The most recommended loss books

This memoir is like a kaleidoscope: each time I re-read it from a new vantage point in my life, I see different colours.

Ariel Levy writes with brutal bravery about a series of personal losses. She brings a candid and unconventional perspective to marriage and motherhood, career and aging, and ultimately our inability to truly control our circumstances.

I think the heart of what this book tells me is: surrender is not synonymous with giving up.  It’s deeper and more hopeful than that. Surrender is learning that power and resilience come from gratitude and acceptance, even in the face of hardships.

A bracing slap to the face, this book. Or maybe a punch to the gut. The conceit is the series of portraits of hoarders based on the reality show of the same name, and the recipe is to combine their testimonials—“I save old soda cans and turn the tin snips into flowers,” say, or “I want desperately to change”—with lists of objects, described as though in a slow camera pan across a filthy room. But the alchemy is the way Durbin mashes the two together, not quite at random but not correctly either. It’s a harrowing litany of fragments, so specific that the unspoken point is all too clear: what’s broken is much bigger than any of these individual people or things.

Curveball is less compelled by plot than by setting and character. Sorese’s future is gorgeously imagined in melting black, white, and gray with electric orange highlights. Every element–from the clothing to the tech to the furniture–is thoughtfully designed and elegantly rendered. Moreover, Curveball has some of the best acting I have ever seen in *any* graphic novel. A triumph!

Griffin does a wonderful job in this beautiful children’s book.

She guides the reader through a heartfelt tale of a little girl moving to live with her grandmother. On the car ride, they both search for 10 beautiful things. This book will pull at the heartstrings as, together, they find beauty in little things around them on their car ride, and it ends with the pair naming the sweetest, most beautiful thing of all.

As someone who has experienced childhood loss (loss as a child), I highly recommend this beautiful story for any child going through a loss or big change in their life that might have them feeling overwhelmed, anxious, or closed off.

Hanif Abdurraqib has a way of making you forget you’re reading poetry while also reminding you that nothing else could be as poetic as one of his poems. They always unravel in a way only his unique way of storytelling permits. It’s truly a skill that is mastered beautifully in this collection.

Targeted towards children, A Monster Calls is a classic novel for all ages. It is a moving and complex portrayal of grief through a fantasy lens.

I cried so much reading this book and faced hard truths about loss, just as the main character did in coming to terms with his mother’s passing.

This book shows how layered and difficult grief can be, in the most uncomfortable and sometimes taboo ways. While flipping from page to page, you feel like you’re having a talk with your big sister, hearing her uncover things that no one else would be honest enough with you about.

Through her character Wren, this author is honest about how impossible it feels to grieve while also trying to live, as the narrator uncovers parts of her deceased friend she didn’t even know about. 

I am always on the verge of returning home. Sometimes, it’s the food; other times, it’s the memory. I am not from New Orleans, but this book is phenomenal in its guidance of a city and what it means to name any place home.

From its onset, this collection moves through music and mythology as a means for sorting through devastation while placing life a step ahead of it.

I’d recommend this book to any seasoned (or first) reader of poetry on the search for beauty around the corner and a reminder of how close we are to it.

John Banville's 2005 novel, tells the story of a widower who returns to the seaside town of his childhood family holidays and where he fell in love for the first time.

Banville artfully weaves together the strands of the different times in Max Morden's life to create a tapestry of love and loss. He paints a haunting portrait of the beachside community and its characters.

I found the language spellbindingly descriptive and evocative of a distinctive place and time. At times, it borders on poetry. There is humour and pathos aplenty. It is a beautiful but beautifully sad novel, filled with sad people. Ultimately, this symphony of sadness crescendos to a heart-wrenching ending. 

This is a poetry collection with story-like cohesion. The poems touch on topics like addiction, lost love, death, selfishness, and grief. They give an atmosphere of stark therapy, a smell of ozone and psych drugs, and indulgences of the self-sabotaging variety that are sometimes the only realistic way to cope.

Though it sounds dark, the mood of the book is ultimately hopeful and enduring. This is a journey through a barren, unadorned land with a frank and aloof guide. But think of icy cliffs, think of the calm after storms: there is beauty in bleakness and clarity among the wreckage.

Sometimes, the only way to reveal strength is to chip it out of frozen shale with a pitiless, excavating force.