Books like If I Were the Ocean, I'd Carry You Home — picked by fans

I’ve dined at the restaurant Lemonade in Venice Beach several times and was thrilled when I discovered they had a cookbook.

LA is defined by exceptionally fresh produce year-round and a diverse culinary scene thanks to immigrants from all over the world. Lemonade reflects that beautifully! I used many of the recipes in this book when cooking for the Patagonia women’s surf team and was thrilled with how much people loved them and how easy they were to scale up to feed a crowd.

Narrowing it down to my favorites was tough, but I can’t get enough of the Avocado, Cherry Tomato, Pine Nut, and Lime Vinaigrette; the Black Kale, Shiitake, and Kumquat Vinaigrette; or the Red Miso Beef. And of course, they have a full lemonade chapter with interesting, virgin concoctions including my favorite, the Green Apple Jalapeno lemonade.

D.J. Waldie elegantly captures the essence of the ordinary in this beautiful collection of essays. He has lived and worked in Lakewood, California his entire life and he doesn’t drive, which is remarkable in Southern California. Instead, he walks, he observes, and he writes about the kinds of Southern California neighborhoods that I know. I wish that I could describe the sky and the light as accurately and poetically as Waldie does. He has taught me to walk slower and pay attention. His stories of the history of Los Angeles are equally compelling. Waldie says he writes “about sacred and humanizing Los Angeles because I find myself there.” How fortunate for us all!

I am in awe of Susan Straight’s Mecca. 

Set in the inland regions of Southern California, far from glamor, this novel contains a cross section of characters from California’s past, present, and future, all connected by blood, by place, by history. It begins with an act of violence committed to disrupt a sexual assault, and that act has consequences that echo through decades. The landscape, beautiful and treacherous and fire-prone, acts like one more character.

The novel ends with a standoff between the characters we’ve grown to know and love and ICE agents—a haunting and newly relevant image. A tremendous work of art.

I had the good fortune to meet Thomas Perry at a writers' conference a few years back. Perry is best known for fast-paced thrillers such as The Butcher's Boy, the Jane Whitefield series, and The Old Man.

On the topic of comic crime fiction, he observed that violent crime is serious business that's difficult to treat with levity. Perry tried it in his second novel. Published in 1983, Metzger's Dog follows Chinese Gordon and his gang as they romp through the southern California desert—blowing things up. Their target is a medical facility with a million dollars worth of cocaine. The heist goes perfectly, except Chinese Gordon also snatches a folder of documents that detail the CIA's meddling with foreign governments. Naturally the feds want those docs back—with extreme prejudice.

You would not think that a book about a sleazy (but incredibly handsome) man being chased by a hired killer would be an inspiring book about second chances, but it is. The story is set in November 1963. Frank Guidry is inadvertently involved in the Kennedy assassination and the powers that be want to shut him up. He’s running from a killer and he runs into Charlotte Roy, a young mother who, with her two daughters, is fleeing her alcoholic husband. They both have a lot of internal demons to grapple with, but along the way there’s a lot of sex and danger and some scenes that are absolutely haunting and when you get to the end, you just sit there thinking, yes. That feels exactly right.  

Because of obvious limitations—space in the garden, sun, availability, and one’s responsibility to be a conscientious steward during a probably unending California drought—it’s impossible to grow as many roses as one would like. It’s not impossible, however, to content oneself with two or three plants for cutting flowers, and, instead, moon over this comprehensive collection of gorgeous photographs, descriptions of form, petal counts, habits, parentage, and scents. Keep 2,000 roses on the bookshelf. This book is a treasure.

In this moving novel, the late great Oakley Hall took me back to World War II era San Diego. What I love about it is it paints a much fuller portrait of the lost city of old than he does in his first San Diego-based novel.

This book is filled with wonder, dread, love, and longing but what makes it noteworthy is its keen eye toward history and the darkness at the heart of the city’s streets and neighborhoods—and at the center of the war itself. 

Mitali Perkins is a winsome, thoughtful writer who easily draws the reader into her discussions of the timelessness of each classic book. This book is a blend of memoir, literary criticism, and moral formation. My favorite part of Steeped in Stories was her contagious love for each book. She reminded me why I loved them, and why I wanted my children to read them when they were younger. Not only does Mitali guide the reader through what makes these books classics in a good sense, she also helps us see them with discerning eyes so that instead of ditching old books for problematic parts, she helps us navigate them with young readers in mind. Steeped in Stories discusses The Hobbit, Heidi, Emily of Deep Valley, Little Women, and The Silver Chair. 

Over Easy is the first part of Madge’s story, followed by The Customer is Always Wrong. They can be read separately as each stands on its own, but are best absorbed one after the other. These books are visually inventive and full of unforgettable characters who leap off the page and lodge in your imagination. The story follows Madge, an open-hearted artist who finds refuge and adventure in the wise-cracking, fast-talking, drug-taking world of the Imperial Café where she gets a job as a waitress after being denied financial aid to cover her last year in art school. Full of wit and pathos, Mimi Pond captures the perfect balance of hilarious and heartbreaking, all with fantastic drawings. She makes it look easy!

Between 1954 and 1981, when this book was written, the number of cities in L.A. County nearly doubled from 45 to 81. Many of these new cities contracted with the county for their basic public services, and were consequently able to maintain low property tax rates. Homeowners "voted with their feet" by moving to these new cities, and previously middle-class places like Compton saw their tax bases plummet while their need for public services skyrocketed. As a native Angeleno, I found Miller's account of the fragmentation of Los Angeles fascinating and devastating. A gem of a chapter entitled "Is the Invisible Hand Biased?" presents a withering critique of the argument—standard in economic theory—that more choices make people better off.