100 Books Like Beautiful Shadow

Ever had anyone say something about you with utter conviction that isn’t true? Have you ever looked at someone famous and thought their life looked perfect? Ever felt not enough because of the way you look? As a former Miss Universe, international model, fashion editor, and entertainment journalist with a degree in psychology, I’ve lived these truths vicariously. I’m fascinated with image, perception, and truth. What’s behind the smile? What happens when the lights dim? Who are you when no one is watching? What secrets do you hide, how do they damage you, and what will you do to keep them hidden? I’ve been the target. I know the cost.

I am a writer who loves writing about women. All sorts of women. Strong, witty, complicated, unlikeable, and intelligent. It is important for me to understand the lived experience of women both inside and outside my own time and cultural context. So many women live with intersecting social characteristics, norms, expectations, nearly all of which hinder or harm. Yet so many women resist and rebel to change life for others. It is this sense of solidarity through history, one group of women paving the way for others, that I find especially fascinating and hopeful. And it is why rebellious women are so crucial. They cannot, and will not, be ignored.   

“I didn’t like the characters.” “I couldn’t relate.” Whenever I hear someone bring up the matter of “likability” a single thought roars through my head: How ‘likable’ do you really think you are? A main purpose of fiction is to illuminate those nasty thoughts we all have but are rarely willing to admit. A book should be intimate, uncomfortably so, just as to actually occupy another person’s mind and body would be. It also seems to me “the characters” referenced by these kinds of critiques are always women. We expect fictional men to shock us and to struggle with their own desires; why should we expect women to only charm?

I was twelve years old when I first read Jane Eyre, the beginning of my love for gothic fiction. Murder mysteries are fine, but add a remote location, a decaying old house, some tormented characters, ancient family secrets, and I’m all in. Traditional Gothic, American Gothic (love this painting), Australian Gothic, Mexican Gothic (perfect title by the way), I love them all. The setting in gothic fiction is like a character in itself, and wherever I travel, I’m drawn to these locations, all food for my own writing.

There are so many ways to make friends—and to be friends. As a painfully shy person for most of my life, I’ve learned that words aren’t always necessary, and that shared interests and non-verbal (or differently-verbal) communication can take you a long way. It’s probably why so many of my books focus on unconventional friendships, like that between a boy and a funny-talking fruit bat (in Megabat), a boy and his emotional support duck (in Quack), or even a bee and a flea (in Bee and Flea and the Compost Caper). Not surprisingly, I also love reading books that celebrate unlikely friends. These are just a few of my favorites. 

I got hooked on authors like Ilona Andrews, Patricia Briggs, and Nalini Singh. Where females are tough, men are alphas, and love is a complicated process that takes time and effort. When I tried to branch out, and find new authors, I was constantly disappointed by the puddles of goo. You know, those female characters who talk tough and kick ass, until the man comes into the picture and her ovaries start running the show. Suddenly staying hidden isn’t as important as spilling your deepest secrets to a stranger. Tired of not finding the books for me, I decided to try writing them.

I believe that creativity has no boundaries and that it is only desire and determination that separate those who succeed from those who don't. I'm equally at home with a paintbrush and canvas, a needle and thread, or a hammer and nails, and am as eclectic in my writing as I am in my other interests. I'm best known for my definitive sociological study, Married Women Who Love Women and More, which began as a catharsis for myself when I realized I was gay. I'm also the author of an autobiographical how-to, an exciting mystery, a lesbian paranormal romance, a rhyming picture book, a cookbook, and a middle grade chapter book.

I'm an immigrant child-survivor of the Holocaust, came to America after living in a DP camp in Linz, Austria in 1947 with my wonderful parents. We lost 25 members of our family to the Nazis so I “know evil”. I grew up in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, went to Washington High School, University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee, and Northwestern University where I received a Ph.D. in sociology and studied with one of the best sociologists of deviance (Howie Becker). I combined sociology with deviance, evil, the Holocaust, and genocide, but as a progressive Zionist, I added socialist and kibbutz-life. All these things make up my memoir If Only You Could Bottle It: Memoirs of a Radical Son.

In post-Roe America, gay people face the very real possibility of our rights being stripped from us, underscoring the importance of this adage: “Those who forget their history are condemned to repeat it.” That's why years ago, when I realize that many gay men were ignorant about gay history before Stonewall, I began editing anthologies of gay writings from the past. That led me to writing biographies and histories in which I explore gay men’s experiences, hoping my work shines a light on our forgotten past.

I’ve probably been a naturalist since I was a child. I vividly recall having conversations with snow-capped mountains at the age of five. The most alive moments of my childhood were spent outside, and in that sense, not much has changed. I no longer live in the foothills of the Himalayas. Instead, I live in the high desert in New Mexico. But nature is as strongly present in my life now as it was then—what is new is the awareness of how swiftly nature is changing. While I read widely, books rooted in the natural world have a way of making their way to me—and it’s a joy to recommend them to passionate readers.