91 books like The Forest

I love, love, love this book. What a gem, a prayer of love to plants and nature, a dense but light book of ‘indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge, and the teachings of plants’ as it says in the sub-title.

Robin Wall Kimmerer is a decorated Professor of Botany, a mother, a writer of grace, power, and elegance, a keeper and sharer of indigenous wisdom, and an overall generous human being. If there is one book you read this year, let it be this. It filled my heart with joy, hope, and wonder. I loved her other book, Gathering Moss, too.

I love a mix of fantasy and reality. This book (and the following series) has changed the way I look at almost everywhere in London.

Unbeknownst to most policemen and nearly all members of the ordinary public, the Metropolitan Police have a unit that deals with magic in the city. Seemingly-innocent events are often caused by vampires, magicians, or the rivalries between the gods and goddesses of the River Thames’ tributaries.

Here, it is not just the Thames that is important; all the little, often overlooked, waterways have a role to play. Peter, the Detective Constable at the heart of the story, is also a trainee wizard; the plot moves at breakneck speed, and I found it funny, exciting, and surprising all at once. 

Much of Windling’s work as an editor has revolved around fairy tales and the power of story. The Wood Wife combines those with poetry and a tremendous love for the American Southwest (near Tucson, Arizona).

I love this book for the way it brings all those threads together and weaves them into something new, but something with long sturdy roots that anchor it in place, in time and history, and in both the personal and the mythical. 

Pamela Dean’s Tam Lin has been top of my favourite books list since I first read it more than 20 years ago.

It’s also a fascinating, nuanced, and evocative book about the magic and fantasy of a particular time and place - in this case, a liberal arts college in the mid-1970s in Minnesota. The fantasy elements of the book are slow to emerge (and reward a re-read later).

Dean deftly weaves together details of the place - season to season - but also the way that the lives of students change across their time at college. Most of all is the feeling of something just around the corner, whether it’s a ghost, a hint of magic, bagpipes drifting through the night, or small details that don’t quite add up. 

First published in 1847, the writing style seems somewhat ponderous these days. I read it when I was about twelve—and this is where I discovered the English Civil War. It begins in 1647 and tells the story of four children who, their home burned by Parliamentary soldiers, flee to hide in the forest during a time of danger, persecution, and war. Its bias is unashamedly Royalist but that isn’t necessarily a flaw.

There were quite a lot of books written during lockdown, as the enforced isolation created new contexts for connecting with nature close to home.

In summer 2020 James Aldred was in the position of having a large part of the New Forest mostly to himself, and a chance to immerse himself in the company of goshawks and other wild creatures. James was filming the hawks for a BBC documentary, with many hours spent in a hide, camera pointed at the nest, watching, waiting. This gives the book some of the self-contained, moment-in-time-and-place intensity of T. H. White’s Goshawk book. 

William and his wife lost their baby in its last term and had to endure the torment of an induced stillbirth.

The same thing happened to a dear friend years ago so when I heard William as embarking on this brave endeavour to write about it, I was intrigued. The publisher, Little Toller Books, decided to create a space for William’s male voice in a publishing genre that is dominated by women’s.

The result is a heart-wrenching tale of grief as William clamours to contextualise the world he has been thrown into. William’s skill as a writer lies in his depiction of the indescribable. I’m sure there were months of soul searching and pen holding before he finally hit upon a way of converting his pain into the stunning prose. I am so grateful he did. And you will be too.

Philip de Braose, a despondent French mercenary who has lost his desire to live, is found half-dead and subsequently befriended by Hywel, a Cistercian monk. This moving tale explores the spiritual journey of an initially hopeless soul.

Margetts recounts engaging details of their travels, such as Hywel’s seasickness as they sail from Bordeaux to Bristol, and Philip’s soul-searching as he becomes aware of his own arrogant, selfish attitudes. We also gain a realistic impression of the modest living conditions and spiritual aspirations prevailing in thirteenth-century Cistercian monasteries.

This book has a deeply Christian message, with many Biblical references. As such, it speaks to readers who may be finding it difficult to trust God as they struggle with past wounds and failures. The dénouement at the end is unexpected, but both life-asserting and encouraging.

Offering a great deal of historical data and analysis, this book does what most Jane Austen books do – give the Janeite reader lots of food for thought in every direction. 

It edits several essays about a wide variety of topics, including class, economics, gender, and the screen adaptations of Jane’s works. It targets an academic audience but is also engaging for any reader looking to dig deeper into Jane.

I love Jane Austen’s novels – the fine detail with which she paints characters based on everyday life, as she described it in a letter to her nephew James Edward Austen-Leigh: “… the little bit (two inches wide) of ivory on which I work with so fine a brush, as produces little effect after much labour...” Sadly, Austen died at age 41, in the prime of her life, and the peak of her writing skills. Her last novel was unfinished. Most biographers surmise that she died of Addison’s disease – an autoimmune disease in which the immune system attacks the patient’s adrenal glands, slowly sapping their energy for lack of the stress hormone cortisol. Ironically, the illness can be brought on or exacerbated by chronic stress, which certainly towards the end of her life Jane Austen experienced in spades.

When her father died, Jane Austen, being a woman, did not… show more.