100 Books Like The Collected Poems of William Carlos Williams

This remains one of the most haunting novels I have ever read. I cannot shake the character of Judge Holden, a formidable man both physically and intellectually, who deploys his insidious intellect to justify acts of abject violence seemingly only for the sake of violence itself. I was mesmerized by a world where “all covenants were brittle.” This was no straight-up Western as I had expected. It was something more.

McCarthy pushed the boundaries of the classic Western by challenging the notion that good will ultimately overcome evil and the hero will save the day. There was no hero here, and the day was truly lost to forces beyond the characters’ control, hallmarks of the Southern Gothic tradition. I was hooked on this curious blend of genres!

The famous opening lines of this book are: “I came to Comala because they told me my father, a man called Pedro Páramo, lived here.” I’ve heard many Mexicans quote the opening paragraph in Spanish. Gabriel García Márquez, the Nobel Prize-winning Columbian writer, claimed he could recite the entire book forwards and backward.

Rulfo’s short novel influenced all Latin American fiction written after it. Ghostly, innovative, and mystical, the book takes place in an imaginary desert, a place of barren fields, dusty roads, and cracked earth that mirrors the desolation haunting all of its characters.

Not in the best of shape but energized by their imaginations, two friends set out with an overabundance of gear (including two eight-thousand dollar cameras, batteries, solar panels, and all sorts of other accessories) to hike all of the 750-mile Grand Canyon.

Starting in the Sonora Desert to the east, they plan to walk along the Great Basin Desert ecosystem of the canyon floor, shambling westward into the Mojave Desert. The heat—bouncing back and forth between canyon walls—reaches 120 degrees, hot enough to “denature and congeal” human blood. What could go wrong?

Fedarko writes about the riveting adventure (an adventure in both hiking and friendship) with humility and grim humor.

Mary Austin’s truly remarkable book is set in the Mojave and Great Basin Deserts of California. Austin, who (like me) had degrees in science and literature, developed a deep interest in both ecological issues and indigenous practices, particularly those of the Paiute and Hopi.

In this book of poetic, lyrical essays, her finely-tuned attentiveness to the land as a dynamic ecosystem and her accounts of the dialogue between humans and non-humans foreground a major trajectory in environmental literature and advocacy.

Austin has an unaffected, clear-eyed style that blends philosophy, natural history, and storytelling. First published in 1903, the book remains remarkably relevant and moving.  

I could have picked almost any of Bowden’s books on the border, for example, the excellent Murder City, but I’m choosing Laboratory of the Future as it’s the first piece of his writing I came across. Bowden, who lived on both sides of the US/Mexican border for many years, was intimate with his subject, and the brutal power of his journalistic writing puts most novelists to shame. He is not afraid to question us or confront us, or hide his anger, but it is never unwarranted. In this book, he, and the thirteen Mexican photographers whose frequently shocking images accompany the text, paints a grim picture of the nature of ultra-capitalism when allowed to run free just south of the border – it is, he says, an experiment: it is the laboratory of our future.

On May 20, 2004, a relatively “ordinary” teenager and two of his friends murdered his mother, his father, and his little sister. Unraveling the triple murder, investigative journalist Sandra Rodríguez Nieto paints a brilliant portrait of Ciudad Juárez in 2004 – a city just about to become the world’s murder capital. However, even before it became the central battleground for Mexico’s competing organized crime groups, Juárez fostered a milieu of violence, rooted in impunity. In beautiful prose, Rodríguez Nieto argues that Vicente and his friends were practically driven to murder by an overwhelming sense of impunity, which “taught us that any and every savage crime was fair game.” This book is not so much about the so-called “drug war” as it is about the social world it has come to inhabit.

Tara Lopez suggests something new, prioritizing punk’s diverse expression over its tired origin myths. By turning our attention to the 1990s El Paso scene that produced bands like At the Drive-In, Lopez gives us a granular, expressive take on all the things that draw us to punk: its liberatory potential, DIY ethos, and ability to impact individual lives.

Through accessible oral histories, we get a sense of how vital punk rock could be against the backdrop of border politics and in a scene off the beaten path where DIY takes on new meanings. As a punk-curious 90s adolescent myself who listened in on El Paso from Austin, Dallas, and South Texas, this account resonated deeply—there was much that was familiar, but even more to learn. 

Though not a graphic book per se, El Toro & Friends (a spin-off series of Raul the Third’s bilingual Richard Scarry-inspired Vamos books) has wonderful messages of friendship and working together, but with the added fun of masked luchador wrestlers!

El Toro and his wrestling friend La Oink Oink have marvelous, exciting adventures together. Raul’s illustrations, and Elaine Bay’s colors, will have readers coming back to these books over and over.

Texas schools do an incredible job of acculturating their students in Texas history. The school system starts by telling the story of true Texans. Unfortunately, some of those tales were what we called “stories.” 

In college, I took a course called The History of Mexico. The course book used by Professor Macias (if I remember his name correctly) was a small book, less than 200 pages, called The Compact History of Mexico. What a wonderful course and wonderful book. 

I have not looked at the book in years, even though I ordered a copy when writing this. I felt like a child reading the book, being told a different story than I had been told over the years, providing to me – a black student – the why and how history and both sides of a story are so important. Always feeling left out of the discussion, hearing a distorted… show more.

A formerly comfort-seeking Brit takes a very difficult walk around Baja and learns a lot about himself, and of course, about this “desert place.”

What’s not for me to like in a story like that? There is adventure and struggle, but also plenty of humor, and the thread that binds it all together is the author’s dawning love for a land that became his special place.

Mackintosh is still living much of the time in Mexico and has written five more books about Baja, burros, beer, and even dogs, but this adventurous paean to the peninsula will always have a special place in my heart, because I read it when I was newly in love with Baja myself.