Books like Caste — picked by fans

This book helped me release shame after a colleague of mine told me my work wasn’t “science.”

Here’s the truth: to create a healing platform, I needed to tap into ways of thinking that academia sees as “woo woo” and “savage.” I looked to the stars. I meditated. I did rituals and read myths.

Dr. Kimmerer, trained as a traditional botanist, realized that the Indigenous myths and stories she was told as a child contained scientific knowledge passed down for generations by her tribe.

She realized there were scientific truths her community knew for millennia that traditional scientists only discovered within the last 100 years. This is the power of Ancestral Intelligence, disregarded by the same science that ultimately created AI.

What stories, fables, and myths have taught you valuable lessons about the world?

The world and the world’s products are based on male bodies and men’s needs, which can harm women.

Our patriarchal culture expects women to adjust and adapt in all kinds of ways. For example, PPEs (the suits worn by frontline medical workers during the pandemic) are designed for men’s bodies, even though most frontline health care workers are women.

Seat belts in automobiles continue to be designed based on crash-test dummies that do not replicate the female anatomy. These male-centric designs are not simply inconvenient—they are highly consequential. 

I recommend this book because it redefined what “conviction” means for me.

Grant’s idea of “confident humility”—holding strong beliefs lightly—challenged how I think about certainty. Real conviction isn’t about defending what you know; it’s about being grounded enough to stay curious. 

This book reminds me that confidence and openness aren’t opposites—they fuel each other. Every time I read it, I’m reminded that clarity comes from questioning, not clinging.

It’s one of the most practical guides I know for staying adaptable and steady in a fast-changing world.

Few books have made me question my own life quite like Untamed.

I didn't connect with this book because my life is anything like Glennon Doyle's—it isn't. I connected with it because she puts words to something I think many of us experience: the quiet pressure to become the person everyone else expects us to be. It made me ask myself a deeply uncomfortable question: Whose life am I actually living?

I found myself thinking about all the ways expectations can slowly shape who we are, often so quietly that we don't even realise it is happening. How much of who we are is actually us—and how much of it is the version we've learned to perform for everyone else?

I kept thinking about how much courage it takes to stop performing and start listening to yourself instead.

Vietnam was a big war, as they say, and though it ended almost 50 years ago, its full story has yet to be told. However, many of its pieces lay in the much-overlooked yet incredibly nuanced reporting that women did in the war. 

Elizabeth Becker’s book explores the legacy of three of Vietnam’s unsung journalistic heroes. Each covered the war with a different angle, sense of purpose, and understanding of its—and their—place in geopolitical history. 

Becker’s vivid writing puts you next to photojournalist Catherine Leroy in the plane as she prepares to jump with the 173rd Airborne Brigade in the war’s only airborne assault. Readers can almost hear the glasses clinking with ice around the Hotel Continental pool while intellectual Frances Fitzgerald shrewdly plums the unsuspecting diplomatic class for details that she’ll weave into her groundbreaking long-form reporting on the war. And my only heart nearly stopped the minute Kate… show more.

I sat on my mother’s lap as a child to hear stories of her childhood in Appalachia—no running water or electricity, and the shame brought on by her mother’s escape from that hard life. The setting and the characterizations in Book Woman of Troublesome Creek brought back some of the memories of my mother’s stories.

I came to love the character’s adaptation to the harsh environment, their want for a better life, and the difference one person’s influence can make in a community. The spirit of survival, even with the hardest of circumstances, forced me to cherish this story. It was as if my mother had written this book or perhaps read it to me.

Coates’s semi-autobiographical examination of life for black men in American society, and more broadly in American history, is an education. Like Zinn, Coates calls America on the hypocrisy inherent in its highest ideals and its most cherished conceits.

As Coates himself later said about Zinn, "He knocked me on my ass." The two - while not always on the same page in their critical examinations of the American experiment, are clearly kindred spirits. They both want America to do better and clearly believe it can do better if it is honest about itself - but will it be? This is the question left ominously dangling by both Zinn and Coates.

This is a readable and insightful memoir.

Michelle described her personal success and failures with honesty and engaging prose. This memoir is somehow similar to my life story. I have invited readers into my own world and talked about the experiences that have shaped my life: from my childhood in Motel Qu and Kelardasht to my student life and my several years of living in Tehran and eventually traveling to the United States as a health science scholar.

This is a deeply personal story that shows everyone can overcome the limitations and constraints of fate with effort and determination, and inspire people around the world.

I first read Orwell’s dystopian nightmare as a teenager and have gone back to it several times since.

Apparently, it is such a brilliant description of life under totalitarianism that, during the communist era, some Eastern Europeans refused to believe that an inhabitant of a democratic country could have written such a book. 

Even today, I find the book very relevant, as Orwell develops themes of truth, propaganda, doublethink, and the misuse of language that you can find in Homage to Catalonia, written a decade earlier. And the ubiquitous and intrusive telescreen has a parallel in our age of surveillance capitalism and the way the Chinese authorities are using information technology to cement their rule.

It’s hard to know quite where to begin with this book–there is so much to love.

This book tells the story of the Great Migration of African American people out of the South across the United States to Chicago, New York, California, and beyond; it transforms and fills in a crucial part of American history that every American should know to understand our present day. But for me, what I love most starts with the way Isabel Wilkerson cares for people’s stories. 

Wilkerson tells this decades-long, sweeping, under-told story through individual stories that are so detailed and compelling, so thoroughly contextualized with historical research, that I was completely enmeshed in these people’s lives, their struggles, their loves, and their feelings. I cared. In the years since I read it, stories from the book often come to my mind, teaching and guiding me like the words of a beloved relative.