Books like I Can Jump Puddles — picked by fans

What’s so neat about this book is that it doesn’t just capture a light-hearted and moving glimpse into English academia; it provides glimpses into a man’s—an institution in himself—relationships with his wife, coworkers, and students.

I enjoyed the progression of time. Several generations of students interact with the aging, albeit the same, “Mr. Chips.” There’s something neat about that.

This was one of my favorite books as a child and probably one reason I became an anthropologist of mining.

Though I wouldn’t have put it this way at the time, I found it fascinating that in a place where everything is doing the same job, especially a highly dangerous and damaging job, other aspects of culture coalesce around that job and its meanings—things like religion, kinship, gender, leisure, ecology, etcetera. I was deeply moved by the description of the vast slag heap that slowly came to tower over the town, eventually engulfing the narrator’s small house. 

I was 10 when I read Tom Sawyer. Which I loved but didn’t entirely get. To boy Mike, the midnight graveyard scene, featuring two thuggish bodysnatchers and a young unthuggish doctor, was mysterious, unmotivated. I didn’t know why bodysnatchers snatched bodies. But 19th-century readers, even children, did know: bodysnatchers stole cadavers for medical students to dissect. (Anatomy was in vogue, and medical schools lacked a supply of legal bodies.) But that’s not all.

A few chapters later, Twain presented boy Mike with another anatomical episode to puzzle over: Mr. Dobbins, Tom’s ill-tempered schoolmaster, discovers that some student has managed to unlock the drawer in his desk where he keeps his prized anatomical atlas. Dobbins is furious: a page has been torn. Unbeknownst to Dobbins, the culprit is Becky Sharp (Tom’s crush), who thereby gets to see something naughty that only anatomy books can show: “a handsomely engraved” color illustration… show more.

I was sixteen when I first read Jane Eyre, and I was thoroughly unprepared for how it would change the course of my life.

My mother died when I was eleven, so I found a kindred spirit in the orphaned main character Jane. By the time she grew up and became a governess for the brooding Mr. Rochester, I cared deeply about her happiness.

As intense chemistry sparked between Jane and her employer, I realized that my true joy in life would be to write “can’t put it down” love stories like this one.

The Magicians is what happens when a kid who’s obsessed with a series like The Chronicles of Narnia grows up, is accepted into a magical university, and discovers along the way that the fantasy world he so loved reading about is real…but not quite what he imagined. This novel, the first in a trilogy, offers a more jaded look at some of the beloved aspects of children’s fantasy and how they might play out with young adults discovering themselves and seeking purpose.

This was one of the best books about werewolves—that isn’t really about werewolves—I have ever read. The story is told from the perspective of an unnamed boy who lives with his aunt and uncle—who happen to be werewolves—and the struggles he and his family face while living on the edge of society to avoid discovery.

What fascinated me the most was that Jones created entirely new werewolf lore with its own culture, rituals, and traditions, and it all felt real. I loved the non-linear timeline following the boy from 8 to 16, yearning to change like his aunt and uncle. Jones encapsulated the real difficulties of living on the fringes of society for whatever reason. It’s a dark book, raw and visceral, but also really funny. 

This book, about a young recluse losing grip on reality, unable to discern truth from her own memory, had me hooked. I found the writing vicious and fierce, the imagery haunting, and the overall focus on memory and trauma as horrors that can both shape and betray us distressing in the very best of ways. Memory and one’s sense of self are important to my own work, and as such, this book managed to tap into some personal unease.

That it’s also so sharply written (and wonderfully f*cked-up) is the icing on an already delicious narrative cake. Recommended for those who like their horror to mess with their sense of reality—personal and not. My favorite read of 2023.

Everyone expects Fishel “Fish” Rosner to do “boy” things, which doesn’t include his favourite activities of knitting and dancing. I loved watching Fish learn to stand up for himself, and even more, I love how this story invites readers to imagine a world where everyone has the confidence to be themselves, no matter what anyone else thinks. This book kept me grinning long after I finished reading.

This is such a gorgeous and immersive book. Emmeline’s love for both her father and the remote island they live on called up for me my adoration of my own father and the farm of my childhood. But what’s particularly glorious about this book is the way the author explores the way fragrance has the power to call up memories—and turns it into magic. The Scent Keeper has all the other essential elements of books that I love as well—beautiful writing, a touch of romance, flawed characters growing into themselves and a deeper understanding of the world, and, of course, a good mystery to solve.

Even though this book has some major plot issues, when I read it a decade or more ago it instantly became one of my favorites. I don’t think Laymon writes about kids much, but he did a good job with the three friends in The Traveling Vampire Show. The budding, awkward romance between the two of them was realistic, and the comic relief that the third provided was great. The story gets a bit wild at the end with the excessive violence and nudity, but that’s what Laymon got off writing about (sadly he passed away a number of years ago), and if you’re okay with those types of things, you’ll certainly enjoy the ride.