100 Books Like The Color of Water

Almost impossible to put down—this was the first book that made me physically feel the words.

I wouldn’t call it enjoyable in the usual sense; the experience was excruciating. But that’s exactly what makes it unforgettable. Hillenbrand’s prose, paired with the true story of Louis Zamperini’s plunge from Olympic track star to the unrelenting hell of a POW camp, smacks you off your cozy little couch and right into a world where Sleepytime tea, candles, and Netflix don’t exist.

What struck me most was how it captured not only the brutality of survival, but the stubborn, almost irrational resolve of the human spirit—and the possibility of forgiveness that would defy logic. This isn’t a book that’s light to hold—it’s grit, torment, and triumph in equal parts. I recommend it because it inspires without sugarcoating—harrowing and uplifting in the same breath.

For anyone who wants proof of just how deep the… show more.

It is a book that deep dives into a historical event, in this case, the 1893 World Columbian Exposition. Check. It is a nonfiction book that reads like a gripping thriller, in this case, the serial killer H.H. Holmes, who built a three-story building featuring secret rooms, torture chambers, and a crematorium. Check. Chicago leaps off the page. By the end of the book, I was able to envision the massive exposition, its hundreds of temporary buildings, all white colored, interlaced with ponds and canals.

Much like that exposition helped raise Chicago up from its Great Fire, so I could see a Chicago of the past, in a glorious triumph of industry and innovation. Oh, and yeah, a serial killer constructing a horrific murder building.

This novel is an immersive read with heaps of empathy for all its characters but especially for the two sisters whose perspectives are at the center of the story: the twin who disappears to live a secret life, passing as white, and the twin left behind.

We don’t get the perspective of Stella, the vanished twin, until 14 years after her disappearance, 150 pages into the book. By then, I was fully absorbed in the grief and unanswered questions of the people she’d abandoned, eager to finally know where she’d been all this time and to understand her complex motivations and the emotional and mental toll of relinquishing—and hiding—her racial identity, her community, her sister, and her past. I picked this book up and didn’t put it down until it was done.

Coates’s semi-autobiographical examination of life for black men in American society, and more broadly in American history, is an education. Like Zinn, Coates calls America on the hypocrisy inherent in its highest ideals and its most cherished conceits.

As Coates himself later said about Zinn, "He knocked me on my ass." The two - while not always on the same page in their critical examinations of the American experiment, are clearly kindred spirits. They both want America to do better and clearly believe it can do better if it is honest about itself - but will it be? This is the question left ominously dangling by both Zinn and Coates.

With polished language and measured pace, Blow tells a fascinating coming-of-age story of growing up in a small Louisiana town. As the youngest in a family of five boys raised by a schoolteacher mother, with the help of her extended family, he unveils his struggles with sexual identity and masculinity.

This is a readable and insightful memoir.

Michelle described her personal success and failures with honesty and engaging prose. This memoir is somehow similar to my life story. I have invited readers into my own world and talked about the experiences that have shaped my life: from my childhood in Motel Qu and Kelardasht to my student life and my several years of living in Tehran and eventually traveling to the United States as a health science scholar.

This is a deeply personal story that shows everyone can overcome the limitations and constraints of fate with effort and determination, and inspire people around the world.

I loved this book because it brought me into a the heart of Ward’s culture.

She brilliantly depicted the discrimination African-American men experience in America. Her love for her brother was endearing. I cried when she wove in the story of his death, and the deaths of other men she knew while growing up. 

This book is the perfect place to start.

At first glance, it’s a fantasy tale following a tribe of rabbits as they flee the destruction of their old warren to seek a new kingdom.

However, as the journey unfolds, it becomes more of an epic myth like The Odyssey or The Aeneid, both stories with historical roots. Indeed, each chapter starts with an epigraph from myth or history, enhancing the gritty tone.

Beware, Beatrix Potter fans: this is not a children’s tale. There are rabbit-on-rabbit battles. Meditations on rabbit romance. Deaths of beloved characters. Tense escapes. And, in the end, explorations of the meaning of life, both rabbit and human.

Much as I enjoyed the film based on this novella by Stephen King (which I now understand is a standalone book—I read it as part of a story collection long ago), I enjoyed the novella more.

Why? Because of its extraordinarily likeable narrative voice, which has caused people worldwide to find themselves rooting for its narrator. How can you not want to know what’ll happen next to someone so candid and down-to-earth—who has experienced homicide and love so intensely? Especially when he wants intimacy yet also feels threatened by it.

In fact, just after I finished reading the Shawshank novella, I vowed to write a novel about someone in NYC who exuded those same attributes: candor, humility, and understated yet solid wisdom about murder and affairs of the heart. And after several years of writing with this goal, I finally tapped into the voice of Matt Connell, the narrator of… show more.

I have bought multiple copies of One Drop as gifts for biracial family members, as well as friends.

Broyard is the daughter of Anatole Broyard, celebrated New York Times book critic in the 1960s and 70s. Only after his death did even his wealthy white wife and mixed children discover his Black heritage. The public—self included—was equally shocked.

Bliss Boyard researches his Louisiana roots, meets her Black cousins, and writes a fascinating, deeply personal story of “race,” showing its often bizarre contours as some family members may be classified as “white,” others “colored” or any number of other categorizations, from “octoroon” on.

A healing narrative, beautifully told.