87 books like The Eyes of God

Have you ever felt this deep, internal calling, one you can’t escape from, that even as time goes by, it remains there, whispering in your inner mind, telling you, driving you, to create things that aren’t real? To make them into words that then form adventures? For as long as I can remember I have felt this, and feel it is what I was meant to do. I love, and try to incorporate in my own stories, elements that involve magic, uncommon or new creatures, extensive worlds, flawed characters, a pinch of love, and everything else (including, possibly, a kitchen sink) that can be found in a made-up universe. 

Have you ever felt this deep, internal calling, one you can’t escape from, that even as time goes by, it remains there, whispering in your inner mind, telling you, driving you, to create things that aren’t real? To make them into words that then form adventures? For as long as I can remember I have felt this, and feel it is what I was meant to do. I love, and try to incorporate in my own stories, elements that involve magic, uncommon or new creatures, extensive worlds, flawed characters, a pinch of love, and everything else (including, possibly, a kitchen sink) that can be found in a made-up universe. 

Have you ever felt this deep, internal calling, one you can’t escape from, that even as time goes by, it remains there, whispering in your inner mind, telling you, driving you, to create things that aren’t real? To make them into words that then form adventures? For as long as I can remember I have felt this, and feel it is what I was meant to do. I love, and try to incorporate in my own stories, elements that involve magic, uncommon or new creatures, extensive worlds, flawed characters, a pinch of love, and everything else (including, possibly, a kitchen sink) that can be found in a made-up universe. 

Have you ever felt this deep, internal calling, one you can’t escape from, that even as time goes by, it remains there, whispering in your inner mind, telling you, driving you, to create things that aren’t real? To make them into words that then form adventures? For as long as I can remember I have felt this, and feel it is what I was meant to do. I love, and try to incorporate in my own stories, elements that involve magic, uncommon or new creatures, extensive worlds, flawed characters, a pinch of love, and everything else (including, possibly, a kitchen sink) that can be found in a made-up universe. 

I’d like to say I have no expertise in this topic. And yet…don’t we all?  We’ve all lived through it. I was born in 1937—in Honolulu, the daughter of a US Army officer. WW II was a pervasive part of my childhood, as my father spent time in the Pacific and then after the war ended, we lived in Occupied Japan for some years.  But war had always been a part of my family’s history, as is true for so many people. My great grandfather left a written account of his capture and imprisonment during the Civil War.  And much more recently, my own son, an Air Force pilot, died in the cockpit of a F-15.  Ironically, he had married a German wife, and he is buried in her village cemetery near her grandfather, who served on the Russian front years earlier.  His child, my granddaughter, puts flowers on both of those graves. All of these pieces of my own history combine, I think, to create this passion I have for the telling and retelling of stories that can make us more aware of the futility of war.

As a cancer doctor, I have spent two decades dedicated to understanding the causes and therapy of cancer, how my patients experience their diagnosis and treatment, and how meaningful improvements in their experience should be reflected in the criteria we use to approve cancer drugs approval in the U.S., to improve their lives. In over 100 essays published in outlets like The New York Times and The Washington Post and in two books, I sing the stories of my patients as I learn from their undaunted spirits and their utter humanity, as I try to figure out how to be a better doctor, and a better person.

I was born in England but have also lived in Germany and Switzerland. I’m not – and never have been – an elite sportsperson, but I'm fascinated by the sporting world and in particular, how young people who are into sports cope with the pressures of growing up and dealing with the successes and failures of sports. I love playing sports and watching it, in particular the Olympics and Paralympics, because of the drama, the tension, the soaring highs of winning, and the miserable lows of losing. The books that I've chosen hooked me in and kept me turning their pages because they’re gripping stories with irresistible (sporty) characters in inspiring settings.

When I worked as a middle school teacher, I surveyed more than 200 students how they felt about books that included sadness and grief. The overwhelming answer from the students was that while adults too often minimize their feelings and dismiss the validity of their heartache, books do not. Many young readers want books that are honest and raw enough not to shield them from the world, but to pay enough attention to its pain to light a path, knowing that they can keep moving forward in the dark when they feel less alone and less afraid.

Misery loves company, right? While I never wish ill on someone, I find comfort in knowing I’m not the only one going through a loss, slight, or rejection. Family dysfunction novels remind me that the petty problems I get caught up in are nothing compared to what they could be. Sure, fiction frequently elevates these troubles from drama to melodrama, but I still experience relief—even though it may only be in the smallest way—focusing on someone else’s struggles. Sometimes I even find a solution to my own paltry issues. Who wouldn’t want that? And what writer wouldn’t want to help readers in that way?

I was first a clinical social worker and then a social work professor with research focus on older adults. Over the past few years, as I have been writing my own memoir about caring for my parents, I’ve been drawn to memoirs and first-person stories of aging, illness, and death. The best memoirs on these topics describe the emotional transformation in the writer as they process their loss of control, loss of their own or a loved one’s health, and their fear, pain, and suffering. In sharing these stories, we help others empathize with what we’ve gone through and help others be better prepared for similar events in their own lives.