100 books like The River Between Us

I know, I know, this is fiction, but what a glorious story it is! It resonates with me because it is all about a girl being dazzled by nature, working with it, and surviving.

I first read this book in 3rd grade and loved it. I love the character’s resilience, respect, and perspective. Although the world she lived in was so different from my own, there were so many similarities in approach and so many things to learn. It’s the first book that made me think about what it might be like to live in and with nature. 

This is one of the funniest, and saddest, books ever. When Kenny starts telling the story, it’s dead winter in Flint. Michigan. Cold enough to make your spit freeze. Momma, who grew up in Alabama, begins yearning for the South. By reputation, Momma’s momma is the strictest, meanest grandma ever. Kenny - who’s never met her - decides Grandma Sands must look like a troll. Dad and Momma decide that Grandma Sands is the perfect person to straighten out big brother Byron, who shows signs of turning into a juvenile delinquent. So... Join the Watsons. Get in their car (also known as the Brown Bomber), listen to the tires roll onto I-75, and imagine what’s going to happen when Byron meets his doom.

This was a favorite of mine when I was about twelve, and probably should be considered a YA book. It’s a sweet and romantic tale with ghosts that are very real and fascinating historical details of the American Revolution.

I didn’t mind that each ghost told his or her story as if writing a novel—it worked. Charming rogue Peaceable Sherwood was a favorite character of mine as a child and was still very appealing to me when I reread it as an adult.

At the age of eleven I had never heard of internment camps in my own state of California until I came across this book, and I remember being astonished such a thing happened in the United States.

Though this title has been around for many years, Wakatsuki Houston’s autobiography book is still relevant and gently but factually introduces young readers to the unjust discrimination inflicted on innocent civilians/citizens. She tells of her family’s life before Manzanar, at the camp, and her pre-teen/teen struggle to fit in at school when returning from internment.  

One November evening in 1831, Rebecca and John Burlend, three children in tow, stepped off a riverboat. Emigrants from England, they had reached Phillip’s Ferry, Illinois, the end of a dangerous journey. But instead of the village they expected, they found only forest. They burst into tears.  

The couple eventually buys land and clears it by “girdling”—stripping bark so trees die and drop their leaves, letting in enough sun for growing crops. Those include “Indian” corn whose stalks support beans. Indoors, a rag strip in a dish of lard burns with enough light to sew by. But farm life is perilous: While harvesting, a pregnant Rebecca rests by a sheaf, from which a startled rattlesnake crawls out. She kills it with her rake. 

I’ve read this book several times. It’s a saga worth relishing. 

Mining contemporaneous news accounts, personal letters and diaries, and dozens of in-depth interviews, scholar Marcia Chatelain explores the impact that the Great Migration had on a generation of young Black Chicago women, who coped with coming of age in the urban North while shouldering the expectations and aspirations of their uprooted parents. Anyone new to Chatelain’s work should also check out her next and equally original book, Franchise: The Golden Arches in Black America, a study of the deeply mixed legacy of McDonald’s restaurants in Black neighborhoods that won the 2021 Pulitzer Prize for History.

Margo Jefferson is one of the smartest humans on the planet and her memoir reflects that. She tells her story as intertwined with the story of her first cultural context—the Black elite of the 1950s, and the crisis of identity she experienced with the rise of the Black Power movement of the 1960s. She brings her critic’s sharp intelligence and wit to bear in every paragraph, but doesn’t hold back any of her heart. It’s a terrifically moving book and a masterpiece of personal/cultural criticism, full of elegance and nuance. 

This book is on most serious writers’ shelves. It’s gorgeous. I loved being in the mind of a child over a century ago, dealing with the Spanish Flu (never believing we would face something as bad as Covid). Here was a lovely mother, all one could wish a mother to be and a child so in love with her that he can hardly comprehend her vulnerability. 

Love and loss are beautifully rendered. Yes, it’s sad, but I was so involved that I pulled for the father to heal from his grief and make way for his son to heal as well. Maxwell didn’t need a villain. The flu was the villain.

Much as the young adult phase of life is defined by establishing your unique identity, separate from that derived by your school, community, or family, for South Asians this is always a dilemma. South Asians are brought up with very strict parental controls, even though they might want to break away, at a psychological level, they struggle with the idea of sub-consciously pleasing their parents because their own identity is so intrinsically linked to that of their parents. Anuradha explores these very bold, disturbing, and realistic themes that send her protagonist, Rani through an inner journey of emotional turmoil.

This beautiful book opens with the line, “Every day Mr. McInnis tells us to imagine our future.” Unfortunately, for Brittany, she can’t envision a future that holds anything good. Her mother is in an abusive and controlling relationship and her grandmother suffers from dementia. I love that this book shows a positive teacher, a mom who, despite her own bad choices, truly loves her children, and a family willing to go to bat for one another. Extra points for the intergenerational storyline of a grandmother who lives with the family.