Books like Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy — picked by fans

For a character to be stranded alone in the wilderness almost forces the reader to slip into the shoes of the protagonist.

There is no human-to-human interaction, but there is the age-old relationship of human-to-nature. This struggle taps into the atavistic side of man. Such a story contains only one source of thoughts (a boy, in this case), but the countless connections between the boy and all the aspects of wilderness present a plot of myriad give-and-take scenarios.

The protagonist deals with hunger and food, cold and fire, danger and safety, solitude and epiphany. Hatchet is one of the great young adult books that serves adults wonderfully.

After I heard author Rita Williams-Garcia speak at a NYC book event, I knew I had to read this book, even if it was for kids. After all, in 1968, I was the same age as the main character, Delphine, and from Brooklyn, just like her. That year, the Vietnam War, antiwar protests, and the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kenedy punctuated headlines.

Delphine and her younger sisters make a trek to California to visit their estranged mother. Instead of meeting Mickey and friends at Disney, they find Mom works for Huey, Bobby, and the Black Panthers! I was impressed with the way Rita used warmth and humor to chisel out difficult social issues we still face today. I learned a lot reading this family saga.    

In my mind, this book shows one of the great character arcs in literature. The persnickety thirteen-year-old Charlotte begins her 1832 voyage from London to America admiring iron-fisted Captain Jaggery of the Seahawk. When she overhears the crew speaking of mutiny, she snitches on them.

At one point, I was hoping she’d get swept overboard. But Charlotte bonds with the ship’s black cook, Zachariah, and begins to see life beyond her vantage of a rich white child of privilege. As conditions worsen on the Seahawk, Charlotte sides with the crew, becomes a deckhand, and eventually their captain!

This is an old-time, swashbuckling, wind to yer back, sea adventure. I can still smell the bilgewater years after reading it.  

Reading this book is like the first breath you take when opening a door to a winter blizzard. Your lungs freeze.

What I admired most about this muscular tale is Preus doesn’t pull any punches for her young readers. Like an ice ball covered in snow, she packs Nordic folktales and myths around the harsh realities of two Norwegian sisters who escape from a lecherous goat farmer to join their father in America.

The book title ties into the moment every day before total darkness takes over. The way I see it, this book shows that a good story, honestly told, sheds light everywhere. 

Oreo (originally published in 1974, then out of print, and finally repopularized by Harriette Mullen and republished in 2000), a satirical novel by Fran Ross, a journalist and, briefly, a comedy writer for Richard Pryor, is widely considered to be “before its time.” This aching and hilarious, experimentally structured story is about a girl, Oreo, with a Jewish father and a Black mother, who ventures to New York City to find her father only to discover there are hundreds of Sam Schwartzes in the phonebook, and then goes on a quest to find him.

This book is fiction, infused with magical realism, and I am a scientist. Yet, this book definitely belongs on my list of best books about wild animals.

Superficially, it is about a boy, Dave, who regularly observes a pine marten, a kind of large weasel, in the lush forests of Oregon. I love this book because even the slightest chance of properly empathizing with a wild animal requires a powerful yet constrained imagination. Some of Dave’s attributions to Martin are self-projected, and some of his attributions are deeply true. Reliability in telling the difference is not always so simple.

This book never let me stop wondering, are the thoughts and life of a marten beyond my imagination?  

This was one of my favorite books as a child and probably one reason I became an anthropologist of mining.

Though I wouldn’t have put it this way at the time, I found it fascinating that in a place where everything is doing the same job, especially a highly dangerous and damaging job, other aspects of culture coalesce around that job and its meanings—things like religion, kinship, gender, leisure, ecology, etcetera. I was deeply moved by the description of the vast slag heap that slowly came to tower over the town, eventually engulfing the narrator’s small house. 

I was one of those women who was obsessed with Oprah’s Book Club. She started it in 1996, the same year I started my sophomore year of college. I can’t say that I read every book assigned to me in my classes, but I damn sure as hell read every book Oprah recommended.

White Oleander was picked in May 1999, just a few months before my wedding. I did zero wedding planning the week I read that book. I ignored my soon-to-be husband and called my sisters to demand that they read the book. The story, which follows Astrid (why did my parents name me such a terrible ugly name like Courtney when Astrid was right there?) as she navigates foster care following her mother’s conviction for murder, is compelling. However, I fell in love with the prose and the way Finch describes the people and places in the novel.… show more.

Young love gone off the rails. David, the teenage narrator, loves his girlfriend so much or so badly that he lights her family’s house on fire. The aftermath of that choice—his desperation to explain, to have them understand what he meant—propels him forward and us backward as he tells the story of an intense and overwhelming first love.

I felt carried away by this book. It was the kind I read with one hand over my mouth, half my brain going “no, no, no” as I kept turning the pages.

This is another novel I enjoy teaching; students respond well to it. Desai excels in giving detailed domestic pictures of life in India. Here she recounts how an ungainly disabled daughter with what seems to be epilepsy and a learning disability is largely kept out of sight by her upper-middle-class family in the 20th century. The daughter, Uma, goes away with assorted other characters, finding a measure of freedom, but invariably needs to return to her parents’ confining house. At the end of the novel, she is largely taking care of them. Desai shows what we might call a “feminist ethic of care” as she writes of a disabled woman as interesting and worthy of sustained attention, which implicitly feeds into advocates’ contention of the value of all disabled people.