The most recommended books about loneliness

In lieu of attending services on Rosh Hashanah, I sat with a cup of Earl Grey tea in a recliner chair in our living room in Tel Aviv and read from the first to the last page. In one gulp. A beautiful book full of food for thought about society, humanity, the state of our world, human needs, community, Jewish teachings, and love. Everyone could benefit from reading this book, especially now.

Barbara is a deliciously deceptive, vicious character wrapped in a seemingly mild-mannered 60-year-old woman. I loved how she both hated being overlooked and used her almost invisibility as an older woman, taking advantage of it to manipulate the object of her obsession–the foolish Sheba. When Sheba, a teacher, embarks on an affair with a pupil, it’s the opportunity Barbara has been waiting for. 

Reading this book is a little like the cliché about watching a car crash in slow motion because there is an undeniable inevitability about Sheba’s fall from grace and destruction. Yet I couldn’t look away; I was too fascinated. Ultimately, they are two characters who are unpleasant in their unique ways, but they create an irresistible story when combined.

David Nicholls is a genius when it comes to creating characters you can instantly empathise with and root for. Marnie and Michael in 'You Are Here' are no exception and I loved following them on their epic walk and watching their relationship develop. Brilliant dialogue and fantastic scene-setting; for me this is David Nicholls' best book to date (and I've loved them all!).

It’s a dystopian YA novel where the Australian landscape is beautifully rendered in all its glory and danger. It’s also a tightly written and intense page turner, when even quiet moments are infused with a sense of menace.

It has echoes of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, although this book is unmistakably Australian - right down to speculation around where our nation’s attitude to asylum seeks may lead us. It’s not as bleak as The Road (a book I admire), but Mark reminds us how easily our veneer of society could slip away in the wake of a catastrophic, world-changing event.

I did worry for Finn’s dog as much as for Finn himself. (I’m still scarred by The Knife of Never Letting Go. This has parallels to that nail-biting novel, too.)

It might tempt someone to choose a book in Noyes’ Ask, Tell series, but Alone is my recommendation.

A romance with such a lonesome title might not appear swoon-worthy on the surface, but dig a little deeper, and witness the burgeoning romance between Celeste and Olivia develop in such beautiful fashion in their isolated cocoon–until all goes wrong.

Still, the loving way they interact, learn about each other, and then yearn for each other had my heart skipping beats until the end. Noyes has a way of writing characters with whom it’s easy to fall in love.

This is a touching children’s book that helps to teach young children about the connections they have with others in their lives.

The metaphor used in the book is about an invisible string that connects the child to other people they love. The book is so poignant in its simplicity – the message is concrete enough for a young child to understand, providing them with language they can use to describe their ongoing emotional connection to a caregiver during a time of separation, or why it hurts when someone they loved is no longer there.

I have found that reading this book to my own children or child clients creates opportunities for important conversations about the meaning of our connection. 

Hope Farm moved me so much because it conveys the bitter-sweetness of being thirteen, being privy to adults who make terrible choices, and having to adapt to the consequences of those choices. It is about parents who join cults (in this case, a hippy one) and the effects of this on their children. Peggy Frew has such a seductive and captivating way of engrossing the reader in the story through her stunning prose.  

I loved this book, as it describes one of the biggest problems of our day and age: that we are both superconnected and no longer connected at all. By that, I mean that we are constantly digitally stimulated.

We are in touch with friends, colleagues, and strangers, but because of that, we are too tired to truly connect to the important people around us and even with ourselves.

A houseful of women, moving from their long-term home in New Zealand to a new location by the sea. What you get in this short tale is an accumulation of moments that add up to an intense mosaic of the life of women in a male-dominated family.

From the little girl Kezia to the pregnant wife Linda, from the sometimes benevolent grandmother to the handyman who chops off the head of a live duck to see it still running, this book enthralls in its detail, its poetic and emotional resonance, and the insights it gives into female consciousness in a world of constrictions.

Don’t look for ‘what happens next’; look instead for the diamond facets the story reveals in every sentence. When you get to the end, you may feel that this book is a jewel beyond price. 

I read this novel a few years ago, back before I had any kind of writing career to speak of.

Personally, books about the life cycle of a lie have always fascinated me, which is why Something to Live For—a book about a man who must finally come to terms with the fact that the adoring wife and children he talks about at work every day do not actually exist—captured my heart.

The novel deals with that liminal space between home life and work life, the different people we become when we cross that border, and the obligation of authenticity (whatever that means). The result is beautiful and heartbreaking.