The best historical novels featuring powerful women

Several Luis Alberto Urrea novels feature powerful women, but this one resonates with me the most. One reason is that, like my novel, his also reimagines the history of a real-life great-aunt from Mexico. Urrea’s protagonist, Teresita, Saint of Cabora, is so full of heart that she gives me hope more readers will embrace Latinas in American literature.

Teresita Urrea exemplifies the strength teenage girls can wield when people encourage them to speak up instead of pipe down and when people value all their gifts regardless of whether those gifts were once labeled “masculine,” like boldness, or “feminine,” like empathy. For me, Teresita offered timeless wisdom: because she led with love, she saw through the lies of the powerful to the hearts of people who needed healing and justice. 

In this book, I admire how author Vanessa Hua blends intimate storytelling about one teenager into a vast historical saga—drawing on her research skills as a journalist, a background we have in common. In this coming-of-age tale about a secret enclave of pampered and abused teenage girls, I could see why Mei was lured by a promise with feminist allure: that girls can become heroes.

My life experience told me she would get used, yet I loved Mei’s awakening: an idealist transformed into a sexual slave sharpens her wits against Chairman Mao’s even as she becomes his prey, then must use all she’s learned to save herself. Mei’s story is a wake-up call about the dangers women face when societies decline and the price we pay to become heroes.

This is one of the strongest survivors I've met in historical fiction. I related to Gussie feeling like an outsider in her family, though for different reasons. I’m a mixed-race woman of Latina, Asian, and Anglo roots, and grew up bouncing between family members in an ethnic patchwork of neighborhoods. Like Gussie, I don’t look or act like anyone in my family—or anywhere.

Like Gussie, I’ve never conformed to society’s expectations of “ladies.” Some see my opinionated, independent, wandering nature as masculine—again, like Gussie. Her confidence, adventurousness, and determination are qualities I’ve cultivated with gusto. Her loneliness feels familiar, but it clarifies the bonds she creates and her loyalty to those she loves. Though most folks in Gussie’s world consider her plain, I find her beautiful.

The Earth’s Children series fully immersed me in Stone Age Europe, thanks to Jean M. Auel’s nerd-level research. But what hooked me was her protagonist: Ayla, a courageous, spiritually gifted, neurodivergent genius. Though Ayla’s a white Cro-magnon, and I’m a Latina Homo sapiens, I relate to this fish out of water.

In this book, she’s wildly different from the Neanderthals who adopt her, echoing my own family experience. Ayla’s unique problem-solving skills also set her apart, sending her careening between loneliness and leadership. What excites me most about her journey is that the demands of the Ice Age give her more opportunities to explore her potential than many modern women. I recommend starting with Clan of the Cave Bear, Ayla’s origin story, which stands on its own. 

Although Sula is my favorite Toni Morrison protagonist, I’ve found the most profound revelation of power in the four women I consider the collective protagonist of A Mercy. Florens is the primary protagonist, but the communal self she forms with the others leaps off the page.

In a society where men value independence, I rooted for these women as they leaned into interdependence: Rebekka, white Mistress of the house; Lina, the Native American servant; Sorrow, the servant suspected of being mixed-race and feeble-minded; and Florens, the enslaved black girl taken as payment for a debt.

This multiracial cast pools their skills to survive in a society suspicious of any woman sans man. A Mercy seems timely to me as America still struggles to accept women and minorities as partners.