100 books like Strangers to Ourselves

I love this book for a number of reasons, perhaps chiefly because it’s so hard to pin down. What is it? Part memoir, part biography, part meditation on grief, part instructional guide to falconry.

Helen Macdonald interweaves her own story of dealing with her father’s death with a historical account of the tortured life of T. H. White (known best as the author of The Once and Future King). In juxtaposing these stories across time and space, we are able to see the blurred lines between bereavement, madness, and social isolation. I will hold forever in my mind Macdonald’s description of looking into her hawk’s eye and seeing nothing familiar, an alien consciousness—it helped to remind me that for all the complexity and diversity of the human species, our perspective is only one among the countless others with which we cohabitate on this planet.

I love this book because it explores a new way of understanding human emotions. When you laugh, cry, or scowl with anger, you often assume that the emotions you're feeling are the same as everyone else’s. Lisa Feldman Barrett explains that this is not necessarily the case, according to the new science of emotion.

She clearly describes the research, including her own, that shows that emotions are not hard-wired at birth but are constructed by our brains and our bodies as we go through life. It means that we can be the architects of our emotional lives, and the implications for society are profound. Reading this book has excited me and given me a great deal of hope and optimism about how we can have more agency over our emotional lives. 

Le Guin is one of my all-time favorite writers, and this book is one of her lesser-known gems. It is a weird, kaleidoscopic story about a man whose dreams change reality and a therapist who tries to take advantage of this to create his own idea of utopia.

It’s a story that doesn’t exactly leave a flattering impression of my profession. But I love it, not only for its mind-bending creativity but as a cautionary tale about what can happen when the imbalance of power in therapeutic relationships goes unchecked. Le Guin takes a question about psychotherapy that I think about all the time—who gets to define what it means to be “healthy”?—and follows it to its dizzying extreme: who gets to decide what kind of world we want to live in?

When a friend first handed me her copy of Esmé Weijun Wang’s book, I imagined it would sit unread on my shelf for a long time. Given how much time I spend in my professional life working with people with severe mental illness, I assumed Wang’s personal account of her struggle to find a diagnosis and effective, compassionate treatment would be redundant for me.

I was so, so, so wrong. I read nearly the entire essay collection in one sitting—it is stunning, somehow scholarly and deeply personal at the same time. The book is required reading for anyone who wants to better understand one of the least understood diagnoses in the history of psychiatry.

This book exploded my (at that stage–limited) understanding of relationships and might have even inspired me to become a therapist. It highlighted for me how complex human dynamics are and how vital it is for us to have self-awareness and stay accountable in our partnerships.

It was so ahead of its time, tackling subjects like people-pleasing and gaslighting long before they were a thing. Groundbreaking when it came out in 1986, it is still relevant today and a true classic. I have recommended this book countless times to clients and friends alike and return to it often for Melody Beattie’s compassion, wisdom, guidance, and clarity.

There’s a long history of books about mental illness that regard the subject as though it exists in a bubble—something that impacts a single individual, or maybe a family, but is otherwise disconnected from broader social and political realities.

Ben Lerner’s semi-autobiographical novel hit me somewhere deep in my chest because it does precisely the opposite. With a mounting sense of dread, his book explores psychological disturbance and the attempts to treat it as phenomena rooted firmly in our world, and all the messy smaller worlds within: worlds of privilege, misogyny, and xenophobia, to name a few. I still think about the last chapter often.

Even after always appreciating LeDoux's serene and clear descriptions of complex concepts, his latest book truly astonished me!

I’m impressed by this amazing legacy of research where he introduces a novel way to comprehend humanity. I read this book after publishing my own, and it brought me immense joy to discover that it harmonizes with the systemic approach I consider essential for progressing in our quest for healing, encompassing not only physical but also emotional and mental well-being. 

Shame is often more traumatizing than we realize, and there hasn't been enough exploration of its connection to prolonging the impact of initial traumatic events. In my first book, I dedicated an entire section to shame, and it was this work that significantly aided in delving deeper into its various forms and consequences.

This book's ability to distinguish between shame and guilt is particularly enlightening. While it may not be the most enjoyable read, it was undoubtedly a valuable reference for me when I needed to develop a better understanding of this crucial aspect of trauma.

I’ve always been fascinated by the question, “What is personality?”

Is there someone we’re hardwired to be or do other factors so affect us that we’re who we are because of our experiences? What about extreme traits—are they an aspect of our personality or something more external? 

This book tackles these questions in such an interesting way, by focusing on mild forms of traits that might be diagnosable at higher levels. For example, if you’re quick to anger, is it possible you have a mild form of a rage disorder, or are you simply an angry person? 

One of the chapters is about adults with very mild traits of autism. It opens the door to our thinking more deeply about autism as an inherent part of someone’s personality, rather than something separate from them.

There’s something affirming and positive about that to me. I think any parent with a neurodivergent… show more.

I once worked on a film shoot at the infamous Friern Barnet Asylum in London, an imposing building that boasts the longest corridor in Europe at over a third of a mile long. It was my job to lock up after filming was over each night, and to do so, I had to walk the long corridor with just a flashlight for company… and the ghosts rumoured to haunt the building! I have never forgotten the feeling of dread and despair in that place, and my heart went out to the patients who were isolated in the creepy basement wards. Barbara Taylor gives an inside perspective on this fearsome institution in her book, which is both an achingly honest account of mental illness and addiction, and a critique of community care.