Books like Crow Lake — picked by fans

Divine, divine, divine! This novel taught me so much about the landscape in Appalachia. The female characters were rich and deep. Running throughout the story was the thread of women standing for farming systems that partner with nature versus male characters who want to dominate or decimate.

It was musical and mystical, and I just adored being transported to the cabin in the woods and the rich gardens of the women who knew how Mama Earth rolls. There was also a wonderful exploration of female desire. It was lush and leafy, and I’m so grateful to Barbara for writing this book

This is by far my favorite novel by John Grisham. I loved that he delivered a sensational narrative of Luke Chandler, the son of a poor cotton farmer. The boy must learn to deal with life faster than a seven-year-old should ever have to, as life on the farm comes with many obstacles and plenty of secrets he must manage to juggle.

It is masterfully told, and the life as Luke sees it is well depicted. I recommend this highly.

I recently discovered Reid’s writing and I love the slow literary suspense of Foe, his twist relying upon an unreliable first-person narrator.

Farmer Junior is selected by lottery as a possible candidate for an off-world workforce colonising space. The narrative takes place on earth, however, and it is a domestic portrait of a marriage as much as it is science fiction. Junior is a transparent and sincere narrator. His unreliability comes from what he himself does not know and his hazy memory of his own past. ("Everything blends into a nebulous fog.")

His narrative reveals more than he realises, including through his treatment of a horned beetle in their closet. As with the best fiction, it holds a mirror up to our own humanity. 

This was one of my favorite books as a kid. One of the things I loved about it was that it featured a regular girl with no special abilities embarking on a grand adventure.

I could easily relate to Rose Larkin and imagine myself in her shoes. I was captivated by the simple way Rose entered the new world—stepping into her aunt’s root cellar and traveling back in time to Civil War-era United States.

As a kid, I loved that Rose brought modern money with her and that just a little bit was enough to purchase quite a lot in the 1860s. I also appreciated the little historical details, like how everyone in the past assumed Rose was a boy just because she had short hair and wore jeans.

The Root Cellar thrilled my eleven-year-old heart and was such a fun way to explore another time and place.

All of Robert Heinlein's YA novels are good (better, in my opinion, than his adult novels), but this one has special meaning for me because it was the first book I ever read about colonizing an uninhabited world. At the time it was published in 1950 I was sixteen and had been enthusiastic about the possibility of space travel for four years, since long before the general public was familiar with it; but all the space fiction I knew of was about mere adventure, usually adventure focused on fighting. The idea that families could someday settle a new planet--and, despite danger and hardship, accomplish something of immense importance to the future of humankind--made a strong impression on me and became one of my deepest convictions.

James D. Houston is an underrated California novelist, and Continental Drift is his best book.

I love this story of a family trying to re-establish a life in a world haunted by the aftermath of the Vietnam War and threatened by a string of inexplicable murders.

Houston’s descriptions of the land rival Steinbeck’s, and he situates the family’s home on the legendary San Andreas Fault—symbolically invoking the potential for disaster that lurks beneath the fertile soil.   

I have adored everything I’ve read by Nicole Baart, and they all fit this theme. I chose this one because all the characters in it are so real. It features two women who are both punishing themselves for a tragedy they believe to be their fault. In this book, the main characters are so true, you almost can’t believe they’re made up. They’re complex people whose struggles and brokenness end up making ripples that bump into other people’s struggles and brokenness. Just a bunch of people doing the best they can and messing it all up and having to start again. This is a book that makes you feel like maybe all hope isn’t lost, after all.

I loved Betsy Byars’s books growing up. Being English, these American childhoods were so fascinatingly different! The Midnight Fox is a funny, bittersweet story of city boy Tom falling in love with the wildlife of the forest – and most of all with the beautiful midnight fox and her cub. But by making them more familiar with humans, he ends up attracting them closer to the farm and putting them in danger – it’s such a heartbreaking, beautiful book.

Few authors have made me seriously consider writing a fan letter, but Wendell Berry is one.

His arguments on a given topic so often feel like the arguments I’d make—if I were a little clearer in the head, a little slower in consideration, a bit more experienced with land, a bit more adept with language. 

He left behind a promising career as an academic to do what generations before had done: live on and care for a beloved piece of land. His relationship with his farm in Kentucky is aspirational for me. I want to know my land that well, care that much, be that entangled and inspired by love.

Obviously, Hannah is a brilliant writer.

She checks all the boxes that I hunt for in thirties fiction. The Great Depression, family, and the persistent drive of a protagonist (Elsa) to survive in the midst of harsh adversity. I love when an author paints vivid word pictures of this era, and Hannah does a superb job (as usual).

I want to feel the thirties, to actually mentally become a participant in experiencing what the characters experience. Hannah does just that.