100 Books Like The Red Tent

I’ve read this book more times than I can count.

Hell, I think I actually wore the pages out, if that’s even possible. When I was younger, I went back to it like a lab rat hitting the lever for a pellet—each parable connecting another dot. To me, the mystery was life, the teacher the universe, and I was the student—albeit a lousy one. 

The Alchemist is one of those rare novels that feels both timeless and uncomfortably personal. At its foundation, it’s about following your own path—trusting the itch of intuition and chasing something bigger than yourself, even when it feels a little foolhardy in the moment.

What I love is how Coelho cuts through with fable-like simplicity: those who love walking go farther than those who love the destination—and they usually learn a hell of a lot more if they’re paying attention. 

I recommend it because it doesn’t… show more.

I love this book’s two freedom fighters: the historical Sarah Grimké and the fictional enslaved woman Handful.

It’s the early 1800s in Charleston, SC. Privileged white girl Sarah bucks cultural expectations for women, while Handful fights the cruel slavery system. Sarah repudiates her upbringing in order to support abolition, and Handful stakes everything in pursuit of freedom, “to leave or die trying.”

I loved learning about the Grimké sisters, giants in the abolition movement, and the West African story-quilt tradition, whereby women tell their lives through the art of needlework. This book was transformative for me; Sarah’s and Handful’s transgressive courage has helped me through difficult times of my own. If they could face their obstacles, then by golly, I can face mine.

I read this book so many years ago, but it has stayed with me. It struck me then, as it does now, as revolutionary in that it was one of the first retellings of the Arthurian myth from the female perspective.

I took a class on Arthurian Literature in university, and the tales of the period are obviously male-dominated. But The Mists of Avalon showed me a way into the female characters in the tale, and they are fascinating.

The Earth’s Children series fully immersed me in Stone Age Europe, thanks to Jean M. Auel’s nerd-level research. But what hooked me was her protagonist: Ayla, a courageous, spiritually gifted, neurodivergent genius. Though Ayla’s a white Cro-magnon, and I’m a Latina Homo sapiens, I relate to this fish out of water.

In this book, she’s wildly different from the Neanderthals who adopt her, echoing my own family experience. Ayla’s unique problem-solving skills also set her apart, sending her careening between loneliness and leadership. What excites me most about her journey is that the demands of the Ice Age give her more opportunities to explore her potential than many modern women. I recommend starting with Clan of the Cave Bear, Ayla’s origin story, which stands on its own. 

Though I have always been an unashamed ancient history nerd, ancient Egypt never quite grabbed me as strongly as Greece and Rome. However, I read this book as a callow 17-year-old traveling to Poros to row as part of the crew of a reconstructed ancient Greek trireme. The story utterly captivated me: it is packed full of action, tragedy, historical detail, and heroism, and I could feel the heat of the Egyptian sun on my skin as I read it.

I recently bought a first edition in honour of this memory, and I want to choose the right moment to revisit it. There is an odd footnote, though. The author bizarrely claimed that his book is based upon a set of scrolls discovered in an 18th-century BC Egyptian tomb and that the lead archaeologist passed the translations onto him to transcribe into a novel. Smith discarded this claim in the… show more.

This book is nonfiction, so it’s about real people rather than fictional characters. I love this book because it gives a descriptive perspective on what was happening and what was going on in Nazi-occupied Germany and Poland during World War II, and the horrors of the concentration camps (mainly Auschwitz) that were built and used to kill everyone the nazis hated for whatever insane reasons they had.

I’ve always had an almost alarming interest in World War II. It was my favorite lesson from the history classes I’ve taken, and this book really put some of the evil things that were done during that time into perspective.

Mikki Kendall’s account of what Black women and girls are up against in America left me angry and devastated. Her description of how Black girls are sexualized at shockingly young ages and how portraying them this way enables sexual abuse absolutely gutted me.

For me, this book was a powerful reminder of why no woman is safe in a culture that says you have to be viewed as respectable in order to be worthy of protection from violence.

I admire every detail in this beautifully written family saga that reaches from Lithuania to Jerusalem.

When Amos Oz’s family escapes the antisemitism of Europe in the 1940s and resettles in Palestine, they seem to construct their new home of books rather than mortar. And beyond the towering bookcases, the volumes in twelve languages, lies a city of ancient stone torn by history and religion and competing claims.

Oz’s profound and personal understanding of the Holocaust leads him to conclude that Israel will be stronger by ending the occupation and forging paths that help to unite Jews and Palestinians.

I love the truth, the fact that empathy and compassion have the potential to heal the deepest wounds.

Though it is set just after the war, the characters in this novel cannot escape from their memories of the Holocaust or guilt at having survived. Yet they are also stuck in a comic scenario—through a complex series of events, the Jewish protagonist Herman has wound up with three “wives,” his first wife from before the war who he mistakenly assumed dead, the Polish Catholic peasant who hid him from the Nazis and he married out of gratitude, and his mistress and fellow survivor he met upon relocating to New York. The novel is both hilarious and heart-breaking—a potent reminder of the impossibility of ever leaving behind the worst horrors of this war.   

Because how can you have a list of the greatest Jewish books of all time without this? (apologies for putting it in last place!). The one that has defined life as we know it yet so few of us have ever really read. Actually, "reading" seems too gentle a word for what happens when you dive into this ancient text - grappling, struggling, or wrestling seem more apt. The pre-eminent scholar Robert Alter renders the ancient Hebrew into a powerful, faithful English translation which soars.