100 Books Like To Have and Have Another

One of my fondest childhood memories is the holiday parties that my parents threw. Lying in bed I could hear roars of laughter crash the silence and gently ebb as the grownups shared stories and made merry. Later in life, I came to realize how different that kind of drinking is from the frat-boy binging of college and the anxious bracers at singles’ bars. As an adult, I became a Catholic theologian, got married, and had a family of my own. My wife Alexandra and I have relished an evening cocktail together in order to unwind and catch up on each other’s day (Alexandra has homeschooled all six of our children, which is itself a compelling reason to drink daily).

One of my fondest childhood memories is the holiday parties that my parents threw. Lying in bed I could hear roars of laughter crash the silence and gently ebb as the grownups shared stories and made merry. Later in life, I came to realize how different that kind of drinking is from the frat-boy binging of college and the anxious bracers at singles’ bars. As an adult, I became a Catholic theologian, got married, and had a family of my own. My wife Alexandra and I have relished an evening cocktail together in order to unwind and catch up on each other’s day (Alexandra has homeschooled all six of our children, which is itself a compelling reason to drink daily).

One of my fondest childhood memories is the holiday parties that my parents threw. Lying in bed I could hear roars of laughter crash the silence and gently ebb as the grownups shared stories and made merry. Later in life, I came to realize how different that kind of drinking is from the frat-boy binging of college and the anxious bracers at singles’ bars. As an adult, I became a Catholic theologian, got married, and had a family of my own. My wife Alexandra and I have relished an evening cocktail together in order to unwind and catch up on each other’s day (Alexandra has homeschooled all six of our children, which is itself a compelling reason to drink daily).

One of my fondest childhood memories is the holiday parties that my parents threw. Lying in bed I could hear roars of laughter crash the silence and gently ebb as the grownups shared stories and made merry. Later in life, I came to realize how different that kind of drinking is from the frat-boy binging of college and the anxious bracers at singles’ bars. As an adult, I became a Catholic theologian, got married, and had a family of my own. My wife Alexandra and I have relished an evening cocktail together in order to unwind and catch up on each other’s day (Alexandra has homeschooled all six of our children, which is itself a compelling reason to drink daily).

Early in my career I landed a job as a magazine editor. Shazam! I could publish my own articles! But I discovered that I actually had no idea how to write anything interesting, English major though I’d been. So I began to figure out what makes writing work. Over decades as a journalist, corporate communicator, and consultant, I did learn. I also saw colleagues miss their best opportunities, even screw up their lives, by writing badly—unpersuasively. And a mission was born: to share the tools and techniques of powerful communication. I’ve created dozens of workshops for businesspeople and professionals, taught graduate students, and now happily author books jammed with practical advice. 

Early in my career I landed a job as a magazine editor. Shazam! I could publish my own articles! But I discovered that I actually had no idea how to write anything interesting, English major though I’d been. So I began to figure out what makes writing work. Over decades as a journalist, corporate communicator, and consultant, I did learn. I also saw colleagues miss their best opportunities, even screw up their lives, by writing badly—unpersuasively. And a mission was born: to share the tools and techniques of powerful communication. I’ve created dozens of workshops for businesspeople and professionals, taught graduate students, and now happily author books jammed with practical advice. 

I love a good short story that can convey character, emotion, and complexity. While a novel allows the writer (and the reader) to delve into the chaotic complexity of a single set of characters, a good short story collection can explore a range of humanity and a diversity of moods or feelings.  This was my motivation in writing my book. I believe a good short story collection on a well-grounded theme (such as the contributions to this list by Doerr, Kundera, and Munro) can often reveal more about human nature than an excellent novel.

Social history has always been my passion: unless you know how people thought, felt and lived, even down to how they dressed and ate, it is often impossible to understand why they acted as they did. And no period is as fascinating to me as the inter-war years; after WW1, the greatest conflict the world had ever seen, the upcoming generations determined to break barriers, discard the last vestiges of what they saw as hidebound custom, to invent new, freer ways of writing, painting, dancing - and to have fun. And for most of this post-war generation, there was nowhere like Paris.

As a historical fiction writer, every time I learn about an amazing woman, I instinctively want to write about her, to understand her life and bring her – often forgotten – story to a wider audience. It’s a wonderful way to live vicariously, and it’s a privilege to spend time in these women’s worlds for a brief period. There’s a Sylvia Plath quote that strongly resonates with me, beginning: ‘I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want…’. Reading and writing historical fiction allows me a glimpse into the worlds of different people living different lives in different eras, and for that I’m extremely grateful.

After writing two expansive novels—The Edge of the World, about lives spanning six decades, and Liberty Landing, a contemporary novel rooted in the arc of American history—I found myself drawn to something smaller. Not smaller in meaning or scope, but in form. I wanted to experiment with the art of compression in storytelling. I was inspired by a microfiction written by novelist Joyce Carol Oates—The Widow’s First Year, which reads: “I kept myself alive.” Eight words. A complete universe of sorrow, endurance, resilience, and time. It stunned me. As I began to write Small Worlds, I was compelled to study fast fiction with the sharpest forensic tools.