I have been trying to publish a book for long time—like, a long time—which is maybe not something you should confess when you’re staring down the publication date of your debut novel. It’s possible that this is not the sort of admission that instills confidence in potential readers, but alas, it’s an important detail in the story of how that book came to be.
For years (we won’t say how many), I’d been attempting to write kid lit, and I was stuck in the middle of a fantasy thing I had no business writing. Magic systems and whimsical, made-up first names are just not one of my strengths. But there is that annoying adage about how no writing is wasted, and it held true for me here: in trying to craft a sort of classic children’s story, I found myself wondering what it was about the books of Madeleine L’Engle, Garth Nix, and C.S. Lewis that had such a hold on me as a young, avid reader.
That question didn’t immediately result in a singular, universally applicable answer, but it did get me thinking about the immense pressure of writing for kids, especially if you’re helming a series like, say, Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson books. So much anticipation, such high expectations—and then, just as a thought experiment, what if a beloved children’s author happened to die before completing her series—what would happen? And if her husband was also a writer himself—a mystery writer, sure, but someone capable of plotting out a story—what then?
Those were the questions that eventually resulted in my debut, How the Story Goes, which is about an author trying to make good on his late wife’s dying wishes, and another writer trying to sort herself out after her experiences at an MFA program have made the business of storytelling feel bleak and hopeless. Eventually I realized, oh, that’s what this is all about: finding your way back to yourself through writing; believing in the potential of storytelling. In short, hope.
Here are some of my favorite books that scratch that same itch, written by people who, like me, believe in (there’s no non-corny way to say this) the power of a good book.
The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin
I devoured this in one weekend. It is a concise, heartwarming treat of a book, and if I’m honest, How the Story Goes owes a lot to it: a cozy bookstore in a cozy New England town; a grieving man and a precocious (minor spoiler) daughter; literary references galore. A lot of people paid a lot attention to Zevin’s more recent novel, Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, which is great. But if you want to laugh and cry and hang on every word of a narrator with a pitch-perfect voice, carve out 48-or-so hours for A.J. and his friends.
The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón
I was reading this book in a coffee shop when something happened around the 75% mark that made me gasp so loudly that every patron, to a person, looked up at me in concern. That was part and parcel of the whole reading experience, which I read in hours-long, immersive periods. A perfect book about books, set just after the Spanish Civil War, The Shadow of the Wind is, again, about how literary obsession can offer a way through grief. It’s rare that a book has both beautiful writing at the sentence level and a nonstop, edge-of-your-seat plot, but this one does.
The Amgash Books by Elizabeth Strout
Elizabeth, if you are reading this, I have been trying to get a message to you for years: I do not know where I would be without your writing, and I am so grateful for your books. If you want to hang out, I will get on a plane tomorrow, TSA lines be damned, just say the word. Okay, with that done, I’ll just say that the Strout Literary Universe is my absolute favorite place to be, and the Amgash books, starting with My Name Is Lucy Barton, are milk and honey to the world-weary soul. Lucy’s narrative voice is crisp yet full of yearning, and the books, which chronicle both the way she writes her way out of poverty and her life as a writer growing tired of New York City, are incisive meditations on art, family, money, marriage, and more. The best stuff around.
The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett
Ann Patchett recommended I read The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett, so I read The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett. And surprise, surprise, Ann was right. You don’t have to be a royalist (and I am not) to appreciate this story about a late-in-life Queen Elizabeth II discovering the joy of reading fiction on her own terms. This book is funny and endearing, while still packing an emotional punch. The ending, too, is hilariously optimistic, but I won’t spoil that for you. Just read it.
Cloud Cuckoo Land by Anthony Doerr
On paper, this is not the book for me. I am afraid of outer space and uninterested in virtual worlds; I do not want to spend any time in the mind of a potential perpetrator of mass violence. And yet—and yet! I could not put this down. In my opinion, Cloud Cuckoo Land is Doerr’s best book by a country mile. It features (I think) five points of view, all rotating around one ancient story, preserved and pursued by a series of brave, desperate people across hundreds of years. It’s one of those intimidatingly long books that can be read at a dead sprint, but which should also be savored bit by bit. I cried a lot when I finished.
The quintessential book about books. Approximately one million people recommended that I read this when I was in grad school studying Victorian fiction, and, annoyingly, they were all right. I genuinely cannot fathom how one woman managed to write this semi-epistolary novel that imagines entire histories for two make-believe nineteenth-century writers, Randolph Henry Ash and Christabel LaMotte, while also telling a compelling story about the modern-day scholars who research them. Beneath the novel’s appreciation for and critique of academia is an exploration of passion and how we make sense of the art we love and the people who make it. Read it. I know you’ll love it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Andrew Forrester is a writer and former English teacher whose work has appeared in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency and Parents magazine. He holds a PhD in nineteenth-century British literature and lives in Austin, Texas with his family. How The Story Goes is his first novel.