A 'Chicken Soup for the Soul' Reading List—But Not That One

Many, many people I know had a bad week last week for reasons other than the ones currently making me feel like shit, but hey! Great timing for a book list.

When I'm sad, I either read ravenously or not at all. I'm either going to demolish thirty books because I cannot stomach having a single brain cell, or temporarily lose my ability to read entirely. I'm hoping it's the former, but can never quite discount the latter.

Similarly, my taste during [redacted] tends to be one of the following:

• Nostalgic reads—either books I always read when I'm low, or books that have always felt tender to me. Maybe because they recall some childhood comfort?
• Sheer, unbridled escapism—colorful, larger-than-life, movie-ish. I'm not a huge high fantasy person, but a mood like this one might be when I'm most inclined to entertain a world that's not my own (obviously.)
• Challenging classics—drown me in academia!
• Psychology, biology, and social history—my blue period of spring 2019 actually catalyzed my interest in nonfiction. I learned I can hardcore disconnect by diving into any semi-related topic that makes me turn my brain off, snap into emotional unavailability, and cease feeling entirely. Sure, that won't help with those pesky "too independent" accusations, but it always feels good to go all-in on even more routine and discipline after a kick in reading about stoicism, grit, athleticism, etc,.

So. Time will tell.

For today, I wanted to focus on the first category and just spotlight a few reads that aren't favorites, per se, or even formative, but hit at the right time.

I Wrote This for You by Iain S. Thomas

Admittedly, I went back and reread this one today because I remember this small book of poetry and photos being king for me at one point. It's angsty, longing, and reminds me a bit of Pablo Neruda's Tonight I can write the saddest lines...

That being said, in my 2024 reread, I'm finding it affected. A bit Tumblr-esque for my taste. Maybe it's the algorithm's fault for feeding me too many pithy one-liners; they almost feel overly familiar. (Relevant book rec: Filterworld: How Algorithms Flattened Culture by Kyle Chayka.) Still, I'll always love and star a few passages for its impact in my memory, and I'm fond of the (slim) volume for the assistance it gave me in say, 2016.

Credit / Iain S. Thomas

Love Poems from God by Daniel Ladinsky

I do notice that I turn to poetry when needing solace. Partly because a poem can (cliché but accurate) be a mirror in a sense and reflect back the reader's emotions in a way that fiction may not be able to fully do. The limits of the medium make it more distilled in a way I appreciate, which can do a lot for personal catharsis.

I am personally religious, but private about it; I view my religion more as an inspiring spirit of goodness and kindness rather than specific tenets of human behavior I have to follow, and I roughly believe that most religions just use different languages for the same concept. Same thing, different font. For me, that looks like God, and I do find comfort in the rhythms of belief.

I don't often connect with inspirational content, per se, but for some reason love the "love letters" style of religious writings from this volume. It's not so much about the faith depicted inside as the feeling of safety and optimism.

Tiger Lily by Jodi Lynn Anderson

Tiger Lily is one of my all-time favorite books, if not the all-time favorite. Had I not recently reread it (since it'd been awhile), I would be rereading it now. Anderson tackles yearning and loss and aging and memory and regret, straddling this line of loneliness/independence that strikes me so deeply. I feel for Tiger Lily as an outcast, and can understand the hardships of her strength.

And of course, all the themes are wrapped up in a vivid, absorbing story about the little Native girl meeting Peter Pan, and the ripple effects this has on the village. The lore is creative, the tension is nuanced and powerful, and it's the epitome of "bittersweet" (which is my favorite tone in fiction, but perhaps not in reality.) Let's just say: ouch.

““I'm not myself,' she offered, guilty. She softened around Tik Tok, and when she did she was, for those rare moments, girlish. He smiled. 'You can never say that. You're just a piece of yourself right now that you don't like.””

Letters to Rapunzel by Sara Holmes

Similarly, Letters to Rapunzel is a book I read when I was younger, which I'm pretty sure I filched from my fourth-grade teacher's classroom library. (Sorry, Ms. Long!) I actually had a habit inspired by the book for years: keeping fortune cookie slips in a Mason jar by my bedside because it "felt good to know that you had futures by your bed within reach," or some similar logic the character used with her dad.

The story's about a girl writing letters to a savior in a P.O. box that her dad used to write to before he was institutionalized with clinical depression. She's now at home with her mother and confused and upset by her dad's battle, so she figured she'd beg whoever he was writing to to help her. In school, they're studying fairytales so she uses Rapunzel as her alias, and the voice is funny, sweet, and clever without being cloying.

From an emotional perspective, the book is a tough but satisfying look at reality that highlights how kids know when something's going on that nobody's telling them, and still pick up on the tension and stress. As the full story of her dad's illness unfolds, she's desperate for an answer, and the journey is a tough but fantastic read. For that reason, it grapples with the line between innocence / the curtain going up that I think sometimes speaks to me as someone who's an optimist (or maybe naïve) because of how it grapples with harsh truths and events without losing that light.

If you have a young reader in your life, this one is powerful without being "too much." It's both gentle and illuminating, and has stayed with me probably at least 15 years at this point.

Humankind: A Hopeful History by Rutger Bregman

I've owned this one for several years but haven't gotten around to starting it but I may just have to push through it right now thanks to it crossing two factors off my list: hopefully stirring some feelings of goodness like the nostalgic picks and allowing me to dissect emotions without feeling them myself. Key! Sometimes, circumstances suck and we just need a good reminder of all the good there is (which is why I'm also big on constantly writing gratitude lists.) Plus, I love a good social history.

Congratulations, By the Way: Some Thoughts on Kindness by George Saunders

As a longtime camp counselor, I regularly say that my summer camp was a utopia because it was built on a culture of generosity and kindness. The coolest girls were the most helpful, the most inclusive, and that was just such an incredible divergence from "normal" culture, even if (especially if) it was temporary. During orientation one year, an administrator read us this speech, and it's forever stayed with me. In it, George Saunders talks about how you can teach yourself a lot and avoid many regrets, but his biggest regrets are failures of kindness. For me, at least, that rings true. It's short, too, so you could read it now.

Then I also love reading any books by Emma Mills when sad, as her characters are such warm, kind, and actively helpful characters who see the good. Famous in a Small Town is especially powerful. Katherine Center has been great for me in that vein recently too, and I started with The Bodyguard.

Hyperbole and a Half is also a fantastic comic series (which I don't normally read—not my thing) that has a lot of phenomenal strips about bad times, but I likely wouldn't recommend reading it if you're feeling dark because it hits where it hurts. That being said, it's also one of the funniest books I've ever read, and I never laugh at books.

Hope y'all are having a better week than I am, but that these might provide some relief if not. Of course, complicated musings on wanting to disappear from the Internet at times might also feel timely. But of course, as a journalist now, my byline is tragically tattooed on Muckrack so I can't wipe my slate clean the way I normally want to. Maybe the stronger thing to do is to remain visible — but then do you do so stoically or with acknowledgement of the lows?