Books like Girls of Tender Age — picked by fans

What I love about this book is that Christopher is such an unusual child and sees the world in ways that most of us do not.

In reading this bizarre and disturbing mystery story, we begin to see the world differently ourselves. I like, too, the fact that what is different about him is never named – it’s not some specific diagnosis or categorization – he is just Christopher, the odd, mathematically gifted, strangely reacting, teenager.

When he becomes terrified of what we might take as quite ordinary events and places, I begin to feel some of his difference – to feel what it might be like to be so much an outsider. It helped me to remember that we are all different.

I tell everyone I know that if they want a book with incredible character development, read The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo.

This book is highly atmospheric. You can feel the biting cold, the fear, the pain. It also has characters with questionable ethics. It made me question how I feel about vengeance and retribution. Some of the content is very dark, yet it doesn’t feel sensationalized.

This is also a thriller with hints of a happy ending—at least, for some people—while also leaving some things uncertain or unresolved. I prefer a thriller to leave me hanging a little . . . 

When my daughter was diagnosed as autistic aged 10, I was desperate to be able to describe her and her ‘condition’ to the school so they would know how best to help her.

I was so grateful to discover this book by Clare Sainsbury (of the supermarket family), who is autistic herself. In it, she describes her schoolgirl experience and how she felt like a 'Martain in the Playground.' She was eight or nine when she realized she was ‘different in some nameless but all-pervasive way.’

I found reading this book to be nerve-wracking and heartbreaking but necessary. It looked into how my daughter was likely feeling every day. In a way, it was a guidebook for my own child. 

I discovered this book by chance in a second-hand shop–what a find it was! John Elder Robinson was also raised in a time when the diagnosis of autism did not exist. He had to wait until he was forty to get a diagnosis.

As a boy, he had been described as a ‘misfit’ or ‘defective’ when, in fact, he was hugely talented and, as we find out here, a natural storyteller. I found this book to be a darkly funny, fascinating insight into the life of a man who never fit in but didn’t know why–until he finally found out.

Living with autism is hard enough today–it boggles my mind to think that autism has always been with us and that generations of autistic people have had to struggle with no chance of understanding. 

For me, what drives this book is perspective, the crazy, intense story of a deeply dysfunctional family as seen through the eyes of a child, and the title refers to a bar her father frequents, often accompanied, inappropriately, by his young daughter.

From the quality of the writing to the vividness of the characters and the nutty outrageousness of the family, this is simply one of the best memoirs I have read. Definitely a book I will read a second time, when I get a chance. 

Dylan Thomas’s compressed and lyrical account of a young lad’s Christmas has always enchanted me, and it continues every time I read it or hear it read. I recommend listening to the author reading it, available on YouTube. It is delightful poetic prose, moving, amusing, and always surprising. I envy his style here and his wit, feeling, and language proficiency. I wish I could write like that.

I chose this quietly devastating first novel by Susan Minot because it is a delicate family story, thought to be based on her own childhood of growing up as one of seven children. When it came out, many of her siblings became upset with her portrayal of events; a few even wrote their own novels with their version of what they perceived as “the truth”. My own sister stopped speaking to me when I sent her my first memoir to read. She eventually came around, and told me she was glad I’d told our story. I believe that the truth is not a solid, but a liquid. Truth is personal—it’s what we see, assume or believe filtered through our own lens and experience. 

This trilogy about a girl who leaves a small New England town to work at a glossy magazine in Manhattan in the 1950s helped me understand the roots of the 1960s feminist culture. Men, including the man she ultimately marries, are simply seen as the authority based on their gender.

I’ll never forget the scene where the protagonist is trying desperately to have a baby, goes to a replacement doctor during summer vacation, and finds out that her primary doctor has been giving her birth control pills disguised as other prescription medicine. “I didn’t think you were ready to be a mother,” the primary doctor tells her later. 

William and his wife lost their baby in its last term and had to endure the torment of an induced stillbirth.

The same thing happened to a dear friend years ago so when I heard William as embarking on this brave endeavour to write about it, I was intrigued. The publisher, Little Toller Books, decided to create a space for William’s male voice in a publishing genre that is dominated by women’s.

The result is a heart-wrenching tale of grief as William clamours to contextualise the world he has been thrown into. William’s skill as a writer lies in his depiction of the indescribable. I’m sure there were months of soul searching and pen holding before he finally hit upon a way of converting his pain into the stunning prose. I am so grateful he did. And you will be too.

No one wants to know a troubled, addicted family member isn't going to beat their demons. But knowing the ending at the beginning makes reading this difficult story possible. Bailey tells a relatable story that breaks down his brother's struggles and their effect upon the family in a way that those of us who share similar stories can relate to. The reader can see how and where things went wrong with Blake's brother Scott, while recognizing that there wasn't anything anyone could have done to prevent the ending.