Love The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas? Readers share 100 books like The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas...

Everyone should read this book right now which features hurricanes and flooding in Florida. The flood scene in this book still stays with me, years after I read it. The waters are not just terrifying, but contain horrors such as a rabid dog clinging to a piece of debris.

That scene still keeps me up at night, and I think about it often now with all the flooding in the south. It’s not just the water, it’s what’s in the water. 

After a lifetime of dutiful marriage, the newly widowed Lady Slane shocks her family by striking out on her own, moving from London to a suburban cottage where she will live alone and please herself (for once!). Her decision rumbles through her grown children’s lives and inspires one of her great-granddaughters to pursue an independent life herself.

I love that this book focuses on an older woman (Lady Slane is 88 years old), proving that it’s never too late to live life on your own terms. And in Deborah, her great-granddaughter, we get a glimpse of the new sort of woman who was really making her presence felt in this period: young women exploring their independence and living very different lives from their parents and grandparents.

Seriously? This is only my all-time favorite mystery book ever, and a major part of it is seeing Oxford through Dorothy L.’s eyes. The university and the surrounding city are just as much characters as Harriet Vane and Lord Peter Wimsey.

Whether it’s hanging after dinner in the faculty lounge or the final, gorgeous scene overlooking the university, to the wonderful antique shop, to the carelessness of undergrads, it’s got it all for atmosphere.

The most famous short story in this collection is about Cora, whose whole life is spent in drudgery first to her own family, and then to the locally prominent Studevants. In her own life, Cora is somewhat unconventional—she feels no shame for having an illegitimate child at a time when that was frowned upon, to say the least—but she’s quietly obedient to her difficult employers. Until, that is, one of them causes a tragedy, and Cora feels compelled to speak up very publicly. And, oh, when she does it is immensely satisfying! (TW: racially charged language and abortion)

I like this because it reveals the dichotomy between what people say and what they do. People think words tell you about a person. What if everything they say is lies? Sally Rooney does that thing I love–she gives you clues as to why people do the things you don’t understand.

She writes imperfect heroes and heroines. You don’t like them, but then you understand them and root for them. A damaged girl who lives in pretense can’t manage life when she no longer has to pretend anymore. So she reverts to self damage rather than expose the chance of total destruction because if she choses what heals she may get destroyed when the expectation of safety gets shattered.

Why give something a chance when life says it never works out? Doing what she’s always done may hurt her, but at least she’s assured of the outcome. The… show more.

Relayed in the voice of his nine-year-old self, Solito tracks Zamora’s harrowing three-thousand-mile trek from his home in El Salvador to join his mother and father in California.

To reunite with his parents, he must leave behind everything else he has ever known: his village, his friends, his grandparents, and his beloved Tia Mali. What is supposed to be a two-week journey turns into a two-month odyssey, as he makes his way north by bus, boat, and foot, accompanied by a group of strangers who, in time, close ranks to nurture and protect him like a second family.

This affecting story, told with such innocence and immediacy, makes evident the individual, human costs that are too easily overlooked by reporting on US immigration and the staggering statistics that it invariably emphasizes.

When I first read Zweig’s memoir, I initially thought it was pretentious name-dropping, mentioning one prominent fin de siècle Viennese writer or musician after another. Only years later did I warm to his memories describing a world that existed before the cataclysm of World Wars and the ultimate fate of Europe’s Jewish citizens.

In reading other memoirs from the period (such as Ernst Krenek’s–not available in English), it’s possible to see that Zweig was writing from a position of enormous privilege while also reflecting the very essence of cultural life in a world where culture was perhaps its most important characteristic and distinguishing element. 

This book moves me whenever I open it, no matter the chapter, no matter the page.

It presents the harrowing tale of Douglass’s flight from slavery as a young man with a degree of urgency and detail that is not found in his other writings.

But it is the account of his travels through Europe and North Africa as a man of almost seventy, finally free to pursue his lifelong wanderlust, that is perhaps most poignant: “I had strange dreams of travel even in my boyhood days,” he writes. “I thought I should some day see many of the famous places of which I heard men speak, and of which I read even while a slave.”

In between Paris and the pyramids, Douglass repeatedly compares what he sees in the Old World with what he knows so well, and often so painfully, of American ideals, values, and aspirations.

Allende loves her Chilean homeland with a longing, a tenderness, an exasperation derived from the country’s turbulent history and her long experience of exile and emigration in Venezuela and the United States.

This book made me fall in love all over again with the country, which I first visited a quarter century ago – and it will make you fall in love with it too, whether or not you’ve ever visited Chile.

With a novelist’s imaginative flare, Allende travels through time and across borders, searching her memory to tell the story of her lonely childhood, her remarkable family, the tumults that forced her abroad (including the death of her father’s cousin, President Salvador Allende), and a long life lived at a distance from the place she still calls home, regardless of decades of displacement.

Crusoe is a failed slaver, a reckless son, a bad sailor, a pretty crap boss, a parrot lover and, in all of that, he shows us how damaged and imperfect a system we have inherited.

I love Robinson Crusoe for its audacity. When it was first published in 1719, readers were furious to discover that there was no such person as Crusoe but that, instead, the story was fabricated by one Daniel Defoe, who had recently spent three days in the stockades for seditious libel. I love the insanity of this story, how it wants us to believe that a man spends 28 years on a deserted island and still comes home to England richer than when he left. A flawed novel but our first in English, it is also our first autofiction.