100 books like Us

Although this book is about so, so much more, the premise itself pulled me in—I mean, a memoir about an abusive lesbian relationship? Yes, please.

But of course, Carmen Maria Machado, with her incredibly lyrical prose and frighteningly sharp intellect, takes the memoir form and turns it into something unique and surprising, a reflection on her relationship that somehow involves cultural history, film, fairy-tales and even—I kid you not—Disney’s The Little Mermaid. I was so moved and learned so much that I read it twice within a month.

Some books are fascinating character studies. Others are riveting stories. When Rabbit Howls is somehow both.

Narrated by a woman’s alters (The Troops for Trudi Chase), this book really goes the extra mile in terms of forcing the reader to feel the lifetime impact of abuse both through the story being told, and the way that story is written on the page. I won’t spoil anything here, but it includes a brilliant, metafictional ending that has lingered with me for years now like a punch to the solar plexus.

This novel is an incredible feat of writing “from the inside” of a character.

Teenager Tracey Berkowitz narrates her story as she looks for her missing brother, who thinks he’s a dog, but she is absolutely not a reliable narrator. I was lucky enough to have Maureen as a mentor, but for everything she taught me, this book somehow manages to say even more.

A fascinating psychological portrait. There is so much cold, brutal poetry in its pages.

Paul Lynch was recently announced as the (very deserving) winner of the Booker Prize, but I’ve been a fan of his ever since his spectacular novel about the Ireland’s Great Famine, Grace.

How do you capture trauma on a national level? Of course, you embody it in the personal, and I was in constant awe of Lynch’s immediate, visceral sentences, and their ability to force me to embody Grace’s experience living through absolutely unimaginable history.

One memorable section is made up of four entirely blacked-out pages, a brilliant nod to the way trauma overwhelms and erases.

This book by my author friend Marlene puts together the shards of colourful glass to reveal the beautiful mosaic of Tess, a self-made but shattered woman feeling closer to a stranger than to herself, recounting stories about Native Americans, Africans, and the farm life of the poor early settlers in Canada.

I like this book because it addresses multiple personality disorders. I think while it is easy for most to relate to physical illness, it can be tough to relate to mental illness. Speaking from experience, someone said uncomprehendingly after a suicide, “But she was intelligent,” as if mental disablement and mental illness were the same thing. We can also catch a cold without being physically disabled.

This collection of interconnected essays, which explores writer Susanne Antonetta’s experience of living with bipolar disorder from myriad angles, is rife with facts and insights as well as her own idiosyncratic artistry. Through examinations of everything from the history of consciousness to the concept of neurodiversity, Antonetta humanizes her diagnosis and delves into the multiplicity of ways that it has informed her personal and professional life. Neither shying away from the difficulties nor dismissing the gifts that mania confers (such as her photographic memory for Shakespeare’s plays), she flips the script on stereotypes and offers an empowering take on what it means to live, and thrive, while managing a serious mental illness.

I liked the legal and ethical issues raised in this story. Specifically, when should an accused be relieved of responsibility for his crime because of a mental illness? Martin Vail is a flashy, cocky defense attorney who is appointed to represent Aaron, a soft-spoken, well-mannered young man who seems incapable of the brutal, sadistic murder with which he is charged. The problem is that the evidence against him is overwhelming. 

Vail becomes convinced that Aaron suffers from multiple personality disorder and that his alter-ego, “Roy,” of whom Aaron is unaware, is the real killer. But Aaron and Roy inhabit the same body. If Roy is guilty, isn’t Aaron guilty as well? It is an ethical and legal dilemma for Vail. To save Aaron and get him the help he needs, Vail must trick Roy into showing himself at trial so the jury can see him, too. And he succeeds in… show more.

I'm always a sucker for "the story behind the story." That's doubly true when an author uncovers long-hidden (or unexpected) information about well-known events. Debbie Nathan is an ace reporter who has written extensively about the Satanic Panic (which is how I discovered her). In Sybil Exposed, Nathan explores a related subject, revealing the truth behind modern psychology's most famous—and controversial—patient.

Hacking is one of the leading thinkers in the field of mental health. This exploration of multiple personality disorder helped me to think about similar cultural phenomena, including today’s significant increase in trans-identified teens.

Hacking doesn’t tell you whether he thinks MPD is “real” or not, but he dives deep into beliefs about memory and mental illness. I found his writing compelling and clear. 

I’m recommending this book for how delightfully it considers the ill human body as a site of new possibilities. The Doom Patrol have never been well-known superheroes, perhaps because of the willingness of writers to confront the bodily trauma at the heart of their stories.

Morrison’s contribution to the series was to consider the Doom Patrol truly as freaks: people who could not fit into a society that demands gender, mental, and physical homogeneity. Mixing allegorical forms of illness—Cliff “Robotman” Steele’s fallible technological body—with more direct conditions like Kaye “Crazy Jane” Callis’ dissociative identity disorder.

Morrison, along with artistic collaborators, built a celebration of difference into a genre where most heroic bodies never break the mold.