Books like American Daughter

This is a fascinating historical novel about Thomas Jefferson’s oldest daughter, Patsy Jefferson. Aside from learning much more about history than I ever did in high school or college, I enjoyed reading about the relationship that she had with her father. 

It’s difficult, I think, to have a relationship with a man like Jefferson who was devoted to his ideals and dreams first and to his family second. He had goals that were so immense that there was no competing with them. And yet, Patsy is completely devoted to her father and his goals. It’s a story about loving an imperfect man and making sacrifices.

It gave me a different perspective on a historical figure, but it also made me think about my own relationship with my father because I could relate to coming second or third in the life of a father you love. I know what it’s like… show more.

How does one transform from a rural, home-schooled environment in Utah to earning a PhD at the University of Cambridge? Tara’s immersive writing style takes us with her as she strives to learn about life and family and her place within it.

Through her tender eyes of innocence, her innate sense of integrity, and the slow trusting of her intuition, the veils of deception slowly disappear, and Tara is forced to make choices none of us should ever have to make. Sometimes self-preservation is the precursor to transformation and unconditional love.

I read Wild Game in a weekend—and that’s unusual for me, but I just couldn’t put the book down. Brodeur brought me into a world of treachery, lies, and mother-daughter entanglement that I found absolutely compelling. The mother in this book, Malabar, is a larger-than-life character whose willingness to sacrifice her daughter’s well-being for her own ends was horrifying and believable. I rooted for the daughter all the way through this beautifully crafted book, but it was the mother I found unforgettable.

There are so many things I loved about Motherland, it’s hard to know where to begin. For starters, Elissa Altman is a brilliant writer and a great storyteller. Her portrayal of her dramatic, narcissistic mother created a flawed, human, larger-than-life character I will never forget. Elissa moves us through time effortlessly, at one moment vividly portraying herself as a child and in the next, seamlessly bringing in the voice of wisdom—her adult voice now—as we watch her struggle to make peace with the past. I deeply resonated with the love and hate, attachment and resentment that ricocheted between this unforgettable mother-daughter pair. I love books that grab me and don’t let me go. Motherland definitely had me hooked all the way from beginning to end. I hated leaving Altman’s world behind. I didn’t want the book to end.

I loved diving into this novel about mother-daughter artists and the devotion, love, and competition that binds them together. Personally, I have no skill or passion for painting or photography—the gifts granted the characters in this book—but as I immersed myself in Bensley’s world, I began seeing the world as visual artists do. That was an unexpected bonus to an already compelling intergenerational story. As I hungrily turned pages, eager to discover what would happen to the characters next, I loved learning about art, the sexism of the art world, and the compelling need to create regardless of external validation.

This book taught me what “nonfiction” is.

Bechdel uses her narrator as a vehicle for thinking (in this case, for thinking through a narrator’s complex relationship with her mother), using a constellation of sources from Donald Winnicott to Virginia Woolf to The Sound of Music. She perfects the illusion/truth central to this genre: that we’re witnessing the writer’s process of discovery in real time.

When I’m inside the book, I feel as though I’m inside Bechdel’s brain. I know this feeling is a testament to her craft, but I still couldn’t help thinking, when I finished the book, that Bechdel was my friend. I wanted to call her up to continue our conversation about our parents—even though we’ve never met. 

The Mother-in-Law is a funny mystery about a mother-in-law who is found dead and the likely suspect is the main character, Lucy who had a challenging relationship with her mother-in-law.

The main reason I recommend this book is not so much because Sally Hepworth is an amazing writer (she is!) and she keeps you turning the pages (she does!), but because this book ended up being so much more than a “whodunit” story.

As the story builds and we see the relationship between daughter and mother-in-law develop, we come to love both characters because they are so real, and their relationship is deeply complex. How do you love a difficult person? It’s not easy, but Lucy shows us how. I loved this book, and in fact, I want to read it again.

What do you do when you find out that the man you thought was your father, really isn’t? Well, you begin to question everything. If a mystery man is your real father instead of the man who raised you, then what does that make you?

When Marcela, a Latina animator learns that her father might be a white friend of her mother’s, she tries to prove that she is still Latina enough as she goes in search of her biological father.

Part of what makes us who we are is what we believe about ourselves, and in this book the character’s entire identity comes into question. My book is about a man’s search for the American Dream; however, to achieve success, you have to believe in yourself and have a clear understanding of who you are.

Immigrants, in many ways, leave their old identity behind to become a new version… show more.

Penny’s story grabbed me by the hand and pulled me with her from the first chapter when she’s ripped from the only home she’s ever known and thrown into a car with a strange man who doesn’t even speak her language.

For years, this sweet girl lives with a monstrous stepmother whose abuse is tolerated by everyone but suffered only by Penny. I loved this book because while it’s Penny’s journey, there were many similarities to my life—both of us scrubbing floors like Cinderella and taking care of a sibling who called us “Mama”—and we both not only survived but thrived.

There is comfort in knowing that Penny didn’t believe what the monsters told her about herself, and she didn’t let them write the ending to her fairytale. 

Bobi Conn’s story of growing up in poverty was too familiar: the cheap food, a car they push to start, a motel they move into when her father hits her mother, and the frustration of watching our mothers go back because they don’t have the courage to stay gone. Bobi also found refuge at school, which I related to because this was where life was predictable—and we were fed.

The author’s voice is powerful and honest as she shares her trauma, humiliation, and loss. Bobi Conn comes from the holler, deep in Appalachia, and her story is a beautiful testament to the resilience and bravery children are forced to have—and the childhood too many lose along the way.