The best books that saved my life when I was at my most miserable

Mark Doty writes of a time when his lover Wally was dying of AIDS. They were living in Provincetown on Pearl Street. It was recommended to me by my friend, the poet Michael Klein. I read it immediately following my partner Jeffrey’s death from AIDS when I was deranged and inconsolable.

Mark’s descriptions of daily life, including never-ending exquisite descriptions of walking his dog Beau along the ocean, hypnotized me as if it were not a book but a spell. After I finished the book, I tracked down Mark and told him he had to be my friend, and we were, for a summer.

Marie’s poems are separated into three sections: childhood (which included an alcoholic and abusive father), the illness and death of her brother Johnny from AIDS, and life beyond his death, including her relationship with James Shannon, a tree surgeon and a fisherman. They were like lifelines to me after Jeffrey died.

I memorized the title poem and said it repeatedly in my head like a litany. These poems are clearly spoken; life boiled down to a stock with the healing power of fresh air and cool water. No other book of poems has ever helped me so much through a catastrophic time, and I ended up setting many of these poems to music.

One morning, Christopher’s fiancé, Brigid, kissed him goodbye and went into the snowy morning of Montpellier, Vermont, to drive to work. She was sidewinded by a speeding car and killed.

Christopher wrote a devastating memoir of shock and coming to terms with such a sudden loss. Brigid was also a beautiful writer, and part of his healing and writing this book involved folding her highly evocative journals into his book. It felt like a resurrection.

Ironically, Christopher and Brigid lived in a house that Mark Doty either rented or sold. As I read this astonishing book, I felt like I was living there with them, roiling in shock and pain.

Terry Tempest Williams is a Utah-based poet and naturalist who writes in this book about her mother's devastating cancer diagnosis and the rising of the Great South Lake in 1983, which was endangering the bird population by which Terry measured her life.

The way she interweaves the human world with the natural world and how interconnected everything is, in some ways, in my memory, reminds me of the same power Mark Doty’s Heaven’s Coast had for me, in that I was mesmerized out of my misery by the incredibly specific descriptions of sights and sounds and even smells.

Her mother’s illness and the tragedy that was occurring in the lake were somehow embroidered together to feel like the same story. When my opera The Grapes of Wrath premiered in Utah in 2008, it was as if Terry’s exquisite book had iconized the state for me. Coincidentally, it was Mark Doty who recommended it to me as I stood crying at his gate by his stunning rose garden the first time I sought him out in Provincetown after reading his book. 

I didn’t know if I could recommend a play here, but reading this one is how I first experienced it because it premiered in London. I hadn’t seen it yet, so I read its two monumental parts, “Millennium Approaches” and “Perestroika,” on a typewritten marked-up rehearsal script someone had lent me.

Quite simply, Tony Kushner wrote THE play for my generation, a generation that lost probably half of itself to an awful plague most people, especially the government, ignored until it was too late. When my lover Jeffrey died, I went to the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park and wept because Tony had given it to me in his play, a monument for the AIDS generation.

Finally seeing it on Broadway, with Jeffrey, as he was dying, was like having my DNA scratched and resurfaced into something other than who I was before it. It was shape-shifting, soul-stirring, and salve for a huge gaping wound. And its inclusion of EVERYTHING, religion, race, history, politics, and sex somehow makes sense to me as a recommendation in harmony with my book. There is even a chapter in my book ON Tony Kushner.