10 books like Revolutionary Ride

My passion for the topic was an inevitable calling. I knew that my grandfather’s story had to be told in some form, but during his lifetime, I was too young to know how to put it together. As a teenager, I knew his story was a book, but I was not yet a writer. Fate declared that I should get my feet wet in the writing field in myriad ways, as if I was polishing my craft so that when I could put the elements of my grandfather’s life together, I was ready for the task. The reason my list is entitled with its exact name is because it’s a form of penance.

Aryanne Oade works as a chartered psychologist, executive coach, and author of eight books. She has over thirty years’ experience in guiding clients through the challenge of complex workplace dynamics, and specialises in enabling detoxification and recovery from workplace bullying. Author of the best-selling award-winner Free Yourself from Workplace Bullying: Become Bully-Proof and Regain Control of Your Life, Aryanne’s work and books have been featured in The Independent, Sunday Independent (Ireland), Psychologies, Marie Claire, Good Housekeeping, The Belfast Telegraph, HR Magazine, Safety & Health Practitioner, SHP Online, Nursing Times, and Midwives.

I'm an author, leadership expert, and amateur triathlete whose passion is helping people flourish. When I was coaching leaders and studying for my doctorate at Oxford, I became even more keenly interested in how the human mind works—why we crave meaning in our lives, what helps us achieve our goals most effectively, and so on. For the last several decades I've been exploring these questions with my clients (senior leaders from across the public and private sectors)  around the world, which has been an enormously enriching experience. And it's shown me that sharing what I've learned is the greatest gift I can give to the world.

I spent most of my youth feeling lost and miserable but refused to accept this as my fate and dedicated my life to improving my experience and that of others. I'm not content with just surviving. I want to feel like I'm fully living. I want to be able to say that I regret nothing, and that I said yes to this mysterious and challenging gift that life is. In order to do this I believe in learning from those that have come before me. Books open the door to universes of wisdom and understanding. Being a writer, coach and musician are just roles I play. What really matters to me is to be a human I can be proud of. 

My mom handed me one of those little girl diaries with a lock and key when I was in third grade. I wrote my heart into those diaries until I needed more space and shifted to regular-sized notebooks. Writing is my way to know myself and make sense of my life. The journal I kept in the last months of my husband’s life helped me reassemble the trauma-blurred memories of his dying, and then, it supported my emotional rebirth during the year of intense grieving. It is with surprise and delight that I hear from readers who say I articulate their innermost emotions related to love and loss.

Since I was a kid, “someplace else” has always looked good to me. I turned that passion into a career. I have been a travel writer for the New York Times and travel commenter for Public Radio International. Three of my published books are humorous travel memoirs. I’ve written books about what’s funny when your destination is middle age, the hilarious thrills and disasters that befall you when you’re pretending to be French in Provence, and the gender problems that arise when traveling while married. Bragging is a vice I usually avoid, but I can’t resist telling you that reviewers of my travel books have compared my humor to that of the late Erma Bombeck. I also enjoy giving credit to other successful, amusing humor writers.

I have loved writing since I was in grade school and after graduating university with a degree in International Affairs I became a journalist. I’ve written six non-fiction books and also teach Journalism at SUNY Purchase.  I’ve always been fascinated about the way one person’s life or one seemingly small episode in history allows us a way to examine the larger picture: whether it was how Fanny Bullock Workman showed what it meant to be a woman in a predominantly male world of mountain climbing or how the deliberate sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff in the closing days of WWII showed that war is never black and white, that there are layers to people and stories and events that we should always try to consider.

I am a painter and a writer from Myanmar. The former profession is what I chose when I was 15 and began at 21, featured in a group exhibition of modern art and the only woman among several men. Since then I have exhibited in several group shows and have had seven solos. In the early 2000s by chance - and financial need - I became the Contributing Editor for the Myanmar Times weekly and a travel magazine until they closed down. Since then I have written around 20 books on food, culture, and travels and it kept me so busy that my art was put on hoId, but I hope to resume one day soon.

In my work as a news reporter and war correspondent, I met people on the worst day of their lives. I always wondered: What now? How will they get on with life? My own parents faced that dreadful dilemma. Penniless refugees, their families murdered in the Holocaust, unemployed in London, how on earth did they find the strength to carry on? One day at a time, they just did what they had to do. That is the subject of my fiction, always trying to answer that existential question: How do we live with trauma, and still find love and happiness?

I was born in New Jersey to an American mother and an Iranian father. I spent the first twenty years of my life living both in Tehran and New York, striving to fit and blend into whatever culture I happened to occupy at a given moment. I whined about this, wishing I was one thing or another. But after the 1979 Islamic Revolution erupted and my family was permanently exiled, I learned the true meaning of being careful about what you wish for. To connect with my lost Persian heritage, I began to write about it, and to write about living in the diaspora. It’s how I make sense of the world.