Books like Mudbound — picked by fans

I am a professional historian and have published both nonfiction and fiction. I present research in my academic books and spin that research into stories in my novels, but sometimes I wonder whether it doesn’t come out to the same thing–I interpret the evidence in light of my own experiences and look at it through the narrow lens of contemporary values. Is that so very different from making it up? That’s why I like to write (and read) novels that inquire into the nature of our conceptions and raise the question of whether there is such a thing as Truth with a capital T. 

After thirty years in corporate America, I retired to learn the craft of writing literary fiction—publishing my first novel at sixty-two. I write about characters faced with seemingly impossible situations whose choices ultimately reveal who they truly are. Through mindful self-awareness, I want readers to search within themselves to think about what they would do in a similar situation. These are five books that shaped my understanding of what literary fiction can do through deep characterization.

My grandfather dictated a number of oral histories shortly before he died and left a series of sketchy diaries of his education at Sul Ross University (then Sul Ross State Teachers' College) in Alpine, Texas. Many years later, I got interested in his life and went to Sul Ross University to the archives, where the librarians gave me countless oral interviews from the 1930s and documents about the Civilian Conservations Projects in the area, namely the establishment of Big Bend National Park and the Balmorhea State Park Swimming Pool. This ignited my interest in the 1930s Depression and the New Deal—how, in a very short time, the U.S. federal government established work relief programs to help thousands out of work. 

I was born in Birmingham, Alabama, and raised in Virginia, so I am very familiar with America’s southern lands and culture. The South—also known as the Deep South—is a unique part of America’s tapestry of identities, and I love books set in this locale. Southern literature tends to focus on themes such as racial politics, one’s personal identity, and rebellion. When I wrote my book, I knew the story would have to take place in the southern states. 

After completing the first draft of Monday Rent Boy, I was taken aback to discover a common theme running through all of my books: a focus on children in adverse situations. A Secret Music. The Ghost Garden. And now Monday Rent Boy. What holds paramount importance for me… is tracing the trajectory of the injured child as he or she navigates the journey toward adulthood…And…what does that path look like… what are the factors that help a person rise versus the ones that crush another? The more urgent answer to the question of why write? I came to see that certain subjects need to be written. And hopefully, read. 

During my 45 years of practicing law, I've learned that everyone has flaws, but we all still struggle to be recognized and accepted. I always ask my law clients why things have gone sideways because understanding the personalities involved and why they are in conflict is essential. This depth of understanding is equally necessary in the process of writing believable fiction. Characters and their conflicts must resonate with the reader. For me, as a writer, this is the essential challenge for writing good fiction. I can have imaginary conversations with any of my characters because they become very real personalities in my mind.

As a product of a Methodist preacher and a public school teacher, I learned about community early on. Church basements and living rooms were where I first saw what it means to show up for one another. My grandmother's faith steadied our family in uncertain times, and those lessons shaped me. In my career, I've had the privilege of working in South Africa, organizing in communities across the country, and serving in the White House. Each experience deepened my understanding of how fragile—and how powerful—our institutions can be. I’m drawn to books that wrestle with how we hold community together because I’ve learned that communities don’t hold themselves. We choose whether they endure.

I was a military spouse for 26 years. My husband was stationed at MCAS Cherry Point NC and MCB Camp Lejeune NC, both for two years. We (he and I and our four children) lived on the base. He also served two tours in Vietnam, just like Doreen’s husband, and also at Headquarters, Marine Corps later. The fictional Marine base and town where this takes place is modeled after Camp Lejeune and the adjacent town. I did see the same sign welcoming us to Klan country, on Easter Sunday morning 1972 and have never forgotten it. I also knew Queenie’s counterpart. This novel is in no way autobiographical—I was never as brave as Doreen. 

I am no expert on kindness—though more than twenty years at Sesame Workshop, working on a TV show that focuses on kindness, may give me a slight edge. And I am not unfailingly kind, though I try my hardest. But I am passionate about nurturing this quality in children. At the risk of sounding naive, I feel that it’s our last best hope of solving some of the world’s biggest problems.  

Growing up in a Kentucky coal-mining community, I enjoyed reading about the lives of other people and how their experiences differed from mine. I read biographies of famous people, such as Paul Revere or Stephen Foster, and an occasional memoir, such as Harlan Ellison writing about infiltrating a juvenile gang or David Gerrold revealing how he came to write for Star Trek. Fiction also took me to places that I had never seen. But something about a coming-of-age tale especially resonated with me and I hope these recommendations will help you make that same connection with how others have navigated the magic and miseries of childhood.