100 Books Like Endless Love

I was wrung out after finishing this book and immediately looked around for someone else who’d read it. I needed a shoulder to cry on. If Endless Love is about lives undone by teenagers driven insane by love and lust, then this book is its counterpoint: two teenage outsiders whose love and understanding help them survive.

There’s awfulness in Eleanor’s life, but there’s also exchanging comics and listening to Joy Division with Park on a shared walkman on the school bus. I loved these characters completely and rooted for them with everything I had. 

I read this book at the recommendation of a friend in her 80s, and its soft, sure steps delivered me somewhere moving, complex, and unusual. It opens with a newspaper article that has nothing to do with the start of the story and which I’d forgotten about by the end, not that it would matter if I hadn’t.

Another author might have given the same subjects an operatic treatment, but I loved how quietly it spoke. I still think about Jean, years after reading it, and wonder what she found in life after the story ended. 

This book takes the often stuffy genre of historical war fiction and turns it inside out. It opens in London in 1947, when the rubble is cleared, but familiar buildings are still missing windows, and the characters feel untethered from life and from all they’ve lost.

The story moves backward three years at a time to the decisions that set them on these paths. Three queer women are at its center, their lives intersecting in the literal and metaphorical dark, trying to survive air raids, and taking care of the fallen.

I’m always attracted to novels that start in the aftermath and ask “how did we get here?” and I loved this fragmented look backwards through the war.

Anybody I’ve ever talked mysteries with has heard me struggle to impart just how much I admire this book: the clarity and precision of Rendell’s narration, the brisk confidence in every characterization, and the way she challenges the conventional structure of the mystery novel from the first line: “Eunice Parchman killed the Coverdale family because she could not read or write.”

With that first line, I know the crime, the victims, the killer, even the motive—and yet I am utterly compelled to read on. I’ve read it four times, maybe more. I’m in awe of her confidence driving this book, and I love to be her passenger.

I love that our heroine Chloe had a backbone and was able to put our hero Eli in his place and not take his crap. I also like how their road trip adventure to bring Chloe to an important ballet audition starts off with Eli blackmailing her into bringing him, and his dog, along. Eli was another flawed male lead I loved, there were moments where he’s so close to being adorable and perfect, but then he’d be clueless and frustrate Chloe—and me! I really enjoyed that Chloe was ready to forge forward on her own and Eli had to whip himself into shape to earn her!! 

I was so overwhelmed by the perfection of this American masterwork that I sought out the founder of The Thomas Wolfe Society, the greatest Thomas Wolfe collector who ever lived and who will ever live, and became his very close friend.

This is a huge book, with the music of pitch-perfect prosody from beginning to end, and yet it's only part of a much greater whole—every one of Wolfe's books connect together in some way, forming a massive cadency of music in words. If you examine them, there's only two main branches (Eugene Gant as the protagonist in one, and Monk Webber as the protagonist in the other). But it's really all one big expanding fable. This volume has, in my opinion, the richest writing, from the opening proem to the tiny diamond-sharp moving-picture painting of the final line.

Nothing Special follows Mae, a teenager in 1967, who drops out of school and becomes a typist in Andy Warhol’s Factory studio.

Transcribing taped conversations of Warhol and his contemporaries, Mae feels like she’s entered a new world – along with Shelley, a fellow typist who soon becomes a close friend. But is Shelley all she seems? This is a closely observed psychological novel exploring what it means to truly know another person, and how much we have the right to expect from our friends.

The writing zips along effortlessly, driven by Mae’s poised, ironic voice, which expertly captures the ersatz confidence of being young.  

Ronnie is everything a teenage girl should be—independent, sharp, and fierce. Will, the local guy who has it all, is drawn to her unique spirit. He sees through her defiance as they bond over Ronnie’s desire to save a sea turtle’s nest from predators. Over the course of their summer romance, Ronnie learns that Will’s life is not what she expected. In return, Will helps Ronnie make some discoveries of her own. This book is close to my heart in that you see how Ronnie learns how to channel her spirit from being rebellious to guiding her life in a more positive direction. She is similar to Jess in that she rises to the challenges presented to her and we see what a difference her decisions make in getting her to where she belongs.

For years, I refused to re-embrace Holden Caulfield, because Mark David Chapman, John Lennon’s assassin, declared it inspired him to bloodshed. I’m glad I did, getting the juices circulating for my novel.

Holden, manic-depressed over his brother’s death, cut loose from his prep school, may speak in a stream-of-consciousness babble, but he enunciated an old-soul contempt of Ivy-League elitism that reverberates today.

When Holden declares, “The more expensive a school, the more crooks it has,” it’s a literary MRI on American classism still tearing us asunder.

A book rarely brings me to tears. I didn’t know what to expect when I first picked up this one. The main thing I love about this book is that it takes you right into the head of the main character, who happens to be a very precocious nine-year-old boy. Outwardly, the main character is on an adventure to solve a mystery, but inwardly, he’s on a journey to come to terms with his father’s death.

The protagonist–who, on the surface, is nothing like me–made me feel and address things I had not come to terms with in my life. I felt myself struggling along with the character, and then I ultimately began to heal with him, too. It’s a powerful, tragic, yet absolutely hilarious story that allowed me to forget myself for a while before realizing that I was learning about myself the entire time I read it.