100 Books Like NSFW

Many dystopian books focus on the horror and give us little information about the event that led to the situation. In this one, I loved that I got a lot of backstory; I liked getting to know the main character, Candace, and learning how she ended up in her predicament.

The details of her job in publishing was strangely fascinating, the mundanity of her work life set against the dystopia was a unique perspective, it was also filled with humor that I found refreshing.

This novel caught my eye for one simple reason—the protagonist attempts to destroy her society with a spreadsheet. Although a fantasy in which the modern world (even office life) is divided between heroes and villains, this novel lands on some brutal truths—like the difference between good and evil is mostly marketing and that some people will do anything for the right job. 

It’s a hilarious book that pokes fun at the most absurd bosses, the things we do for work, and the real harm a toxic workplace or system causes everyone. The supervillain/hero context provides food for thought without slowing the story down or causing work-related cold sweats.

I had to read this when it came out because it felt ripped from the headlines. Sarah Lai has left behind her Hollywood dreams of filmmaking for a quieter, simpler life. But a journalist reaches out and drags her past to the forefront by asking questions about Sarah’s experiences working with a celebrated producer. There have been… complaints. From women. A lot of women.

Sound familiar? This is a wholly fictional take on past events, but it also forces the reader to examine the ways in which we might be complicit in holding up systems, and what we can do to break bad patterns.

Engaging, timely, and I couldn’t put it down. Again, women find their voices and stand up for other women around them. That’s a narrative I can’t miss. 

We all have that one boss that we’re pretty sure is cursing our name and our work. In this book, the boss may just be an evil wizard who has actually cursed four women to hide his misdeeds.

What drew me in was the fairy-tale elements of this novel. Again, it’s set in a modern context but uses fantasy elements to drive home the absurdity of modern work culture and the horrors that women experience at work, no matter how good they may be at their jobs. Especially if they’re good at their jobs.

It’s also a powerful story about fierce and angry women who find common ground and work together to improve their collective situations. Anytime women work together to destroy an evil villain, I’m in. 

While other scholars have focused on how various definitions of womanhood influenced the formation of the United States’ political and legal systems, Mark Kann pays closer attention to how perceptions of manhood shaped the creation of the U.S. during the early republic. In A Republic of Men, Kann contends that the U.S.’s founders sought to establish a republic based on male authority and female subordination. During the early years of the republic, as Kann describes it, political and legal authorities connected white men to productivity and reason while linking all women to inherent weakness and dependency. I found Kann’s book especially helpful for understanding how American political and legal authorities sought to institutionalize rights and privilege for white men only. 

This unexpected discovery—the story of Meg of St. Michael’s Mead in the 14th century—exemplifies the best of what draws readers to historical fiction. First, there's the heroine, Meg, a young woman coming of age and marked by a facial disfigurement. Immediately, we understand her outsider status, her alienation, and her inevitable struggle against others' scapegoating.

This scapegoating stems not only from typical ignorance but also from the very real fears of the time that she might be a child of the Devil. Meg's life and journey are populated with memorable allies and enemies, but it's her determination to cultivate her talents in women's health—despite the opposition of the male medical elite—that lends her story contemporary relevance.

Samina is a rebel living in a traditional Pakistani community. I loved the tension between the expectations of her extended family set against her intellect and ambition. I found the quiet, subtle support of her mother really appealing, too.

It is a story steeped in drama and tragedy as well as triumph of the spirit. It opened my eyes, made me smile and made me weep. I thoroughly recommend this book for those readers who want quiet voices to be heard. 

The only male author on this list, Coleman Dowell’s Southern Gothic tale is included because it contains some of the most nuanced writing of female characters I’ve ever encountered. Too Much Flesh tells the narrative of a well-endowed farmer named Jim, his petite wife Effie, and a young man, Jabez, whose mutual obsession with Jim leads to, well, something of a frenetic climax. A story within a story, the tale is told to us by a “spinster schoolteacher” (the book was published in 1977), Miss Ethel, who channels her sexual repression into this story of the farmer.

Neither Miss Ethel nor Jim’s wife, Effie, come across as one-dimensional—they feel and act like real people on the page. Dowell himself was gay and deftly handles this queer narrative in a way that is somehow both quiet and stunning, and makes an interesting case study for the time period and genre. And… show more.

Right from the start, I was rooting for Ayana, who lives in this riverboat community in Arkansas. Her only support is her grandmother and brother, Lyle, while all the other men in her story are abusive and cruel. Sadly, no one seems to question their authority, and against this background, illiterate Ayana makes her play.

What I like about this story is the way it is written. At first, Ayana’s voice is presented in dialect, but as the story evolves and her mind clears, so does the text. This is a great structure that accurately represents Ayana’s blossoming personality. 

This book is about political intrigue and control. I was lured into austere Florentine rooms where, behind wooden panels, ears were listening to every conversation. In darkened medieval streets, I heard footsteps following footsteps, and in great palaces, men with power did as they pleased.

Katherine Mezzacappa has captured the oppressive mood beautifully, setting the scene for the lovely Guilia to emerge and change everything. Her innocence evolves into wisdom, keeping me, the reader, totally engaged and hoping for her salvation.