100 books like True Pretenses

In research for my own books, I have learned how present the British were in the Caribbean for centuries.

Yet it is not often that I find Caribbean characters when reading historical romances. That is one of the reasons I was so excited to pick up A Caribbean Heiress in Paris – and I was not disappointed!

In this novel, you get a heroine who is trying to defend her identity on three fronts: as a businesswoman, as a mixed-race woman, and as a woman who does not want marriage to be the solution to her problems.

Much of the hero’s growth is discovering how to witness and learn about Luz Alana’s challenges without barging in and “solving” them.

This is a great read with a delightful plot, new insight into Caribbean-European history, and an endearing romance. 

When I want a historical romance that knows exactly what it is and how to hit the right notes with each of its tropes, I turn to Erica Ridley.

Take the opening conceit of The Perks of Loving a Wallflower: It felt so familiar to read about a shy heroine who has a secret group of bluestocking friends and who is trying to avoid her parents’ matchmaking schemes.

From there, however, Ridley uses the conceit of a missing cipher to match Philippa with Tommy, a master of disguises and rejecter of labels.

Through a very fun, comforting historical romance plot, we get to explore gender roles, identity, and class snobbery.  

When I pick up a Courtney Milan historical romance, I know I will be hit in the heart with a story that is as insightful as it is moving.

The only question was which of her books to include in this list!

I chose The Duke Who Didn’t because it explores class, race, and gender roles in the delightful setting of a small town in the English countryside hosting an annual sports festival.

The plot reckons with the aristocrat’s responsibility to his people, the challenges and joys of a working-class community, and the exploitation of non-British identities for profit.

And because it is a Courtney Milan novel, it does so with plenty of clever tropes and swoon-worthy romance!

Whenever I read a Cat Sebastian, I sigh in envy at how well she writes nuanced characters with nuanced emotions.

In Soldier’s Scoundrel, two heroes from very different backgrounds unite around a single goal.

From Jack’s perspective, we see the challenges of poverty and classism. From Oliver, we see a veteran trying to adjust to everyday life.

Together, they try to protect and defend women from physical, emotional, and economic abuse. Their love story is beautiful, requires them to pierce layers of their psyches to find vulnerability, and makes you feel all of the feels.

Even better, by the end of the novel, I had a new perspective on how the patriarchy works in societal systems. This is a read that made my empathy grow like the Grinch’s heart! 

I believe a society’s resilience does not happen by coddling, oppressing, or marginalizing the disabled (or any minority group), but by fostering holistic, inclusive communities that move in cinque. We Move Together is a picture book about disability justice designed for intergenerational sharing. It is appropriate for all ages as it simply states we as a society move best together no matter of disability, race, gender, or age. The brilliance of this straightforward assertion is its universal intersectionality. The book contains helpful explanations of statements in the verses along with resources for learning more in the back. I love this message! Removing barriers to access, communication, work, relationships, and living independent and self-determined lives helps everyone and fosters healthy democracy.

Reading this book was like curling up on my best friend’s sofa, a cheap glass of wine in hand, ratty sweatpants snugged around my legs, and an old episode of Sex and the City playing in the background. The overall tone feels like a reel from my head, and I have had to remind myself so often that the author isn’t a close friend.

I love being so engrossed and connected to a work that I feel like I know the main players personally. Realizing that other people think, obsess, and critique how I do was reassuring in more ways than I can describe. I love the conversational tone of this book because it’s light and easy in the best way possible.

This one is left field as it doesn’t fall neatly into the list. I included this book to avoid the impression that only Indigenous writers can write about Indigenous experiences. It’s important that we do, of course, but this book puts a slightly different slant on the “self-representation” question from an intersectional perspective.

Black feminist writer, Patricia Hill Collins, introduces the concept of intersecting lives and experiences, highlighting common struggles among Indigenous, Black, Minority, and Queer communities and how we are affected by violence in different and shared ways, invisible and public.

I encountered this work during a period of similar oppressions, finding it to be a transformative gift. Patricia’s ideas expand my world to new possibilities beyond institutional thinking. I love how the writing is so accessible, and the pages just fly along. Love this woman!

Nikki Baker is the first African-American writer of lesbian mysteries and her character Virginia Kelly—who works as a financial analyst in Chicago—is the first African-American lesbian sleuth. This makes it important, but what makes the book outstanding is the writing, especially the voice of the protagonist. The plots are slick and entertaining, but it is Virginia’s internal musings and interpersonal relationships that make this—and the other 3 books in the series—a clear 5-star winner. 

This book gets at questions near and dear to my own ethnographic explorations, namely how migration changes gender roles in households. Women don’t leave home without figuring out care for young children and frail elders. Tanja Bastia looks at how Bolivian families handle the challenge of transnational parenting. Grandmothers often fill in for their migrant daughters (there’s the aging connection!), and migrant women struggle to balance their financial opportunities with the social stigma of having ‘abandoned’ their children in search of wealth.  

Levenstein’s subtitle says it all: we generally don’t think there was a ‘90s feminism. Her book pairs especially well with the others on this list, because it demonstrates how women of color took the lead in an intersectional feminism that focused on a huge range of issues at the end of the 20th century. It’s also a great read about the role of the early internet in 1990s feminist organizing. If you think social media was the first time computer technology shaped grassroots activism, her chapter on technology alone will blow your mind.