Fans pick 100 books like What We Carry

White Oleander, the 2002 film, was one of the most shocking and nuanced depictions of motherhood I had ever seen onscreen—I had to read the book. What most transfixed me about the story is, on the surface, Astrid’s mother and foster mothers had everything society tells you should make life a cakewalk: beauty, ingenuity, and, in one case, wealth.

But the truth is, they are all battling a host of demons, ultimately blessing and cursing Astrid with their flawed, life-worn wisdom. Even still, I love that author Janet Fitch never sacrifices the women to easy “bad mother” stereotypes. It’s clear each mother is mostly doing the best she knows how to outsmart a world riddled with traps.

This vulnerable collection of essays drew me in with the words, “Our mothers are our first homes, and that’s why we’re always trying to return to them.” As I continued to read, I had the eerie feeling that the author had read my diary (although I don’t actually have a diary), had met my mother, and had lived my life in so many ways. And while this book contains stories from many authors, the single thread of longing for mothers who’ve loved and hurt us ties them together seamlessly. They are beautifully expressed, sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes humorous, but ultimately worthy of savoring. 

The Part That Burns is not a linear narrative but a memoir in fragments. Each essay or chapter is different, interesting, engaging like scattered pieces of a puzzle that the writer—and reader—are trying to put together.

It's about a childhood wrought with abuse and rejection, about trauma and epigenetics, home and roots. It's about a girl who grows up to become a teenager who becomes a young woman who becomes a wife and a mother and every step of the way, she yearns for what we all yearn for: acceptance and love.

My memoir is as slim and sparse as Ouellette’s and some might consider my chronological story as fragmented because of its tiny chapters and missing connective tissue from one chapter to the next.  

This book is a poignant portrayal of trauma, resilience, and the enduring quest for healing. Trethewey's memoir delves into the deeply personal aftermath of a crime, exploring themes of loss, memory, and the complexities of identity.

Her lyrical prose, emotional depth, and narrative richness resonated with me as I wrote my own true crime memoir, offering readers a profound exploration of the human spirit's capacity to confront tragedy and find moments of grace amidst adversity.

I love multigenerational stories in general, and this one centers 3 generations, not only the grandparent and grandchild. This story reminded me of all the times I spent with my mother and my abuela, the 3 women of the family, and how we would bond over our trips together.

I also love books that show the world as I love to travel and I enjoyed accompanying these three beautiful characters on their journey. I also love how this story expertly reveals how this shared experience is perceived differently by each member of the family. And the theme of returning to a homeland is also one that resonates with me.

There are so many things I love about this book, starting with the concept: Kalki, the novel’s narrator, was born with blue skin, and has been raised in an ashram as a child-god, the tenth reincarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu. As the years go by and Kalki grows up, he begins to question his parents’ authority, the strictures that have been placed on him his whole life, and his own godhood. As a young adult, he finds himself in New York City, where he gets his first taste of real rebellion, with all the joys and sorrows that accompany it. Incredibly queer, fast-paced, and emotional, I read this book in big chunks, gulping it down. 

Katy Yocom’s Three Ways to Disappear won the Siskiyou Prize for New Environmental Literature and was named a Barnes & Noble Top Indie Favorite—well-deserved recognition for this gorgeous debut novel. Three Ways to Disappear reveals the plight of the endangered Bengal tigers through the stories of two sisters who come together years after a family tragedy changes their lives—journalist Sarah, in India to help preserve the tigers, and Quinn, in Kentucky, dealing with family issues. The novel shows the complicated balance of tiger conservation among humans who themselves are struggling, and portrays the complexities of family bonds as well as the immense challenges facing the natural world. Both the human and tiger characters are beautifully rendered, empathetic, and unforgettable.

With a Persepolis meets Maus approach, this graphic novel visually takes us into the daily life that locals live in Kashmir, the most militarized zone in the world. This ground-up storytelling is intimate and powerful, as it takes us behind the propaganda and gives us the insider’s view in explosive, insightful, and humorous ways. Images may be more powerful than words, and this book has haunting images that will linger long after you finish the last page.

This is one of the most innovative and intriguing memoirs I have read. Its structure is inspired by the visual image of the line that runs through the Punjab region, partitioning Pakistan from India. The book is separated into halves: one half relates the stories of the author’s parents, who were born on opposite sides of the line, and the other presents the author’s own experiences and observations as a second-generation immigrant. Nothing about the design of the book indicates which half should be read first—a hint that the reader will be invited to consider the resonances running in both directions across the generations.

The theme of fragmentation and division is, paradoxically, the glue that binds the various elements of the book together. The author explores the arbitrary lines, imposed by historical and cultural forces, that divide people from each other and that split their selves into parts. The portrait… show more.

After a lifetime of dutiful marriage, the newly widowed Lady Slane shocks her family by striking out on her own, moving from London to a suburban cottage where she will live alone and please herself (for once!). Her decision rumbles through her grown children’s lives and inspires one of her great-granddaughters to pursue an independent life herself.

I love that this book focuses on an older woman (Lady Slane is 88 years old), proving that it’s never too late to live life on your own terms. And in Deborah, her great-granddaughter, we get a glimpse of the new sort of woman who was really making her presence felt in this period: young women exploring their independence and living very different lives from their parents and grandparents.