Books like By Blood — picked by fans

Are you like me? A people pleaser? So concerned about what the other person is feeling that I’m not even aware of my own feelings? Then this book is for you. Don’t be put off by the awkward title; it’s not about high-IQ kids. The drama is the way children must hide their true selves to please their parents; the gift is the ability to suppress our own needs.

Miller writes, “There are many children who have not been free, right from the beginning, to experience the very simplest of feelings, such as discontent, anger, rage, pain, even hunger—and, of course, the enjoyment of their own bodies.”

I feel that! Miller explains how therapy can help us confront and heal from that rage and pain. I get mad and cry every time I reread this book.  

What happens when a client turns on a therapist? I hope I never find out.

I picked up Helene Flood's novel out of curiosity. As a writer, I wanted to know how Flood turns two people sitting in a room quietly talking into a plot that will hold readers' attention. I don’t want to give anything away, except to say her book deftly and accurately shows a clinician using her training to solve a terrible crime and save herself.

It was easy for me to identify with both the protagonist and the author. Flood and I are both practicing psychologists specializing in trauma. I’m grateful for a good read and a reminder to screen potential clients carefully.

There’s a long history of books about mental illness that regard the subject as though it exists in a bubble—something that impacts a single individual, or maybe a family, but is otherwise disconnected from broader social and political realities.

Ben Lerner’s semi-autobiographical novel hit me somewhere deep in my chest because it does precisely the opposite. With a mounting sense of dread, his book explores psychological disturbance and the attempts to treat it as phenomena rooted firmly in our world, and all the messy smaller worlds within: worlds of privilege, misogyny, and xenophobia, to name a few. I still think about the last chapter often.

I love books with sardonic humor, especially those that poke fun at psychologists and other mental health professionals. I do it in my own novels.

Most clinicians are earnest, compassionate, and ethical. But like every other profession, we have some bad apples who give psychology a bad name and deserve all the jokes and cartoons and late-night comedy sketches we get.

Shapiro’s book is about a neurotic writer with a weight problem who searches for a new therapist after her long-time clinician leaves town. Applying speed dating to her protagonist’s search for a shrink was the perfect vehicle for taking jabs at my profession.

I laughed more than I cringed. It was, for me, an opportunity to look at myself and my colleagues from the client’s point of view. 

Now we’re back in my most favorite place, San Francisco. Place is as much a character as the living, breathing people we meet in the pages of novels or non-fiction, and the author, Andrew Sean Greer, chose to tell a most curious tale in my hometown. We’re in San Francisco at the turn of the twentieth century where we meet a strange gnome-like man who ages backwards. He’s in love with a young lady who is normal in every way. With a nod to F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Curious Life of Benjamin Button, here time is the great force that shifts reality and asks the age-old question, what does it mean to be a human being?

I made the mistake of reading Wuthering Heights right after I finished my favorite romance of all time (Jane Eyre).

I suppose I’d hoped the Brontë sisters, as siblings, would somehow create similar main characters with intense chemistry. But Charlotte’s love story was built on mutual respect and affection; Emily, on the other hand, created the selfish and shameless saga of Heathcliff and Catherine.

Honestly? I had to read a few chapters before I could even begin to appreciate the raw intensity of a connection matched only by the novel’s stormy and violent landscape. Yet I don’t believe there’s ever been a romance novel with more compelling chemistry.

Wuthering Heights is indeed a beautifully – if brutally – written tale about twin flames, and how that type of obsessive craving is a thirst that can never be quenched.

This book 2 in the Scottish Lowlands series is set in, well, the Scottish Lowlands. This book transported me to beautiful Scotland. I adore the author’s writing and appreciate the meticulous research she conducted to inform her story.

Before reading this, I knew it was based on the Biblical Jacob, Rachel and Leah’s story, but I was especially curious how the author could possibly depict this tale and transport these characters to Scotland in the late 1700’s.

Fair is the Rose is filled with passion, romance, betrayal, hope, and redemption. Everything a reader could want. I was completely captivated by the story. Fair is the Rose pulled on all my heartstrings. Of course, the stunning setting of Scotland deepened the experience for me. 

This book caught my attention because it involves a house-sitter, just as my series does. But Morag’s story could not be more different. It depicts a terrible sequence of events arising from an innocent house-sitting assignment and a growing love for the place, which I as a reader very much shared. The house itself becomes both the setting and the main threat to the well-being of the ‘half-broken’ characters. The story is hauntingly compelling, the characters deeply likeable, and the writing a real delight. This has been one of my great favourites ever since I first read it.

John Barth’s first novel, originally published in 1956 and later significantly revised, is a darkly comic philosophical novel whose main character, Todd Andrews, is contemplating suicide.

The novel, along with Barth’s second, The End of the Road, is written in a relatively realistic style, different from the metafictional turn that the author would later take in his subsequent fiction. Nevertheless, these two early books are in some ways consistent with later works like Giles Boat Boy and Lost in the Funhouse, particularly in the passages about metaphor in life and art.

Barth’s musings about metaphors in the real world are relevant to Wiseman’s ability to wrest metaphoric implications from real-world events and objects. Indeed, Wiseman’s films are a veritable floating opera of signifiers.

In this society where people are matched with their jobs, but also with their future mates, arts and culture are carefully selected and limited by leadership. People take mandatory medications.

The most horrifying part, for me, is that they can no longer write without a keypad. Whatever they write on a computer is censured. Can you imagine better ways to control the population? Does it sound familiar?