100 Books Like The Half-Sisters

Hester, which came out in 1883, follows two central figures: Miss Catherine, an older woman who runs a bank – in itself quite a surprise to find in a Victorian novel – and Hester, her young relation, who is bored with her dull, ladylike life and wants something more.

What she really wants is to work, as Catherine does, but Catherine is determined that the bank will pass to a man. The novel focuses on their strained relationship – strained partly because they are so very alike. There’s so much I love about Hester, but I especially enjoy how it undermines and undercuts Victorian tropes about the novel and what is and isn’t a happy ending for a female character. It’s an absolutely fascinating read.

That’s right—Charles Dickens! I laughed, I cried, I stomped my feet.

I’ve been in a Dickens reading group since the pandemic and am constantly amazed by how funny he is. His scenes are so colorful and alive that they play like brilliant movies in your brain. In other works, Dickens has some saccharine father-daughter pairs who can induce an eye roll, but in this book his bone-chilling father made me sit up. 

The icy-hearted Paul Dombey dotes on his sweet but feeble young son while completely ignoring his adorable and kind little daughter, who barely gets any scraps of his affection. We daughters read on, waiting for the Scrooge-like Dombey to learn his lesson over the course of the novel. Don’t ignore your daughters, dammit!—Oh, did I say that aloud?

Jill is a little-known but fascinating novel from 1884 about a young woman who, bored of her upper-class life, runs away from home to become a maid.

Jill is everything Victorian women weren’t meant to be: ambitious, scheming, brave, happy to lie, and much more interested in money than marriage. She’s also a bit in love with the woman she works for, which Victorian women certainly weren’t meant to be either.

There is so much I love about Jill, but one of my favourite things about it is how it turns Victorian tropes and expectations on their head, taking the set-up of a typically male adventure narrative and giving it to the character of Jill. It’s a wonderfully proto-feminist Victorian classic and well worth a read.

One of the reasons I like this book is because the author is a man writing about a woman’s inner thoughts and, unusually, doing a very good job.

The time and place: London, the 1890s. Single women are known as “the odd women,” the leftovers. Dr. Rhoda Nunn starts a school to train these women in secretarial skills (back then, most secretaries were men) so that they won’t be dependent on relatives or forced into unhappy marriages. Rhoda herself is proudly unmarried and independent – until she meets an absolutely wonderful man. Will she give up her advocacy for “odd women” and marry the man she loves? 

(Warning: this book is out of copyright, so shoddy rip-offs are being sold on Amazon. Make sure you get a legit copy.)

I read this book before I’d found words to describe the impact on my teenage self of living in a patriarchal world that didn’t allow me to do things I wanted to because I was a girl—and that insisted I do things I didn’t want to. I read it before I’d heard the word feminist used other than as an insult. But the essentially feminist spirit of the novel touched me deeply. 

I raced through the book, hoping that this single mother who’d fled an alcoholic and abusive husband with her child would make it out alive, that she’d find her people, and that she’d get justice. Years later, I saw the book described as the first feminist novel, and for good reason—written in Victorian England, no less. 

The 19th-century Scottish writer George MacDonald is said to be the father of the modern fairy tale, inspiring C.S. Lewis, Tolkien, and many others. I chose The Light Princess because I find it his most charming tale: it's about a princess under a wicked spell who has been made weightless, unable to obey the laws of gravity. As in all good fairy tales, a prince eventually comes along to drag her back down to earth. He must sacrifice himself for her, but in the end, it is she who rescues him – from a feminist perspective, a most gratifying conclusion.

A short but beautiful book, full of wisdom, personal reflections, and compelling truths about men and masculinities.

This was one of the first books on men and masculinities to be published in the UK, and I read it in the early 90s. I found it profoundly helpful in guiding me to become a profeminist man. I particularly appreciate Tolson’s gentle but persuasive arguments wherein he deconstructs what it means to be a working-class British man, showing how ‘patriarchal masculinity’ gets created through, for example, family, relationships, institutions, work, and peer-group pressure.

The book is part autobiographical and throughout Tolson is openly reflective on his own masculinity and the contradictions it creates in him. I recently reread this book and was so impressed at how Tolson’s insights into the state of men over 50 years ago remain relevant to this day. 

I’m always drawn to books and stories that help me understand communities on their own terms, from the inside out, and this book delivers on that.

Even though this is a book written by scholars, the voices of Buffalo’s mid-twentieth-century lesbian community really guide the book since Kennedy and Davis did hundreds of interviews as a part of their research. I loved hearing from the women themselves, reflecting back on this moment in their lives in this one city, about how they found friends and lovers, negotiated work and family, and navigated the city.  

I love literary fiction and stunning prose, and this book is full of gorgeous sentences that shine off the page. It deals with class issues and finding your own place in the world.

I’m from a working-class, deprived town close to the one featured in this novel. I related to some of the character’s concerns and struggles, particularly regarding the lack of opportunity in North East England. 

The societal changes brought by the movements of the sixties had a different effect on women.

The sexual revolution promised freedom but didn’t plan for jealousy or conflicting ideas of “free.” The anti-war movement and even the civil rights movement saw women’s role as making the sandwiches and lettering the placards. 

Rosen chronicles women’s rising fed-up-ness from the 1950s to the unfinished business left at the book’s publication in 2000.