Books like The Wicked In Me

I read the Canadian printing of this book, but hopefully the publishers won’t be changing too much for the American printing.

Like the heroine in The Wizard of Oz (and I’m assuming the title is a nod to that classic line, “There’s no place like home.”), Lan is whisked away by a mysterious wind, but I really like the fact that she discovers she has called for the wind herself. I also love that the wind takes her into the novel she’s reading (I’m sure you can see a theme here with one of my other picks!) and that she can then change the story’s outcome. 

My son works with the unhoused in our city.

This is a book about extreme compassion, and the long and torturous work of it in the face of neighbourhood fear and municipal hostility towards those who live without fixed addresses and all that that entails. 

Further, I see in Encampment the hope that on a personal and social level, we all have it within us to understand people we didn't think we could and keep alive the capacity we're born with to love those whom so many tell us we should not. 

As a kids’ storyteller, I’ve often used this book, and it bears telling even without its gently comic pictures. When Farmer Joe complains of his daily toil, his clever wife tricks him into becoming so uncomfortable that, once returned to normal conditions, he will never complain again! The story carries a message about positive attitude, without being didactic. Best of all, kids can chuckle along with Farmer Joe’s wife, understanding her trick while hapless Joe does not. Kids, in my experience, love to be smarter than at least one grownup in a story, and this book delivers that in spades! 

The most scholarly and detailed book of our five choices, this book by Candice Savage, now in a revised edition, considers in depth not just the tallgrass prairie, but the entire sweep of North American grasslands. Savage recounts details that most people will never have thought of – such as how the bison were an integral part of the prairie ecosystem by creating buffalo wallows that persisted for years and provided shallow and temporary wetlands in what, to the west, was an otherwise dry environment. Start your exploration of prairie with this book or finish with it, but do not skip it. Its overview of the entire region puts the information in the other books into context.

I love this book because it refuses to sanitize childhood chaos.

I know Cea personally, and knowing what it took for her to tell this story makes the book even more powerful. Her upbringing was wildly unconventional—often unsafe—and she doesn’t soften that truth to make it more inspirational or digestible.

What stayed with me wasn’t just the extremity of her early life, but the clarity with which she tells it: no victimhood, no theatrics, no moral clean-up. This book reminded me that resilience doesn’t come from pretending things weren’t messy—it comes from looking directly at what was, and choosing consciousness anyway.

I was very much taken with this novel’s blend of romance, mystery, and exploration of whether you can ever go home again. Raddall doesn’t get much mention and is largely remembered for his other novels when he does. That’s a shame.

This 1956 work stands up very well against more recent works. It features unadorned yet persuasive prose that many modern writers can only wish for. Raddall quite evidently intended it as a loving, almost lyrical, description of rural Nova Scotia. He succeeded.

I instantly fell in love with this book's MC, Rowena. She’s just so stinking relatable, and when her world starts to spiral into a dark hell, a la Black Mirror, she has to decide who she is going to believe in order to save herself and her baby girl.

The whole time I read this one, I wondered what I would do. Who would I believe if I were her? I love that feeling of being suspended in dread and the unknown as I read a thriller. This one delivered that for me.

George Manuel was once asked by a white coworker, “Does Indians have feelings?” Refusing dehumanization, Manuel reveals the ongoing colonial relations between First Nations and the Canadian settler state. He charts his political journey from Secwepemcúl̓ecw to the National Indian Brotherhood to the World Council of Indigenous Peoples.

Manuel argues that the victories of the anti-colonial independence movements of the twentieth century did not end colonial domination of Indigenous Peoples—what he calls the Fourth World. The Fourth World is not a destination but the right to travel on your own road in your own way.

With a new insightful introduction, foreword, and afterword, the book's latest edition shows how Manuel’s analysis of colonialism and vision for solidarity continue to be relevant to contemporary struggles for decolonization. 

I first discovered Charles de Lint as a fantasy writer, so I was curious to see he had written a cyberpunk novel. While it is a bit of a departure for him, I was very happy to see that he still brings in fantasy touches. I liked this book because of the animist idea of spirits interacting with our world, even when that world is a futuristic dystopia. I also liked there’s a lot of hope, especially in his depiction of the indigenous Claver society.

I loved seeing this world through Gahzee’s eyes as he journeys from his own society (which is sort of proto-solar punk) to the dystopian city, as well as between the human world and the spirit world, as he finds his “Tribe of Three.”

I love a book where the idyllic life people see from the outside is NOT accurate.

This story followed one family as their life spiraled out of control and I was enthralled with the shifting perspectives and the way the story peeled back the layers of this seemingly perfect family. It’s dramatic, messy, and full of tension.

While not all of the twists surprised me, I still found it a gripping, entertaining read. I certainly wouldn’t want to be living next to these neighbours!