Books like Blue Light Hours — picked by fans

This is a stunning debut by a talented artist.

In the memoir, the narrator grieves for her mother, and in doing so, revives her Korean self and the parts of her culture she'd rejected as an adolescent. A beautiful grief memoir that reveals the ways in which a daughter's ties to the woman who gave birth to and raised her never dissolve. In Zauner's case, one of the strongest ties is the love of Korean food she shared with her mother. She finds her way back to her mother through cooking.

The book made me think about the ways in which my mother and I connected through some third thing that created the bridge between us. 

I loved What We Carry for the intricate, nuanced relationship between Maya and her mother.

The woman she thought she knew gradually revealed herself in unexpected ways, leaving Maya—and me—grappling with confusion, longing, and a sense of loss. Witnessing Maya come to terms with her mother’s complexities and her own understanding of what it means to be a mother was both heartbreaking and uplifting.

The book pulled me with its honesty and vulnerability and stayed with me long after the last page. I have re-read this book a couple of times. 

How do you build a life on your own terms when you have been treated as less than human for years? Clemantine’s commitment and resilience to do exactly that made me fall in love with her book.

Clemantine’s story carried me from the unimaginable terror she endured as a six-year-old in Rwanda to the seemingly stable, even privileged life she carved out in the U.S. as a young adult.

Yet beneath that stability was a palpable restlessness, a search for who she truly was and where she belonged. I was right beside her as she grappled with her past, present, and a future she wished for.

I had to pause several times to reflect on my own questions about identity and belonging, but I couldn’t keep the book down.

I loved Transcendent Kingdom for Gifty, a neuroscience PhD student navigating grief, faith, and identity.

As a cancer biologist, I appreciated how the book depicted labs and experiments with realism that’s rare in fiction. Beyond science, Gifty’s struggle to reconcile faith and reason, and her search for peace, resonated deeply with me.

The novel also explores belonging—how we seek connection within families, communities, and cultural worlds, and how loss can make us question where we fit. It’s a quietly powerful story about curiosity, grief, and the ways we try to understand the world—and ourselves.

I dream of one day walking the entire Long Trail, biking the back roads, and paddling a canoe across Lake Champlain, but in the meantime, Leath Tonino has done all that and more. He brings a friendly curiosity, scrounged-up equipment, and a high tolerance, or even yearning, for discomfort and solitude as he explores “the wilderness of home.”

And because he’s also always reading books—the title comes from Aristotle, and his literary heroes are many—his perspective is a little more philosophical than you might expect from a collection of reports about often-challenging outdoor adventures. Mainly written for the magazines that helped fund his modest expeditions, these short pieces explore defunct logging camps, slippery waterfalls, ice-kayaking societies, cormorant colonies, and the little-seen railroad tracks of Vermont.

In the title selection, the native Vermonter traverses the state in seven different ways: biking, walking, swimming, skiing, hitchhiking, flying, and paddling. For Tonino, it’s… show more.

I can’t get enough of quirky, indefatigable teen sleuth Stevie Bell. She’s determined to solve a decades-old cold case, but must also navigate social awkwardness, anxiety, and people who literally want her dead.

I enjoyed how this book flip-flopped between the present-day narrative and the past. My friend and I got to see Maureen Johnson give a talk at a nearby bookstore, and we loved it; she’s basically a stand-up comedian. 

I’ve often wondered about the lives of the migrant farmworkers who come to Vermont, most often from Mexico, Guatemala, and Jamaica, but whom I only ever see in the grocery store checkout line or waiting at the service desk for cash transfers.

While it’s easy to idealize the rolling hills dotted with Holsteins, perfect for postcards and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream cartons, dairy is big business in Vermont, and, like everywhere in the US, many of our farmworkers are immigrants without legal protection. Language and cultural barriers, and their very real fears of deportation, keep these workers’ lives hidden. This book, which brings together nineteen stories of personal witness, told by immigrant workers and illustrated, graphic-novel-style, by local comics artists, goes a long way to change that. While there are some common themes—the dangers of crossing the desert, longing for home, working endless shifts in all weather—the stories are… show more.

A childless couple adopts a chimpanzee named Looee, and you already know from reading that sentence that it will lead to trouble and heartbreak. After a few pages, I didn’t care. In McAdam’s skilled hands, the inevitable sadness doesn’t matter, because the delicately handled point of view perfectly captures a doomed creature trapped between two opposing identities. In contrast, we also meet Podo, an alpha chimp at a research facility seeking to test the intelligence of primates. Podo is fully ape, but he is turning into something more. Their paths soon join, taking them deeper into a gray area between human and animal that I had never seen rendered on the page so vividly before. 

I love to explore all aspects of family drama and strife, but sometimes I prefer something with more light and hope rather than darkness and despair.

I thought this one would fit the bill. In many ways, it did. But that doesn’t mean there was a lack of tears and angst. Who wouldn’t want three wishes? And what would we do if we had them? This story explores that and more.

Moreover, it left an indelible stain on my heart while also proving all is not over after a loss. It’s an odd mix of sad and joyful… bittersweet, but elevated to another level. 

I’ve been reading Castle Freeman’s stories and novels for many years, and I always go back for more of his small-town settings, his sheriffs and loggers, and the lingering sense of menace he brings to every situation. But most of all, I go back for the dialogue, which is particularly funny, absurd, and even sometimes wise in this short, propulsive novel.

There’s something of Beckett in how these characters’ talk goes nowhere and everywhere at once. In the closed-down mill of the Dead River Chair Company, a handful of retired or otherwise unemployed men provide commentary and insight on the fast-developing plot, in which a young woman comes to them for information about a man who’s been stalking her and eluding the law.

They set her up with a couple of seemingly hapless locals, who together track him down in an abandoned logging camp in the dark woods. Freeman grew… show more.