100 Books Like My Father And Myself

The writer and poet Blake Morrison had a lifelong struggle to come to terms with his overbearing father.

Arthur Morrison, a Yorkshire doctor, was a smooth talker, a small-time cheat, who took pleasure in outwitting the authorities, living out his motto "I may not be right but I’m never wrong."

He was forever invading his children’s space, a habit which his son found painfully hard to resist, leading him to take up writing to escape this domineering influence. But when his father contracted cancer and lay dying, he was overwhelmed with grief and guilt.

It’s a moving, angry, and sometimes harrowing account of a dysfunctional relationship, which yet manages to be funny, and is written with poetic and humane grace. 

Michael Redgrave was a great actor who succeeded both in the classical theatre and as a popular film star. His son Corin, himself an actor, has written a deeply felt, tender, and sympathetic book about his father.

He is perceptive about his father's subtle skill as an actor and the basis of his lifelong socialism. But he struggled to understand his personal life, which was complicated by his bisexuality: although married for fifty years to the actress Rachel Kempson, he indulged in a series of affairs with men.

In later years, his acting career was cruelly cut short when he was struck by Parkinson’s disease. The illness brought the two of them closer, with Corin conveying movingly his love, respect, and admiration for his father.

The creator of Rebecca and Frenchman’s Creek first made her reputation as a writer with this brutally frank biography of her father.

Gerald du Maurier was one of the last actor-managers in the British theatre and the founder of a new naturalistic school of acting. In this compelling portrait, his daughter describes in detail his successful West End acting career and his years as manager of Wyndham’s theatre in London.

Her book contains some wonderful comic passages, but is most remarkable for its deep psychological insights into her father’s character. A needy man who hated to be alone, he was shocked by Daphne’s early desire to lead an independent life and turned against her. She lays out fairly his mass of contradictions, her writing already showing the talent that foreshadowed her later international fame as a novelist. 

Forty years after his father’s death, and now in his mid-seventies, the celebrated playwright and novelist Michael Frayn decided to write about his childhood before it vanished from his memory.

This quest into his past proved to become a powerful portrait of his father, a sales rep for an asbestos firm, and their constantly awkward relationship. He recalls with wry humour his father’s idiosyncratic behaviour – his reckless driving, his absurd penny-pinching, his ridiculous hopes for his unathletic son’s sporting abilities.

He paints a wickedly funny picture of suburban life in postwar London – a life shattered by his mother’s sudden death, an event which amazingly was never mentioned thereafter. For the author, it becomes a journey of self-discovery, during which he realises, despite his father’s many flaws, how much he has inherited from him. 

The descriptive writing in this book is beautiful and full of evocative metaphors and similes. Still, it’s the central relationship between the forthright Robin and the secretive, standoffish Edwin that keeps me re-reading it repeatedly.

Unlike the first few recommendations, we see Edwin’s POV, so we know straightaway why he feels the need to hide his true intentions and desires. We also get to experience his quiet, almost reluctant yearning as his and Robin’s shaky friendship turns into more. This one is a lovely, well-developed romance and generally an excellent historical fantasy with an interesting world-building and magic system.

I loved that this book’s inciting incident is the toppling of a many-tiered wedding cake of a British royal couple. The cause? The immature tussling of a prince and the U.S. president’s son? (Adults, mind you. They’re adults) And because of that, they have to pretend to be friends, pals, buddies.

And as with most fake-relationship-themed books, the fake friendship soon turns into real love. Even though both Alex and Henry are outrageously advantaged individuals, I saw them as people—people in love—and not as a representation of their class.

Perhaps the thing I love most about McQuiston’s writing is the idealism and hopefulness she brings to the story. The obstacles Alex and Henry must overcome are literally international and yet, she can boil their love down to the simplest of gestures—and make it seem realistic.

I read this while researching my novel and what an eye-opener it turned out to be. It draws on a rich source of resources and the personal testimonies of gay men in the mid-20th century. These are touching and sometimes upsetting as well as illuminating and clearly demonstrate how much more tolerant our culture has become.

I was really moved as well as fascinated and educated by this beautifully put together book.

It’s Oscar Wilde and the cast of Monty Python having an orgy on the set of Bridgerton–what’s not to love? 

Alexis Hall is an auto-buy author for us, and Something Fabulous is one of our favorites. It’s a hysterical romp–sexy and romantic but also deeply irreverent and laugh-out-loud funny. Chock full of shenanigans, relatable and diverse characters, and a fresh reimagining of Regency romance.

We love a grumpy duke. We love a chaotic, wide-eyed ward. We LOVE Sir Horley Comewithers and his questionable cabin in the woods. There’s a scene with a bee that has caused irreparable damage to our lungs and ribs. 

In this book, we get to watch philologist Percival Endicott Whyborne solve a dark mystery from his past and battle an evil cult in the company of Griffin Flaherty, an ex-Pinkerton turned private detective, and it is delightful.

Widdershins, MA feels like a real place, but also somewhere plucked directly from the pages of H. P. Lovecraft. Whyborne and Griffin’s relationship is sweet and tender. Whyborne’s best friend, Christine Putnam, is a spitfire in the best possible way. The early twentieth century is rendered in loving detail. And there’s a ton of dark humor. What’s not to love?

This is book one in a series of eleven, so you’ll have plenty to sink your teeth into.

I loved Hewitt’s writing style; it’s lush and intimate and deeply personal, and overall a heartwrenching queer memoir about loving someone who doesn’t want to love themselves anymore.

Trained as a poet, Hewitt has a knack for turning very mundane personal experiences into luminous scenes infused with spirituality.