100 Books Like A Spell of Good Things

I don’t think Garcia Marquez needs a review or introduction. Reading any of his books is a pleasure, with easy and delightful writing and striking sentences.

These sentences often describe things or people in a way that feels natural and perfectly captured. For instance, he describes the world as so new that many things lack names. His eloquent descriptions, like that of ice, create vivid images. The characters are relatable, and you feel a happy exhaustion after finishing the book, reminiscent of great works like Steinbeck’s East of Eden.

Those who find the stories too unbelievable should learn about Colombian history, as they provide real context. I simply love the book!

The Alvarados are an unhealthy family with a very big communication problem. The patriarch turns into a shell of himself obsessed only with rainfall, the matriarch is hiding her own secrets, and their adult children are all in varying stages of trouble in their own relationships. 

I loved that this book was set in 2016, in California, centered around a Mexican-American family, and did not explicitly address immigration issues or Donald Trump—even if that was very much hinted at towards the end of the novel.

Aside from the family’s journey to healthier relationships with themselves and each other, it was refreshing to see another perspective of that moment in time. It was a good reminder to me that we all contain multitudes, and that no single story is the whole story.

This is an incredible novel that provides an intimate look at a piece of history that many Americans know next to nothing about (embarrassingly, I was one of them before discovering this book). The prose was breathtaking, and certain sections had me in uncontrollable tears.

However, I didn’t just choose this novel because it’s a beautiful, heart-wrenching story of a Palestinian family broken by war (though it most certainly is). I had initially disliked the ending because it didn’t offer the closure I prefer from a novel’s final pages. But after reflecting, I realized that was the point.

Salt Houses showed me that not only do authors need to carefully consider what they include in their books—it’s also important to decide what needs to be left out, and why.

I love reading fiction that teaches while it entertains, and I have to say, I was completely unaware of this ancient regional conflict and the legendary sisters Trưng Trắc and Trưng Nhi before picking up Bronze Drum. 

The sisters are depicted as opposites—one disciplined and wise, the other impulsive and emotional. They each seek to honor Vietnamese cultural traditions, which was under the oppressive rule of the Han Chinese at the time (circa 40 CE). When the sisters become leaders in a revolution against the Chinese empire, their sisterly dynamic shifts in ways that impact the future of their whole nation.

I’ve read this book at least twice. The specificity of Sefi Atta's language makes me feel like I can reach into the pages and sit next to the characters as their lives unfold.

Her writing is very immersive, drawing you in and making everything in that world real and imaginable, painful yet livable. In this book, she explores the complexities of womanhood, even with certain privileges and regardless of status. 

This is the best account I know of the double bind that artists subjected to settler forms of colonialism have had to endure. Taking Nigerian modern art as his case study, this eminent Africanist art historian shows how, on the one hand, colonial officials attempted to abolish the indigenous artistic heritage as "savage," or "primitive," while simultaneously blocking African artists from a European art education. To become modern required a negotiation between these dual limitations and ended up producing something very different from Western modernism.

War Girls is YA sci-fi that takes place in war-torn Nigeria at the end of the 22nd century.

The world as we know it has ended because of runaway climate change and nuclear disaster, and two sisters, Onyii and Ify, live together in a makeshift colony of traumatized former child soldiers. After a devastating raid on their camp, the sisters are separated—each believing the other was killed—only to find themselves on opposing sides of the conflict.

This is a book about the world-shattering horrors of war, but it’s also about colonial violence, about sisterhood and solidarity, and about small moments that forever shape how the protagonists view each other and themselves. It’s also a complex, character-driven story that tenaciously searches for hope in ruins and aftermaths.

This is classic literary journalism from a reporter who, at the time, had no business writing this beautifully at such a young age. It’s a great example of how ordinary lives caught up in conflict when told with enough flair and sensitivity, contain sufficient drama and universal appeal to rival any fictionalized character.

Okeowo’s geographic sweep is impressive, as she brings us to Uganda, Mauritania, Somalia, and Nigeria, weaving a unifying narrative of ordinary people fighting extremism. 

What I appreciate most about this story is that it offered me painstaking clarity on the emotional journey to and through motherhood. I was shaken by how quickly Nnu Ego went from sought-after bride to castoff to competitor for her husband’s affections—and how, through it all, her ability to bear children was the only metric society valued her for.

Even more harrowing to me was how thanklessly her daughters and sons treated her. This book gave me a wholly new appreciation for my mother and motherhood.

Released in 2021, God of Mercy satisfied my need for history and fantasy with an authentic portrayal of Igbo traditions, language, and spirituality. This dark tale follows Ijeoma, a girl blessed with the ability to fly, and delves into the complexities of faith, community, and the clash between traditional religions, ancient customs, colonial encroachment, and modern ideas.

Nwoka's beautiful prose and intricate storytelling immersed me in a world where the supernatural smoothly integrates with everyday life. The novel’s depiction of a small village struggling to preserve its cultural heritage in the face of external pressures struck a chord with me as I grew up at a time when traditional religions were still contending with colonial religions in my country’s native villages.

This novel offered me a profoundly enriching reading experience that honored the past while stimulating the imagination. Trigger warning: child abuse and torture.