100 books like Where the Watermelons Grow

This is the middle-grade novel that I so wish I had written. Kate DiCamillo is the best kids’ author writing today, and I devour everything she writes. She really gets kids, and Winn Dixie is my favorite dog in books.

The story of ten-year-old Opal and her found dog, Winn Dixie, makes me laugh, want to snuggle my dog, cry and reach out to hug motherless Opal every time I read it (usually once a year). I love the remarkably imperfect people Opal and her dog befriend, and the language is rich and authentic to the story. This is an unforgettable story about making a home for yourself against the odds.

I love anything written by Katherine Paterson. This book introduces Giladriel Hopkins (Gilly), a young girl waiting for her mom to come and rescue her from foster care.

Gilly’s horrendously disrespectful behavior is hard to take sometimes, and yet because we know her living situation, we quietly read along, offering her our sympathy. Paterson highlights a child’s ability to mentally clean up their parents and offer them undeserved trust, despite the fact they have neglected or abandoned their children.

Gilly’s plight increased my awareness about the constant pains some kids live with daily. Her longing for a mother’s love would resonate even with adults who longed for their own mother’s love.

I loved how the slow and steady influence of a foster family’s kindness healed the deeply scarred and traumatized Carley.

I love stories that celebrate and uplift kindness and healing but don’t shy away from the tough stuff, either. Too many children face very hard realities. Books need to portray them! It helps kids to understand and to heal.

This next book is gritty in its authenticity. It isn’t for the faint of heart to read about the heartbreaking struggles of thirteen-year-old Anna Collette whose mother tries to take her life and is hospitalized. Anna has to live with her distant father, his new wife, and their baby where she doesn’t feel like part of the family. But the author gives us a warm and loving character in her stepmother who shows Della what family can be. I’m enthralled by true and complex characters in this book who represent the highs and lows of real life.

Bricktown Boys is a story of a family in crisis from a boy’s point of view. Thirteen-year-old Sam Beasley lives with his dysfunctional mother, her abusive boyfriend, and drugs. He assumes the role of his mother’s protector and will do anything to save her from herself which is near impossible. Fanning gives us a counterpoint to Sam’s mother in Mrs. Coleman, the bible quoting, grammar stickler widow on his street. Mrs. Coleman is full of spirit and kindness, but also has a no-nonsense approach which Sam gravitates to. She is his rock in an upside-down world. This book has wonderful street-wise dialogue and a fascinating group of diverse characters.

Beautifully conceived and timeless, this is a touchstone book for me. The two kids at the center feel so real to me: 10-year-old Jess, a farm kid and aspiring artist who is lonely, closed off, and feeling misunderstood, and the new kid, Leslie, who has moved with her family from the city.

The kids’ friendship is authentic, with some childhood magic grounded in the real world. This book is about the sudden death of a friend, and I admire that Paterson does not talk down to kids or try to comfort them with unrealistically simple answers.

As a boy, I also found strength in seeing Jess empowered, taking steps that moved him forward despite his grief over Leslie’s death.

This book amazed me with its bravery: Bradley takes on child sexual abuse and a teen suicide attempt, and she presents this story, as hard as it is, in a way that young readers can understand and process.

The voice of the narrator, 10-year-old Della, is a big draw for me: She’s tough, candid, and funny, and her personality propelled me through the book. I love that this story ultimately shows a child fighting back effectively in the darkest of circumstances.

Della begins by saying she has a “big mouth” and has been told to keep quiet and edit herself. But in the end, Della’s mouth and her refusal to keep quiet about horrible things done to her big sister get them both to a better place.

I admire Moore’s storytelling power so much: He vividly portrays a boy, 12-year-old Lolly, dealing with grief and loss and the dangerous streets outside after the murder of his brother. At the same time, Moore draws a rich picture of the community around Lolly in Harlem.

Lolly loves Legos, and his creativity is fueled by garbage bags full of them from his mother’s girlfriend. I love the way Moore uses the Legos both to connect with young readers and as a metaphor for the challenge Lolly faces, building a strong foundation for himself when he feels as if his life is in pieces.

With Lolly, Moore gives kids something else I know is so important: a model of resilience and open-heartedness in the face of loss.

Before my sister became so ill, people used to say we looked alike. But ours was just a resemblance. In this novel, Dominick looks exactly like his brother, who has schizophrenia. Dominick encounters his identical twin every time he looks in a mirror. And he is terrified.

I first read this book 25 years ago and inhaled every one of the intertwined subplots in its 900 + pages. Recently, I re-read the “story within the story,” a memoir by Dominick’s grandfather. I became fascinated by his story about the Sicilian market where one chicken transforms into two whole ones—a bit of magical realism about twinning, schizophrenia, and hope. I too excavated old family documents to understand why my sibling suffered so much.

In many ways, my book is a prologue to Robert Kolker’s extraordinary book. When Mike left our home, he moved to the Colorado State Hospital, in 1957, just a few years before the Galvin brothers began to rotate through the same wards. My mother dealt with the guilt and shame, stigma and chaos of one child with schizophrenia. The Galvins had ten boys and two girls, and six of the boys were diagnosed with schizophrenia. Unimaginable. I feel especially close to their story because I went to college in Colorado Springs. I rode my bike near the Galvin home on Hidden Valley Road. Even the brain research ending Kolker’s book on a note of hope happens in Denver at the University of Colorado. Like mine, this is a Colorado story.