44 Books Like And Then There Were Nuns

This account of a stroke took me from seeing thinking as one complex mystery to seeing two styles of thinking in me. This was life-changing. Taylor’s stroke left her stuck in one mode or the other, and as a neuroscientist, she had the language to describe each mode. How rare is that! 

She first cared deeply about the present moment and wholeness. Feeling connected to her body and the energy in everything around her, she was flooded with feelings of curiosity and love. Then, perception shifted, and Taylor focused on finding details to categorize and organize, with a focus on the past as predictors of the future. The world was there for her to use as she achieved her goals. As Taylor described these two states, I could feel and relate to the differences. I started to consciously separate them out in my mind, feeling suddenly awake.

I love Merle’s Door because it demonstrates how Ted and Merle taught each other what it means to be human and animal, and they broke all barriers about what it means for an animal to love, be free, to form powerful bonds, and to be worthy of the utmost respect.

This book parallels my own journey of leaving a spiritual group, which is no doubt why this memoir is so precious to me. I’ve probably read this book six times. The author writes with confidence, humility, and humor that I find both deeply touching and inspirational.

Beck grew up in a family where her father was an apologist for the Latter Day Saints (Mormons). Her personal reckoning with that religion and her journey to finding her own version of faith is one that everyone with an interest in the human experience will be able to relate to.

Grief and loss will touch us all; there’s no escaping it. How we deal with those experiences can inform how we live the rest of our lives. After my own experience of tremendous loss and resultant grief, I turned to books like this one to understand what I was going through. Author Neil Peart, from the Canadian band Rush, encounters losses no one should ever have to experience.

He deals with that by taking to the road on his motorcycle. I didn’t choose to deal with grief that way, but I deeply appreciate Peart’s honesty and vulnerability in this memoir about his epic journey around North America and through the dark valleys of his grief.

This older, quieter novel by Sarah Dunant has stayed with me over the years. It tells the story of a young Italian woman forced into a convent after a clandestine love affair. This was the fate of thousands of Renaissance women, whether or not they had a religious vocation: convents were repositories for “surplus” women who couldn’t be respectably married off.

I appreciate how this book focuses on the surprising complexity of the cloister, from the friendships and enmities among the nuns to their incredible knowledge and expertise in music and medicine.

Dunant’s books about Renaissance Italy are always well-researched, and she has a flair for integrating small details that bring this hidden world to life.

Sister Joan is yet another religious sleuth. Set in the early 1990s, I think this series now qualifies as a historical mystery. It is a lighter read than my other choices, but one I absolutely loved and, like Cadfael, I dived in and devoured the lot. Vow of Silence is the first and hooked me straight away. The religious life fascinates me and I enjoyed the way the ceremonial routine of the convent was woven into the mysteries. This detail serves to immerse you in the life of Sister Joan, a down-to-earth heroine who drew my admiration. The mysteries unfold naturally into the setting and don’t seem incongruous. A more gentle read than the others I have chosen, but acutely satisfying.

Kate Horsely’s writing is exquisite. Every word, every detail is carefully chosen and her language has a beauty all its own. The novel is about an Irish nun, Gwynneve, who was raised pagan. She sought refuge in Saint Brigit’s and is welcomed because of her literacy. She is to transcribe the words of St. Augustine and St. Patrick. She observes the crossroads of paganism and Christianity and witnesses the positive and negative of both sides. I don’t want to give any spoilers, but Gwynneve becomes caught up in the conflict as she records her diary of observations and pays the price for honesty. Again, I’m fascinated by the two belief systems, pagan and Christian, side by side, and searched for how that transition occurred.

This immediately immersed me in another time and place. Apparently, I’m very clear in my bookish likes, because it was recommended to me multiple times due to the combination of nuns and sapphic content. Luckily, it lived up to the recommendations!

It is very well written and extremely atmospheric, and it drew me right into its medieval world. Groff managed to create characters who feel appropriate to their era but who are also accessible to a modern reader, which is not an easy task. This helped me to become emotionally invested in the book.

I sought out this book after Divine Mercy Sunday 2002. A visiting priest had shared St. Faustina’s story of receiving the Divine Mercy Chaplet from our Lord on September 13-14, 1935. Several of her dates coincide with dates that have significance in my own life, only mine in the present. God spreads his message of mercy through a Polish nun on what I would eventually discover through personal research, was the same dates that Hitler addressed youth in Nuremberg to inspire National Socialism. The diary gave me a glimpse of a real woman’s calling to bring God’s mercy to our world. 

While researching Mona Lisa: A Life Discovered, I rented an apartment a few blocks from a house where Galileo lived in Florence. I could stand outside its door every day, but this book transported me inside—not just a building but a family, a home, and an era. 

Dava Sobel’s meticulous research reveals not just new dimensions of Galileo’s life and work as an intrepid scientist but the often hidden realm inhabited by his daughter. Illegitimate and unmarriageable, she entered a convent at age 13 to live in poverty and simplicity. And yet, as her letters demonstrate, Sister Marie Celeste’s soul and spirit soared. The ending—which I dare not spoil—has haunted me since my first reading decades ago.