47 books like The Book of Jose

Lila tells the story of two WW11 survivor families whose daughters are born on the same day in a Displaced Persons Camp, who immigrate to the United States around the same time, and take apartments in the same building in the South Bronx, New York. The immigrant neighborhood, full of busybody characters, is beautifully rendered. Everyone expects the two girls to be as close as sisters, their lives and fates happily intertwined. However, their growing-up years veer into dangerous territory. While one family manages to establish a home of love and caring, the other morphs into a den of dysfunction and perversion. Upending everyone’s expectations, the two girls embark on a path of jealousy and hatred. As secrets are revealed, their paths diverge, ending in tragedy. The novel is a shattering portrait of how trauma of the Holocaust and inherited trauma passed on to the next generation can destroy lives.

The most famous chapter of the renowned book on New York history, Robert Caro’s The Power Broker, outlines how the Cross-Bronx Expressway gutted once thriving Bronx neighborhoods. Can’t Stop Won’t Stop shows how the global cultural phenomenon of hip-hop arose in the same borough two decades later.

Chang takes readers through public housing recreation rooms, South Bronx streets, and elevated subway lines where a group of musicians, visual artists, and dancers changed world culture. I especially love how the book illuminates how a specific place and time period made possible the development of this now ubiquitous artistic genre.

Vibe has been the preeminent publication for hip-hop culture since its inception in 1993. I remember running to the grocery store to pick up each month’s issue and flipping through it’s glossy pages.

The Vibe History of Hip-Hop chronicles the rise of hip-hop from some of the magazine’s sharpest and most esteemed journalists, editors, and photographers. You know the bylines: Danyel Smith, Greg Tate, Anthony deCurtis, dream hampton, Neil Strauss, and Bönz Malone. As Smith writes in the preface: “A history? No. A story, really. A tale from the dark side.”

The author had been to college for one year when she decides to commit herself to become a nun and joins the Missionaries Charity, led by the famous Mother Theresa of Calcutta. For more than twenty years she serves faithfully in the sacrificial community of nuns, her emotions constantly swinging between devotion and desire for something different—longing to continue the learning she started in college and also dreaming of connectedness through romance. Even though she rises to positions of authority in the organization, she decides to leave the order for a different life. This story intrigues me cause of Johnson’s genuine devotion to the cause and to its leader, but also her honesty about her human longings.

When a journalist becomes so obsessed with a story that she embarks on a global and often dangerous quest to uncover truths that many wish would remain hidden, I know the book she produces will be at the top of my “to read” pile the day it is released.

As someone who has reported extensively on wildlife crime and the ornamental fish trade, I could not put this book down. In the final equation, however, it was the bigger question that the book asked that has kept it front of mind for me all these years later: What is our relationship with wild things, and what dark places can we go if we allow our desire to own these things outweigh our respect for them.

In his tragicomic novel The Good Soldier, Ford Madox Ford’s thickheaded narrator John Dowell trolls, over and over again, through the detritus of his life, searching vainly for the origins of his predicament—namely, that he has been duped by his wife and her lover, his supposedly best friend and the “good soldier” of the novel’s title. When Dowell finally succumbs to the utter hopelessness of his situation, he turns away from his audience in a brash attempt to bargain with a misbegotten universe, and his dreams of an impossible reconciliation with the world become our own: “Is there any terrestrial paradise where, amidst the whispering of the olive-leaves, people can be with whom they like and have what they like and take their ease in shadows and in coolness?” In his greatest moment of anguish and uncertainty, Dowell grasps for the poetry of language to sate his weary soul.

This American classic by Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist, Larry McMurtry, is read by university students worldwide. It’s set in its own time of indulgent decadence where little value is placed on the lives of individuals met by Danny Deck, the sad-sack protagonist, who denigrates his published work to the point of tearing up a copy of the novel he carries with him before drowning his own sorry self in the river of the Rio Grande. Yet, Danny is as much at fault for the sloppy treatment of the company he keeps as his company is for being disingenuous.   

What McMurtry calls normal life, or mundane happiness, through the voice of novelist Deck, is seen as obtainable if one wants to pursue the creative arts. His conclusion is that the two simply don’t mix. As he explores this idea in a higgledy-piggledy fashion, Deck sets about self-destructing, which has nothing to do… show more.

Max Evans knows cowboy life and he writes about it authentically. In The Rounders, we laugh along with Dusty and Wrangler as they do battle with one of literature’s best horses, “Old Fooler.” The boys break horses, hunt for cows in rough country, rodeo, drink, and chase the girls—and it’s all in good fun. 

Dick Holbrooke was a one-of-a-kind diplomat who, by force of his character, brought peace to Bosnia. He embodied still significant, but declining, American power in the post-Vietnam era, and this book brilliantly captures his character and his exploits.

Existentialism spilled out of the ivory tower into heated conversations in cafes and smoky dorm rooms at 2:00 am all over the world, where it continues to be intensely discussed today (albeit, with more vape than smoke nowadays). It had an enormous influence on art, especially literature, inspiring many masterpieces. From the multitude I could point to (Kafka’s The Trial, Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, Vonnegut’s, I don’t know, Slaughter-House 5, sure), I’ll pick Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, a play where, as an early critic wrote, nothing happens. Twice. One of the first US performances took place in San Quentin State Prison, where the prison newsletter wrote one of the most insightful reviews it ever received. After all, who knows more about waiting than those doing time? And, in the end, what else are we doing?