100 books like Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage

When I picked up Tsumura’s first novel to be translated into English, I’d just given notice at my hectic corporate job. So when the burned-out narrator tells her employment agency she’s looking for an easy job that’s “ideally, something along the lines of sitting all day in a chair,” I could relate.

She searches for that elusive work-life balance at a series of strange positions, but when she lands a plum gig working in a small hut in a forest, the story’s disparate strands weave together into an emotionally satisfying whole.

I fell in love with this beautifully written book about female friendship, set-in modern-day London. The opening shows us three young women lounging in London Fields one summer, all of them filled with an indisputable sense that they are on the brink of life, their horizons lit up with promise. Ten years later, those promises have failed to materialize. The characters are confused, struggling, and envious of what each of the others has. All three are strong, flawed characters, and their lives, choices, and mistakes feel very real and poignant.

A master of the flawed and loveable heroine, O’Donoghue’s writing is both deeply comforting and immensely frustrating – because every wry observation is so relatable I can’t believe I didn’t think of it first.

Exploring life in GFC-era Ireland through the wide eyes of a broke, experience-hungry university student and floundering graduate, this story is a tribute to friendship, self discovery, and all the missteps of newfound freedom.

The deeper into the story I went, the closer I felt to my eighteen-year-old self: naive and desperate not to be, nervous about the power in the currency of youth and eager to spend it, full of love and pride and optimism.

I can’t wait to get my hands on a physical copy so I can slap sticky tabs on every page and recall every sparkling insight, quippy conversation, and touching moment.

Unlike the other recommendations, the plus-sized protagonist in this book is a man. Arthur Opp is a lonely shut-in who has lost his career, his friend, and his family of origin. His main solace is his correspondence with a former student, who, one day, asks him for help in guiding her son, Kel. 

From that point forward, the story is told from the alternating perspectives of Arthur and Kel. Both are plagued by isolation and tragedy. Though Arthur views himself as part of the shared soul of the lonely, he nonetheless begins to welcome people back into his life again and extols the virtues of found family to Kel.

This is a haunting, yet hopeful, book that stays with the reader for a very long time.

Riley Mays is a little weirdo. I say that with love! I was also a little weirdo when I was her age. And, just like a lot of little weirdos around the world, her peers don’t always “get her,” which can be tough since she’s desperate to fit in. Been there too, girl.

What I admire about Riley is that, after some consternation, she slowly sheds her insecurities and dives head-first into being her truest self. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and not without complications! But Riley’s sense of humor keeps her afloat, which, as any fan of comedy will tell you, is the key to survival.

It’s the sweetest feeling in the world to find your people. Author Rachel Elliot shows us how to do it.

This is a peculiar and marvelous book about birth families, adopted families, and “found” families, and how each of these can be equally screwed up.

Starting in Ireland in the 1940s, the story is peppered with sharp, clever dialog and vivid, fully-human characters. I love how the narrator struggles with his own heart for decades, unable to decide what he wants, who he loves, what’s right, what’s wrong, etc.—in other words, all the stuff I haven’t figured out yet myself. 

Coincidence also plays a huge role in this book, basically making an ass of everyone, which I find oddly comforting since it reminds me that part of being human is having very little control over my own life. Painfully funny and brilliant from cover to cover. 

This is a book that I repeatedly return to when I need to remember how to be strong in the face of trouble. While there’s plenty of trouble in this book, both public and personal, Jen Palmieri is a charming guide to some painful truths that are really familiar to me.

She reminds me to find joy in the work. And she can see the future that we can all shape if we work together; that’s where I want my daughters to live. 

We are all going to lose someone we love. We are all going to go through the pain of people we care about dying. We are all going to contemplate our mortality at some point and wonder if what we’re doing has much of a point, if we could do better, and if we could make life a little less painful somehow.

Keisha Blair lost her husband when they were both in their thirties, when their son was 8 weeks old. She shares what she learned about building from that wreckage in Holistic Wealth. The book puts the pain of loss front and center, and then offers insights from stories and interviews on how to take care of our money, our relationships, and our spirituality, and thus ourselves.

This book changed my life. This is the book that taught me the power of journaling.

I found the journal prompts that the book offers to be useful and appreciate that they provided a guide that helped me define my core beliefs and taught me to listen to my inner voice in a way that brought about an easy method to figure out not only what is truly important to me but this method also helped me to define my goals and purpose in a no-fuss bare bones way.

This book was the catalyst that eventually led me to my career as a life coach. 

I loved how the novel doesn't reveal right away what it is truly about but lets it dawn on you and then invites you into a moving family story. Another tale of humans and apes, it made me feel the joys and repercussions of deep bonds across species and between siblings.

I was moved by a family that begins as a scientific experiment, struggling to find love and justice and what we like to call humanity, though maybe we need to find another word.