Books like After the Dam — picked by fans

As a reader, I’ve always been attracted to novels that are character-driven, filling my shelves with books about people who seize the day and fight for what they want, who are interesting, relatable, and flawed but who don’t let those flaws define them. As a writer, I like to put my own flawed characters in situations that force them to face who they are and either come to terms with it or overturn themselves and their lives entirely, and all the novels I’ve listed have a hint of this, too. I hope you enjoy them!

I’m a writer who grew up in the Midwest, moved away for a while, and has now raised my own kids here. I love reading other writers' takes on what kinds of stories they see unfolding here. As I get older, I realize that great stories can grow out of the ground anywhere, with the right amount of sunshine, darkness, and water. 

Twenty-one years ago, I moved off the grid. As a city-dweller who didn't even go camping, I'd never considered myself a country woman, but I felt called to the woods. I wanted to learn practical skills like how to split wood and bake bread, and I wanted to reduce my carbon footprint. Now, because of our lifestyle, we don't run microwaves, toasters, or dishwashers, and it’s been 20 years since I’ve had a clothes dryer. Living this way has changed me. My relationship with the environment has evolved over the years, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop learning about the different ways experiences in nature can help us humans to grow.

I’ve lived in the same place for a long time—a complicated yet beautiful place that I love and love to observe. I’ve seen a lot of change, and a lot of folks come and go in my neighborhood and within the walls of my own house. Looking at a building down the street, I can see it two paint jobs ago, the moods of former owners and friends still imprinted there. I’m becoming a relative old-timer here—while the neighborhood sees repeated turnover, I dig in harder. My long track of settledness has nurtured a tendency to chronicle this humble place, to write one version of its story.

I like Harold and the Purple Crayon as much as the next guy, but what I look for most in a picture book—or really any work of fiction—is whether it touches my heart. I write most often about history, and in those books, I aim to be as rational as possible, but as a reader, I deeply appreciate honest sentimentality—the kind that an author earns through authenticity rather than contrivance. It’s what I struggled to achieve myself when Habitat for Humanity asked me to collaborate with them on a picture book that evoked the spirit of the organization.

I’ve been working professionally as a writer for twenty-five years. I’m nothing close to a household name, but a number of my articles have gone viral throughout the years. I’ve had educators reach out to mention they’ve taught my work at both the high school and college levels. Writing is an occupation of passion, and the authors I’ve mentioned are all talented and passionate about their craft. It’s rare to find people who speak the truth anywhere in our society. These writers don’t just speak the truth, they make it sing.

I have a background in academia, in the finest liberal arts tradition. Although I am a retired professor in the field of Information technology, I have read extensively in military history, sociology, economics, Buddhist philosophy, mythology and all manner of fantasy fiction. This list of books reflects my favorites, in large part because of their solid writing - as an author, I can no longer tolerate mediocre prose. I am always eager to share my favorite fantasy fiction with other readers who love deeply complicated stories with unforgettable characters.

Conflict and disagreement have always interested me. I was a middle child, so I naturally fell into the role of peacemaker. But I also had strong opinions, and I always thought I knew the right answer. The pursuit of education, love, and a career brought me to rural Montana, an Asian metropolis, and everywhere in between. These experiences deepened my fascination regarding how people could have such different beliefs, and how we are to live together despite those differences. A PhD in Science and Technology Studies, supervised by a political scientist, sent me on the path to diagnosing what ails American democracy, and what the cure might be.

Author Greil Marcus’ phrase “the old, weird America” gave me exactly the right words for something I’ve always felt: that there is a specific weirdness to the American landscape, an uncontrollable current of strange that runs beneath the carefully cultivated surface of heroes and neighbors and shared, stable dreams. Of course, as William Faulkner observed, the past isn’t past, and America is as weird as it’s ever been. Maybe weirder. Look at the news. Look out your window. No surprise, then, that I’m drawn to such a perspective when I read other people’s stories, and seldom get completely away from it when I write my own.

I’ve only ever lived in small Midwestern towns. I grew up there, raised my kids there, recovered from a divorce there, remarried there. I’ve had the same best friends for 40 years. I’ve paid and bartered for my classmates’ trade services. I’ve argued with them in churches and cafes, rooted for and against their kids at high school basketball and football games all over the state. We’ve celebrated and buried each other’s loved ones. I’ve run hundreds of miles of Wisconsin trail, soaked in her waters, marveled at her sunsets. It’s as home to me as my own body, and I’ll never tire of reading about it.