100 Books Like Ducks, Newburyport

This is actually just the first book of Ferrante’s four Neapolitan novels, which tell a single riveting story of two girls, Lila and Lenù, from a depressed Naples neighborhood. Lenù is the narrator, taking us through fifty years of friendship and the latter half of the 20th century. (Her actual name is Elena, like the author—another doubling, especially since she writes under a pseudonym.)

I am a sucker for event: a lot happens and we get to know a huge cast of characters from the neighborhood. But our anchors are these two friends and rivals, vibrant and injured, striving to transcend their origins.

This was my favorite book the year I read it, and I will read it again, with no doubt the same result. The narrator is an anonymous 18-year-old woman navigating family, community, and romantic relationships in the midst of the Irish Troubles.

Almost every character is identified by a local nickname, part town culture and part a way to keep both authorities and rebels off track. I loved the strong writing and the surprising but always plausible twists. I’ve recommended it to every reader I know.

I turn to Mrs. Ramsay, the wife, mother, and hostess of this book, whenever I question my value in the world. By Victorian standards, she “has it all”: a doting (if difficult) husband, eight loving children (with whom, amazingly, she seems to have no problems), and a comfortable way of life. She alone, not her renowned philosopher spouse, not the young poet nor the dedicated artist who comes for a visit, brings meaning and harmony to a group of guests over one holiday weekend.

Mrs. Ramsay reminds me that nurturing and feeding (in all the meanings of that word) other people is a sacred task, even if our society doesn’t recognize it as such. Even a simple dinner party can partake of spiritual eternity: “Of such moments, she thought, the thing is made that endures.”

When I spend too much of my own day on seemingly mindless chores or… show more.

This short, dark novel hooked me from the beginning. Its beginning is, in fact, its ending when it is revealed that the protagonist, a young woman named Janet, has just been murdered. The story then jumps back in time to when Janet is born. I was drawn to the sharp, wry narrative voice and the gothic, stormy setting of northern mid-20th century Scottland.

The rest of the novel is an account of Janet’s coming-of-age instead of a typical and dull whodunit, which I loved because it felt fresh, true, and real to me—a revelation, in fact. I was so happy to encounter a young female protagonist who was odd, bookish, intelligent, grumpy, lonely, and highly unpopular.

Like Milkman above, this was my favorite book the year I read it, and I plan to re-read it soon. It’s a quietly intense and lonely story, in first person, with an unnamed female narrator whose “family” is the community she lives in by a river in England.

She rarely deals directly with these people, though her interactions are generally described in retrospect, and, in a way, her constant observation and evaluation of her surroundings make the urban/industrial landscape part of her family, too.

Urban landscapes have been an important part of my life, too; they have shaped much of who I am. There are hints of a lost child and earlier immersions in other, distant river landscapes. Quiet, elegiac, and powerful.

I’ve read this twice so far. It’s an odd, lonely book whose protagonist walks the knife-edge of sanity but is harmless and likable, though she is so timid that she has no friends. Her immediate family has also passed on. She finally advertises for a friend who must answer to the name ”Penelope” and develops a confusing friendship with the woman who responds to the ad.

I loved the book’s compassionate exploration of the varieties of oddity afflicting modern souls, as well as the story’s steady but subtle progression to a horrifying revelation. The resulting catharsis helps move the protagonist towards a more satisfying, if still deeply peculiar, life. All the characters are well-drawn.

I love the mixture of realism and creepy surrealism in this collection of short stories. I especially admire how Enriquez ties these together so that the surreal elements feel linked to the reality and current events of the protagonists’ lives.

I love that each story centers on complete women with all their obsessions, compulsions, fears, wild senses of humor, and sometimes unusual desires. For me, it is exhilarating, entertaining, and impactful. One of my favorite stories is about a woman who repurposes her uterine fibroid in a one-of-a-kind way—just imagine! 

I feel that we live in a society that puts too much time and attention on women’s bodies. One way that women writers can take the female body back, I think, is to show how women’s bodies often become reflective of what they are experiencing emotionally and mentally.

I love this novel because it doesn’t shy away from showing a protagonist who obsesses about cleaning and managing her body as a way to deal with the trauma of losing her parents while living in Palestine and subsequently immigrating to the U.S. I also love the prose—the sentences are short and sharp and have great momentum so that I felt compelled to keep reading. The sentences occasionally become long and fluid so that there is a nice bouncing between short and long lines, which creates prose and a plotline that has great rhythm.

While on assignment for the Cleveland Plain Dealer, Connors was raped by a man recently released from prison. Before, he lets her go, he tells her not to contact the police, warning her, “[…] I will find you.”

The phrase becomes the through line of Connors’ book, which is both about her quest to find a way forward after the assault and about her journey to uncover her assailant’s past and the reasons he might have committed this crime. The result is a poignant look at both the trauma left in crime’s wake as well as the societal influences that cause crime to occur in the first place.

Rather than focusing on historical archives, this book is based on years of face-to-face research in and with urban Indigenous communities. Deftly describing the urban politics of identity, Jacobs provides insights into the ways in which Indigenous people manage senses of self and community in the twenty-first-century city.