Books like Into the Country of Standing Men — picked by fans

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.

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. 

This is an autobiography of Peter Jamero, who is a second generation Filipino American capturing what life was like growing up in a Filipino American farmworkers camp in California in the 1940s.

I was particularly struck by his comment “before I went to school my world consisted of Filipinos. Everyone else was a foreigner “ (p. 19) since he did not speak English until he went to grade school. I was moved when he said: “I looked at my image in the mirror and tried to wash my brown color away. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, the color was still there.” (p. 91).

He joins the US Navy and the Civil Rights Movement. I interviewed him in 2012, and he passed away in 2024 at the age of 94.

I could not put this book down because it made me feel like I was traveling alongside Jessica Nabongo, seeing the world through her eyes. Her storytelling is raw, inspiring, and filled with moments that made me pause and reflect on my own travels.

I loved how she brought each destination to life, not just through its landscapes but through the people she met and the lessons she learned along the way. Her journey of visiting every country in the world as a Black woman is not just impressive; it is deeply moving and reshapes the way we think about travel, identity, and belonging. If you have ever dreamed of exploring the world, this book will ignite that spark more.

What I appreciate most about David Mitchell’s novel is how he grounds the history in scenes full of well-developed characters. So, for example, we don’t begin the novel with a long note about the historical period or the lineage of the ruling class, but rather with the urgency of childbirth gone wrong in the house of a concubine in Nagasaki in 1799.

It’s from this rootedness in the sense-based that we move into a wider exploration of both geopolitics and the magical, which I absolutely fell in love with—this sense that there is an element of the supernatural at play in this otherwise very realistic historical world.

Though potentially incomplete (some scholars argue we're missing one or two chapters, or that the story was never meant to end), The Tale of Genji manages to paint a vivid picture of the life of a lost age, with its own array of traditions, values, and fashions; a world where one's skill with poetry was just as valuable as political acumen and their outlook is so different from a modern perspective. At the same time, it presents the timeless complexity of relationships between men and women, and the social expectations and norms that impact those connections.

This is one of the best books in Eisler’s John Rain series, featuring half-American, half-Japanese assassin and Vietnam veteran John Rain.

Eisler himself was a covert operative with the CIA’s Directorate of Operations, and his descriptions of fieldcraft, surveillance, torture, and killing techniques all ring so true, as does his extensive knowledge of modern Japan.

Tokyo is, of course, a fascinating playground for Rain’s adventures. Eisler’s books and unputdownable, and well worth discovering.

I know nearly nothing about the Far East—so was delighted to experience a taste of Japan through this compassionate, original novel told from the point of view of young American nurse, Diana, as she takes the job of nanny to the toddler Yuki, after divorce has forced Yuki’s mother from the family home. Immersed in a different culture, Diana feels confusion, fascination, and a growing love for Yuki. The tension builds as she begins to understand the real danger the child is in. Diana faces psychological peril as she tries to break the chain of damage for Yuki—and herself. As a mother of three, I often can’t bear child jeopardy in a plot, but the author’s intelligent writing is compelling and sensitive, not gratuitous. 

This book came out only a few years after my first encounter with anime and just blew me away, introducing me to a completely different world – a world that at the time was mostly out of reach because Western translations were still rare. 

Having been published in 1983, it may be considered outdated, but manga translator and historian Frederick Schodt is a master narrator and does a great job of explaining how Japanese comics evolved during manga’s golden age. Now we can find any kind of information on the internet, but Schodt’s thorough analysis and engaging prose are second to none. 

If you are into cultural history and like to go beyond simple manga talk, this is still a must-read.