10 Books Like City Girl

I have a fascination with belonging, and this book explores this subject as if holding a flawed gemstone up to the light and marveling at its radiance. Hello Beautiful is centered on four sisters in a close Italian family and a man who grew up as an only child in a cold family. It gets interesting when these two families become joined by marriage. 

Belonging is reveled in, longed for, not even dared to be longed for, and squandered as we follow their lives. I admire how it tenderly shows that these are all part of the journey towards authentic belonging. This story is so beautifully written that I felt nourished by the compassion that is infused into this quest to become our best selves. 

This book had one basic message, and it came down to this: Take time to put yourself first because you matter too. I love this message so much because it took me years (and I’m still working on it) to learn the importance of self-care.

Challenging relationships within my own family structure have taken a toll over the years. However, reading this book reminded me that I can take control of my own happiness and that it is not selfish to make a “Me List” and make myself happy, too. 

I love this book for a few reasons. 1.) I love a book where the location becomes a character in and of itself. This book takes place in the San Yuan Islands of Washington State, a location that is near and dear to my heart as I grew up in the area. I spent most of my childhood roaming the shores and popping into the little boutique shops dotting the islands.

The vivid descriptions of the landscape brought me back to those days. 2.) I loved the way this story focuses on a mother/daughter relationship that isn’t the typical “happy family” dynamic. A sprinkle of romance and a touch of culinary had me turning the pages until the very end. 

Here is another book where the setting acts as a main character in the novel. I gobbled up the references to wine, cheese, and the Napa Valley as though I was sitting on the sun-soaked porch with the characters. But the backdrop of the Napa Valley, as stunning as it is, pales in comparison to the lessons three generations of women learn from each other as the story unfolds.

This story made me want to understand women's roles as heads of families and how those roles are changing from generation to generation.

What is it in the life of a person that deserves the light of language? This question is far and away the most important question a writer faces. Very few writers seem to be acutely aware of this fact. Very few writers are rigorous enough to remain with the challenge of the question; once a writer begins to write, that is, there is so much that asks for it to be forgotten.

I marvel at Murnane’s capacity to resist such forgetfulness.

There are newer versions of this book, often described as the “Illiad/Odyssey” of Irish tradition, but this is the classic translation from 1969.

Kinsella was a poet and a Gaeilgeoir (Irish speaker) so he really understood this text due to his deep knowledge of the source language and of Irish poetic norms, plus he spent 15 years lovingly translating it into the best English facsimile possible.

This is one of (if not the most) important myths of Ireland and is an essential read for those interested in Irish mythology.

I was so moved when I read The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne that it inspired me to write my novel with my protagonist Laurence J Benbo as a male equivalent of Judith Hearne, an innocent exploited by an uncaring world. The quotidian details of Judith’s life are delineated brilliantly by Moore in all her wretchedness reminiscent of some of the characters in Joyce’s Dubliners which Moore would have read and which possibly influenced him. The dark surroundings of Judith’s life lead her into a fantasy world aided by her one necessary weakness—alcohol. But, as Moore points out, it doesn’t have to end tragically. There is a glimmer of hope with life going on, but nothing as before.

Stranded on a dark road in the middle of the night, a young woman accepts a lift from a passing stranger.

It’s the nightmare scenario that every girl is warned about, and she knows the dangers all too well – but what other choice does she have? As they drive, she alternates between fear and relief – one moment thinking he is just a good man doing a good thing, the next convinced he’s a monster.

But a monster is exactly what she's looking for. When the driver drops her safely home Lucy’s heart sinks. She will have to try again tomorrow night. She’s made herself the bait, in her bid to find the man who took her sister.

Set in and around Dublin and the Dublin mountains, this gripping read from the author of The Nothing Man and 56 Days will keep you guessing until the very end. But… show more.

Patricia Forde is one of the stars of Irish writing, and this magical book was always meant to inspire a song. It’s the story of Fia, who longs to visit the mythical island of Hy Brasil, and finally reaches it by walking across a moonbeam. Her adventures with creatures, real and legendary, are realised in glowing illustrations by Nicola Bernardelli. The book was commissioned by Galway 2020 European Capital of Culture with versions in Irish and in English. Local composer Anna Mullarkey wrote a song to accompany it. Story, song, and pictures combine to show how a child’s imagination becomes part of the enchantment of a special place: “Fia felt the pull of magic in the air / and the pull of her own strong heart.”

These poems—most of every poem that Lee writes, really—do more than paint a picture. These poems appeal to every one of your senses. They are rich in description and you want to savor each one, sit with it, and let the poem envelop you. 

I heard or read somewhere that Li-Young Lee is a slow writer, not producing a lot of work but always producing good work. I don’t know if this is true, and except for my greed of wanting to consume more of his words asap, I don’t mind that his poems are slower coming. I like to spend time with them.

I share Rose because Lee teaches me—and my students—that writers depend too much on visual imagery and fear spreading out into the other senses.