89 books like The Missing Mother

I loved this book for its exploration of shock, grief, and denial on the part of two adult daughters whose mother inexplicably ends her own life by drowning in the sea. At odds for many years, the two very different women slowly mend their relationship as they discover a long-buried secret their mother had been keeping.

I especially related to the healing of their relationship as it was in adulthood that I drew much closer to my own sisters. As children, they associated my arrival with the loss of their mother, which did not make for an easy relationship.

Of course, I could hardly turn the pages fast enough for this hauntingly suspenseful tale of a mother who goes missing and a college-age daughter’s desperate search for her. But what I especially loved about it was the way in which Cleo, the college daughter, discovers that her entire narrative about her parents has been wrong.

Her ne’er-do-well father is not the hero she imagined, and her mom is not the enemy but someone whose horrific childhood led her to be overly protective. Ultimately, this is a deeply moving love story about a mother and daughter drawn together by a terrifying event.

Having grown up in a waterfront community, I couldn’t resist this atmospheric thriller featuring a young woman drawn back to a small Southern town built around a lake. Years ago, her mother had abandoned her, leaving her with her stepfather. Or so she’s always been told.

But as she peels away family secrets and lies, she discovers that her mother never intended to leave her, and she has no idea who hurt her mother or who may be trying to silence her. The plot twists and sense of ever-present dread kept me reading long into the night!

As the daughter of a mom who suffered a mental breakdown shortly after my birth, I have always been strongly interested in stories of mothers who experience emotional difficulties following the births of their children. In this book, a young woman abandons her infant in a hospital shortly after giving birth and disappears.

Her husband attributes her behavior to postpartum psychosis, a malady that she’s been monitored for throughout her pregnancy, given her own mother’s struggles with the disorder. But is that what really led to the mom’s sudden disappearance? Told in multiple viewpoints, it’s unclear who is telling the truth about what happened to the young mother. I found the plot twist at the end of this propulsive tale especially satisfying. 

Growing up in rural East Texas, some of my earliest memories center around the fire station where my father was a volunteer firefighter.

Although this book is set in Northern California, it manages to render the small town and its politics familiar enough that I can almost smell the smoke. Lex’s reluctance to return to where everyone else in her immediate family died is tempered by the romance igniting between her and an old flame, but everyone has secrets here—and some can be deadly.

I love a bit of historical crime, and this novel, the first in a series about Cat Lovett and James Marwood, has everything. It’s a brilliantly plotted mystery but it is also so much more. Set in 1666, it opens with the Great Fire of London, as the chaos of fire sweeping through the city is used to cover up murder.

I found the story and the characters compelling, so much so that I’ve gone on to read the rest of the series, each of which intertwines the personal lives of Cat and James with the political events of the day.

Not only is this a great story but I think it’s beautifully written, even more exceptional because this is Stevens’ debut. Quite often, psychological thrillers are such page-turners, the reader doesn’t properly appreciate the words. I think that Elliot Stevens achieves both literary finesse and fast-paced action in this book. Set in London and the south of England, it’s tightly woven with an original premise, and as a bonus, has a fabulous twist at the end. Mark and Cecilia seem to have the perfect life, until he meets Alice. But he can’t leave Cecilia because she knows too much…

The daddy of all London books, an encomium to a city of myth. Its buildings hold and hide legends. Its rivers are lost underground. Its backstreets vanish into fable. Its characters are blurred between fact and fiction. Truths have been twisted by fantasy. Tourists are rendered blind, stepping around beggars to photograph the past, and sit in parks reading of a city that only springs to life in the mind, for in reality only the faintest outline traces now remain. A truly remarkable tour de force.

Jonathan Raban’s nonfiction books take travel writing to another level. He has a special mastery of the intersection of self, journey, place, and narrative. This collection – of essays, short memoirs, travel pieces, and more – isn’t necessarily his best book (that would probably be Passage to Juneau); but it’s full of brilliant reflections on the writing life, and on the challenges facing the writer as a craftsperson. There’s a particularly memorable section on the difficulties of transferring real-world dialogue onto the page. “You isolate the speaker’s tics and tricks of speech, his keywords,” Raban says, “and make him say them slightly more often than he did in fact; you give him small bits of stage business to mark his silences; you invent lines of dialogue for yourself to break up a paragraph of solid talk that looks too long to be believable. You are trespassing, perhaps, into writing… show more.

This is a sparklingly funny play. I love its contemporary freshness, its fleetness of foot, and its irreverence. It satirizes the fashion for all things French among London’s social climbers. It sugars the pill of all that satire by bringing a fast-paced plot to a comic ending of marriage and reconciliation. It taught me that writers in seventeenth-century England like the play’s author, John Dryden, were importing words and ideas from France as they sought to trace a middle way between a servile mimicry of French culture and an insular rejection of it.