Books like Again, Alabama — picked by fans

O'Connor was an uncomfortable contradiction: she isolated herself as much as possible from the world she so beautifully described, writing about ordinary Southern lives with real human feeling and understanding - while holding personal views that were deeply ugly.

I am not going to pretend otherwise. What I will say is that her stories have a cast of people who seem strange until you recognise them, and then they are suddenly far too familiar. She wrote that anything out of the South would be called grotesque by the Northern reader, unless it actually was grotesque, in which case it would be called realistic.

A number of my characters owe their existence to her assortment of murderers, false prophets, hypocrites, malevolent strangers, and good old Southern weirdos.

Kaya Clark is the wild child I longed to be growing up. Although her family story is tragic and well-explored, how she inhabits her world of nature and allows it to inhabit her is stunning. Once again, she is a young woman who is an outcast who manages to rise above her limitations and those placed on her by society. 

Beyond the incredible storytelling and intriguing plot lines, I was mesmerized by the natural world of the North Carolina marshes, being as much a main character as Kaya herself. The intricate details of the lushness and cruelty of the natural world were incredible. In looking back at my favorite novels, one of the commonalities is the writing’s ability to come alive in my head and to take up a permanent space as much as my own lived memories. This novel is one of those.

Southern life shines in all its quirks and beauty in this debut novel by contemporary author Laurie Beach.

The Firefly Jar is about a woman returning to her mother’s South Carolina roots only to uncover family secrets. The title becomes a thread for the plot which, like a firefly jar, will capture readers, too. And with more books planned, this fresh new voice is one to watch!

I love this book because Edna Pontellier is perhaps the original flawed yet sympathetic heroine—a character ahead of her time and a symbol of the growing stirrings of feminism.

I underlined many passages in my dog-eared copy from college (my professor was the editor), including the line, “Mrs. Pontellier was not a mother-woman,” a contrast with the other mothers summering on Grand Isle who doted on their children. She’s not what a woman and mother was supposed to be in 1899—she’s in love with a man other than her husband; she eschews the trappings of motherhood; and ultimately she escapes in the most heartbreaking way.

This book was so explosive at the time, that it was pulled from shelves and didn’t enjoy success and a rightful place in the literary cannon until it was reissued in 1966. There’s a reason it’s had a treasured place on my bookshelf for nearly… show more.

Strictly speaking, this is not a first-person account, but it includes dozens of detailed case studies drawn from interviews with white tenant farm women in North Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana. It was written in the 1930s by the pioneering sociologist Margaret Jarman Hagood, one of a group of practitioners at University of North Carolina who sought to produce academic studies that advanced solutions to the socio-economic problems that plagued the rural South. Although Hagood feared that “it is impossible for me to do justice to it either in observing or recording,” her study paints a vivid picture of life among white women who raised children and worked the land on the South’s hardscrabble farms.

Growing up in the South and having a penchant for writing about racial justice, genealogy, travel, truth-telling, and more, this book is among the top ones on my favorite list. The South is more complicated than many think. Along with the racists and bigots, there are plenty of really smart people who are progressive and thoughtful. Good writers sprout like the wild primroses in Alabama. I liked how Perry stirs together history with her travels and her own dear ancestors.

Perry starts her explorations with Harper’s Ferry, which brought back my vivid memories of its spectacular scenery. It still holds onto John Brown, but there is so much more, which she explains. There are plenty of nuanced stories and surprises as she travels across state after state. 

If a peach orchard could tell its own story, it might sound like this book: lush, layered, and rooted in both beauty and rot. This book follows generations of a family in a small Alabama town as they grapple with change, betrayal, and the land that shaped them.

Johnson’s voice is bold and mythic, blending folklore with family drama in a way that feels timeless. 

I love this book because the characters are just as odd as the author and just as interesting. Also, Capote’s rural childhood environment reminds me of aspects of my own. And, as usual, his writing is top-notch. Moving and heartfelt stories that transported me to a lost era and the sweetness and anxieties of childhood.

I love a book that tells me something new. Yes, I knew WACs served in World War II and that in the 1940s, women didn’t hold combat positions. I knew Black men served in segregated units. But I didn’t know about the Black women’s WAC 6888 Central Postal Directory Battalion.

I was riveted by this story of their deployment to Europe to sort mail for the troops. So many books about wars feature men. I loved the female characters and the grandmother sharing memories with her granddaughters–creating a bridge for today’s readers. I respect how the book speaks not only to military life and commitment but also to racial segregation and its effects on the young women serving our country.

After the Civil War, the South was in turmoil, with ruined farms, destitute people, and existential uncertainty about the future.

John Hollis Bankhead of Alabama was one who stepped forward to ensure that little would change. He voted against the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments and helped institutionalize convict leasing. As author Kari Frederickson writes, "Confederates may have lost the war, but white men like Bankhead were determined to thwart any possible political or social revolution."

Other Bankheads continued in the same vein including Marie who, as director of the Alabama state archives, embraced the Lost Cause narrative, rejected symbols of Reconstruction, and, in the name of state’s rights, opposed voting rights for women. Learning about this family’s success in molding the post-war South gave me new insight into issues of today.