Books like Orange Is the New Black — picked by fans

First of all, this book is hilarious. Second of all, it made me cry.

A trans woman leaving a men’s prison? After twenty years inside? With nowhere to go that will meet the requirements of her parole? Never mind meeting her requirements in the way of wardrobe. So this novel was quite a ride for me, right from page one. Although I have nothing in common with Carlotta, I somehow found myself identifying with her, and I was hooked. I can’t explain it.

I’m fussy about grammar and punctuation—until this book, which had my head spinning with mid-sentence switch-ups between first person and third person, between prison-speak and whatever I speak, between using and not using punctuation and sentence structure. I loved every minute, every sentence.

This was the first book I ever read dealing with life in prison, and it took me into a world way beyond my own.

The prisoner who wrote it was, like me, a corporate office worker (although unlike me, he killed someone). This book took me right into prison with him, directly from the courtroom. I could feel and hear and see and smell this utterly alien place, this community of people that has its own structure and its own rules, and where nothing that worked in your past life has any relevance.

A big part of why I love this book is the humor in the author’s outlook and writing style—so I got to laugh occasionally, especially when he would describe trying to apply his MBA training to the situations he encountered on the inside. 

I loved the characters in this novel, both the “ordinary” people and the quirky ones. And the non-human ones.

I loved how each character’s backstory and front story came out over time and sometimes merged and sometimes stayed quiet. I loved how the main and minor plots merged and separated and did not always go where I thought they would go. I loved that the story sometimes seemed predictable, and then, like real life, didn’t go as planned.

Most of all, I love how the author constructed a novel about a tough subject that didn’t drag me down into hopelessness and also didn’t turn out all sunshine and kittens. As a bonus, I learned some pretty cool things about parrots.

Allen Eskens is adept at melding literary fiction with crime, mystery, suspense, and psychological thriller.

In this book, his lawyer-protagonist (Boady) is trying to save two unrelated people: the teen-aged Emma, but also Elijah, who is locked up in a psychiatric hospital, convicted of murder. And he has to save himself.

I love how these stories are interwoven, how Boady struggles with family, his work with the Innocence Project, and his own grief, fears, and failings. I found the Elijah story especially gripping—to save Elijah, he must unpick the knots that keep Elijah from helping himself, and at the same time he must gently undo brainwashing at the hands of a devious aunt.

A masterful book about a tough subject.

Separated from her young son, Romy Hall is serving two consecutive life sentences for killing a customer from the Mars Room, a strip club where she’d been dancing. Brilliantly written with compassion and dry, dark humor, the book explores Romy’s relationships with her fellow prisoners and the despair, dangers, and absurdities of life behind bars.

I loved this novel’s gritty texture, its sentences, its characters, and how it forced me to think more deeply about why and how we incarcerate people. The final sequence in Muir Woods is heart-pounding, wondrous, devastating, and strangely hopeful.

I love this book because it reminded me that we are more than our worst mistake.

Good, smart people do bad, dumb things—and sometimes end up in prison. I heard stories like this every day when I ran a program for formerly incarcerated students on my college campus, but never told as eloquently as the one Love Hardin writes.

Her story is raw, and her transformation feels earned rather than tidy. Plus, she offers an important insider's view of the criminal justice system, one that left me fired up about how the system could do better.

I returned to Love Hardin’s examples of resilience when I advised my own students—when I encouraged them to strive for success. Her memoir filled me with hope and compassion.

For me, this is a powerful memoir that chronicles her remarkable journey from a life marked by trauma and incarceration to one of empowerment and activism. After experiencing profound loss and systemic injustices, Susan transforms her pain into purpose, advocating for the rights of women affected by the criminal justice system.

Through resilience and determination, she not only rebuilds her own life but also inspires countless others to break free from cycles of despair. This inspirational narrative highlights the strength of the human spirit and the transformative power of hope, reminding us that change is possible, even in the face of adversity.

Sarah Waters is one of my all-time favorite authors, and this book did not disappoint.

From the story’s opening pages, I experienced the unsettling sense that something was not quite right. The story barrels along with enough twists to make you wonder if you’ve landed in the territory of Charles Dickens, which in a way you have, because this is Victorian London and there’s a prison and questionable loyalties, to say nothing of a séance gone wrong.

I happily went on this ride, even though it got downright creepy at points.

We don’t usually hear about the toll that incarcerating a mother, a daughter, or a sister takes on the family left behind. Michelle Horton’s beautiful memoir gives us access to that experience. Horton’s life was upended after her sister, Nicole Addimando, was arrested for killing her partner in self-defense.

Horton documents the next several years of their lives as she, her parents, her son, and Nicole’s children (who Horton took guardianship of while Nicole was in prison) navigated Nicole’s arrest, trial, and imprisonment. Illustrative in the mechanics of putting together a successful survivor-defense campaign, it is heartbreaking and infuriating in its description of the toll Nicole’s prosecution took on the family.

Prisons were originally built for men (really, white men), not for women. But women were sent to prison, just not in big enough numbers to merit their own facilities until much later. Women were also viewed as a difficult population by reformers and prison administrators alike: Women who committed crimes were deemed so morally repugnant that they could not be rehabilitated, so the routines and purposes of prisons seemed not to apply to them (prisons were originally supposed to rehabilitate their prisoners).

As a small and unprofitable population (because they were assigned unprofitable labor like sewing and laundry), women prisoners were considered especially burdensome. Using the prison histories of three differently situated states, Rafter describes the experiences of incarcerated women and how those experiences were shaped by their unique position and the biases about women criminals.