Books like The Hurting Kind — picked by fans

The poems in this book made me feel glad to be alive in a world that feels like it’s ending. I loved how Jones situated personal grief within disasters of national and international scale; grieving a mother is as monumental as grieving a world. 

I also found it compelling how Jones consistently maintains a musical quality to the poems’ language. The first two lines of, 'Saeed, How Dare You Make Your Mother into a Prelude', are: "And then, night neons itself inside me / and I begin missing you in loud new ways.”

Multisensory with pleasing consonance, these lines are a small sample of Jones’s linguistic verve. Full of wit and sincerity, these poems made me want to write my own defiant love letter to the apocalypse. 

This book is the blueprint. From the concept—persona poems and scenes from New Orleans, told from the perspective of Hurricane Katrina—to the flawless execution of that concept, this book is a must-read for understanding disasters.

I loved the sustained attention to the storm and the people and the way that Smith finds fresh ways to create the scenes before, during, and after the storm. I loved Katrina the persona, too, as much as I feared her destructiveness. Her rage and vengeance felt entirely real, and the poems made me want to walk the earth as if every step would shatter the ground. This book lives up to its succinct, evocative title. 

If there are two things I love, it’s persona poems and a sustained concept throughout a collection. Like Blood Dazzler by Patricia Smith above, this book has both things.

A book of persona poems imagining the 2011 tsunami that devastated Japan as a series of monsters battling against the 50 employees who remained on-site after the tsunami, the collection weaves seamlessly between languages and comic book-like sound effects that create a heroic narrative in a sparse style.

This collection is one I return to when I think of trying to combat apocalyptic despair; if 50 people can face down a fatal situation, then I can live through another, less catastrophic day. 

What I love most about this book is the strident, confident way the poems tackle our expectations about prose and poetic genres. Right from the collection's first poem, the book says that language is only the beginning; it still has its limits, though it can achieve longevity in the right conditions. 

However, my favorite poem of the collection is 'Shakespeare Doesn't Care,' a poem where Dove imagines Shakespeare’s confident, coy response to comments on his prolific, inimitable career. In doing so, she highlights how his work points the finger of judgment through time. Dove does this, too.

This is not a book of portents, nor is it strictly a celebration or mourning of an apocalyptic world; instead, it highlights the strange echoes of history.

In her stunning poetry collection, Brute, Emily Skaja navigates the dark corridors of trauma at the end of an abusive relationship. Exploring the intersections of both love and violence, these poems have a mythic quality to them, with the narrator seemingly struggling to survive the brutality of a fairy tale world longing to gobble her up. At the same time, the fantastical elements of these poems are balanced by the present moment, with cell phones, social media, and other current technologies evoking a kind of modern magic that holds sway over our lives. The poems in this collection take the reader on a journey from sorrow to rage, guilt, hope, self-discovery, and reinvention.

I think that every teen in school today has experienced a lockdown, hopefully just as a drill, but as school shootings continue, it’s a worry for every day of school. That’s why I think teens are so horrified as Emily Bean, the main character, sees her boyfriend bring a gun to school and kill himself.

I believe that reading about the depths of Emily’s agony reveals how devasting suicide can be for those who have had to live through its aftermath. In my author visits, I have met a number of those left behind by suicide, and I think it’s so important that this book ends with some hope for them. 

This book was chosen because of the deep, profound love that is displayed throughout the book. It speaks to how vulnerable a person makes themselves when they love deeply and how scary that can be. It also speaks to how you can feel so totally lost in loving another person that you forget to love yourself. I could identify with loving so intensely also and having my heart broken. I also identified with the journey of coming to loving oneself again and with that being open to finding someone better. 

This is a book full of enthusiasm and optimism, even when describing the darkest parts of life. Honestly, the pain hurt less after reading this book. 

It was a one-sitting read, and I thought there was a conversation between Courtney Peppernell and me the whole time. 

It felt as if my best friend and I were talking.

In a memoir co-written by two best friends, Aminatou and Ann detail the joys and struggles of their “big friendship” over the years in an honest and hilarious way. I appreciated their stories and advice on the work it takes to keep meaningful relationships that don’t fade or become resentful. It didn’t come easy to be open with each other and vulnerable about the friction they felt from ignoring racial and class dynamics in their friendship. They situate their friendship within the dynamics of their friend groups, which they term “the friendweb.” To live “shine theory” within the friendweb, ties are collaborative, supporting each other so that “I don’t shine if you don’t shine.” This book makes it clear that friendship is not always easy, but it is worth it. 

Robert Goolrick does not pretend in this memoir to have overcome or prevailed or found redemption from his horrendous childhood. Instead, he tells us the number of psychotropic prescriptions he must take every day just to be able to function. Something unthinkably awful happens in his seemingly genteel family at the hands of the father who is supposed to protect him, and as a result, he will never be the same. When he tries to tell what happened and seek comfort, let alone redress, his whole family turns on him. Yet Goolrick tells this story with an amazing lyricism and compassion. He unravels his tale slowly, protecting and preparing the reader in a way that no one in his family ever protected or prepared him.