Fans pick 100 books like The Almost Sisters

I find this book to be an unsettling but impactful read, both thought-provoking and complex. We Need to Talk about Kevin follows the mother of a troubled teenager responsible for a school shooting.

It’s about nature versus nurture, the relationship between mother and child, and deeply seated guilt. It draws inspiration from real events, including the 1999 shooting at Columbine, which wasn’t the U.S.’s first mass shooting at a school, but it would become one of the most infamous.

Shriver’s novel raises unsettling questions about a mother’s guilt and self-justification and a community’s heartache and blame. I consider it to be a captivating and moving book.

I loved this taut, gripping who-dun-it mystery genre of book because the setting and characters are scenes right out of life—real, everyday people. I can relate to this because it’s reality and could really happen!

Love triangles, suspicion, and told in a unique way—this story was a masterful exploration into the human psyche. I love books where the predicament or dream of the character makes me squirm. Whether to be admired or pitied, the characters’ flaws are no less real than our own. They could be our very own neighbors. Or they could be us. 

This book is on my list of all-time favorites. I read it more than a decade ago, but I still can’t get the ending out of my head. The book is intriguing and fast-paced, and I found the characters so relatable–normal, middle-class people, much like my own family.

Maybe that is why the ending hit me so hard. I didn’t see it coming, but I should have. Maybe I didn’t want to believe it could happen or even consider the possibility. Who would? What a twist. All the evidence is there. The motive is there. It is the only ending that makes sense. It’s perfect. 

I don’t know if I’d feel as surprised if I read this book today for the first time. But when I encountered it decades ago, I was gobsmacked when the murderer was revealed. This is an unusual Agatha Christie mystery, set in ancient Egypt and inspired by her husband’s archeological digs. In my view, Christie can’t be topped. She’s also the one who introduced me to the unreliable narrator with her fabulous Murder of Roger Ackroyd. 

When I was a young, newly married woman, one of the more mature members in my book club presented this book to the group in 1992. To Dance with the White Dog is a story about the unfathomable bonds of marriage and the crushing grief of losing a spouse. Even better? It involves a dog 😊

Sam Peek’s adult children think he’s losing his mind or perhaps imagining the “white dog” to cope with the loss of his beloved wife, Cora. Even though I wept through most of this book, it remains one of my all-time favorites thirty years later. While the novel pushes us to consider serious matters such as death, aging, and grief, it also fills us with hope and gratitude.

Even though it breaks my heart, I reread it often. Because it is that beautiful, and because Terry Kay is that good. 

When it comes to “selling the voice” in the first-person narrative, so much depends on the language and the style by which the chosen character tells the story. How convinced is the reader of this voice that promises us everything?

Let us only pay attention to Jabari Asim and his slave narrative Yonder, to know how to do it well. From the first chapter we are thrown into William’s world, the harsh truth of living on a plantation in the American South.

Once he starts narrating in his believable and lyrical voice, we feel the danger, and the hopelessness: ”I had known death could come at any time. You could keel over in the fields. You could be crushed under a wagon wheel, kicked by a horse, or have your skull split open because a slice of ham…had gone missing.” The first-person magic takes over and we have no choice… show more.

Two people who worked for Wendell Berry’s family when he was a child had a profound effect on his life—“Aunt Georgie” Ashby and Nick Watkins. With the simplicity of their lives birthing profound wisdom, Berry credits them for helping to expose the hidden wound of racism and putting his feet on a path to reject the deeply ingrained racism of his youth. The result is a deeply thoughtful book of reflections and wisdom on the cancer that infects our society and what we must do to lance and heal it—if we will. A “must read” on your bookshelf.

This autobiography of white Civil Rights activist Lillian Smith unpacks the society that shaped her as she struggled against her childhood lessons about how to interact with Whites and Blacks in the South. Smith deftly immerses you into her world with anecdotes, leading the reader through the interactions that shaped her and other white children across the South, including her experiences with racial violence and racism. Despite being written more than half a century ago, connections remain to our world. My recommendation is to read the 1994 version with an updated introduction placing the work into context.

Throughout the 1960s, NASA tried in vain to lure Black engineers to its Southern Centers.

The agency had its excuses, but as I began to talk to NASA’s Black pioneers, I began hearing vivid descriptions of the terror that kept their friends from going to work with them at NASA. This thought-provoking examination of one of the darkest chapters in American history helps lay out a source of their reticence.

The book delves deep into the socio-political, racial, and cultural factors that led to the widespread practice of lynching. Brundage skillfully portrays the complex web of prejudice, fear, and power dynamics that fueled this brutal form of violence. Through his detailed analysis, we gain a chilling picture and the backstory of what kept NASA so White.

This is a classic, pioneering study of the major elements of southern crime and punishment at a time that saw the formation of the fundamental patterns of class and race—and how they shaped the South’s criminal justice system.  Ayers studies the inner workings of the police, prison, and judicial systems, and the nature of crime, while at the same time adeptly linking the antebellum with the post-bellum criminal justice system.