100 Books Like Black Girl, Call Home

D'Vaughn and Kris Plan a Wedding reminds me of those mushy holiday movies my wife watches on loop at the close of each year. The love connection always begins with the couple physically bumping into each other. While D'Vaughn and Kris don't run into each other, they are randomly paired up on a dating show. An odd move for D'Vaughn, as she isn't out to her family, but because Kris is a hopeless romantic, I found myself rooting hard for the faux couple.

Watching D'Vaughn come into her authentic self and the two women support each other throughout the process reminds me that despite any family dynamic or even local legislation, the moment you decide to be in a committed relationship is the moment you become a team. A united front. Gay, straight, or otherwise, that's a universal theme that most of us can get behind. 

A beautiful and engaging look at a woman named Grace Porter who surprises herself and those around her when she marries a woman she barely knows during a girls’ Vegas trip. The reason I love this book is the way Grace’s friends support her when she makes a decision she barely understands, but they’re with her regardless of wherever this journey will ultimately lead. A group of people whose expectations are not the determination of their love for you is one of the things for which we all yearn.

I've always loved a steamy MM romance, so the bogus boyfriend premise was an easy sell for me. However, as a foster mom turned adoptive mother, I'll forever have a special place in my heart for BIPOC navigating child protective services. Whether the narrative focused on Carlton's traumatized niece and the therapy she so desperately needed or the number of hoops that the LGBTQ+ community jumps through to even be considered for adoption, this story hit home on multiple fronts.

It was inspiring to watch Carlton and Deion navigate the many facets of queer culture, including their newfound fatherhood. Mainly because while stories like theirs happen every day, we don't see them nearly enough. Faux couple or not, Carlton and Deion were the safe space that Olivia needed and the mainstream representation that readers like myself consistently crave.

The Memory Librarian is an adaptation of Monáe's 2018 emotion picture, Dirty Computer. Told in the icon's signature Afro-futuristic fashion, this unquestionably queer AF collection of sci-fi stories describes a dystopian world where dirty computers (people who stray from societal norms) are ostracized in the worse ways imaginable. What's even scarier, while the stories take place in the future, the premise isn't that far from our present-day reality.

Books that boast BIPOC themes are being banned at a record rate. And this year alone, over 200 anti-LGBTQ+ bills have been introduced into legislation. Just as Americans have banded together around their common causes, the inhabitants in Monáe's sci-fi saga unite as chosen family. Together they navigate technology, battle memory control, explore identity, and fight for freedom in a ruthless police state.

"Everything comes full circle. And time takes care of itself. Our work is the work of… show more.

Oof, this book is heartbreaking/heartmaking.

I love hearing Andrea read it because of the feeling conveyed in their voice and the way it brings out the musicality in their incredible words. There is also something mesmerizing about reading it on the page, having the time to taste the words and all the space in between the lines.

Andrea’s writing is raw, visceral, and bittersweet-hurts-so-good kind of writing. Their poetry goes right to the quick. This is a book for the ages that, every time I read it, distills for me what matters in my life. 

A girl gets a job at the Metropolitan Museum of Art at the Information Desk. The current show is an installation called Rembrandt/Not Rembrandt, and so begins the book that is housed inside a poem but is really the story of how the author negotiates her way around loss, love, lust, and memory.

Along the way, she dissects the paintings in the Met. Also, insects, and creepy co-workers, and she finds something in them that resonates with her. And the President’s son, John-John is also part of the life living in the ideas the author makes so visceral and tangible and felt.

I’d grown frustrated with the way some modern poets romanticize mental health issues, often glossing over the real impacts of trauma to lean into some weird chronic optimism. When I read it, I felt like I had finally found something that explored highly triggering trauma in a very realistic way.

Pastor doesn’t shy away from the messy parts of change and self-discovery, and I find Pastor’s voice to be refreshingly authentic. I loved how the poems felt like entries in a journal: raw, real, and familiar. Pastor is an openly queer poet, and I recommended it immediately to friends who I knew were searching for a voice like Pastor's.

The poems in this book made me feel glad to be alive in a world that feels like it’s ending. I loved how Jones situated personal grief within disasters of national and international scale; grieving a mother is as monumental as grieving a world. 

I also found it compelling how Jones consistently maintains a musical quality to the poems’ language. The first two lines of, 'Saeed, How Dare You Make Your Mother into a Prelude', are: "And then, night neons itself inside me / and I begin missing you in loud new ways.”

Multisensory with pleasing consonance, these lines are a small sample of Jones’s linguistic verve. Full of wit and sincerity, these poems made me want to write my own defiant love letter to the apocalypse. 

I knew I would love this book and I waited years to read it. I was waiting to savor it at the right time. I finally read it while moving through the painful realization of my mother’s schizoaffective disorder. She is still alive, though our relationship has had many deaths. When I need to remember that the little moments of beautiful mundanity can be as poignant as the big joys and pains of life, I go back to this book.

When I need to remember that queerness is a gift only a few of us are lucky enough to have, I go back to this book. When I need to remember that our greatest griefs come from our greatest loves, I go back to this book—over and over again.

By showcasing the rich tradition of queer poets whose writing is inspired by nature, Queer Nature opens up the nature poetry genre.

It is the book I needed twenty years ago when I began writing poetry. In my search for queer role models I was happy to find Mary Oliver, Kay Ryan, and Elizabeth Bishop but little did I know how many others were hiding in plain sight. This expansive anthology presents up to 200 more poets from 150 years ago to the present day, with a moving introduction by editor Michael Walsh.

Funny, sad, complex, and direct; the poems explore exclusion and alienation as well as love and belonging. Above all else this anthology confirms that poetry is as boundless as nature and that together they belong to everyone.