle that carries across some of these linked stories between a graduate student in mathematics and a pair of dancers in an open relationship.

The poems in this book made me feel glad to be alive in a world that feels like it’s ending. I loved how Jones situated personal grief within disasters of national and international scale; grieving a mother is as monumental as grieving a world. 

I also found it compelling how Jones consistently maintains a musical quality to the poems’ language. The first two lines of, 'Saeed, How Dare You Make Your Mother into a Prelude', are: "And then, night neons itself inside me / and I begin missing you in loud new ways.”

Multisensory with pleasing consonance, these lines are a small sample of Jones’s linguistic verve. Full of wit and sincerity, these poems made me want to write my own defiant love letter to the apocalypse. 

I was mesmerized by this masterfully written and engrossing page-turner that emotionally landed me in the intimate orbit of Anthony Malone and Andrew Southerland, the book’s two main characters.

Honest and unflinching, it describes a life and culture unknown to me in such a beautiful, romantic way that, although intrinsically tragic, I regretted not being a part of it.

Holleran illuminates a period essential to understanding LGBTQ history, “Imagine a pleasure in which the moment of satisfaction is simultaneous with a moment of destruction: to kiss is to poison; lifting to your lips this face after what you have dreamed, long for, the face shatters every time.”

I loved that this book’s inciting incident is the toppling of a many-tiered wedding cake of a British royal couple. The cause? The immature tussling of a prince and the U.S. president’s son? (Adults, mind you. They’re adults) And because of that, they have to pretend to be friends, pals, buddies.

And as with most fake-relationship-themed books, the fake friendship soon turns into real love. Even though both Alex and Henry are outrageously advantaged individuals, I saw them as people—people in love—and not as a representation of their class.

Perhaps the thing I love most about McQuiston’s writing is the idealism and hopefulness she brings to the story. The obstacles Alex and Henry must overcome are literally international and yet, she can boil their love down to the simplest of gestures—and make it seem realistic.