100 Books Like Among Others

Reading this book reminded me that understanding another person is a continuous struggle, and that we lose the most when we mistake appearances for truth. Even for someone like Genly, an emissary whose role is to bridge cultures, truly understanding Estraven proves painfully difficult.

What stayed with me was the tragedy of that gap: how insight often arrives too late.

Estraven’s sacrifice, made so that Genly could reach safety, and Genly’s decision to visit Estraven’s family afterward, left me with a lingering sense that remembrance itself carries moral weight. Sometimes understanding cannot undo loss, but memory—how the living choose to carry it—can still salvage a trace of good from tragedy.

Le Guin’s novel taught me that empathy is not a destination, but an act that must be fought for, again and again.

The two main reasons I’m including 334 on this list are its structure and themes. This is an intricate mosaic novel built around a series of interconnected tales set in an apartment building, following characters through a four-year period.

It explores ideas like people inhabiting such subjectively different worlds that they can’t truly communicate with each other, the visibility or lack thereof of class lines, and the ultimate futility of crime, virtual reality, and cryonics to provide any true solution to life’s woes. Irony, art, and death are always a stone’s throw away.

Disch’s mastery of style and the rhythm of his prose are also on display in this book. Besides his brilliant fiction and poetry, he wrote several volumes with strong opinions about science fiction, reflecting his deep, if critical, engagement with the genre. My novel includes more than one reference to this complex and visionary artist.

When I discovered this book as a teenager, it exploded my understanding of what science fiction could do. After revisiting it recently, I found its absurdism, dark humor, and satire to be as fresh, funny, biting, and original as ever.

Voice is probably the most distinctive literary characteristic of Malzberg’s vast short fiction output, of which this collection contains a number of 70s gems. This work showcases some of Malzberg’s obsessive interests, like alienated astronauts, hallucinating patients, assassinations, and the deconstruction of genre tropes. Malzberg’s commentary on science fiction and fandom–the recursive strand in his work–links it directly to my novel, which mentions his work explicitly.

The stories in this collection are short but savage, genius, offensive, and maniacal. You’ve been warned! 

As a teen in the 90s, I bought a lot of used science fiction paperbacks from the 70s; I loved this tribute to that era’s key artists and their signature styles. I found this book to be much more than a pretty exercise in nostalgia, however, weaving in smart historical commentary and creating an interesting context for works through subject-related groupings like “Life in the Future(s)” and “Cryptozoology and the Paranormal.”

By chronicling the science fiction art of the time during which Jason Velez in Equimedian is active in fandom and builds his collection, this thorough, gorgeous survey doubles as a kind of extended universe artifact for my novel! It’s a beautiful resource that includes full-page reproductions of stunning covers (including some by authors on this list, like Malzberg), and I find that it inspires me to continue exploring the strange byways of 70s science fiction.

I was one of those women who was obsessed with Oprah’s Book Club. She started it in 1996, the same year I started my sophomore year of college. I can’t say that I read every book assigned to me in my classes, but I damn sure as hell read every book Oprah recommended.

White Oleander was picked in May 1999, just a few months before my wedding. I did zero wedding planning the week I read that book. I ignored my soon-to-be husband and called my sisters to demand that they read the book. The story, which follows Astrid (why did my parents name me such a terrible ugly name like Courtney when Astrid was right there?) as she navigates foster care following her mother’s conviction for murder, is compelling. However, I fell in love with the prose and the way Finch describes the people and places in the novel.… show more.

I love this book because of Judy Blume’s gift for rendering deeply truthful portrayals of coming-of-age stories.

Judy Blume does not shy away from the gritty aspects of growing up and portraying sex in all its awkward and, sometimes, embarrassing glory. I love that the characters do not get a “happy ever after” just to end the book on a positive note. The characters have complex lives and there is no line between love and hate, only a grey, messy soup of emotions that feels so real, your skin will prickle with goosebumps as you follow along.

I am especially fond of the story’s two timelines, which allow the reader to feel all the angst of coming-of-age while also experiencing the repercussions in adulthood.

This is another novel I enjoy teaching; students respond well to it. Desai excels in giving detailed domestic pictures of life in India. Here she recounts how an ungainly disabled daughter with what seems to be epilepsy and a learning disability is largely kept out of sight by her upper-middle-class family in the 20th century. The daughter, Uma, goes away with assorted other characters, finding a measure of freedom, but invariably needs to return to her parents’ confining house. At the end of the novel, she is largely taking care of them. Desai shows what we might call a “feminist ethic of care” as she writes of a disabled woman as interesting and worthy of sustained attention, which implicitly feeds into advocates’ contention of the value of all disabled people.

This book oozed into my life, much like the creatures it portrays, at a moment when I desperately needed to read a beautifully written novel about very ugly things. Van Meter holds nothing back and has a spaciousness in writing that gives ample room for one’s own anxieties/fears/weak spots/obsessions to layer over her lush metaphor.

What does the ill-timed, putrid whale carcass offshore represent—our relationship with our mother? Our $60,000 student loan balance? That one cabinet above the sink that we’re too short to reach that hasn’t been cleaned since he moved out? Dealer’s choice. 

Great adventure doesn’t always mean jungles, star-wastes, or derring-do. The human heart – what one poet called "the wilderness behind the eyes" – can be as electrifying as any firefight. In this tradition, Alice Munro won the 2013 Nobel Prize in Literature. Lives of Girls and Women is her second novel, and like all great adventure stories will tell you more about yourself than you ever suspected. As Sir Walter Scott said of Jane Austen: "That young lady has a talent for describing the involvements and feelings and characters of ordinary life."

I love this book because it has so many layers that appeal to me: a historical period, the challenges of growing up, and a young woman who dreams of being a writer.

As an author, Jo March’s writing aspirations spoke to me, although I think I saw a bit of me in each of the four March sisters. That breadth is what welcomes me as a reader each time I return to the novel. And—no spoilers—I still sometimes scratch my head over the twist in the romance plot that didn’t go as I anticipated when I first read the book!