100 Books Like Tangerine

When I lounge on the beach at an exclusive Caribbean resort, I typically lift my Pina Colada in a toast to my ancestors before taking my first sip. Vanessa Riley’s book increased my respect for the exploited and enslaved black women who lived in the Caribbean during the late 18th and early 19th centuries.

My heart broke with the emotional and psychological trauma and physical dangers that Doll endured to save herself and her children. The intrigue and suspense kept me riveted, constantly wondering how Doll would overcome her challenges. Riley tells a beautiful story of the least likely underdog, Dorothy "Doll" Kirwan Thomas, who survived despite the injustices and became one of the Caribbean's wealthiest and most influential entrepreneurs.

Give me an array of spicy Indian food, a handsome hero, and a good Bollywood movie, and I’m set for the evening. But this book transported me to a different period in Indian history. I teetered on a cliff's edge as the intrigue and drama of Lin’s tale unfolded. 

The story moves from one heart-stopping incident to another as it transitions through the gritty criminal underworld, congested streets, and overcrowded slums of India in the 1980s. It gripped me from the beginning and kept my earpods glued to my ears until the end. It was one of the most compelling biographies I’ve ever listened to.

Nigeria is the largest country in Africa and is filled with conflicting and contrasting customs, rituals, and institutions that have tentacles that reach deep into its modern society. I find it hard to close a gripping psychological thriller. Still, in this book, even Philip Taiwo, the criminal psychologist sent to investigate the murders of three college students, has psychological problems of his own that have to be addressed. 

I love books that use the psychology of human behavior as the basis to unravel a crime. In this book, I glimpsed a sector of Nigerian society I didn’t know existed. Kayode’s book was filled with heart-thumping intrigue and so many twists and turns that I couldn’t stop listening.

I find it hard to resist stories about female gangsters. Heather Webb scoured the pages of history to tell the story of a gang of kick-ass bad girls called the Forty Elephants led by the infamous ‘Diamond Annie’ in London in 1925. 

What I loved about the story was that while Annie was fighting for respect in London’s male-dominated crime world, the first female detective at Scotland Yard assigned to bring them to justice was fighting for respect in the law enforcement profession.

Intelligent, unapologetic, and fearless women are my kind of girls, and Annie and her gang demonstrate true sisterhood as they rise to become Britain’s first female crime syndicate.

The books I like about certain places tend to be written by people who have not been born and raised there. It’s because the author has detachment, which makes their sense of observation all the keener. But, best books about places seem to be by authors who have some ancestral connection to that place. It’s as though they’re attached to it through their genes. Saeida Rouass, was born in London to Moroccan parents. From the very first line on the very first page of her book Assembly of the Dead, you can feel she’s not English, but rather that she’s connected by some magical alchemy to Morocco, the land of her ancestors. Rouass is a dazzling writer, one who bridges East and West in the most exceptional and unusual way.

The Berber village of Tadrar clings to the steep slopes of the High Atlas. Lives are hard.

Women, men and children labor to bring precious water to homes, fields, and byres, to coax barley from narrow terraces, keep houses warm, feed families, tend the sick, and support the mosque and school. Most younger people go to the city for work, at least for a while, sending money home to help their families. 

So how do families and individuals view their options, their place in the village and in the world?

Vivid interviews and observations stud Crawford’s affectionate and perceptive account of how people in Tadrar decide to become involved in the larger world economy, and their views on what it does for them and to them. 

This book is so intelligent that it gave me chills, but it’s also a literary page-turner. I adored the married couple at the center of the story for trying to use their very big brains to solve the problem of the emptiness they were feeling, which, spoiler alert, didn’t work, but it did lead to clever dialogue and some profound observations.

One of the themes in the book has to do with time, and the quote that haunts me the most is, “How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.” Somehow, this nihilistic book left me marveling at the preciousness of life.

When we talk about the need to read Jewish history in the Middle East within its original context, and within the understanding that Jews lived among non-Jews, interacted with non-Jews, and had a tremendous influence on their respective societies, from time to time, we need to change the perspective and see how their non-Jewish compatriots viewed them and remember them. In this book, Aomar Boum recorded the ways in which the Muslims of Morocco remember the large Jewish communities that lived in that country for millennia and shrunk to a fraction of their former self after 1956-1967. This book allows us to examine multiple perspectives simultaneously. The national and colonial identities, the essence of Middle Eastern Zionism, and the place of the memory of Jews after they had left in the modern societies.

Daniel Schroeter’s The Sultan’s Jew focuses on the colorful life of Me'ir Macnin (d. 1835), an ambassador-at-large for two successive Moroccan sultans. Schroeter uses Macnin’s life to discuss three main topics: the relationship between Jews and Muslims in Morocco; the relationship between Moroccan Jews and the Sephardic world beyond; and Morocco’s relationship with Europe. Macnin’s ambassadorial stint in London, which eventually saw him become the president of the city’s main synagogue, also allows Schroeter to talk about the complexities of Jewish life in Britain and of Sephardic/Ashkenazic rivalries. The power of Schroeter’s work is in presenting a sophisticated political and socio-economic study through the lens of a gripping biography.

Jane Green is an icon in every sense, and this is my absolute favorite of her many bestselling books. I love stories with a strong sense of place, stories that transport me. This book does just that, whisking the reader to a forgotten scene from the Swinging 60s, an ex-pat community in Marrakesh once frequented in real life by the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Yves Saint Laurent, and other luminaries of the era.

The narrator is an outsider who falls under the spell of Talitha Getty, a magnetic actress and model who presides over the whole swirling scene. This novel feels like the literary equivalent of a starry summer night.