100 Books Like A Lady's Guide to Marvels and Misadventure

The Girls’ Guide to Hunting and Fishing doesn’t sound too promising in brief description.

Across seven distinct sections—short stories, effectively—it follows one Jane Rosenal from puberty to maturity as she attempts to navigate the world of romantic love. What makes it soar is the quality of Melissa Bank’s writing. The prose here is as smooth as a pane of glass. You pick the thing up and next time you blink, you’re on page 50.

It helps that Jane herself is a wonderfully witty creation, sometimes to her cost. As a reader, I clutch this book to my heart, sighing and smiling. As a writer, it makes me want to give up.

Nicholas Sparks is one of those romance writers whose work I mostly like, but I’m not a die-hard fan. However, I love this book. Not every sweet, sappy romance makes me cry, but this one did. I really cared for the main character, Katie. She’s quiet and keeps to herself, but beneath the reserved smile, she’s hiding from an abusive marriage.

It takes courage to run from a bad situation and strength to face your demons finally. I also liked that the romance was believable and took its time. Romances that make me fall in love with the characters are among my favorite kinds of love stories.

This is really terrible–if highly moreish–stuff: a thin, junky, first-drafty picaresque. But it formed the basis of a film starring Jackie’s sister, Joan. The film even had a tie-in aftershave (heavy on the ginseng), promising all kinds of advantages for the wearer. The film and the book both try to suggest a deluxe, upmarket, classy melding of disco culture with the post-permissive society sexual freedoms now available to the 1970s bachelor and (as an ill-informed nod to feminism) the businesswoman.

This imagined milieu was a million miles from the sleazy, criminal experience of London’s Soho, which had traditionally been where all this erotic access was clustered. The aspiration was shared by Paul Raymond, who worked to translate the risqué stage shows of the 1960s (think pre-fame Christine Keeler) to more contemporary fare for the proto-Thatcherite managerial class, keen to see what secular society had to offer them and their new… show more.

I could pick any historical romance by Milan and feel happy giving it a spot on this list. Because Milan’s stories are deeply invested in exploring how social strictures and structures function to keep women in their “rightful” (i.e., subordinate) place.

In my favorite, Mark Turner has recently been knighted by Queen Victoria for his philosophical treatise, A Gentleman’s Practical Guide to Chastity, an honor that makes him a rock star to myriad young Englishmen. When a rival offers a reward to anyone who can prove she’s seduced the morally upright Mark, courtesan Jessica Farleigh takes up the challenge.

While Mark’s fans and neighbors find the virgin philosopher and fallen woman an appalling mismatch, Mark does not shy away from his attraction, simultaneously offering a witty yet biting critique of the double standard on male and female sexual behavior.

This book is one of my favorites because it features a strong independent heroine and a duke who decides to be a better man.

Cassandra has no patience with Ashmont—none. She is appalled by his behavior, and she isn’t afraid to tell him. He, on the other hand, is almost immediately smitten with her. It isn’t easy for him to change from a disgrace to a worthy partner, but he doesn’t give up—even when she plainly tells him she won’t marry him.

She threatens to murder him multiple times, and the fight scene with the umbrella is permanently etched into my mind. He might have been wrong about a lot of things, but he loves her exactly as she is.

Matt Haig is one of those rare writers whose every book is great. And this is no exception. It’s the story of Tom Hazard, a nondescript English teacher–except he’s actually 400 years old and has lived many lives. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of what I would do if I could live my life over. Mind you, it’s not all fun.

Tom has to keep moving, as his non-ageing appearance would become a red flag to others. So he’s not able to fall in love either. There’s a lot of sadness and loneliness in the book, and many times, I found myself asking what I’d do in that situation. It's a beautiful read.

This book isn’t typically what I read, but I am so glad I did! Rather than a traditional mystery where the threat is typically from a person, the threat here is from nature, secrets, and the perils of being alone in a remote lighthouse for months, especially since the last caretaker disappeared years ago.

It’s a psychological thriller set in Alaska with an independent, oh-so-brave female lead, and I found myself cheering her on as she conquered the dangers and her fears. I truly enjoyed every page of this book.

This book is bonkers, and I mean that in the best possible way. I loved it when I first read it, and my love for it has only grown throughout the years. I re-read it every few years, trying to pick apart why it works so well for me.

I love Hendrick’s prose, the sharp, noir rhythm of it, and the protagonist, Sherri, is my favorite type of noir heroine to read: crooked but with her own moral code. But mostly, I’m obsessed with how fearless this book is: there’s no taboo left uncrossed. I re-read this book when I need to be braver as a writer.

This is the Tom Robbins book for me: the glorious bastard that made me want to be a writer.

It's a day lost in Tijuana, or Nice, or Beijing, or some other place you'd never thought you'd be, and you don't speak the language, but you've convinced yourself that you're fluent, and you can do it: you can get around anyway, and there's no cabs, and so you get into some guy's really old Volvo or, more ill-advised, van, and you give him the local equivalent of ten bucks to take you where you hope you want to be and not kill you, and he does it, but when he drops you off he yells at you, in his language, for being stupid enough to take a ride with a stranger.

And you do it again the next day, and you never learn your lesson.

This book rose out of the grave and grabbed me by the ankles. I’ve always loved (and been completely terrified of) zombies. After 28 Days Later scarred me for life (that one scene with the crow and the blood ACK), zombies became somewhat of an obsession. But I always found myself wanting…more. Then this book shambled in my door, and suddenly, I had the twisted, funny, heartwarming zombie fairytale I never knew I needed in my life. It upended the undead genre, and I will love it forever for giving the mix of zombies and romance a big ole bear hug.