Books like Like Mother, Like Daughter — picked by fans

I’m drawn to characters whose emotional wounds from childhood affect their determination as adults to make the world a more caring place.

I found Jenna Stone, a dedicated investigative journalist in this book, a particularly appealing character. Abandoned as an infant in an apartment building’s hallway, Jenna doesn’t want any child to experience the same fate and doggedly works to uncover the identity of a mother who has left her abandoned baby in a “safe haven” at her local fire station.

Alarmed by the note the mother left indicating that her baby is “in danger,” Jenna hopes to unravel the mystery of what led the new mom to fear for her infant’s safety and reunite her with her child. This is yet another psychological thriller that I had trouble putting down!

I loved this book for its exploration of shock, grief, and denial on the part of two adult daughters whose mother inexplicably ends her own life by drowning in the sea. At odds for many years, the two very different women slowly mend their relationship as they discover a long-buried secret their mother had been keeping.

I especially related to the healing of their relationship as it was in adulthood that I drew much closer to my own sisters. As children, they associated my arrival with the loss of their mother, which did not make for an easy relationship.

Having grown up in a waterfront community, I couldn’t resist this atmospheric thriller featuring a young woman drawn back to a small Southern town built around a lake. Years ago, her mother had abandoned her, leaving her with her stepfather. Or so she’s always been told.

But as she peels away family secrets and lies, she discovers that her mother never intended to leave her, and she has no idea who hurt her mother or who may be trying to silence her. The plot twists and sense of ever-present dread kept me reading long into the night!

As the daughter of a mom who suffered a mental breakdown shortly after my birth, I have always been strongly interested in stories of mothers who experience emotional difficulties following the births of their children. In this book, a young woman abandons her infant in a hospital shortly after giving birth and disappears.

Her husband attributes her behavior to postpartum psychosis, a malady that she’s been monitored for throughout her pregnancy, given her own mother’s struggles with the disorder. But is that what really led to the mom’s sudden disappearance? Told in multiple viewpoints, it’s unclear who is telling the truth about what happened to the young mother. I found the plot twist at the end of this propulsive tale especially satisfying. 

Remember Mia is dark, emotional, and twisty. What I liked most about this book is how much the main character riled me up!

She’s an unsympathetic and unreliable narrator, and it propels the story forward. As this story unravelled, I questioned everything: Is the mother’s postpartum psychosis to blame for the missing child? Why didn’t she report the baby missing? Is there even a missing baby in the first place?

I enjoy when a novel makes me question what I thought I knew.

This book has everything a book club could ask for. Characters that you love, even when maybe you shouldn’t. Relationships that seem both familiar and endlessly fascinating. An epic dilemma that resonates and flourishes until the very end. It’ll definitely have you wondering, what would I do? At the end of the day, that question is all you really need for a lively book club discussion. 

The most supernatural of this list, this book has occasional short chapters (usually just a paragraph or two) by the angel who is shepherding a dying man toward death.

These little interludes give the reader flickers of insight into the author’s vision of dying without anything like proselytizing. The engrossing overarching story is one of friends and family in a small Southern town and one woman’s struggle with her identity and her religion, again without judgment.

There are no easy answers – this book is real and heartwarming at the same time that it is heartbreaking. 

I once heard a friend of mine describe Last Exit to Brooklyn as “a significant minor novel.” He was wrong. It’s a good deal more than that.

Set in the same Brooklyn in which one will find Herschel Cain, the main character in my own novel, before he becomes professional wrestler Haystacks Kane, yet light years away, Last Exit is a searing portrayal of life in the raw amongst the American underclass, profoundly disturbing and terribly, terribly sad. It shook me to my core when I read it not long after it was published in the mid-1960s, and has remained with me ever since.

In countless ways, Selby’s novel thumbs its nose at traditional novel structure and the customary rules of grammar, spelling, and punctuation in order to present virtually every moment of its bleak and upsetting narrative with a ferocious immediacy rarely found anywhere else.

In truth, it does… show more.

First of all, this book is hilarious. Second of all, it made me cry.

A trans woman leaving a men’s prison? After twenty years inside? With nowhere to go that will meet the requirements of her parole? Never mind meeting her requirements in the way of wardrobe. So this novel was quite a ride for me, right from page one. Although I have nothing in common with Carlotta, I somehow found myself identifying with her, and I was hooked. I can’t explain it.

I’m fussy about grammar and punctuation—until this book, which had my head spinning with mid-sentence switch-ups between first person and third person, between prison-speak and whatever I speak, between using and not using punctuation and sentence structure. I loved every minute, every sentence.

I’m used to contemporary fantasies where magic is either hidden or open and acknowledged, and this book blew my mind by blowing that dichotomy out of the water.

It retells the Russian folktale of “Vassilisa the Beautiful” but adds a lot of complicated family dynamics that made me like the source narrative even more than I already did. I also loved the utter weirdness of how Baba Yaga and her hut on fowl’s legs neither fits into the ordinary world nor stands apart from it.