49 books like Zero O'clock

The opening of this book knocked me out, and I was hooked.

I usually veer toward literary, slower, familial dramas, but this book combined what I love in literary family dynamics with the frightening premise of an inexplicable disaster occurring in the outside world. The suspicion we were quick to possess about others during the early days of the pandemic is heightened to a new level with two couples pitted against each other, one preoccupied with the welfare and antics of their children.

I loved the construct that had even spouses second-guessing each other. The intensity of the situation brought out the worst and eventually the better sides of all the characters, a phenomenon that resonated as I read this book during the first year of the pandemic, at the same time rioters invaded our nation’s capital.  

Elizabeth Strout is perfecting a practice I’m sold on–the literary recasting of characters from one novel to the next.

In this book, I got to return to Lucy Barton and her ex-husband, William, who were thrown together in a cabin in Maine due to the pandemic. Writing the novel from the first-person perspective of the protagonist, Strout includes this pragmatic character’s interior musings, specifically the things we increasingly noticed as time slowed down during COVID.

I could so relate to Lucy’s quirky character: give me ornery, critical, and desperate any day! Weren’t we all?  

It’s hard not to love an Ann Patchett book. The idea of a middle-aged protagonist recounting a moment from their past isn’t new, but putting that long-ago life into the context of family life and motherhood gives Tom Lake its power. Do our children really get to know who we were before they were born? What if we don’t tell them everything?

I read criticism about it that said there wasn’t enough conflict in this family, and everyone got along too well.

If that’s the worst you’ve got…

As if relationships between siblings and spouses aren’t already complicated enough, Cunningham throws the isolation and distance of COVID into the mix.

I love this author’s ability to turn extremely authentic and simple domestic dramas occurring on one day into revelatory ideas about child-rearing and the expectations family members have of one another. A generation of young parents, their inquisitive children, the devotion of a brother and sister, and an infatuation between brothers-in-law are the subjects of this well-paced work.

The effect of the pandemic on a marriage, on family members' psyches, and the aftermath of one of their deaths is written with tenderness and insight. This is a fabulous read depicting the new age in which we live.

The COVID Chronicles is an anthology of graphic fiction about COVID life. The dozens of contributors are mostly based in the US but also come from Australia, Canada, the UK, Europe, and Asia. There are a dizzying array of art styles and tones across the collection, from humorous to darkly grim. Together, all the graphic narratives reveal the ups and downs of pandemic life in the early months of COVID: from dealing with loneliness, unemployment, illness, and death, transitioning to working from home, racism, and the Black Lives Matter protests to seeking opportunities to show love, care, connection, and hope.

I loved this book because of the issues it raises: should you bring social problems into the classroom, or should it be a sheltered enclave? When I started teaching, we were told to keep sex, politics, and religion out. But is this correct? The editor of this collection thinks no—There are so many important issues that young people need to grapple with: hate speech, violence against women, and war. How can you deal with them?

The author/editor believes that teachers have a responsibility to engage students in respectful discussions. The book features various teachers’ voices on how they have handled current issues and discussions. I love how these teachers show their caring side by wanting to help teenagers make sense of their lives.

A Good Kind of Trouble is the beautiful story that follows the main character, Shayla, as she learns to use her voice and speak up for things that matters to her. The book has everything I love in a middle grade novel like humor and heart (Lisa is a master at describing junior high friendships and crushes!), but also engages honestly with the reader about important things like racism and social justice. This book can serve as a fantastic conversation starter for kids and parents and kids and teachers.

Growing up in a community of color where police harassment and brutality is the norm, Khan-Cullors learns early in life about racial inequality. This point is reinforced when her father and her mentally ill brother cycle in and out of prison. She clearly and poignantly tells us how her hurt and outrage about the treatment of her family members expands into activism and co-founding the Black Lives Matter movement. Her struggles to build a loving, supportive community around her as she challenges racial violence and unequal justice show her enormous personal and political challenges. The message, she writes, of “building power and ensuring healing” teaches me how important it is to balance the two.

What I love most about this book is the strident, confident way the poems tackle our expectations about prose and poetic genres. Right from the collection's first poem, the book says that language is only the beginning; it still has its limits, though it can achieve longevity in the right conditions. 

However, my favorite poem of the collection is 'Shakespeare Doesn't Care,' a poem where Dove imagines Shakespeare’s confident, coy response to comments on his prolific, inimitable career. In doing so, she highlights how his work points the finger of judgment through time. Dove does this, too.

This is not a book of portents, nor is it strictly a celebration or mourning of an apocalyptic world; instead, it highlights the strange echoes of history.

I am recommending this book because one can’t understand power without being beholden to it systemically and repeatedly, all the while dissecting power’s discontents. Baldwin’s words may seem to strike only to America’s core, but every marginalized person will find truth in them. As an Egyptologist, I rely on Baldwin to tell me what oppressed people in an authoritarian regime thought but could not commit to paper.