100 books like Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

I expected a love story. The intriguing plot and unique characters impressed me. What I didn’t expect was one of the sexiest love scenes I’ve ever read.

Alongside the sexy stuff is the dark story of a Machiavellian circus entrepreneur and those who are subservient to his violent whims. Marlena, the abused wife/damsel in distress with a badass backbone and the young, compassionate vet, Jacob—there’s no better way to set up a white hot coupling.

While nothing in this book is red-hot erotic, there is no erotic experience greater than tacit lust that has gone unaddressed for too long between two people who not only love each other, but are allies and co-destroyers of a dark, callous personality. 

A Man Called Ove was recommended to me by my husband. He is a voracious reader who has no qualms in casting a book to one side if it doesn’t immediately grab him – so I take his recommendations seriously. 

Ove is a grumpy old man who doesn’t want to continue living after the death of his wife. It sounds depressing and I nearly didn’t bother. But Backman’s skill as an author turns Ove’s story into an absolute delight. Ove may be grumpy, intolerant, and set in his ways but he is unable to turn his back on anyone in need – including an unattractive, large cat.

The book is a testament to everyone’s need for community.

If you read one book in your life, read Bel Canto. 

Ann Patchett’s writing is always sublime but her characters in this book are unforgettable. She stages a hostage situation in an undisclosed South American country. Over time, the young terrorists and the group of international strangers find a way to live and even thrive together. 

The novel revolves around the one female hostage, a beautiful opera singer. Her singing charms the most hardened terrorists and most skeptical politicians.

After a long day spent digging in the dirt, I like to treat myself by going to bed early to read Diane Ackerman’s Cultivating Delight.

Ackerman is known for going deep on the topics of the five senses, love, and, in this case, her garden, through the seasons.

With meandering musings about what’s growing in her backyard and meditations on the everyday tasks involved in maintaining her plot, Ackerman transports me to a lush, verdant place, providing just the rejuvenation I need to return to my garden the next day.

I have a small, mostly shady city yard, but I still haven’t given up hope of growing food outside my back door.

That’s where Emily Tepe’s book The Edible Landscape comes in. With lovely photographs of real gardens and step-by-step instruction, Tepe walks me through how to successfully grow fruits, vegetables, and flowers side-by-side to create a garden that is both beautiful and productive.

The best part of the book is Emily’s 10 favorite lists, featuring plants she loves and recommends.

Every spring, I pull this book from my shelf before heading over to the garden center or farmer’s market to pick out plantings for my window boxes.

I use the ideas in this book as a launch pad.

Sometimes I try to replicate exactly what appears in a window box design that catches my eye, but more often I just crib off a color scheme or copy the rhythm of showy flowered varieties paired with pretty leafy trailers.

I especially love that this book provides ideas for all seasons. 

Tasha Tudor, the original cottagecore icon, is the one of the first people I was inspired by to change my outlook on life and be brave enough to include elements of a historically inspired style into my life. I absolutely love this book for its romantic imagery and magical ideas for building a fairytale garden and home.

This book has inspired me again and again, especially to learn to embrace my own personal style and that it’s okay to be a bit odd. This book not only has beautiful photos, but it also shares practical tips and ideas for growing your own cozy cottage garden.

With each page, you enter Tasha’s nineteenth-century-inspired world that she built and feel the confidence to build your own version of a romantic cottage life.

After her husband's death, Tova Sullivan starts working the night shift at the Sowell Bay Aquarium, where she forms a remarkable friendship with Marcellus, a giant Pacific octopus. Marcellus, who is more knowledgeable than anyone can imagine, figures out what happened the night Tova’s son disappeared over thirty years before. The relationship between Marcellus and Tova ends up transforming Tova’s life.

I found this book to be an unexpected delight. I didn’t know that octopi are intelligent. After reading it, I found myself plunging down the rabbit hole of googling about octopi and watching YouTube videos of them escaping aquariums. It seems like there is such an odd relationship between Tova and the octopus, and yet it totally works. 

Brian Jabas Smith lived a hard life on society’s margins and developed the ability to see people–the forgotten, the filthy, the addicted, and unattractive–that most of us simply look through on our way to someplace else.

In this wonderful book, Smith writes portraits of the invisible people of Tucson, Arizona, most of them down and out, and all of them with stories to tell. But he never slips into mawkishness and doesn’t expect the reader to “do anything” about society’s problems except pay attention to the human beings who take the worst of it.

His graceful and empathetic prose style makes that easy to ride along, and what’s left is a curious glow of hope. Smith is probably the best working journalist in the Southwest today, finding stories where others would never think to look.

Cities all over the country were busy wrecking their own architectural heritage in the mid-20th century during the heyday of “slum clearance,” but Tucson experienced an especially painful loss: multiple blocks of irreplaceable colonial townhouses in Barro Viejo turned to dust for the sake of an ugly convention center.

Lydia Otero explains how and why this was allowed to happen with the exactitude of a scholar and the muted outrage of one who came from the community mourning the loss.