14 books like The Keeper of Stories

As a latecomer to long-distance hiking, this book is now one of my all-time favourites. It explores regrets and life's lessons, going beyond Alzheimer's.

One morning, Harold receives a letter from a long-lost woman, informing him of her impending death and wanting to bid farewell. Believing that walking the entire 600-mile journey and answering her in person could save her life, he embarks on this quest wearing only the clothes on his back.

With each step, Harold's past is peeled back, revealing deep wounds and losses that shaped his life and bringing him closer to healing. Along the way, he opens himself to the world, embracing not only others' vulnerabilities but also coming to terms with his own.

Driven by regret and the search for redemption, Harold's journey, both physically and emotionally, turns out to be a heartening one, narrated with a perfect blend of humour and pathos.

I was hooked from the start with the quirky but wildly entertaining and loveable Molly Gray. Her role as a maid at the hotel satisfies her need for “order,” a sentiment I can appreciate. I laughed out loud as Molly navigated the hotel corridors with co-workers and guests.

Then, when an inconvenient dead body upended her world, I felt her struggle as she was misunderstood and assumed guilty of the crime. I devoured this heartwarming tale of perseverance in one sitting and highly recommend an afternoon spent with The Maid.

I loved this book for its characters, especially Norman. Only a twelve-year-old boy, Norman has suffered the loss of his one true friend and now forms brave new plans: to find his birth father and to perform as a stand-up comedian at Edinburgh’s Fringe Festival. He is helped by his mother, her older colleague, and others he meets on the road trip to Scotland. Norman has terrible skin psoriasis, a fetish for cheese on toast, and vast quantities of courage and determination.

Some wisdom from Norman: "Never give up. Because no matter if everything goes to hell in a hand basket and you lose your father, your footy career, your baby, your memory, your son, your breath or your best friend, you’ve just got to keep on going."

This novel made me giggle and made me think, too. It’s written from the perspectives of several very different people whose lives unexpectedly intermingle on a train. The one who steals the show (for me, at least) is Iona Iverson. She’s a middle-aged eccentric, equipped with an ever-ready handbag and French bulldog, and she is magnificent with it! She does not care what others think of her and has her own rules and routines firmly in place, but she has a huge heart. 

Some advice from Iona: "Your past experiences… are the foundations on which to build your future. Build them on pride, not shame."

Rembrandt is a fascinating journey through Rembrandt’s paintings and also his lesser-known (to the general public) prints. It’s also a chronological roadmap of his works from his early years until his final period.  Watching his progression and the mastery in his latest period was a true learning process of how ‘less’ can be ‘far more.’ In the works displayed in the book, Rembrandt shows his skill at wringing every last bit of functionality out of each color in a very limited palette and also the cornucopia of atmospheric density he played with so masterfully to push and pull the viewers’ eye.  

This book is colourful, joyful, and deliciously diverse. The simple rhyme is rollicking but not too sweet, the illustrations are bright and playful, with plenty of fun detail. I love the mixture of people (all ages and colours and abilities) at work in the community garden, and how there is room for different ways of doing things (some plots are neat and proper while others are messy and wild). Best of all is how the story ends with everyone sitting down together to enjoy a garden-grown feast. Community, humour, hospitality, gratitude, and care for the earth—this little story is a cornucopia of good things. 

I really enjoyed this playful, ethereal, experimental collection of seventeen stories from prolific Tanzania-Australian author Eugen Bacon.

Her work often defies genre, spanning science fiction, horror, fantasy with a strong literary sensibility. These are poetic, evocative stories, about migration and displacement, about climate change and technology, about blackness and womanhood, about politics and community.

Adding up to more than just the sum of its parts, I could not help but be impressed. As a whole, with each story allowed to resonate with the other, it’s an excellent, inventive collection.

This must be one of the strangest works I have read in a long while, and I admire it deeply. It surfs on the documentary graphic novel trend. It exists to teach people about the disastrous impact of intensive farming on the environment, and more particularly on dirt. Not a very attractive topic, despite how serious it is – but, and that’s where this comic is so innovative, it twists all this knowledge around a suspenseful battle royal orchestrated by Hades in the Underworld. Unlikely, isn’t it? I loved discovering the facts while cheering on my main characters, two lost 16 years old, who struggle to survive in the underground. While it is directed at teens, I would recommend it to the above 16 only, as there is gore (this book follows the Hunger Games pattern of only one survivor) and nudity. 

Nabokov’s novel is not about a book per se, and it is definitely not your typical novel, either. A 999-line poem by fictional author John Shade provides the lift-off here. But the bulk of Pale Fire is a series of footnotes by Shade’s neighbor, professor Charles Kinbote, an academic buffoon, who, while supposedly annotating the poem, unfolds three bizarre storylines and exposes himself as a deranged egotistical madman (sorry if that’s redundant!). The result is a metafictional wonder that explodes the parameters of the “traditional” novel and takes a giant satirical pot-shot at academics.

This is a cornucopia of the weird and wonderful in Australia: the origins of ‘mateship’, rural remedies, measuring the weather by the behaviour of birds, how ‘Waltzing Matilda’ had its origins in a shearers’ strike, and the bizarre life of the itinerant swagman, including hints on how to make a ‘swag’ and carry it according to the legendary writer Henry Lawson. There are wonderful tales of Australian ‘taciturnity’ and folks living so remotely they still thought Queen Victoria was on the throne in the mid-1900s. It may be light-hearted in tone but this book somehow gets to the heart of what makes Australians unlike anyone else in the world.