100 Books Like The Ground Beneath Her Feet

This novel made me feel like a hungry young rock star. That’s no small accomplishment (let alone via such electric prose), but really, it didn’t feel like fiction. It felt like an intimate docudrama of a world-conquering British rock band whose music, somehow, magically, I already knew and loved.

That’s really what astounded me the most: the music and the musical protagonists were incredibly real. As a story of the rock-and-roll life, I think it’s up there with all the great memoirs, like Keith Richards’s Life. (Disclaimer: this is absolutely a standalone novel, but if you’ve read Mitchell’s earlier novels, namely Cloud Atlas and The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, prepare for some astonishing easter eggs and callbacks.)

When I was a teenager, I would have felt very much at home at the vintage record store in London where this story is set. (In fact, my hometown is named London, except my London is in Canada.) The quirky clerks who work there adore their boss, Rob Fleming, and spend their days attempting to outwit one another with music trivia and compiling funny and far-reaching Top Five lists.

As Rob negotiates a recent breakup, he must sort through his ex-girlfriend’s belongings and the emotional baggage he’s collected over the years. Though Rob is an adult, this still feels like a coming-of-age tale. I came away from the book resonating with the bittersweet awareness of what it means to become an adult with a list of careers if time and money were no object.

“She sang as if she was saving the life of every person in the room.” This quotation. This is why I love this book. The character in reference, Roxanne Coss, is a world-famous soprano caught in a hostage situation, but for me, it was impossible to read that line without realizing—without immediately understanding—that, oh, this is what makes a singer truly transcendent.

Not vocal range or records sold, but their willingness to sacrifice themselves on stage, momentarily, for our pain. It’s perfect. Heartbreaking and perfect, as is the entire novel. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

I can think of few books in the English language with more music in the prose. Certainly, I could describe how devastating it was to journey through this story of madness, radical artistic talent, and the birth of jazz. And yes, I could describe how Buddy Bolden’s very existence seems as heartwrenching as the cornet notes he plays.

But really, for me, it’s the music of Ondaatje’s language—not the song lyrics printed on the page, but the rhythm and poetry that transforms the story into its own tragic song. It’s an absolute wonder.

This novel broke my heart so many times. It did so with beautiful and subtle prose, with its astonishing depiction of tragedy and loss, and with its magical insistence that the music we make can outlive us all. But what broke my heart the most in Thien’s novel is the reminder, or perhaps the revelation, of how much art’s existence depends on an unpredictable, ever-shifting, uncaring, brutal world.

It was staggering, watching generations of a family of musicians fight through a century of political turmoil in China and not knowing if they, and the music, would survive. But I loved it. This novel is a marvel.

I read fiction to experience the delicious sensation of seeing the world through a protagonist’s eyes—the exhilarating leap into another time and place. As a teen, I often daydreamed about bumping into a favorite music performer. Part coming-of-age tale, part fish-out-of-water adventure, this novel follows innocent and strait-laced Mary Jane as she gets a crash course in how other people live when a famous rock star and his movie-star wife check into rehab at the house where she’s working as a summer nanny.

I shared Mary Jane’s sense of awe and curiosity and admired the grit and care she brought to the often out-of-control adults around her. This novel is a joy to read and a masterclass in character creation and development—I recommend it for aspiring and experienced writers.

I have a soft spot for books about writers, the journey to becoming one, and the creative life in general. This book surprised me and delighted my writerly heart, especially when protagonist Dani decides to write letters to her favorite Black women writers about a secret she’s afraid to share with her family. When a DJ friend dares her to fall in love with him in just three days, this gritty, urban, and heart-rending story unexpectedly takes on a rom-com energy that just works. 

As a social-emotional learning researcher, I was also wowed by how this writing/music/personal trauma narrative explores various forms of love: platonic, familial, romantic, and self-love. 

I spend hours listening to my favorite songs on repeat until they feel like a part of me. Musicians take this obsession even further, practicing a song until muscle memory takes over—their hands instinctively shaping the melody. Dylan Woods, the novel’s protagonist, is a devoted violinist, and there are many excellent passages in this book about what music means to her.

When her childhood friend Langston—now an R&B chart-topper—comes back into her life, the blend of music and budding romance keeps me turning pages. But this book ultimately made my list because of Dylan’s exploration of identity. Like Dylan, I was adopted and resonated with Davis’s portrayal of the struggle to belong. 

I loved Ella Shane who rose from Lower East Side poverty to success.

She directs and performs in her own opera company – most unusual for a woman in 1899, even in New York. Never forgetting where she came from, she is grateful for all she’s achieved. In this first of a three-part series, Ella turns sleuth after one of her young singers dies mysteriously onstage.

When the singer’s cousin (a Duke, no less) arrives to investigate, the promise of romance is definitely in the air. The contrast between late 1890s protocols versus the changing attitudes of the coming new century is fascinating. The main characters are beautifully and compassionately drawn, and the story has an action-packed finale.

Patti Smith’s book beautifully chronicles her intense and formative friendship with the groundbreaking artist Robert Mapplethorpe as they navigated the vibrant and often gritty art scene of late 1960s and 1970s New York City.

Theirs wasn’t a fairytale romance, but a complex, evolving bond between two flawed yet undeniably brilliant creatives. Reading about their struggles, their artistic pursuits within the legendary Chelsea Hotel, and the wider New York City scene evoked a strong sense of nostalgia for me, a time and place I've always found artistically inspiring.

The exploration of their creative partnership, the push and pull between them as individuals finding their artistic voices, is something I’ve often yearned for but haven’t quite experienced in such a profound way.