Books like Max the Mighty — picked by fans

Some first person voices are just so naturally nostalgic, like you’re sitting around a campfire listening to someone telling you a story.

“The year my mother started hearing voices from her dead brother Clyde,” or “But Gigi was the first to fly.” So many moments to hold onto in this novel, each an introduction to another tale, or a memory you can’t wait to listen to and run off down the street to share it for yourself.

The voice of August is so real and clear and poetic that one forgets there’s even a writer behind it. This close first-person voice lets us in, welcomes us into the secrets of the street. “Everywhere we looked we saw the people trying to dream themselves out.” And dream I did, along every glorious page, only I never wanted out.

This book affected me profoundly as a teenager who was questioning his own sexual identity in the early 1970s.

The novel is a study of friendship between two teenage boys at a boarding school after World War II. They’re co-dependent, and the elements of suppression and the threat of violence between the two mirrored my own confusion with close male friends “in real life” at the same time.

This is a book that shaped my early understanding of sexuality, even though the author denied any homoerotic undertones in the story. 

When it comes to “selling the voice” in the first-person narrative, so much depends on the language and the style by which the chosen character tells the story. How convinced is the reader of this voice that promises us everything?

Let us only pay attention to Jabari Asim and his slave narrative Yonder, to know how to do it well. From the first chapter we are thrown into William’s world, the harsh truth of living on a plantation in the American South.

Once he starts narrating in his believable and lyrical voice, we feel the danger, and the hopelessness: ”I had known death could come at any time. You could keel over in the fields. You could be crushed under a wagon wheel, kicked by a horse, or have your skull split open because a slice of ham…had gone missing.” The first-person magic takes over and we have no choice… show more.

There such an intimate sense of discovery in this novel, narrated by Linda, a teenage girl taken under the wing of a strange family.

Linda guides us through this natural world, the cold woods of Minnesota, both mysterious and beautiful. Her simple descriptions of place always build on a subtle sense of dread in her voice, “The sky between the branches looked like sunburn. It was twenty minutes through the snow and sumac before the dogs heard me and started braying against their chains.”

Linda’s is a vulnerable first-person voice, not in command of her world, but constantly open to its possibilities, for better or worse. As authentic as it gets.  

April is the kind of character everyone roots for. She’s sixteen and fending for herself after her crappy father abandoned her in a motor home with no engine.

Teens who grow up like April have grit built into their DNA, and when she takes off for a new life, she soars. The problem is, our past has a way of dragging us backward, and seeing April fight to keep the life and friends she’s built is what makes you keep turning the pages. Oh, and also, she has a beautiful skill. April can sing. 

Reading this book is akin to watching a flower bloom; you can’t help but be in awe.

Mai K. Nguyen pairs really tough topics: grief, loss, and overwhelming emotions with beautiful and soothing artwork and a little bit of magic. When Willow gets upset and runs off into the woods she meets Pilu, a lost wood sprite. Together, Willow and Pilu help each other learn to deal with their emotions and find their way home. I love that the reader can learn alongside the characters without feeling like they are being taught a lesson.

Bud is one of my absolute favorite middle grade protagonists. Equally heartbreaking and hilarious, Bud is determined to find his father, who he believes is a jazz musician. He embarks on a journey from Michigan out west, which vividly depicts life during the Great Depression. Bud’s honest account of the evils he encounters – racism, violence, and poverty – illuminates the tragedy and absurdity of racist ideologies and the suffering of so many.

Throughout the novel, Bud’s humor provides a beautifully child-like perspective that will delight readers. The novel also does a wonderful job of celebrating jazz and highlighting the ways that adversity can create strong bonds.

I remember reading this book as a ten year old and loving Bud’s determination to succeed despite the obstacles placed in his way. It’s historical fiction at its best. It will open readers’ eyes to historic wrongs captured through Bud’s preteen lens, while… show more.

For older readers, The Hideaway blends themes of domestic violence, difficult family life, community, environment, and care together. Besides an unbearable home life, we are shown how Billy, our main character, finds safety and space in the unlikely setting of a graveyard. His relationship with the old man he meets and the careful work they engage in, help maintain the old man's connection with the past, and Billy's connection with the present. Beautifully illustrated by Smy, and written by her also, this book celebrates the graveyard not as a spooky or scary site, but as a special place where we remember, connect with, and love those we have lost.

After I read this book, #1 in a trilogy, I wrote to the author (something I rarely do), enthusing about how much I loved almost-orphan Lucky and her inspiring, tragic, hopeful, and heartwarming story. Ten-year-old Lucky’s greatest fear is that she’ll end up in an orphanage following the death of her mother, leaving Lucky to be raised by her absentee father’s ex-wife, Brigitte.

I was drawn into the lives of each of the splendidly flawed, quirky, and very real people in Lucky’s life, but it’s Lucky herself who I fell in love with because she’s so believably innocent and imperfect, working hard, with the support of her friends of all ages, to find her way in her tiny world of Hardpan, population 43.

I liked the suspense baked into this story of a runaway girl, Bea. The entire novel was written in emails, mostly between her and her brother, Erza. Each exchange demonstrated their tight sibling bond and their unhappy home life since their parent’s divorce. 

Bea leaves home after receiving a mysterious Twitter message from who she believes is her birth father. She hasn’t seen her dad in years and lives far from him. The story centers on escaping her abusive stepfather, apathetic mother, and her need to reconnect with her father. But she’s taking a risk by meeting a stranger from Twitter. Could he really be her long-lost dad or someone else?