100 Books Like Because They Wanted to

Perhaps the most “realistic” novel of this bunch, Ralph Ellison’s National Book Award-winning novel follows an unnamed black narrator’s life in a small southern town, as detailed through his memories, dreams, and desires.

Ellison didn’t intend to write a “protest novel,” apparently, but it has become exactly that: a protestation of the inequities of an American system designed to keep Black people in the shadows. The novel’s voice, though singular, is representative of an entire social movement. A perfect novel. 

I’m reluctant to recommend it because these guys don’t need the money. Four raging narcissists/rapists/drug addicts create a band and proceed to destroy themselves and everything around them. I remember reading it and thinking, “This is the stuff they admit to.”

This book is the very definition of “If they were black, they’d be locked up.” By the point I was reading Vince Neil whine about not being able to tour Japan because he was on probation for drunkenly killing his friend, I realized I was witnessing pure evil. However, evil can be fascinating.

This book is so singularly revolting that it completely spoiled my already low interest in stories about entitled people growing more entitled. It was adapted into a very whitewashed Netflix movie.

Statutory rape between teachers and students is a very uncomfortable subject that Alissa Nutting tackles head-on in her 2013 breakthrough novel.

I was impressed with how Nutting avoided sympathy for the devil. Her hebephilic protagonist, Celeste, is a terrible person who, like Richard III, conspiratorially lets the reader in on her plans to manipulate and seduce 12-year-old boys. The longer the book goes on, the clearer it becomes that Celeste isn’t some evil mastermind, just a dunderheaded rapist who gets out of trouble by virtue of being an attractive white woman.

I respect Nutting for writing this book. By staring at the monster in all her ugliness, she creates sympathy for the people whose lives are destroyed by Celeste and by people like her in the real world.

Judy Blume books are classics! One of the aspects I love most about this one is that the main character is neither the victim nor the bully. She’s a classmate stuck in the middle. Jill is, depending on the chapter, either a bully or a victim—but her role is to witness the bullying events in her class and report them back to the reader.

The reader judges for himself how Jilly fits into the bigger picture of bullying. It’s very easy for younger readers to relate to Jill because chances are they have been in both roles at different times. Jill learns the hard way throughout the story that it isn’t fun to be the bully because sooner or later, even bullies end up being bullied. 

Jonathan Raban’s nonfiction books take travel writing to another level. He has a special mastery of the intersection of self, journey, place, and narrative. This collection – of essays, short memoirs, travel pieces, and more – isn’t necessarily his best book (that would probably be Passage to Juneau); but it’s full of brilliant reflections on the writing life, and on the challenges facing the writer as a craftsperson. There’s a particularly memorable section on the difficulties of transferring real-world dialogue onto the page. “You isolate the speaker’s tics and tricks of speech, his keywords,” Raban says, “and make him say them slightly more often than he did in fact; you give him small bits of stage business to mark his silences; you invent lines of dialogue for yourself to break up a paragraph of solid talk that looks too long to be believable. You are trespassing, perhaps, into writing… show more.

Set in the 19th century New England social landscape of transcendentalist educational trends, this is an important book about women, misogyny, education, and ‘western’ medicine. The landscape here is a farmhouse outside a New England village where the patriarch social philosopher and teacher has started a school for girls following the death of his wife. His grown daughter is his helper, and you see where I’m going with this…also his prisoner. She is vulnerable by her sensitive nature and by her lack of worldly education. When other girls come to board at the new school and other teachers, men, arrive to practice the educational theories they have developed in a fervor of advancing just how women’s education should evolve, the young women respond variously to these new influences. The remote landscape, again, keeps them from freedoms that might improve their awareness. There are also magical trees, birds, and a… show more.

When I was in graduate school, I watched the movie Awakenings with Robin Williams playing the role of Dr. Oliver Sacks. Having really enjoyed the movie, I went to a bookstore and picked this book up and could not put it down.

Sacks, more than any author I have read, captures the perspectives, struggles, triumphs, feelings, and diversity of people dealing with various psychological and neurological conditions.

At the time, studying psychology, I was reading books, listening to lectures, and watching videos about effective listening practices. Sacks made me understand seeing the person—observing and identifying subtleties, idiosyncrasies, and proclivities—was part of being an effective observer and that listening was only possible if we use our eyes as well. 

Elliott came out to his fans with this beautiful novel charting the life and times of Seaton Ross, a protagonist in the author’s image. Despite the terrible series of obstacles placed in Seaton’s way, from overbearing or absent family, deeply closeted and self-centred lovers to furious fag hags, he manages to escape Australia—just as Elliott did—without developing a lasting hatred in his exile. Rendered with the author’s signature wit (he took a leaf from E. M. Forster), the homophobia of Australia’s working classes becomes a source of this novel’s pathos, so that when Seaton encounters the most shocking consequences a gay man can face, we are ill-prepared. A wry, sexy, heartfelt swan song from the Australian who made it big in the American broadcasting industry.

What Zinn achieved in highlighting leftist history and labor history, Kirchick achieves in highlighting gay history and its proximity to the corridors of political power in Washington.

The struggles of gay Americans to gain recognition by the U.S. government as equal to their fellow citizens and commensurate with their talents is a fascinating story, and Kirchick more than does it justice.

Like Zinn’s People’s History, this book carefully reexamines the conventional understanding of our nation’s history as a whole. It is both ambitious and particular.

Homophobia appears to have been the least of Jack Charles’ worries. If it ever bothered him, he barely lets it register in this memoir of a creative life lived both on the fringes and in the spotlight. Perhaps that’s the point, that his eloquent, good-humoured approach always seemed to scotch the haters right from the get-go. In an unbendingly honest self-reflection, Charles also pulls off describing himself as a “poof”, a very Australian term of derision that has been reclaimed by many. His ‘born again’ tale similarly relates how he survived in the face of terrible prejudices endured by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders—the First Nations people of Australia—and their vibrant, resilient spirit. An uplifting gem.