70 Books Like Caramelo

This book gripped me from the opening page. It’s everything I usually avoid—comics, suspense, memoir, psychology article—but the way it's calibrated invited me in, then wouldn’t let me leave until I’d lapped up every detail. By setting up her childhood review as a mystery that has to be solved through visual exploration, Alison Bechdel justifies every choice she makes. And they are all correct.

With deadpan humor and wry drawings, Fun Home gave me a thickly layered exploration of how queer elements impacted generations of her family. It never felt navel-gazing, and I found it impossible to imagine the story told any other way than in a graphics.

Sherman Alexie gives it everything he’s got in this sprawling, messy, brilliant memoir. Using his mother’s funeral as a jumping-off point, he investigates her chaotic life in an effort to understand the enigma of her personality and the nature of his complicated relationship with her. The contradictions he uncovers, the bits and pieces of information he’s able to glean, and the incongruities in the stories he discovers are stitched together in a narrative he likens to a patchwork quilt: disparate parts brought together that somehow make a whole.

I love the rawness of this memoir, the humor, the mixed genres, and especially the way that Alexie doesn’t spare himself in his examination of how things turned out as they did. He emerges as a not altogether likable player in the vast tragic comedy of his family. In unraveling his relationship with his mother, he uncovers his own demons, the secrets… show more.

This haunting novel has stuck with me so vividly and in so many ways. Set in 1968, in a tiny village on the Labrador coast, it is the story of a baby born with both male and female genitalia to a hardscrabble couple barely eking out a living. They decide to raise the child as a boy, whom they name Wayne. Wayne’s parents keep the secret, even from him, and as he struggles to adopt the manly attributes expected of him, he can’t suppress his other self, a girl he calls Annabel, who insistently speaks from his innermost self. His journey to discovering who he truly is, and finding a way to express that self in a harsh and narrow environment is both painful and liberating.

One of the many things I like about this novel is the way the writing itself mimics the confusion of the protagonist, Jonah—the way Chaon allows us to completely inhabit his mind, down to the most telling details, his doubts, and precise but uncertain perceptions. We too search for the person whom Jonah intuits but doesn’t know, we grasp for the shape whose presence shadows his life. I was dazzled by the patchy way that Chaon builds the narrative, the intriguing overlaps, and surprising connections as he moves between past and present, allowing the secret at the heart of the story to float closer to the surface. I felt deep compassion for the pain and bewilderment of the characters, for the way they struggled forward, for the complexity of their feelings for each other. 

Can sibling rivalry persist even after the death of your sibling? Absolutely, according to Sánchez, who has written a searing novel fraught with impossible expectations, crippling depression, and first love.

After Julia’s sister’s unexpected death, her mother insists that Julia be exactly like her older sister. But how can Julia be this perfect Mexican daughter when she is nothing like her sister? 

As Julia unmasks her sister’s darker hidden life, the impossibility of this question nearly destroys her. Julia spends the novel trying to untangle her sister’s secrets and finds herself in the process.

Villasenor’s Rain of Gold is the first of a trilogy about his family's migration to the United States in the early part of the 20th Century.

Published in 1991, I was fascinated by the book’s rich detail, the numerous layers of stories about his family regarding their life in Mexico, their decision to leave, the challenges they faced finding work and struggling to fit into the United States.

The book covers his parents’ lives as children and the trials their families faced in surviving the Mexican Revolution. His parents meet when they are very young and eventually move to Carlsbad, California. Villasenor’s trilogy highlights the importance of family and personal integrity. I was especially intrigued that the author was able to transform his familial history into a work of literature.

When I read So Far From God, it did two things. First, it helped me understand this genre that was created by Latin American authors. Lois Parkinson Zamora said, “Magical realism is characterized by...its capacity to create (magical) meanings by envisioning ordinary things in extraordinary ways.” I understood what that meant when I read So Far From God. In the first chapter alone, one of the main characters, La Loca, dies and comes back to life. Her death was ordinary and extraordinary. I was hooked. 

Perhaps more importantly, in reading Castillo’s novel, I saw our shared Latina history, culture, and perspective through the stories she told. It was the first book that validated my experience as a Latina which is why it’ll always be close to my heart.

This is the first book I ever read by a Latina author. I was nineteen years old and a student at a small private liberal arts college in Connecticut. My professor assigned it to my American Literature class. I thought she’d made a mistake because some of the words in the book were in Spanish. I didn’t know you could do that—write in English but have some words in Spanish peppered throughout the dialogue and text. I was stunned.

I remember reading about Esperanza and her experiences in her Mexican neighborhood in Chicago, meeting characters on Mango Street, and falling in love with both the story and Cisneros’ playful, vulnerable, poetic writing style. After reading this book, I knew I also wanted to be a writer.

This is a cute rom-com featuring unique characters, food, and nosy families. Being Puerto Rican, I gravitated immediately to the Puerto Rican flag on the cover.

I loved everything about it: the characters (especially the abuelos), the setting of the Puerto Rican restaurant and the whiskey distillery, the Spanish sprinkled every now and then, and the plot.

I was rooting for Kamilah and Liam to fulfill their career goals and fall in love. I loved that both Kamilah and Liam are flawed and need to grow in order to achieve their goals and have a mature romantic relationship. 

Attending a private school on scholarship among wealthy classmates, Merci Suárez never feels like she belongs. Her family has always been close, with three generations living in houses nestled next to one another, but lately, things aren’t easy at home, either. Merci’s grandfather is acting in ways she doesn’t understand, and she knows the others are hiding something from her.

I love Merci’s spirited, spunky personality and loving family. She navigates conflicts with courage, pluck, and honesty. The way she faces challenges gives me the confidence to take mine on.