100 books like The People We Keep

Any book set in suburban life with a dark underbelly has me hooked.

I loved the themes of privilege, race, and motherhood within the context of suburban life. I also enjoyed the contrast between such different ways to parent: a wealthy and seemingly perfect family compared to a nomadic and unconventional mother-daughter duo.

I think the story also raised some interesting questions about the intricacies of motherhood and, of course, how we always feel the weight of the choices we make as mothers and the impact of those choices on our lives and the lives of our children. Not to mention, what a great title!

This book is fire. For character arcs to work, the main character has to start with a flaw and then fix it by the end, but Kiera, a gaming programmer, is confident about her skills from the beginning.

I love that she knows exactly what her game is about, and she’s not about to let the outside world redefine it incorrectly. The flaw, in this case, is the world’s perception of her game. Today, the gaming world is still heavily male-dominated, so this book about a girl loving her craft, which, in turn, reinforces her confidence, is always high on my list of recommendations.

Nguyen is another artist whose drawings blow my mind. On top of his gorgeous, fluid, imaginative artwork, this book showcases a unique and gently told story about a boy who processes his burgeoning queerness through his and his mother’s shared passion for fairy tales.

Nguyen adds literary flair with a limited and intentional color palette—red shades for the present, blue for fairy tales, and yellow for memory—and also explores themes of immigration and assimilation. (The protagonist and his family, like the author-illustrator, are Vietnamese.)

I love the way this book peels back the layers of a mother’s choices and the scrutiny she faces for them.

Hillary Jules, the mother at the center of this story, does things some might find unforgivable. And yet we see, through both her and the woman who becomes a surrogate mother figure to one of her children, how we cannot know the full depth of another’s story.

This book reminded me how dangerous it can be to judge from the outside with phrases like “I would never.” Those judgments came much easier before I became a mother myself.

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.

Kristen is a friend of mine, and I felt a strong sense of kinship to her work not only because I admire her personally but also because it deals with so many of my novel’s own themes—grief, family, unplanned pregnancy.

Motherest’s main character, Agnes, is a college student who describes her life on campus, her pregnancy, and the loss of her beloved brother through a combination of traditional narration and a series of letters written with increasing urgency to her absent mom. Agnes’s voice and letters are both hilarious and heartbreaking. Every once in a while, you meet a character who you miss when their story ends—for me, Agnes is one of them.

I don’t even think I was through the first chapter before I cried over this book.

Mary Louise Kelly writes frankly and poignantly about the nature of time as it pertains to raising children. She does not apologize for being good at her job, nor for the essential part of herself who needs to be immersed in it.

At the same time, she is unsparingly vulnerable about the tradeoffs: the times, good and bad, she has missed with her kids. As a writer who couldn’t stop writing to be a full-time parent if I tried, Kelly’s words resonated with me from the first page to the last.

This memoir is a gift to ambitious, big-hearted moms everywhere.

Jade’s Fish out of Water story about a black girl attending St. Francis High School across town and feeling out of place is so relatable.

She’s the kind of friend I would have sought out in my younger years because of how economically similar our situations were. Jade’s desire to collage ugly things into something beautiful is my favorite thing about her character. I love how circumstance does not diminish her ability to see value in her surroundings. This is the underdog story every teen should read.  

Growing up in a household where both of my parents battled crack addiction was extremely difficult. It caused deep-seated feelings of resentment, anger, and a profound lack of trust in both my parents and society as a whole. Not being able to rely on my parents, and witnessing them consistently choose drugs over their family, was incredibly painful, especially for a child.

Reading this book brought me closer to my parents and helped me understand that their addiction was just a symptom of a much larger issue that extended beyond our home. I found a connection with characters like Elgin Swift and delving into the crack epidemic during the time my parents were growing up was truly eye-opening.

This experience allowed me to feel a deeper bond with my parents and gain a better understanding of their struggles. 

I highly recommend this book to anyone who has loved ones facing… show more.

Our bodies tell stories of remnants of the past and in this memoir, Stephanie Foo proved to us that the body will indeed keep traces of unmetabolized pain that runs through our families.

This book reflects the spirit of intergenerational trauma, but also of intergenerational healing and the ways in which cycle breakers, and particularly those who are immigrants, have to build from the ashes of burned-down dreams and broken hearts. It is a reflection of how generational resilience comes to life, even in the darkest of moments.