Fans pick 100 books like Finn Family Moomintroll

This story has always struck me as a quest to identify and regain humanity, as its hero repeatedly faces strange and powerful obstacles to his voyage home. I first read it as a child and then again, but in Greek, as a student—a time in life when anyone is trying to find their feet as a human being!

Perhaps the most comforting thing is that amongst all the gods and monsters and cursing and fighting, eating habits often characterize the work’s characters. Odysseus is always looking for sitophagoi, bread eaters, i.e. civilized people who make their own food, rather than man-eating monsters. I can identify with a hero looking for nice people to share a nice meal with.

If there is one foundational text in economic anthropology, this is it. The French anthropologist Mauss showed, in this 1924 book, that gift exchange is the glue that connects people in communities with no formal authority. He is perfectly aware that there are no free gifts, but shows that all economic transactions have a moral element: They create social obligations, they connect us to each other.

I only knew of this book because my British publisher introduced me to it. For that, I’m truly thankful. The book feels honest and unflinching and makes for a great read for both myself as an immigrant as well as for those navigating a world where immigration is a constant daily reality.

I read it over a weekend in 2020 and have read it once more in 2022. I had to return to it, especially when I was faced with microaggressions or felt unheard in my new home in Canada. 

The idea of cosmopolitanism goes back to ancient Greece when the ancient philosopher Diogenes the Cynic claimed that his home—his city or his polis—was the cosmos as a whole.

In this humane, wise book, Appiah brings together philosophy, literature, and stories from his own life to update the ancient idea of cosmopolitanism, and to ask why it matters today. Along the way, he sets out a vision for how we can live better—more openly and more hospitably—in a world where almost everybody we meet is a stranger.

I can’t find a more deeply philosophical book, among all adult literature, to compare with the works of Madeleine L’Engle.

The protagonists of these stories may be children, but they live in a world of scientific supernature that blurs the lines between measurable, observable reality and mystic philosophy. Even before researching Madeleine L’Engle’s life, I could tell that she was a serious thinker.

Few books have had such a profound impact on the way I approach living in the “real” world of adults. Einstein would have loved this book.

This is the middle-grade novel that I so wish I had written. Kate DiCamillo is the best kids’ author writing today, and I devour everything she writes. She really gets kids, and Winn Dixie is my favorite dog in books.

The story of ten-year-old Opal and her found dog, Winn Dixie, makes me laugh, want to snuggle my dog, cry and reach out to hug motherless Opal every time I read it (usually once a year). I love the remarkably imperfect people Opal and her dog befriend, and the language is rich and authentic to the story. This is an unforgettable story about making a home for yourself against the odds.

I was a lonely child despite having friends and siblings. I was (still am) an awkward kid who only felt at ease with a book, a cat or two (or twelve), and a dog (or four). But the dogs of my childhood were not mine. They belonged to my siblings and parents, so I was beset with dog envy.

Family turmoil delayed my turn as a dog owner until I was a young adult. Through all those years of waiting and wishing, this book reminded me that the experience of owning and loving dogs is mostly wonderful, sometimes painful, and always unforgettable. What’s more, the rural setting was so hauntingly familiar that it may as well have been my own house, yard, and woods.

This is part of a book series, and as soon as I plucked the first one off the shelf at the British Council Library, I was hooked. This was the first series of books I was able to start and finish since I gave birth. Having been such a voracious reader before, it was a relief to get back to it.

But the Prisoner of Azkaban held my heart because the boy who lived finally met someone who could be just his person. His grown up. And Sirius Black was just so cool. Magic counts as supernatural, right?

This quiet and strange fairy tale is one of my favorite escape reads. I first read it while I was in high school, and it so accurately captured my own youthful confusion, my own reluctance to separate dreams from reality, that I felt a deep relief.

Another masterclass in storytelling, with lush worldbuilding and wonderfully awkward characters, the prose here is lyrical and sensory. Sand and tangled hair and the cold slap of waves. When I encountered them again, after moving to coastal Virginia, they felt familiar because I had already encountered them in this book.

To me, what’s most striking about this book, a queer retelling of “Snow White,” is that in addition to the POV of the Snow White character, Lynet, there’s also narration from Mina, the Evil Queen insert. Only in this retelling Mina isn’t a superficial villain.

In fact, she’s no villain at all. I find her to be a complex heroine, and her relationship with Lynet is equally rich and complicated. I was compelled by Lynet and Mina’s struggles under the weight of feminine and royal expectations. Despite their conflicts, they are more alike than they are different, and their journey to realizing this was so satisfying.

The sapphic romance between Lynet and a surgeon provides a lovely subplot that adds to, rather than distracts from, the main storyline. One of my all-time favorite sapphic retellings.