The best books that have been eddies of solace for an awkward girl who loves books and the outdoors

I was a lonely child despite having friends and siblings. I was (still am) an awkward kid who only felt at ease with a book, a cat or two (or twelve), and a dog (or four). But the dogs of my childhood were not mine. They belonged to my siblings and parents, so I was beset with dog envy.

Family turmoil delayed my turn as a dog owner until I was a young adult. Through all those years of waiting and wishing, this book reminded me that the experience of owning and loving dogs is mostly wonderful, sometimes painful, and always unforgettable. What’s more, the rural setting was so hauntingly familiar that it may as well have been my own house, yard, and woods.

While the rabbits and habitats in this book were unfamiliar (southeastern US rabbits do not live in warrens, and I’ve never seen a down), the personalities and perils rang true during my anxious teen years. This book showed me my own strangeness and reluctance to lead, my own flight toward a place that might feel safe and secure.

Many readings later, I’ve adopted rabbit words into my vocabulary and plan to someday name a pet Bigwig. (I’ve yet to find a cat or dog with the right personality, but I know the time will come.) Yes, it’s about rabbits. But it’s also a masterclass in storytelling, with unmatched world-building, enthralling character and plot development, and carefully paced tension.

The Pern books spoke to my yearning for deep and unbreakable connections. After all, what teen wouldn’t wish to be chosen by a dragon? But Menolly was a bit like looking in a mirror. Uncomfortable in the surroundings of home and happiest on some path leading away from the expectations of family. Even if that path led to a cave in the wilderness. Actually, for me, especially if that path led to a cave in the wilderness.

The shorelines of Menolly’s world, rocky inlets and coastal cliffs, are not much like the shorelines I’ve explored in Virginia. But the salt marshes? There, every detail is echoed. I’ve read the Pern trilogies multiple times, and this is the book I return to when I’m craving solitude.

This quiet and strange fairy tale is one of my favorite escape reads. I first read it while I was in high school, and it so accurately captured my own youthful confusion, my own reluctance to separate dreams from reality, that I felt a deep relief.

Another masterclass in storytelling, with lush worldbuilding and wonderfully awkward characters, the prose here is lyrical and sensory. Sand and tangled hair and the cold slap of waves. When I encountered them again, after moving to coastal Virginia, they felt familiar because I had already encountered them in this book.

This was the first book I ever pulled from the big kids’ shelves at our library. I read it in the big chair in the den until Mother chased me outside with dire threats that I was ruining my eyes. 

Then I read among straw bales and a heap of yard cats until nightfall lured the cats away. Then I read in bed until Mother threatened further direness if I didn’t turn off my light. Then I read by moonlight until I fell asleep and woke again the next day to read more.

A shipwreck, an island, and a horse. A little barn in the suburbs. These were the opposite of my world. During the hours I spent with this book, I became an escape reader.