100 Books Like Little Town on the Prairie

Austen writes sisters like no one else, and the dynamic between tempestuous Marianne and practical Elinor is the template for so many novels that have followed.

Austen keeps the two sisters from becoming caricatures by making them more alike than different, and the love that anchors their relationship is at the heart of the novel.

I first read this as a freshman in college, and I still think about it every time I’m writing sisters. A classic.

I read this book in college and still recall it vividly.

A family seeks to marry off its daughters in prewar Japan, but while the world around them is evolving, they cling to tradition, insisting that the betrothals and marriages must happen in order. The youngest has a suitor and is eager to move forward with her life, but the first in line isn’t interested in being matched or hurried, which provokes a cascade of crises. Although the goal is finally achieved, there’s no sense of triumph.

Even in translation, the story is rich, complex, and naturalistic, and the characters seem so real that I once dreamed about encountering them on the street.

In this fictional representation of her own childhood in a blended family, Patchett shows how miserable the children were, but also the odd partnerships and roles they set up between themselves. Showing us both how their parents’ lives got tangled, and how the five remaining children interacted in later life, Patchett tells a tale of an American era.

I loved this book for its precision in both external details and the aching truths of how the characters feel. In refusing to ignore the cruelty of the children and the indifference of the parents, Patchett gets it right. But she also describes the aftermath of a tragedy which does not, quite, tear a family apart.

This book quickly became my favorite novel by Woolf, perhaps because it depicts a large Victorian family over time.

When her mother dies, Eleanor keeps the home fires burning for her siblings, Morris in the law courts, Edward at Oxford, Delia, Milly, and the younger Martin and Rose. We watch them grow and, fifty years later, deduce what has become of their lives when they talk to each other at a party.

Woolf’s narrative sweeps across England, across London, giving us vignettes of her characters from which the reader must make up the whole. My copy of this book is tattered from re-reading. I loved following along with Woolf’s attempt to gather everything she knew into her story of the Pargiter family.

While again, it’s not a magical world, it might as well have been. I was transported and transfixed to a different time and place. I could smell the linen baking dry in the sun as it hung in the open air and open fires that crackled and sparked as bacon sizzled on a cast iron pan. I shivered as they woke up one morning covered in a blanket of snow. I tasted the Christmas orange that was received with such joyful excitement. It made me want to like fruit–which, sadly, didn’t stick.

More importantly, it made me recognize the beauty of being grateful for things I took for granted. The mark of a good story is if you want to read it again as an adult, and I’ve read and reread this series more than once.

My favourite of all the Little House books - I can't tell you how many times I've read it. The Ingalls family have to move off their isolated homestead and into town to survive a freezing, seven-month winter. Their resourcefulness is hugely inspiring. Depleted of supplies, they make lamps out of buttons, string, and axle grease; they spend hours every day grinding wheat in a little coffee mill in order to have enough flour to make a small loaf of bread; and they get blisters twisting hay into sticks for the fire. The danger from sudden blizzards makes the short walk home from school potentially fatal. A perilous expedition for desperately needed supplies is too scary for most. And a hazardous, unnecessary journey undertaken by Laura, reveals just how much she misses her family.

It’s hard to believe this classic is celebrating fifty years on television. And, of course, long before that, it was a treasure of a book that delighted generations of young people. The worst-kept secret is: you don’t outgrow this beloved author’s work.

It’s probably her fault that just thinking about covered wagons makes me long for the good old days—ones that came and went long before I was born. It’s not just the kind of book you want to read over and over again; it’s the kind of book you want to read aloud to others.

Fiffer describes himself as a lawyer, journalist, and author. For the story he tells, these turn out to be perfect qualifications because he is not so much interested in telling the reader about the animal as in the scandal and intrigue that surrounded the discovery of this now-famous museum specimen. A fast-paced tale of unexpected twists and turns, when the FBI appears you start to wonder if you haven’t slipped into the pages of a David Baldacci thriller. It's a great true story and one likely to raise your eyebrows.

Ann Charles is someone I want to shoot tequila with, and I don’t shoot tequila. But I would with Ann. Her deadwood series had me laughing out loud. She writes characters so well that you’ll feel like you know them right down to their roots. You’ll be cheering on the good guys, hightailing it away from the scary ones, and cringing when you just know someone’s heading in the wrong direction. I’m immensely impressed that with each new book, Ann presents an original twisty mystery with a wicked sense of humour. And not only is she a talented, award-winning, and best-selling author, but she’s down-to-earth, and also organizes an annual fan party for her readers. I’m one of those fans and eagerly await her next book!

Sometimes it takes dust, drought, and desperation for us to realize what we’re capable of changing. Landscape has the power to alter us and for Rachel it both whittles away and fortifies. The wrath of nature is a tangible presence in her story, though we come to realize the hostile land and searing sky pale in comparison to the silent destruction wrought by the person in whom she has placed her life’s trust. Weisgarber’s ability to slow time down to the painful passing of seconds draws me in every time.