The best books that capture how it feels to be an outsider

I love this book because it puts me inside the heartbreaking experience of a singular character named Francis Phelan—a homeless man from Albany, New York—as he wrestles with his past and journeys home after a long, self-imposed absence. By the time Ironweed begins, Francis has been homeless for many years and is haunted by his past.

I love how the main character is a mystery, yet the author uses interiority to place the reader inside his experience. Ghosts of the past become palpable to Francis, and he struggles to make his way back home while struggling to survive the hardscrabble existence of the homeless. This book unravels the mystery of its main character and employs striking, beautiful, and direct prose. This book haunted me.

I was immediately drawn into this slim book about small-time boxers in Stockton, California, trying to find some measure of respect. The sentences are terse and beautiful and contain all the desperation and struggle of small lives lived in obscure places.

Billy Tully, an older boxer, tries to restart his flailing boxing career as the novice boxer Ernie Munger is just beginning. Doubt, alcoholism, failure, rejection, hopelessness, and disintegration beset the path of both main characters, and they may share parallel fates.

There should be more books with characters like this because, as Thoreau noted, most men do “lead quiet lives of desperation,” and no book captures and expresses how this feels—in both style and substance—as precisely as Fat City. It is a beautifully written book, and the reality of the characters’ lives broke my heart. 

This book haunted me for days after I finished reading it. I felt like someone I loved had died. Few works of art have stuck with me the way O’Connnor’s book did. Its main characters—Hazel Motes and Enoch Emery—are the epitome of outsiders. I grew up in a religious family in Kentucky, so I can understand Motes’ struggle with faith. The way that Motes and Emery are so severely separated from the rest of humanity is affecting them.

The book caused me to passionately take their side, rooting for them and their cause, sharing in their anger towards the rest of mankind. This book had such a powerful emotional impact and influence on me, leaving me with a palpable feeling of hopelessness and catharsis over several weeks—unlike I’ve experienced with any other work of art. 

The characters and stories in this book carved out a permanent place in my inner life. It took me a long time to read the book because I wanted to savor each sentence. I have rarely found a book that combined such an emotional impact, compulsive readability, and such striking, polished sentences.

Every story has the raw, ringing truth of felt experience, and this experience worked its way into my consciousness like a dream or memory. There is a universal quality of aloneness and separateness among all of Pancake’s characters. The Appalachian settings in this book are as symbolic, arresting, and affecting as the characters. Character and setting are inseparable, both bearing an emotional weight and haunting quality that is rarely found in even the best literature. There is no other book like this. 

The title story, A Hunger Artist, affected me in such a stunning and mysterious way. It just floored me and got under my skin. I felt distraught for several days. When I first read this story, I had just begun my MFA in creative writing at the Bluegrass Writers Studio in 2014, and I was interested in examining why certain works had an impact on me as a reader and how I could learn the writing craft from them.

I re-read the story several times to try and figure out the source of its power but could not. The title story—and the rest of the stories in the collection—are written in a direct, matter-of-fact way that doesn’t draw attention to their style. But these stories involved me directly in a deep, mysterious, and emotional experience.