Books like A Spell of Good Things — picked by fans

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. 

The Son of the House is modern, original, page-turning, powerful, and beautifully written. I was curious about the seeming contradiction between Onyemelukwe-Onuobia’s title, and the novel’s subject, two women who have been kidnapped in Enugu, Nigeria. Of course, I soon learn there is no contradiction. The lives of both Nwabulu and Julie are impacted by the value once placed upon the son of the house. The novel makes clear that these traditions are changing fast, even as the characters grapple with the reverberations. The novel introduces us to fascinating women who I have thought about long after I finished reading it. 

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.

Do you want to feel the exuberance and magic of childhood again? Then read and enjoy this beautiful book, which will take you on a journey through a Nigerian night market with all of its delightful sights, sounds, tastes, and smells.

It’s an exhilarating glimpse at a vibrant way of life halfway across the globe. Plus, since I’m a night owl and my own book takes place entirely at night, I’m partial to stories about little-known slices of life that happen when most people are asleep.

In this riveting account, Agbiboa dispels the myth that corruption is a culturally accepted norm in Nigeria.

He spent months behind the wheel as a minibus conductor in the informal settlements of Lagos, Nigeria, and experienced first-hand the stark realities of the corrupt interactions between drivers, police, and members of the transport workers union.

Nigerians reject, and simultaneously have little choice, but to participate in the petty corruption that arises from the systematic, violent, and exploitative relationship between the state and union on the one hand, and transport operators and passengers on the other.

Agbiboa shows that binary understandings of formality/informality, public/private, and legal/illegal derived from Western thought do not adequately capture the way that petty corruption is embedded in the state and is driven by elite corruption.

This resonated strongly with my research on the informal economy in Tanzania.

I left this book for last because it is, perhaps, the heaviest and most gut-wrenching. In this book, Emezi crafts an exceptional paranormal story showing the true-life difficulties (that is the life-threatening and openly hostile discrimination) faced by LGBT+ people in Nigeria. A fact that’s sadly true in many other African countries too. This book has so many layers, every scene dripping with nuance and a clear tenderness for the subject matter. It would have been easy for this story to remain steeped in tragedy, but Emezi manages to elevate their characters and narrative above that, providing an ultimately heartwarming story that leaves the reader with a sense of wonder and hope while never dismissing the severity of the reality so many LGBT+ people face on the African continent.