Books like All Creatures Great and Small — picked by fans

Although Edward Abbey warns you right off the bat not to visit the places in this book—they don’t exist anymore, not the way they were when he was there—twenty pages in, I wanted to go.

I wanted to risk my car’s axles crossing boulder-strewn washes. I wanted to rip my jeans, shoving through canyon-bottom scrub. I wanted to rise early and sit, steaming coffee in hand, to watch the sun break through the pinyon pine.  I wanted to hang out and shoot the shit with Edward Abbey.

Whenever I pick up this book, I feel a genuine longing for the American Southwest in the ’60s. And a longing like that, even one that can never be satisfied, is a pleasure all unto itself.

I recommend this book because it captures everything I love about Arthur C. Clarke, that sense of vast, quiet wonder, where the universe feels enormous and ancient and full of secrets we may never fully understand.

This story of a massive alien craft drifting through our solar system pulled me in with its scale alone, but what stayed with me was the mystery. Clarke never shows you the aliens, just like in 2001: A Space Odyssey, only the technology, the structures, the hints of something far beyond us. I loved that restraint, that feeling of standing at the edge of something we can sense but not grasp.

Readers who enjoy epic, contemplative science fiction will feel right at home here. And it fits my theme because it honors the unknown, the same quiet mystery I explore in my own writing.

I adore this book because it is so unique—I’ve never read anything quite this specific or niche which seems so all-encompassing.

It is the story of a life lost, and a life found. Of a father that dies and how the recovery of his daughter is tied up with the start of a new relationship—with a goshawk.

At the outset, the author is so wonderfully eloquent on all aspects of loss; the sudden jarring sense of confusion when a person dies and you have their possessions still in your hands; the struggle to keep in touch with reality (“for weeks I felt like I was made of dully burning metal”); the desperation to see the back of grief when new relationships are desperately grasped at, and fail of course, because of that desperation. 

The goshawk saves her (and us) from the darkness, as she becomes gripped with the… show more.

Have you ever read a book that grabbed you with a character challenged by circumstances you’d never considered? Imagine being blind and trying to survive WWII! I was intrigued by this essentially two-person novel set during World War II, which had a ‘cast’ of millions.

Again, the characters! Marie-Laure LaBlanc is a young blind French woman hiding in her great-uncle’s house in Saint-Malo after the Nazis invade Paris. I found Doerr’s lyrical sensory descriptions of Marie-Laure’s efforts to make her way around town as she’s pulled into the French resistance thrilling. I loved the depth of characterization when I met the second main character, Werner Pfennig, a radio repair savant, and his journey from a Nazi soldier tracking down illicit resistance radio operators to a young man repulsed by the Nazi brutalization of civilians.

The characters and intrigue pulled me through this book; mixed in with the eventual connection of… show more.

I remember a scene early in the book describing the ongoing competition for grapes that went on between the author’s long-suffering dog, Roger, and a pet tortoise called (naturally) Achilles.

How could you not laugh? Gerard Durrell writes loving and generous descriptions of all the animals in his life (including, as the title implies, his mother and three older siblings) during his family’s five-year sojourn in Corfu in the 1930s.

I was taken with the lack of pretense in his account—presumably characteristic of the ten-year-old boy he was at the time—and yet his delightful vignettes display a self-awareness full of humor. The entire book is both charming and hilarious.

Few authors have made me seriously consider writing a fan letter, but Wendell Berry is one.

His arguments on a given topic so often feel like the arguments I’d make—if I were a little clearer in the head, a little slower in consideration, a bit more experienced with land, a bit more adept with language. 

He left behind a promising career as an academic to do what generations before had done: live on and care for a beloved piece of land. His relationship with his farm in Kentucky is aspirational for me. I want to know my land that well, care that much, be that entangled and inspired by love.

I love this book because of Enzo, the canine narrator. In fact, he may be my favorite narrator of all time. He is one of those narrators I would love to be friends with or who I would love to have as a professor or a spiritual guide. 

The first time I tried reading it I put it down because I ugly-cried in the first chapter when Enzo recounted the story of how he planned to simplify his beloved human’s life. Thankfully, a trusted friend convinced me to give it another try because it’s now one of my all-time favorite books. Coming from an English teacher of twenty plus years, who reads a lot of good books, I think that's pretty high praise.

Yes, I cried a lot in this one, too, but I also laughed and did not want to leave Enzo or the humans he loved so dearly… show more.

I love books that are clever, imaginative, and portray a particular person or character as the main theme. This book does it for me.

The character is a murderer robot, but I came to like him and his weird but insightful perspective. I could see his world through his eyes. I felt sorry for him by the end of the book and was rooting for him. That was great.

I always like a bit of technology thrown in, but not have it be the main story or too complicated that it gets in the way of the characters. The writing was especially good, and I found myself turning page after page, engrossed in the story.

There’s something grounding about reading the contemplations of a self-aware woman talking to herself while imparting truths to us all.

And so, I’ve read this little book twice in 2026, and it’s only June. Solitude, stillness, writing, nature, and wisdom that resonates across generations—that’s the gift. Think profound exhale, paired with escaping the competing tugs of responsibility to honour moments for ourselves. Relevant.

The elegant undulation of thought flowed in rhythm with the ocean swells of the author’s place of retreat (her quiet beach); the shell metaphor providing another gorgeous touch. This sacred read that grapples with the stages and dilemmas of womanhood, motherhood, and life reconfirmed that I’m on the right track—that giving to myself to better give to others isn’t selfish; it’s required.

Few other books romanticize Africa the way this book does. A great deal has changed since it was published in 1937, but Danish author Karen Blixen’s whimsical account of her eighteen years in Africa remains enchanting.

I am particularly partial to the theme of determined, independent women living largely alone in remote places, enjoying the wonders of the natural world, and being adventurous and resourceful. I grew up on a farm in Africa and relate to the associated joys and challenges.