Books I Want to Read (Letter to Publishers)
From one voracious reader to another.
I want to read:
Novels filled with female rage. I want these women to be unhinged. I want passion, I want raw desperation. I want softness. I want quiet anger. I want loud anger. And, more than anything, I want them to come out victorious. If they end up hurt or dead ot unable to revenge, I don’t want to read it.
Also revenge stories where characters aren’t driven by obvious open anger, but a smoldering, long-game type of plan. Not the typical loud vengeance, but one wrapped in patience and precision. Think: the mother of all revenge Amy Dunn. “Kill self?”
Novels about divorce. I don’t know why but boy do I love a carefully crafted pre-math and aftermath of a failed relationship. I want stories where domesticity is a war ground, where the wallpaper, the cabinets, the dinner table had seen it all. I want marriages that dissolve with seismic, soul-shaking pain, and yet lead to something beautiful in its aftermath.
Any thriller that has a potential to become a TV series starring Nicole Kidman. They don’t even have to be that good. They, however, have to include: a murder or two, ocean front house, rich housewives drinking wine, a woman (think Nicole Kidman) wrapping a beige cardigan around her thin body because of the chill of the evening breeze and the secrets.
Science fiction that explores what-ifs about the future, space, technology but in a very human-centered way. I want speculative stories that ask big questions, like what it means to be human, how society might evolve, what challenges lie ahead for us, but mostly — how did we come to this??
Anything about Daphne du Maurier and Llewelyn Davies boys. What a family! When I was about 15, I was completely and utterly obsessed with them all, and the obsession is coming back. I’m sure I’m not alone.
Books with complex female characters. Like, properly complex. I want to read about women who stand strong, who aren’t afraid to challenge the status quo. Let there be women who take control of their own stories, who don’t flinch from making the hard choices. I don’t particularly care about the plot or who those women are. Are they doctors? Are they vigilantes? Not important. I’ll root for them either way. Again, must end well.
Non-fiction books that celebrate pleasure as resistance and reclaim joy, desire, and self-care as acts of liberation. These are stories and essays that make space for pleasure in all its forms—not as something to be earned or justified but as a birthright, a foundation for resilience and connection. Or stories where individuals reclaim their bodies, desires, and identities from systems that have tried to diminish them. I want to read about people who find power in their bodies and unapologetically prioritize their comfort, sensuality, and boundaries. Think: Pleasure Activism.
Give me novels about small communities, the kind where everyone knows each other’s business and secrets. These stories should feel thick with tension and unspoken history, where decades of grudges, alliances, and mysteries hang in the air. Let there be gossip, hidden affairs, and rivalries that go back generations.
Books about female art. I want to read about women who pour everything into their work, who are nearly undone by their own drive, ambition, and desire. I want to read about the cost of creation, the long hours, the isolation, the obsession. Let their artistry be wild, misunderstood, and beautiful. I want to read about the intimate, grueling process of making something that feels true.
Collections of essays that are properly, utterly, belly-laugh funny.
Give me more of Bridget Jones.
Notes:
Don’t put women with their tits out on the cover. Nobody want this. There are other ways to make it sexy.
Make the font readable. UX for the covers!