82 Books Like Little, Big

A collection of myths, fairy tales, and folk stories about the wild woman archetype told and analyzed by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés.

The result is a powerful exploration of the female psyche and experience, of women’s power and knowing, of intuition, femininity, and the ways in which we can reconnect to that power within each of us.

A favorite quote: “There is no 'supposed to be' in bodies. The question is not size or shape or years of age, or even having two of everything, for some do not. But the wild issue is, does this body feel, does it have right connection to pleasure, to heart, to soul, to the wild? Does it have happiness, joy? Can it, in its own way move, dance, jiggle, sway, thrust? Nothing else matters.”

I very nearly stopped reading this book–even though it’s so short as it starts off unbelievably abstract. I didn’t know what was going on, and the descriptions only added to the confusion. But I’m so glad I kept going.

The main character does amnesia in the most charming way, and discovering his past and the strange world he seems both lost in and totally at home in was absolutely enchanting. This has stuck with me ever since, like the most vivid fever dream.

This book completely surprised me.

Kazuo Ishiguro is known for stories rooted in real world contexts. Even his various forays into science fiction (Never Let Me Go and Klara and the Sun) are deeply grounded in contemporary, true-to-life settings. So, when I stumbled upon this classic fairytale by one of my favorite authors, I didn’t know what to expect. Talk about a gut punch!

This book explores morality and hope in creative and magical ways. And the twist at the end will leave you reeling—in true Ishiguro form.

In 2000, there were few English-language fantasy books based on Japanese myths. I opened this one, and instantly, Heian Period Feudal Japan came alive in a lyrical, mesmerizing way, unlike the dry history books.

And unlike the fantasy I’d grown up with, the main voice of the book was a woman—a complicated, imperfect magical kitsune who also felt like a human woman. This book made me hungrier for more non-Western myths as a lens through which to view my own concepts of womanhood.

I don’t think Garcia Marquez needs a review or introduction. Reading any of his books is a pleasure, with easy and delightful writing and striking sentences.

These sentences often describe things or people in a way that feels natural and perfectly captured. For instance, he describes the world as so new that many things lack names. His eloquent descriptions, like that of ice, create vivid images. The characters are relatable, and you feel a happy exhaustion after finishing the book, reminiscent of great works like Steinbeck’s East of Eden.

Those who find the stories too unbelievable should learn about Colombian history, as they provide real context. I simply love the book!

This book has always hit the trifecta for me—interesting, moving, and funny. A story about London immigrant families in the ‘80s and ‘90s, it shows a lesser-known side of society and certainly is the raunchiest book in my list—there’s a lot of sex among its confused screw-ups.

I admit my mind was opened, and my sympathies widened by this book, and after re-reading, I can appreciate it as a masterpiece of comic chaos. I wouldn’t want to be these characters—how many books begin with a failed suicide attempt?—but I’m glad they let me into their lives.

I remember my daughter, an astute and sensitive reader from a very young age, coming downstairs in tears after finishing this book when she was in high school.

Her tears were understandable; though Homegoing, remarkably, addresses the lives of members of seven generations of two connected Ghanian families in a mere 320 pages, we as readers come to care deeply about each of the fourteen characters whose stories fill the book.

The storytelling is that concise, yet also that rich and distinct, depicting two separate—but tragically related—trajectories for these families caught in the inevitable and devastating web of slavery, from the late 1770s to the present, and from the infamous Cape Coast Castle to Alabama, Harlem, and San Francisco—and back again.

History can be a challenge and a rebuke to novelists. How can we expect, I’ve often wondered, to create a work of the imagination as surprising and majestic as the trajectory of time? World’s End is T.C. Boyle’s answer to that question. Set in the Hudson River Valley and spanning four centuries, with enough characters to fill a three-page list of them in the front matter, this darkly comic, brightly tragic novel proves that history doesn’t repeat, as the saying goes, nor does it rhyme. History braids, over and over, strand upon strand, and the only people who can see the tapestry are those who take a step back. Boyle, like all great historical novelists, knows how to step back.

I wasn’t sure how Cornwell could possibly make a Cinderella retelling fresh and unique, but she did. She roots Nicolette—who her evil stepsisters call Mechanica—deep enough in the classic fairytale that we get all the satisfying beats, but then Cornwell turns them on their head. I love steampunk stories, and Cornwell replaces the Disney-fied animal helpers with mechanical insects and a metal horse fueled by coal and outlawed faery magic. She also addresses some outdated ideas in earlier renditions for a modern twist set in a Victorian-ish time period. Though Nicolette is not the first mechanical Cinderella on the YA bookshelf, Mechanica is not a rip-off of Marissa Meyer’s Cinder. I enjoyed both of them. 

Eleven-year-old Mimi is the youngest child in a family full of high-achievers. Determined to prove herself, she enters a baking contest at a newly opened bakery in town, but when strange things begin happening to those around her (such as her food critic dad losing his sense of taste), Mimi must pair her culinary skills with her detective skills to get to the bottom of the magical mystery. 

If I had to pick one word to describe this book, it’d be: sweet. Plus, this adorable book is also a retelling of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. And if you know me, you know I adore retellings!