Books like Well-Behaved Indian Women

Neel Patel and I grew up in similar parts of the Midwest, are around the same age, and are both Gujarati, so when I read this novel, I felt so seen. He deftly covers a young man’s journey of coming out to his traditional family, while also sharing the perspective of the mother discovering who her son really is, but this book has many more layers beyond those. The little details that Patel seamlessly weaves throughout the novel including how the family interacts with one another and how the main character’s childhood is described reminded me of my own family and upbringing. Patel is pushing the boundaries on what Indian American authors are writing, and this story was so satisfying to read. 

My husband is a native Bostonian, so when I discovered this novel takes place in the historic Back Bay neighborhood of the city, I was immediately intrigued.

The story follows Meena Dave, an orphan who has inherited an apartment from a woman she has never met. As she attempts to figure out their connection, she forms an unexpected friendship with a trio of meddling aunties who also live in the building and have been in each other’s lives since birth.

Through these women, Meena learns not just of her past, but of the importance of community, culture, and the sacrifices of sisterhood. 

There is so much wit and humor in this memoir that touches upon the immigrant experience from the perspective of the first-generation adult child. Deb goes on a journey to learn who his parents are as individuals and gains a perspective that is often difficult to achieve in the Indian community because parents don’t often share with their children who they are on the inside. The vulnerability with which Deb shares his childhood desire to blend into the white community in which he was raised was so relatable because I’d had a similar upbringing in another part of the country. This book made me laugh hard, think more deeply, and want to know my parents better.

Like me, the author is a former lawyer, so I knew I had to read her book, and it did not disappoint. Judge pushes the boundaries of what we have traditionally seen from Indian American authors and tells a complex story of how a single day can forever change one’s path. Told from multiple perspectives, her characters break stereotypes and make some questionable decisions, but beneath it all are still rooted in love and loyalty to their family. Judge gracefully tackles topics like addiction, filial piety, and divorce, subjects that are not often discussed openly in the Indian community. This one was both heart-wrenching and hopeful.

I had never read this author before, and I was immediately struck by Ambai’s powerful voice in these stories about the small but constant tensions in ordinary women’s lives in India. Having grown up in India, I felt as if I knew these women and their stories intimately. In particular, the title story instantly made me think of my mother and so many other women toiling at their housework in Indian kitchens, which in middle-class Indian homes are not that comfortable at all.

I found great wisdom, truth, and energy in these atmospheric stories. They are also a refreshing change from the writing style of Western writers in their directness and the incorporation of almost-surreal elements in many, which makes a reader feel them so much more sharply.

This superb book is a culturally and indigenous-language-focused study of women in four central Mesoamerican native societies—Aztecs (Nahuas), Mixtec, Zapotec, and Mixe.

In addition to a deep dive into texts dealing with all facets of women’s lives, Sousa uses visual evidence to great effect, showing how images contain much information about women’s and gender history, a history in which women struggled over centuries to maintain agency and authority despite efforts by a newly imposed colonial state to erode their power and status and exploit their labor.

This memoir is written to the man Terese Marie Mailhot has an affair with, which began “in a small booth at Village Inn.”

He was her fiction teacher, a potent taboo, and she describes his shaking hands and smoke-encrusted hoodie. The book pulses with her desire for him and her resistance, knowing he was ruining her. I found the book addictive.

Mailhot describes her upbringing as a member of the Seabird Island Band in the Pacific Northwest. I learned how she manifests stories to save herself. She is diagnosed with bipolar II disorder and PTSD, leading to hospitalization. Her crafting of this memoir is a love story, ultimately, to her resilience. 

This is Paula Gunn Allen’s modern-day retelling of many Native American tales. They feature talking animals, shape-shifting bears, and creation stories. Here, we see how the underneath comes to the surface in wondrous and awe-inspiring ways. The ordinary walks with the extraordinary. In fact, the ordinary is extraordinary. Allen sees power in these tales for women, and that’s what I loved about this book. These stories are part of a female shamanic tradition; they are in many ways medicinal. 

Sally is the moving account of the true story of a captive Indian girl who lived in the house of Brigham Young as a servant and cook, a “wild” woman who had been “tamed” by her civilized captors. When she had almost forgotten her own language Sally was sent off to a Mormon village as the wife of a Pahvant Ute chief in order to “civilize” the local surrounding Indians. Sally’s story asks us what these seemingly simple words “wild” and “tame” really mean, and to think about what they can hide.

Hatter Fox is one of those rare stories which causes me to lose my sense of self.

There is no who am I, how am I, or why am I, none of that matters, all that matters is the story. This story is so real, and shows so accurately what can happen to young minds when they are raised in an oppressive, prejudiced environment.

Hatter Fox also exemplifies the true power of fiction, in that it allows us to shed a tear. We steel ourselves against the harsh realities of life, and do not weep for the downtrodden, but for fictional characters, we are free to feel our sorrows.