My favorite books to transform your mental and spiritual health

Joan Didion’s book is heralded for its bravery, clarity, and confessional witness about grief and loss. Indeed, it’s all these things, but for me, more importantly, this book paints a masterful depiction of the loss of innocence that comes when you lose something meaningful—like a loved one.

Particularly, it shows, with exhilarating force, the fragmented sense of time of such an experience, moving from Didion’s darkest moments of despair at the loss of her husband in the present to treasured memories of her life before his passing and musings about what comes now—in the future.

This book is not for the faint of heart, but it is for the savoring soul who, like Didion, possesses an inherent human desire for a sense of coherence and wholeness after life has torn it asunder.

If you think you know yourself, think again. The sole (or really soul) purpose of Simon Wiesenthal’s book is to reawaken the conscience: Would you offer forgiveness to a dying young Nazi SS soldier for the brutal murder of Jews in which he participated, and that was consuming his conscience?

This question, at the heart of this book, is one Wiesenthal faced when he was in the concentration camps—to which he responded no. For decades, he wrestled with conflicting feelings about his decision, and in this poignant page-tuner, he inspires readers to consider the same. 

What particularly grabbed me was not only the eloquent writing and storytelling (the first part is a memoir) but also its coupling with the spectrum of responses from nearly 30 theologians, spiritual leaders, scholars, writers, and statesmen who offer their own feelings on the question of forgiveness (part two).

I especially appreciated that regardless of the abundance of opinions, the mystery of evil and atonement remains, leaving readers to muse for themselves on these most essential human challenges.

This book has long been a favorite of spiritual seekers, with its sweeping panoply of stories from antiquity’s gods and goddesses to the world’s wisdom traditions and more.

This is a book for those interested in the universality of human experience across time and culture—which I am. But even more, it opens our minds to the importance of a story itself.

Campbell helps readers understand that truth and fact are different—indeed, there are several kinds of truth: empirical truth, which depends on objective data, and also mythopoetic and narrative truth, which rely on symbols and stories to provide meaning.

John O’Donohue is a man out of time—and yet a man in time in the most profound way. In his book, O’Donohue, an Irish poet celebrated for popularizing Celtic Christianity, catapults readers into the liminal spaces of our lives—times of transition, grief and loss, and life’s dark unknowns.

What I appreciated about this book was not simply that O’Donohue encourages readers to enter that daunting space (because we either should or must if we are to move our lives forward), but more importantly, that he sees this daunting journey as a blessing—a protective ring of illumination, essential for awakening and transforming; and a sheltering of grace that keeps our and other’s hearts open and loving.

This is a book not to read for narrative but rather for moment-to-moment inspiration. Keep it on your side table or close at hand for when you find yourself standing in one of life’s threshold experiences.

Markus Zusak’s book is definitely not for the faint of heart or those easily bored: its narrator is Death, and the book is over 500 pages long. Not really the kind of book you’d think of for those aged 12 and up (as it’s listed). But it is one that really ought to be universally read.

The book follows two young children battling for survival in Nazi Germany. Entropy hangs in the air like Death’s shadow. Life’s harsh realities—like evil, heartache, pain, and mortality—are ever-present. In Max's (the young boy) dreams, he is boxing with Hitler and lands a punch, knocking the Fuhrer down, but soon he’s overtaken by the crowd.

This is one of the reasons I appreciate this book: winners sometimes lose; bad things happen to good people. And yet, the response to this existential injustice isn’t to become a mere survivor, victim, or martyr. It’s to grow in goodness, generosity, and gratitude as the young girl Liesel does over the decades, showing that even Death is powerless to hope and love.