100 Books Like The Cider House Rules

When I read this book as a young lawyer in reproductive rights in the 1990s, it resonated deeply with the daily bias that I witnessed against my clients. Decades later, a highlight of my book tour was being invited to do a talk with Professor Roberts at the Free Library of Philadelphia. Dorothy Roberts’ exploration of “race, reproduction and the meaning of liberty” is powerful.

Her writing clearly lays out how restrictions on abortion, parenting, and access to basic health care are shaped by and also perpetuate American racism. This book inspired me to work for equity and reproductive freedom for all, and hopefully, it will continue to do so for others, too. 

Like the other books on the list, The Shining felt personal, more like something that was happening to me than a story I was reading.

Like Jack, I could feel myself hanging on while the menace around me grew more real, more concrete. And more overwhelming. Even today, I can feel the terror of losing control, of becoming part of the menace, part of the threat to everything of meaning and value. Snowbound with horror, and Spring will never come.

This novel won the National Book Award and it’s easy to see why. Written by a Native author about reservation life, it discusses a crime that occurred that—like many reservation crimes—went unsolved for a long time.

The book is informative and compelling, and it weaves Native practices and culture into the story. I found it particularly interesting because it includes characters and themes that resonated with my experiences.

I’ll admit it—Jodi Picoult gets me in the feels every single time. But this was the one that hooked me. I thought I knew what I’d do if faced with the choice to conceive a child to save another. Simple, right? You save your kid.

But this story unraveled all my assumptions. It made me pause and really consider the perspective of the child conceived for a purpose. Then it threw the whole family into court—and suddenly, I was questioning everything again. I found myself discovering new values I didn’t even know I held.

This book didn’t just move me—it changed me.

This notorious 1969 Roth novel is a monologue of a self-loathing and sexually repressed Jewish man to his psychologist.

He recounts in excruciating detail his efforts to escape his parents’ interference in his life and his lifelong obsession with bedding a "shiksa" (non-Jewish woman). Portnoy’s rants are brilliant, vulgar, and entertaining – though the cultural references are dated and female readers might become incensed at the demeaning descriptions of “Monkey” (the shiksa he finally beds).

In a story I wrote, a man facetiously asks his female friend whether Carrie Bradshaw’s neuroticism and sexual dalliances would make her the “female Portnoy.” Both are insightful, emotionally needy, and charming characters. Behind this novel’s sexual humor is a complex portrait of a man trapped by his own obsessions.

The Risk Pool shows the importance of accepting and loving our fathers for who they are instead of resenting them for who they never could be. Sam Hall, the irresponsible wreck of a dad in this warm-hearted and funny book, is by any definition a terrible father, yet his relationship with his son Ned feels real in ways that most fictionalized father-son relationships don’t. Forced to care for Ned when Ned’s mother is hospitalized with mental illness, Sam introduces his son to pool halls, bars, bookies, drunks, and the occasional petty crime. Though aware of his father’s many faults, Ned can’t help but be charmed by Sam’s easy-going life, and even when Sam disappears for years, the bond remains strong.  

As we grow into our lives, we become more like our fathers than we ever thought. This memoir is equal parts anger and love, Dubus II writing about growing up in rough working-class Massachusetts towns with a father, the well-known short story writer Andre Dubus, only a partial presence in his life. Dubus II’s rage is channeled through his fists as he assumes the roles of neighborhood brawler and family protector. Andre II is drawn to his father’s violent tendencies but also to the sensitive perception that helped Andre become an acclaimed writer. As he punches his way through life, Andre II learns to forgive, fusing aspects of his father’s character into his adult self.  

I like this because it reveals the dichotomy between what people say and what they do. People think words tell you about a person. What if everything they say is lies? Sally Rooney does that thing I love–she gives you clues as to why people do the things you don’t understand.

She writes imperfect heroes and heroines. You don’t like them, but then you understand them and root for them. A damaged girl who lives in pretense can’t manage life when she no longer has to pretend anymore. So she reverts to self damage rather than expose the chance of total destruction because if she choses what heals she may get destroyed when the expectation of safety gets shattered.

Why give something a chance when life says it never works out? Doing what she’s always done may hurt her, but at least she’s assured of the outcome. The… show more.

There are three things that Americans try to avoid talking about: sex, money, and death. This book takes us on a journey to explore the meaning of life and how we find wisdom in its endings.

Examining our habits, culture, and rituals it shows us different ways to face loss. As someone who has never liked to peer too closely into the dark cave to explore the meaning of death, I found the book gently and intelligently leading me by the hand into thinking about loss. Reading it even helped me to reconcile the pain of my mother’s loss and death by Alzheimer’s, shifting my focus to the parts of her that remain with and as a part of me.

I highly recommend it to all humans! 

I loved this book because it doesn’t pretend that ethical decision-making is clean or easy—it acknowledges the mess and dives right in. I’ve always found myself frustrated by how people talk about ethics like it’s obvious or binary: “I would always do this” or “I’d never do that.” But real life isn’t like that, and this book knows it.

Reading it felt strangely comforting, like someone finally said out loud that these choices are hard—and that it’s okay to struggle with them. It reads like self-help in the best way. I didn’t just come away feeling smarter; I came away knowing myself better. It helped me clarify my values and gave me language for the quiet tug-of-war that happens inside when I’m facing a tough call.