My favorite books about gardens as places of discovery and change

I love how Rumer Godden’s novels pair lyrical writing with complex characters. An Episode of Sparrows is no exception.  

The novel takes place in post-WWII London, where Lovejoy, a young girl whose mother has pawned her off on strangers, plants a hidden garden in the shelter of a bombed-out church. Lovejoy is both fierce and tender in her desperation to have something to believe in, and Godden’s fluid storytelling carries the reader along as Lovejoy and the local children find sanctuary in their unsanctioned garden.

This moving novel shows that gardens can be the catalyst for friendship and community. It also shows that in hard times, the act of creating something beautiful is often the very thing that helps us survive.

When I was a child, I was captivated by this 1958 English novel. It’s every bit as good forty years later. 

Tom, a bored boy spending the summer with his aunt and uncle, finds a rambling Victorian garden in the backyard of the house… but the garden is only there at night, gone during the day.

It’s a gripping time-travel story, one that celebrates the garden as a place where a child can stretch both limbs and mind. And through Tom’s friendship with a Victorian girl named Hatty, the novel touches beautifully upon the ache that comes from seeing your friends grow up before you do. 

The novel’s fantastical elements are handled (and, ultimately, explained) in a totally satisfying way. It’s an enchanting read.

There’s a serene, almost dreamlike quality to The Samurai’s Garden which drew me in right away.

On the eve of WWII, a young man recovering from tuberculosis spends the year at his family’s summer home in Japan. There are actually two gardens in the story: one is the lush green one at his home, and the other is a stone garden in the pine forests, tended by Sachi, a woman who has lived with leprosy for decades.

Though both gardens lead to transformation, Sachi’s garden in particular teaches the narrator that as long as there is beauty in the world, there is life. I loved this novel’s luminous writing and vivid sense of place. It’s a beautiful testament to human loyalty and the healing power of nature.

This 1899 book is more memoir than novel, and it’s a charming one. 

The narrator lives with her husband (whom she amusingly calls The Man of Wrath) and her small daughters on their German country estate. In the first chapter, she announces that she wants to spend her summer alone in the garden, where she is happiest: “I want to be as idle as I can, so that my soul may have time to grow.”

And although she can’t quite manage a summer of solitude – the demands of her family and tenants require attention—the novel still shows the restorative power of being in the garden. Von arnim’s affectionate odes to her sweet peas and roses will resonate with any reader who loves to stop and smell the flowers. 

My love for this book started at age ten, when I read it for the first time and couldn’t put it down.

It introduced me to many of the tropes I would later come to love: the big house in the country, secrets from the past, the wise mother-figure. 

Most of all, though, this story about three children who resurrect a dormant walled garden taught me the power of hope. This novel shows us that although seeds and bulbs may look dead, there is a life inside that just needs care and space to flourish.

It’s a beautiful lesson for children and adults alike.