The most recommended books about homeless people

Douglass is the kind of writer many of us are jealous of. Her skill with a pen is a marvel. Reading her sentences, I often wonder how she chose these words, how she came to think in this way, and how I could write less like myself and more like her. All of her books are worth reading, but this one’s tale of reincarnation and of life on the margins helped me see that the world is so much more magical than I often take it to be.

This book is the first to finally put to rest the blame-the-victim causal explanations for homelessness. Using economic and geographic data, Colburn and Aldern show that homelessness is the result of poverty, but not only poverty; for example, Detroit has low rates of homelessness.

Essential is the existence of economic inequities combined with the unavailability of affordable housing, for example, in New York City. This book makes my teaching about homelessness so much easier.

I loved Jeanette Walls honest and raw telling of her father’s mental illness and her mother’s unorthodox mothering and the impact they both had on her childhood and adulthood. People with mental illness are often portrayed as villains with no redeeming qualities.

Still, Walls finds the bits and pieces of her father that are beautiful, made her childhood sometimes magical, and led to her own successful career and life. 

I almost didn’t include this Newbery Medal winner book by Louis Sachar on my list of magical middle-grade books set in the real world. Is it really magical? Is it set in the real world? With a fourteen-year-old protagonist, Stanley Yelnats, is it even middle-grade?

Here’s why my love for this book won out. Sachar weaves together a quirky, complex story, just interconnected enough to qualify as “magical.” The setting, a juvenile prison camp with a sadistic warden, is “real-world” enough. And Stanley, though emotionally young for fourteen, is a kind, thoughtful kid well worth rooting for.

About halfway through reading, its darkness almost prompted me to lay this book aside. I’m so glad I didn’t. In the end, its themes of perseverance, hope, and redemption shone through.

“Middle-class academic writes nonfiction about homeless substance abuser” – that sounds like a recipe for overweening earnestness at best, or at worst an exploitative catastrophe. But right from the first line of this astonishing book you know that the author isn’t entirely in control, that the subject, his troubled friend Stuart Shorter, has agency in these pages in a way he seldom did elsewhere in life. It’s a gut-crunchingly sad story, but also often very funny – which, you get the feeling, is exactly how Stuart would have wanted it.

The focus of this intensely experienced and written ethnography is contrasting the public vs. private sectors of services for persons suffering the dual tragedies of serious mental illness and housing precarity. The title reflects this distinction by describing the private world of elite treatment programs costing $10,000 or more per month to treat the troubled sons and daughters of Los Angeles families.

In contrast, the public sector—serving 'sidewalk psychotics’ visible in the city’s Skid Row—is barely able to offer treatment and support to help them survive. Gong writes up-close stories of the lives of impoverished street dwellers and their outreach workers juxtaposed to the experiences of affluent young people navigating strained relationships with their families. The comparison speaks volumes about class privilege and its limitations. This is ethnography at its best.

I loved this book because it is a very engaging true story, one that I have huge admiration for. To literally just walk the South-West Coast Path when you have been made homeless and one partner has been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. I found their story inspiring. When they walked, they had nothing, but by the time they finished, in many ways, they had everything. 

I was amazed at how brilliantly observant the author was in her descriptions of nature, the scenery, people, and even the weather. This book certainly inspired me to walk sections of the South-West Coast Path, and when I did, I often thought about Raynor and Moth and wondered how they managed it. I loved how their love for each other kept them moving forward together and enabled them to deal with considerable hardship. It’s a great book.  

Set in 1875 London, this children’s novel tells the story of a hungry, overworked girl who labors as a chimney sweep and the golem made of soot who cares for her.

I adore the idea of a soot golem as a caregiver and someone to care for. And don’t we all need to love and be loved, even though it can feel scary and risky at times? This story made me want my own soot monster. 

Nick Flynn's book was a book I knew about for a long time, but never seemed to have the time to read. The book is a lovely memoir about how an abandoned son struggles to come to terms with the man his father has become and how that man from a wealthy and affluent family could abandon him and his older brother. Nick Flynn is surprisingly compassionate when he shares the sad and sordid reality of his father’s failed, alcoholic life.

This is one of the most moving memoirs I’ve ever read, and it comes highly recommended. Probably the most moving part of the book is how honest and apathetic Nick Flynn seems. He writes about his mother, who struggles for decades and never complains about the horrible family who never acknowledged her or her two sons, knowing that their son, Jonathan Flynn, was the boy's father. You read it… show more.

For me, this book is a touchstone for what work on cities and photography can be.

Photographer Margaret Morton does what I always wanted to see in a photo book about places, cities, and houses. She combines beautiful photographs, sensitive to intimacy and respect for the people and homes she photographs, with real oral histories. It puts the words and stories of people who live in temporary dwellings—you could call them homeless—on an equal footing with Morton’s photographs of their self-built homes.

You can tell that both the interviews and the photographs emerged from real relationships and real mutual respect.