Fans pick 100 books like The Consolations of Mortality

I read this book when it came out in the ‘70s, and I was in my mid-twenties, with only the most abstract, hypothetical awareness of my own mortality. It opened my eyes to the fact that our avoidance of thinking about our own deaths is not just an individual quirk of cowardice but a foundation of human culture and individual action.

To me, the latest popular manifestation of this avoidance is the current popular obsession with longevity, and this remains as current as the day it was published 50 years ago.

I stumbled across this book, written by a Nobel prize winner I had never heard of, when I was researching “comps” for my new novel. Both turn on the premise that suddenly death ceases to happen to people after a certain point in time; in Saramago’s novel, this is because Death is a female deity who gets really tired of her job.

It’s utterly fanciful but scathingly satirical in portraying humankind’s reactions to what they always thought would be a boon but soon realize is a catastrophe. It made me change some aspects of my book to try to emulate Saramago’s level of sophistication—and sense of humor—about human nature.

This novel takes an absurd premise (everyone magically receives a string whose length reflects how long they will live) and spins it into a profound thought experiment. I loved it for its complete indifference to the scientific credibility that I tried to build into my novel, which is in part about knowing (if you want) exactly how long you have to live.

I found it liberating to learn that, as a writer, I could have it both ways: be extremely thoughtful and nuanced about the consequences of your premise while being completely arbitrary and absurdist about the premise itself. I don’t have that kind of nerve, so I fell back on mere science for my premise, but I love Erlich’s gall. 

I first read this book not long after my mother passed away, and its argument against the over-medicalization of death and dying resonated powerfully with me since she died after spending her last weeks in a hospital. It revisits Ernest Becker's insight in a different way, that rather than treating death and dying as something that can be “fixed,” we need to acknowledge and embrace the end to give greater meaning to what leads up to it.

I’m amazed that more people aren’t talking about this book. It falls in line with the vampire romance genre so effortlessly, and yet it is egregiously overlooked. I remember reading it years ago when I was a teenager and being totally entranced. There’s this beautiful lilt to the writing, and the plot is so richly complex. It deals with the subject of immortality in such an interesting way, comparing the endless life of this vampire to the swiftly expiring life of this girl’s mother. The romance itself is actually refreshing as well. There’s this soft, sweet gallantry that you don’t see a lot in modern work, in my opinion.

This book is part science, part memoir. The author shares how she applied the research she has done around resilience as she grappled with grief when her child died.

When we are grieving without the false promises of an afterlife, learning how to support ourselves as we put one foot in front of another and continue to move forward can take everything we have. By exploring concepts of resilience and well-being, Dr. Hone provides practical tools to help us cope a bit better. 

When psychologist Matthew McKay’s son, Jordan, was killed by bike thieves at age 23, McKay learned how to channel him from the other side, as recounted in his touching book Seeking Jordan. In this later book, Jordan communicates in vivid detail the stages he went through after he died.

In what amounts to a modern-day secular Book of the Dead, McKay/Jordan describes how to navigate each stage without a body, how we learn and grow in the spirit world, and how to release anxiety about the end of life and instead view it as another stage of our ongoing consciousness.

Most notably, he reveals that there is no institutional or doctrinal “religion” on the other side and that the driving force of continued consciousness is love and a willingness to keep learning and growing spiritually. 

Jessica Warman’s Between is a marvelous study in flawed characters, who, by their very nature, are at times unlikeable. Ironically, I love unlikeable characters—because they’re written realistically and with plenty of potential for growth. Because I prefer to write characters with realistic attributes, and those in my own book are no exception, I love reading their points of view. Additionally, it’s always interesting when these characters are dropped into situations requiring suspension of disbelief, and it’s even better when protagonists lead a cast of such characters. Between checks all of these boxes. It’s delicious!

If our traditions of death and burial are products of the past, then what might the future of funerals look like? 

I keep going back to this book because it’s such a sympathetic, insightful exploration of how social media and AI are already radically transforming our relationships with our dead. Not only that, but the very nature of memory itself is also changing in interesting ways.

The book deftly articulates both the positives and the shadow sides of grieving in an increasingly digital world, all expressed with warmth, wit, and a great understanding of the complexities of human nature.  

This was one of the first books that got me thinking critically about ‘dark tourism’. Harrison inspired me to look at how the dead maintain their relations with the living. In turn, the book galvanized my thinking of the many touristic places where the dead cohabit the world of the living. These range from graves, monuments, and memorials, and made me think about how we give the dead a memorialized afterlife. Drawing upon philosophy, history, and poetry, Harrison teaches us that as we follow in the footsteps of the dead, we are not self-authored. Instead, the thought of death shapes the communion of the living. Within the ‘Dominion of the Dead’, the dead become our guardians where we give them a future so that they may give us a past.