100 Books Like Miss Ophelia

Once upon a time, I was the founder and president of a book club, Literary Ladies Alliance. Many moons ago, LLA chose Sugar as our monthly reading selection. I was absolutely floored by this unlikely, unconventional heroine of the same name as the novel set in a small southern town that wasn’t ready for this seductive storm, i.e. Sugar. I found her shockingly bold and beautifully unapologetic despite her disreputable past and “questionable morals.” She hungered for love, endured dangerous risks and scandal; and yet for me, Sugar moved with an air of voluptuous freedom that captivated my church girl imagination and respect. While Dianne McKinney Whetstone is my favorite author, Sugar is undoubtedly my favorite novel! I’ve read the book twice and would readily devour it again for its captivating journey back in time and its uncharacteristic, boldly unforgettable heroine. 

While the minute details of the plot may have faded, I still recall the feelings Sisterhood left me with, its essence. As the middle of three daughters, sisterhood is highly important to me. Although the women in the book weren’t biologically connected, their bond and unification were definite. I consider our protagonist Bonnie Wilder (despite her own personal challenges), her best friend, Thora, and the women of Blackberry Corner heroic in their efforts to rescue abandoned children—thus, touching on another topic important to me: motherhood. If you like small-town stories with lively, colorful characters, historical references, and a touch of drama dive into The Sisterhood of Blackberry Corner. The sense of satisfaction I felt when reading it remains with me still. 

Clearly, I’m a fan of small, southern town tales depicting amazing African American females who make magic out of the injustices stacked against them. Well, meet Maggie Wiggins. She and her best friend, Hubert, turn life tragedies and situations into a “perfectly suited” marriage of deception. Outwardly, they live an enviable existence; but only they know the cost of their happiness. I love Mary Monroe’s ability to infuse humor into the most chilling situations, as well as her small town cosmoses and complicated, “countrified” characters. They frustrate me to no end, yet I find myself rooting for them, just as I rooted for Maggie to win. She does in the end but at such a horrific cost that I’ll never look at a bowl of gumbo the same way again. 

I’ve always been an avid reader despite not having peer-aged characters who resembled or represented me when I was a child. Fast forward to when my children were little: suddenly, there existed a plethora of African-American children’s literature. With pure delight, I indulged my little ones in magnificent books featuring characters that reflected them. Want to know a secret? I read those books for myself as well as for them. Recently, when finding a young African American girl at the center of Looking for Hope, I felt a delightful connection with my inner child. Make no mistakes. The young protagonist, Hannah “Mouse” Maynard, endures a horrific life event that alters her existence, interrupts her innocence, and thrusts her into a perilous, mature journey that fails to diminish her abiding sweetness. 

This is based on the true story of the author’s mother, and it shows a side of Muhammad Ali that not many know about.

Muhammad Ali is scheduled to visit Langston’s neighborhood and he is excited to finally meet his hero. Langston is inspired by Muhammad’s rhyming poetry. When he tries to enter the venue, a security guard stops them. When all hope is lost, Langston turns to find Muhammad Ali himself intervening. He brings them in as his personal guests at his event.

A History of Me is a poetically-told story of trial and struggle, but ultimately of triumph and celebration of self. This book is deeply rooted in the author’s experience as a Black child who attended a predominantly white school. Yes, I love this book for its words and illustrations, but I also love it because I share the same experience. This book is one I wish I could hand to the child I once was. Theodore directly addresses the challenges but also provides encouraging words of connection to past generations. These words empower the little girl in the story and readers who find themselves in this book. We need more stories that consider the impact racial injustice can have on identity formation. A History of Me is one such story. 

I loved Ayo, this book’s fourteen-year-old main character. She’s burnt out on activism, having been raised by a famous activist mom fighting for Black rights in America. All Ayo wants is to take a break and live a normal teen life. This makes so much sense to me—why do people who are at a disadvantage have to spend their time fighting for basic rights—what if they just want to spend their time making art or writing books like selfish white dudes are free to do?

But when something terrible happens at a big march, Ayo skipped, all the education and activist spirit her mom drilled into her no longer feels like a burden. I loved how she figured out she wanted to fight and really came into her own.

It begins when “Nell picks up a seed.” First, there’s a sprout that needs soil and water and sun. The sprout grows, is replanted, and grows some more. Eventually, Nell’s sprout becomes a towering tree enjoyed by her extended close-knit family. 

Evocative, rhythmic text leads readers between the here and now of young children climbing Nell’s full-grown pecan tree, and the “before,” when Nell, a child herself, tended the seed, ensuring it would thrive. Rich illustrations add warmth and layers to this tender story about the ways we share ourselves with the family that remains once we are gone.

This book is a real joy to read, with a particular story of a particular family but a universal feel to it. It could be my story or yours. The illustrations have the charm of the eighties, but the story doesn’t feel dated, and it is really inspirational to get quilting or think about which pieces of fabric I would use to tell my family’s story.

This biography of Louis Martin, sometimes called the “Godfather of Black Politics,” provides a brilliant portrayal of a Black political leader who worked as a close adviser to three Democratic presidents.

Louis Martin was a journalist who worked for the Chicago Defender and in 1936 became founding editor of Detroit’s Michigan Chronicle. Martin was an activist journalist. In 1944, he moved to New York to work as publicity man for the Democratic National Committee. Martin never left Democratic Party politics. He worked in the White House as a close adviser for John F. Kennedy, Lyndon B. Johnson, and Jimmy Carter.

Poinsett is a good storyteller. He explores what it was like for one of the first Black Americans to be close to power as a top aide in the White House to three U.S. presidents.