Books like Ancestral Tarot — picked by fans

As a lover of fairytales, I love the premise of The Castle of Crossed Destinies and that tarot cards appear visually down the margins of the pages. Novelist Italo Calvino places us in two settings: a castle, and a tavern. Guests traveling through the woods arrive to discover they have lost their ability to speak so they use tarot cards to “show” their stories. The narrator translates those cards (reliably or unreliably—you decide). A tarot card grid appears for the stories in the Tavern of Crossed Destinies section of the book that lays out plot possibilities. I love the visual “chess” concept and that you can use tarot card layouts to plot tales, novels, or a series of poems. 

As a poet, I love the Poet Tarot, for which Two Sylvias Press matched Major Arcana and Court Cards with deceased British and American poets. The Guidebook offers a mini history lesson about each poet’s strengths and weaknesses, including psychological wellbeing, journey to publication, and sources of inspiration. Each chapter ends with suggested actions: “Remember and honor the inspirational women in your life,” (Gwendolyn Brooks as the Queen of Muses / Cups) and prompts: “Is there a project I’ve been afraid to undertake—why?” (ee cummings as The Fool). Taken collectively, the prompts provide a roadmap for a rich self-reflective inventory and the chance to write new poems based on the themes of each poet’s work. I love to use the exercises in the poetry workshops I teach.

Writer, photographer, and journalist William Cook Haigwood selected his own photos to create Journeying the Sixties: A Counterculture Tarot. The book helped me understand the context for my early childhood when my parents had an apartment in the Haight. Haigwood practically offers a graduate-level course in the Sixties by examining the major players, the opposing forces, and the gifts and wages of the unbridled idealism and enthusiasm characteristic for the times (love, religion, art, music, politics, law enforcement, war, drugs, feminism, poetry, revolution, and more). The Eight of Cups chapter looks at People’s Park in Berkeley; Mick Jagger represents the King of Pentacles; the Death card discussion explores Martin Luther King, Jr., Kennedy, and Vietnam. Haigwood’s interpretations make tarot’s archetypal energies relevant to the lessons of an entire generation. 

Jessa Crispin’s Creative Tarot suggests ways to connect to one’s muse through tarot. Crispin’s chapters match each tarot card’s essence to artists, thinkers, philosophers, and writers, looking at challenges and gifts each personality encountered over the course of their lifetime (and how they manifested in detriment or bloom). One of my favorite lines makes tarot card exploration forever relevant: Crispin writes, “It is about retelling the present.” And it is about how to ground tarot energy in specifics: what does it mean to be a King of Cups? Who has lived such an incarnation? Her “living examples” make tarot tangible for my students; I love her specific suggestions for how to explore the energy of each tarot card through music, film, paintings, art, and literature. 

After reading this book, I couldn’t wait to get to work. It offers a compact explanation of how nervous system dysregulation occurs and a paradigm for moving toward a healthier, more regulated state. It also offers loads of exercises and body-based practices that help us come back to ourselves when life has knocked us out of balance.

I love the flexibility—everyone gets to design their own way of using the exercises—and the clear, sensible framework, which puts many confusing experiences into context and helps to reduce my anxiety all by itself. This is a healing workbook that truly addresses body, soul, and spirit.

I loved how Dr. Lissa Rankin focused on how fear (in all its devious forms) shows up in life. I learned all about her methodology for calling in courage and the physiological impacts of fear on the human body (this was especially enlightening as I was accepting my ever-changing postpartum body). 

I also appreciated Rankin’s advice to readers about courage not being a “one-size-fits-all” approach. I felt reassured that I can customize my courage-cultivating journey however I like. I was able to take away her “prescription for courage,” which included concrete steps to reframe scary thoughts and a few meditations to do during stressful moments.

I love Natasha’s voice and kindness when it comes to grief. She has been through so much loss herself, and so she knows what grief and unexpected loss try to steal from a person.

She invites the reader to simply be kind to themselves and teaches others how to come around grieving people with presence and without trying to “fix.” She offers a meaningful perspective on losses of all kinds. 

Yoga, like any discipline designed to integrate us humans with ourselves, works for those who work it. Some, however, have a more challenging path, and this includes survivors of trauma. In this beautifully written work -- part memoir, part self-help -- the author details how finding yoga, and practicing it as if her life and sanity depended on it, brought her out of intense grief and PTSD. She shows us how it can work for us, too, if our life saga includes great sorrow, or if we'd simply like to deal better with the generic ups-and-down.

I love this book because of the way sensuality is encouraged.

Wonderful to feel the sweet teachings of presence, embodiment, and love that have been so helpful in my life for creating a delicious relationship. There is a gentle shining presence to this book, full of passion, energy, and practical exercises. Reading it was a relaxing and satisfying experience.

Hollenbery’s suggested 7 medicines are markers on a journey to connection, delight, and joy. I appreciate the depth and breadth of spirituality, careful attention to detail, and welcoming warmth. I found it beautifully written, engaging, and good fun.

I value how each word invited me into a deeper connection with myself and my body, and as a by-product, a healthier and more intimate connection with others.

I think I read this book when I was heartbroken. I imagine that’s why most people would initially gravitate to it.

Heartbreak is something we are all likely to experience at least once in a lifetime. I remember how sick I was of being told by other people that they "understood" how I felt and that they’d "been there too." Ginette Paris didn’t do that. In fact, I remember how she stated that nobody really knows what YOU feel like when you’re heartbroken because nobody has lost exactly what YOU’VE lost. There’s never been a loss exactly like your relationship before because what you lost is in some sense completely unique.

The book is full of revelations about heartbreak that brought me far more comfort than the usual well-meaning platitudes.