Books like The Kate in Between — picked by fans

Thirteen-year-old Alice moves to a new town where no one knows she has Asperger’s syndrome. When she behaves in a way her teachers feel is inappropriate she gets sent to detention. It’s there she meets Megan, a hard-core “bad girl” who becomes the only person to make a meaningful connection with Alice. 

Alice likes rules, Megan likes to break rules. Yet somehow the two girls manage to become good friends. Megan’s home life is bad and she decides to run away. Despite the angst and the inner voice telling her not to, Alice goes with Megan to protect her.

Quote: “Is a hero average in type, appearance, achievement, function, and development?” Alice asks.

This book stands out for me because it shows that we all can “go farther” than any perceived limitation, be it developmental, physical, or emotional. 

Like many children, Chloe, the main character in this story, keeps to her small posse of friends; but she is also something of a snob. When a new girl, Maya, joins her class and tries to befriend her, Chloe takes one look at Maya’s ragged clothes and turns away. A classroom lesson about kindness causes Chloe to reevaluate her behavior. By this time, however, Maya’s family has moved away, and Chloe is left only with her regret.

It’s not a happy ending, but it’s one that I find much more meaningful than the usual trite scenes of apology and forgiveness. It’s important, I believe, for children to realize that some wrongs can’t be undone but can serve as lessons for the future.

No list would be complete without the writer who changed my life. It was Jason’s blog (now turned into this book) that opened a whole new world of feminist history to me. 

The book is a collection of true stories of women from history who were probably a little too wild, too sketchy, or too murderous to make the Disney Princess cut. Each story is illustrated gorgeously and researched meticulously. It’s perfect for adults and also a great gift for any teenagers who you’d like to get more into history (because what teen doesn’t love the story of teen hell-raisers from the past?). 

Peter Gibbon has, at an emotional level, a magnificent capacity to admire heroes. He provides snippets of many heroes’ lives and he savors their accomplishments. One of the most effective aspects of his book is his rejection of the modern anti-hero mentality that disparages heroes. “Biography today is rarely about greatness,” he writes. “At best, it displays a dispassionate balance. More often, it focuses on failure…and weakness and unveils the intimate life—slighting artistic accomplishment, scientific discovery, and political achievement. At worst, contemporary biographers self-righteously excoriate any hint of impurity, prejudice, sexism, or hypocrisy.” 

Unfortunately, a la many authors on the topic, he offers no rigorous definition of “hero” or “heroism.” He says: The definition of hero remains subjective. What is extraordinary can be debated. Courage is in the eye of the beholder. Greatness of soul is elusive.” Nevertheless, there is great value in his spirited accounts of numerous heroes.

My book is theoretical, on the nature of heroes. Reed’s book is the perfect complement to it. It provides brief bios for numerous heroes—many who are famous and many who are not but should be. One vivid example of the latter is Katharine Stewart-Murray, Duchess of Atholl. Many people realize that Winston Churchill recognized early on the evil of Hitler and the need to oppose National Socialism. But few know that the diminutive Duchess realized it sooner, that she warned Churchill, that she had the full translated speeches of Hitler sent to him, that she stood up to Neville Chamberlain, head of her own party, and that, in defense of liberty, she fearlessly warned the West against the dangers of both the Soviets and the Nazis. Lawrence Reed’s book is replete with true stories of such little known heroes.

This book does several things. First, it offers fascinating bios of eight heroes from history and mythology. Two legendary Homeric characters—Achilles and Odysseus—are joined by six giant figures from history: Alcibiades, Cato, El Cid, Wallenstein, Francis Drake, and Garibaldi. Morally, these men are often a mix of good and bad—but their stories are always robustly colorful. Hughes-Hallett draws a fascinating distinction between Achilles and Odysseus—one hero chose death and glory, the other lied, cheated, and stole to retain life. 

Hughes-Hallett points out the dangers of hero worshiping giants whose prowess might outstrip their character; the dangers of seeking guidance from “great men” that we would be better off providing ourselves.

I love this story, especially because the hero, Brooks, not only falls in love first but also believes the heroine betrays him, so he breaks things off with her. But Brooks never stops loving her.

I love the apologies, I love the way actions speak louder than words in this book, and I love the way they get back together for a well-deserved HEA (happily ever after).

Ratscalibur reveals what happens when a ragician turns grade seven student—Joey—into a rat. Joey becomes Ratscalibur when he pulls a spork from a dehydrated scone. The other rats are convinced he can help save their kingdom but Joey is not so confident. Still, if he wants the chance to become a boy again, he must help the rodents fight their devious enemies. Rich in humor, this book’s charm also comes from illuminating a character who is quite certain he’s not meant to be a hero. This novel is full of original twists that will keep readers turning pages.

I thought it was great to have Circe herself narrate her love affair with Odysseus.

The first half of the novel interestingly shares her tribulations growing up as a child in a family of gods. I found that this establishes a theme of immortality vs. mortality that the book explores in profound ways. Especially fascinating was Circe’s personal story of her love affair with Odysseus.

I was surprised and delighted that Miller included the resulting child, Telegonus, who is not in Homer but is in ancient myth. Even more surprising to me was Circe falling in love with Telemachus, Odysseus’ son by Penelope (also not in Homer!). This relationship allows the novel to end on a positive note as Circe learns to live like a mortal in her new life with Telemachus.

When I first encountered this book in the late 1980s, it was titled Jackaroo--named for the Robin Hood-like folk hero in the non-magical secondary world called the Kingdom. However, the star of the story is Gwyn, so the renaming makes sense. The book is riveting in its action moments, but somehow I'm even more drawn to the scenes of daily toil. I have absolutely no idea how Voigt can make scrubbing the floor seem so important! (This is the real floor-scrubbing book of this list.) The Tale of Gwyn evokes a medieval European past that feels more real than the best-researched historical novel. Hopefully the series rebrand draws the wide readership it deserves--it is both exciting and thoughtful, bleak and hopeful, and I return to it again and again.