100 books like The Hundred-Year Flood

This book inspired by true stories of children misplaced and stolen during World War II.

This is a deeply affecting and powerful novel on the intertwined stories of four displaced children after the war ended, who have to question their true identities.

There is great tenderness in the writing of Jennifer Rosner, where a child wonders if bats have upside-down dreams and a young woman discovers the emotional depth of photography.

"There is a moment, liquid time, just before photograph's image appears on the developing paper, when Ana conjures the faces of her parents. Their actual features have blurred in her memory but she fills in with her imagination."

Questioning memory and the present is powerful to me and others who left home.

“Do you understand the sadness of geography?” is the epigraph by Michael Ondaatje to this short story collection, I would ask the same.

Memory and desire are central emotions in the lives of South Indian immigrants who move. The sense of dislocation belongs equally to the ones who go and the ones who stay and is woven beautifully in these stories.

In one, brochures about marvels in a retired home in Tamil Nadu are flaunted by a daughter who lives in Atlanta and cannot take care of her mother in India. The mother had encouraged the daughter to seek fortune in America but longs for the old life when the children did not move away.

The contradictions are powerfully rendered in all the stories and they speak to me.

In Find A Place For Me, Deirdre Fagan describes with an attentive eye the delicate emotional negotiations between a couple when the husband is diagnosed with ALS.

Life will never be the same and the sense of dislocation is profound. I am deeply affected by this traumatic and irreversible change.

The heartbreak goes from noticing the snacks carefully packed for a trip the family would not be able to take any longer to staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, ‘—as if I were watching someone else’s life in a movie. I wasn’t in my own body.’

But she deals with the challenges with such courage, honesty, and an open heart that in the end, this novel gave me great hope in the human spirit.

I'm loving this novel by Liam Callanan.

It poses questions I feel close to and presents turns of life I have been surprised by myself, if in a different way. The writing is richly textured and so very delicate.

"...She'd known quiet, of course... But not silence, not like this. This silence had texture and shape; it felt attached to each molecule of air. Everything inside her was falling silent, too."

Claire, 52 and a real estate broker, deeply desires a fresh start. She receives a call from a convent in Rome that is facing its end. When she arrives she meets a colorful, fierce group of nuns living in a crumbling villa and starts wondering if she should stay forever.

Women rarely feature as central figures in most works about Prague. In this book, Iggers introduces us to an array of fascinating female writers, activists, powerful ladies of society, and survivors who have lived in Prague and its environs over the past two hundred years. Each chapter includes a brief introduction and excerpts from these women’s writings, such as diaries, letters, and newspaper articles. The reader can thus hear these women’s voices and feel transported to a different moment in history. Some entries are hard to read, such as Milada Horáková’s farewell letter to her teenage daughter, written on June 23, 1950. The lead defendant in Communist Czechoslovakia’s first public show trial, Horáková was executed three days later. Wilma Iggers is a Czechoslovak native who escaped to Canada after the Nazis invaded her country in 1938, which only enhances the perspectives that she brings to these women’s lives. 

For years, I used to walk past the statues of St. Wenceslaus, František Palacký, and other Czech national heroes without giving them much thought. After reading this book, I came to appreciate how much Prague’s monuments can tell us about the city’s history. Their creators offered a variety of interpretations over the meaning of “Czechness”, and these monuments have inspired passionate debates about nationhood and religion ever since. The book also made me think about ways that monuments can exclude others and inspire hatred, and not just in Prague. Consider, for example, statues celebrating the Confederacy erected by white supremacists decades after the end of the Civil War. Many still dot my part of the country.

There are several books I could recommend written by adults who were imprisoned as children in Terezin during the war, but this one stands out because of its artwork interspersed with factual accounts of daily life. Indeed, it’s the factual perspective she takes in her descriptions that makes them so heart-wrenching. Her map was my primary tool in writing descriptions of the camp, and her artwork, imitating her writing style, comes across as stark and factual. Written as a diary, not a novel, I cried at the cruelty with which her life unfurled before her. At the same time, however, she manages to capture the beauty of being a child, full of hope and promise. That balance makes the book a jewel.

I read somewhere that Franz Kafka would laugh so loud when writing his stories that he woke up his neighbors. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I get it. It’s not what is commonly thought of when someone talks about Kafka’s stories. I mean, his name has come to mean a certain style. “Kafkaesque” is used to describe stories that are absurd, nightmarish, offensive, and heavy with bureaucratic pretentiousness and deceit.

Where is the humor? Oh, it’s there. I think sometimes readers get caught up in the horror and bizarreness of it all that they miss the subtle, absurdist, dark, and very dry humor dripping in all these stories in this collection.

Peter Sis is an acclaimed international writer, artist, and filmmaker. He’s created several award-winning children’s books. In The Three Golden Keys, Sis recaptures his lost childhood in Prague and takes the reader on a dark, mysterious adventure through Prague to find the three keys that will unlock the three rusty padlocks of his childhood home and of his own childhood memories.

I like his art more than his storytelling which is often so personal as to be cryptic. So why am I recommending this book? Because his illustrations of Prague are so beautifully detailed, surreal, and mysterious. It’s a work of art that’s personal, poignant, and poetic. It’s a gorgeous book but perhaps enjoyed by adults more than children.

The Night of Wenceslas was the first thriller I read. I was in my teens, and into reading poetry at the time. My parents knew the author—we had even spent Boxing Day together—so Lionel Davidson was the first real novelist I met in person and I remember being excited to read this book.

The protagonist, Nicholas Whistler is young, half English and half Czechoslovakian. He hates working in his father’s business and is in debt because of his dissolute lifestyle. As a way out of his problems, he is lured into carrying out a mission in Prague and finds he has been duped into becoming an unwitting spy.

This book did not stop me from reading poetry—but spurred me to read much more widely.