Fans pick 63 books like Montana Diary

I love the way Lisa Hanawalt draws nearly anything, but I especially love the way that Lisa draws animals, the desert, and the West. If you’re a Bojack Horseman fan, you’ve already fallen in love with her innovative cartooning style (she was a Bojack producer and its production designer). Her work here is all absurd movement, perfect timing, hilarious expressions, and, oh, yeah, a main character that’s a horseback-riding half-coyote, half-dog, full of messy humanity—a visceral, subversive Western, as delicious and satisfying as sleeping under a starry sky. 

The iyashikei (literally ‘healing’) genre of manga and anime concerns itself mainly with deeply character-driven narratives where nothing much happens. Except, of course, the simple living of life is beautiful, often the sweet spot where everything happens, and the creators behind this work know it.

This book is a pinnacle of that genre, a gorgeously illustrated meditation on the beauty of camping, campfire cooking, and the landscapes of Japan, as seen through the eyes of a thoughtful, funny group of high school girls. 

This book is Eleanor Davis’s gorgeous travel documentary of her 2016 cross-country bike tour. Her lines are so vivid and alive, and her day-by-day recounting of the details of her body, her bike, and the country changing around her is both simple and intricate. All of her work is amazing, but this one is definitely a standout. 

Luke Healey’s highly graphic, wonderfully expressive cartooning style is especially powerful in this memoir of his time hiking the Pacific Coast Trail. Through-hiking the PCH is an obvious physical feat in any circumstance, but it’s a deeply taxing mental one, and Luke’s reflection on his trip compels you forward.

You are next to him on the trail, begging the question repeatedly: how can we bear moving forward? How can we do this, day after day? You feel right there as Luke laces up his boots, takes a breath, and walks on. 

Nora Roberts can always be counted on to write authentic stories, and she makes me care about her characters. This one is dear to my heart because I lived and worked in Missoula, Montana, where the story is set.

This story is also set at the Missoula Smokejumper Base, where I trained as a wildland firefighter. This story has twists and turns, and the slow-burn romance, along with the close-knit wildland fire community, kept me turning the pages.

It’s funny, for one thing, but not merely funny.

“It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us,” Maclean writes, and here brotherhood, religion, and fly-fishing bleed into one another to comprise the river flowing through this stunning novella.

Wild Paul and his measured older brother Norman seem more friends than family, mostly because they choose one another. Meditative asides abound and delight, but the tender stuff concerns memory and acceptance and forgiveness, affirming Emily Dickinson’s adage: “The soul selects her own society.”

In a tale of Scottish immigrants who homestead Montana ranches in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains, Dancing at the Rascal Fair features a cast of characters who cooperate and sometimes clash as they build lives in a harsh new country. Human relationships prove as challenging as the land, the livestock, and the weather. Doig, like few authors who write about the West, presents a faithful picture of ranch life.   

The Big Sky is a masterpiece of historical fiction and an often-cited classic novel of the American West. It earns this distinction because of its original characterization, its use of historical and geographical accuracy, its thematic depth, and its symbolism. It is set in the mountain man or fur trade era, and it shows the consequences of White men going into the wilderness. This book introduces the idea, in cultural and environmental terms, that in the occupation of the American West, people ruin the thing they love. This book not only makes it to the top of the lists by western writers, but it also is well appreciated by scholars and students in Western American Literature. 

McGuane sure kicked it off for me in terms of seeing a way to write new fiction. Story is not a priority in his world rather observation of characters battling the odds of surviving each day. The reader wants to be like some of the characters and run to the hills from others but the sense of humor, dirt under the fingernails of these singular people we’ll never meet, relationships we’ll never be in, and locations such as Livingston, Montana or Key West, Florida we won’t spend much time in, draws me to McGuane’s page. McGuane, who wrote scripts for Missouri Breaks and Rancho Deluxe, writes like a filmmaker – the smells, the weather, the alcohol, the drugs – the reader is in the scene, the sun on your neck, the dust in the air, the sound of the ice-cold creek. McGuane is a travel agent.

I’ve always felt a desire to make the world make sense through data – that numbers and structure could help unlock hidden meanings. When I read this novel, I felt seen: it’s told from the perspective of T. S. Spivet – a 12-year-old boy who has the same urge. Spivet thoroughly documents the world around him, sketching an ant he sees in the grass, and drawing schematics and maps of the spaces he travels through on his quest to travel to the Smithsonian Institution. The book’s margin is lavishly illustrated with Spivet’s diagrams – in seeing the world through his eyes, it felt like how I see it through my own.