100 Books Like Growing Up Brown

I recommend this book because it is a no-holds-barred narrative of what it is like to be a male agricultural laborer in 1920s racially segregated America.

It is a gritty tale of how a mostly male migrant population survived racial discrimination and economic hardship, living in the labor camps and working for a dollar a day. It shows how these men found ways to cope and acquire dignity even while experiencing loneliness since it was difficult to find brides (due to anti-miscegenation laws). From dressing up in $100 tailor-made suits and smoking cigars to paying ten cents a dance at taxi dance halls to gambling, prostitution, and labor activism, it tells the story of the first generation of migrant laborers in the United States.

The author died of tuberculosis in 1956.

I recommend this book because it is a rare diary of a 12-14-year-old young girl living in the sugar plantations of Hawaii in the 1920s. As one of the few females in the predominantly Filipino male population in racially segregated America, which had anti-miscegenation laws, she confides that she has many suitors of men in their 20s.

She wrote: ‘Gosh, and I am only 12 years old—and already somebody is telling me about love’ (p. 45). I was surprised to read Angela discovers her mother had a lover, although this attests to women’s power because they are a minority. But I was horrified to read Angela’s very detailed account of the domestic violence her father inflicts on her mother when he catches the lovers.

The standing men are the Filipino undocumented migrants to Japan who work as construction workers on a day-to-day basis. They stand on the Kotobuki sidewalk hoping to get selected by a sacho to get a job for the day. 

The book is an in-depth look at their lives—how the men who are considered the underclass in the host country struggle, find love (some of them have second families in Japan), experience leisure, and fulfill masculine ideals of breadwinner in a foreign country.

It is a rare glimpse at the life of an undocumented migrant. This book can be read with Rey Ventura’s Underground in Japan (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1992).

This book is a collection of many life stories of Filipino migrant domestic workers, mostly in Singapore. Since the authors of the accounts use pseudonyms, they are all insightful revelations of how these women cope with the issues of loneliness and separation from families.

The most interesting revelation is that some of these women have affairs (which they call ‘one day stands’ since they only have a day off and not the whole 24 hours) with South Asian men. I was surprised by this radical act—radical because Filipino constructions of the feminine idealise the ‘chaste wife’, and while men’s infidelity is tolerated in the homeland, women’s infidelity is not.

Finally, the book also testifies to these migrants’ strength, hard work, courage, and survival skills. 

Listen up Jane Austen fans! I know we have our faves and it's a touchy subject comparing which one is the best, but let's go ahead and throw Dorsey Fitzgerald and DJ Liza Bennet’s names into the hat please, please, and please!

I absolutely love this modern take on Pride and Prejudice. I also got a kick out of the chapter titles as well as the supporting family cast. Talk about a juicy retelling with lots of moving parts. Gentrification is a real, relevant, and current thing, and the novel hits all the right themes.

While reading, I knew the romance would deliver a happy ever after, but how? This is where Pride and Protest shines. Such a great take on the original classic!

If you’ve never thought it possible to write about imprisonment at Guantanamo Bay with humor. Alex Gilvarry upends this misconception. This is billed as a “memoir,” but it’s really a madcap novel about a high-fashioned Filipino-born young man who happens to be living in New York City at the wrong moment in history, and who finds out the hard way that the American dream can turn into a nightmare at any moment. “How did I end up in No Man’s Land?” our hero wonders, joining a long list who have asked that question. 

This book at times feels like poetry and written with such profundity.

Grappling with deep physical pain, Jen Soriano, a daughter of a neurosurgeon, comes upon a hard truth about the origins of her physical pain; a history of generational trauma and her family’s absorption of a painful history of colonization of the Phillipines.

This poignant memoir helped me understand, at a personal level, how the body starts to give up when we carry the emotional wounds of the past, how neurodivergence intersects with historical trauma, and reminds us that freedom from pain is indeed possible.

As a trauma psychologist, it was both humbling and enlightening to receive the author’s personal accounts of intergenerational trauma and intergenerational healing.

This is one of the best books ever written about anything! It’s a classic that remains underappreciated even after its big role in Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. First, it’s entertaining. The author’s team got to know dozens of white-collar and working-class families up close. They lived in these families’ homes. They slept over, watched TV, and brushed their teeth with them; accompanied them to supermarkets, doctor’s appointments, and parent-teacher conferences. It’s crazy! After reading this book it seems impossible to believe that advantageous parenting (1) doesn’t matter all that much or (2) is something “anyone can do if they put their mind to it.” In an appendix Lareau describes what a monumental, stressful, and awkward undertaking it was to observe people like specimens in every aspect of their private lives.

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.

What I love about this highly unusual memoir from Julian Barnes is how he invites us to join him on his meanderings through a smorgasbord of intriguing topics and unexpected thought worms. As he explores his fear of death, he meets, greets, and remembers everyone from historical figures, poets, writers, and philosophers to friends and family members.

I found this book unexpected, poignant, and, at times, very funny. And as is true of so much of what I enjoy reading, this meditation on death does much to shed light on what makes us human.