70 Books Like Hold Still

For me, this novel combines the best of three sharply different types of books: It's a dystopian novel that paints an enthralling (and terrifying) portrait of an invented world. It's a page-turner.

And it's a story that hit some deep emotions in me. The basic narrative is that Frida, the harried and divorced mom of toddler Harriet, leaves Harriet alone while she dashes off to get herself a latte. Okay, that's stupid and risky, though Harriet is unharmed.

But in this book's world, that's enough to land Frida in a "reform school" from which it's almost impossible to prove yourself "perfect" enough to be released. As the story spiraled worse and worse, I couldn't believe this was happening.

I couldn't read another word; no, I couldn't put it down.

As the seemingly idyllic marriage between Eleanor and Cam unraveled, I kept wanting to scream at Eleanor.

Didn't she see what she was doing to her relationship with her kids, by either saying the wrong thing or doing nothing? Yes, it was because of Cam's carelessness that their son, Toby, was horribly injured in an accident, but why didn't she accept Cam's gestures of apology?

And when divorce became inevitable, why did she let Cam keep the farm that their three children loved? Why did she have to fight over every little thing with their elder daughter?

These characters were vividly real to me, and I felt like I was watching helplessly while the wrong person unfairly won the whole prize. 

I was hooked by the unexpected opening sentence: "The first time I saw my granddaughters, I was standing across the street, didn't dare go any closer."

What had gone wrong? Why was a grandmother so estranged from her own grandchildren?

As the novel unspooled, it double-backed into other surprise twists, and the characters and motivations weren't as clear-cut as they'd seemed. Leah, the mother of the two granddaughters, wasn't being juvenile, impulsive, or heartless when she broke off contact with her parents. Yoella, the grandmother, wasn't as loving and innocent as she thinks she was—and how much does she realize, in fact?

I loved the way the book sometimes said more between the lines than in the actual words. 

I had to shut this book about halfway through, and I couldn't pick it up again until my daughter was safely home from her weekend visitation with her father—because it was too real.

Too powerful, in the way it captured my (and many mothers') constant fear that my ex-husband would find some excuse not to bring my daughter back after each visit.

I've rarely read anything that grabbed me so personally. The overall plot itself was also enthralling, though less directly realistic for me.

Anna and her ex-husband, Brian, seem to have an amiable divorce, and Anna finds new romance with a sexy lover. But then things go too far: Will Anna lose custody of her young daughter, Molly? What did her lover, Leo, actually do? 

Whereas Hessler’s book is about a country gradually opening up to the west, Suki Kim’s book is about a country completely isolated.

Kim works for six months in North Korea at Pyongyang University of Science and Technology, a school for the boys of the ruling elite. While living there, rather than connecting with her students, she is unsettled by how deep the country’s deceptions are.

The university, although claiming to be a school for science and industry, has neither labs nor modern technology. Her travel is circumscribed and carefully scripted. The students lie effortlessly about things of little consequence. The entire country seems to be built on holograms and shadows. She travels as teacher, but in the end serves as journalist, seeking the truth behind a country that the world barely understands. 

This novel is the story of William Stoner, raised on a US midwestern farm, who becomes an English professor at the University of Missouri. It follows his life throughout, in simple prose, becoming both moving and profound. It was introduced to me by a knowledgeable NY city book dealer back in the 90s. I pick it up every few years for another reading experience. It’s become a bit of an obscure classic.

This memoir tells the true story of a literature professor in Iran who invited a small group of her former female students to secretly meet at her home and discuss banned Western books. Nafisi shares how, in a country where personal freedom was disappearing, these stories became a way for them to hold on to their voices and identities.

The book blends their real lives with the novels they read—like Lolita and The Great Gatsby—showing how fiction can offer hope and resistance, even in the darkest times. It's both a sharp look at life under an oppressive regime and a moving reminder of how powerful books can be.

Scarlett Clark is a bi serial killer who kills bad men. Carly Schiller is a queer student who just escaped an abusive father. Their storylines are equally gripping, with moments of unexpected intensity in both lust and fear. Layne Fargo creates a world so grounded in reality that, as a woman, it was painful to read at times—micro-aggressions, normalized inappropriate touching. Fargo doesn’t exaggerate it, she just exposes it as part of the narrative. Better yet, she gives a glimmer of equalization in the form of Scarlett who focuses her urge to kill in a direction that’s easy to root for, to want to read. It was wanting a serial killer to go on with her work that made this book and Scarlett a standout.

In its early decades, from the 1880s to the 1930s, Wellesley College boasted not merely a woman president but—alone among the “Seven Sisters”—an exclusively female faculty. Palmieri examines the impact of an all-woman community on the college’s students, professors, traditions, and development. A model exploration of campus culture, highly original, and a fascinating read.

I could barely put this book down. It’s incredibly well written and has themes that are close to my heart and not often explored in literature, especially through a somewhat unhinged female perspective: physical therapists, chronic pain, Shakespeare, performing, desire and self-identity. The body is at the core of this fleshy, raw, and brilliant novel.