Books like Book of Hours — picked by fans

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.

I first met this book on the last visit Gary and I made to a beloved bookstore in Seattle. After he died, I remembered it and tracked it down. It is an accordion book, its folded pages nested in a sturdy box. It was made, Carson writes, as an epitaph for her brother.

Among the folds, we find ephemera evoking his memory, and hers: fragments of notes, torn photos, drawings, paintings, scribbles. Running through the pages—a portion appears on the left side of each spread—is Carson’s translation of a poem by the Latin poet Catullus, written after the death of his own brother. The result is an assemblage that testifies to the chaos of grief and the curious beauty it can hold.

After Gary’s death, reading became unexpectedly painful. We had both loved books and reading together. The loss of that connection, combined with the brain fog that often accompanies grief, made reading difficult for a good while.

Poetry, though, was different. It wasn’t that it was easier than prose; I was still capable of losing my way mid-sentence. But poetry’s spaciousness—its distilled economy of words surrounded by large and quiet margins—helped the pages feel less overwhelming.

I love this collection by Tess Gallagher, written after the death of her husband, the short story writer and poet Raymond Carver. It is luminous. These poems do what poetry does best: speak what seems unspeakable, and make room for us to breathe as it speaks.

Long familiar to me, John O’Donohue’s books became a particular solace when grief arrived. I would recommend any of his books.

O’Donohue lived on the western coast of Ireland, and he had a distinctive wisdom about threshold spaces—those places between the life we have known and the one we cannot yet see—and a compassionate way of inviting us to receive the grace that comes as we stumble our way across those thresholds.

Eternal Echoes is one of my favorites among O’Donohue’s books. I am especially taken by his chapter about absence, where he acknowledges the deep ache of loss while also emphasizing that our losses are not utterly empty; they hold a hidden eternity that does not abandon us. I am both consoled and challenged by his assurance that grief is a mystery that knows its way.

This book (and series) was amazing before it was a TV show. Do yourself a favor and read. The. Books! Heartland is a powerful story of how horses can help us make sense of loss; additionally, it highlights how horses can help us connect to a deeper part of ourselves. Plus, the herbal knowledge in the books is way better than the TV show, and you might actually learn something your four-legged friends might like rubbed on their noses.

This meditation teacher shows those who have experienced a loss new ways to embrace the pain so that they can feel joy again. Written for all types of loss, Welshons shows readers how grief can provide a unique opportunity to live a fuller and richer life in spite of our losses.

I cried a lot, when I read this book at first. Later on I have returned to it now and then and find relief in its clear way to describe how important it is not to try to repress your grief. Face it and work through it, and you’ll afterward feel better and stronger than ever before.

Throughout life we have many opportunities to practice mourning. The better you become at going through grief, the greater becomes your courage to go into new loving relationships, and the better you become at loving.

I was deeply touched by my next pick because it seamlessly blends mindfulness with racial justice and healing. I was moved by the way Johnson combines her personal narrative with practical guidance, making the exploration of social justice and self-care feel both profound and actionable.

The book's focus on inclusivity and compassion truly resonated with me, offering a meaningful approach to integrating mindfulness into advocacy for a more equitable world. This book has inspired me to approach my own activism with greater awareness and empathy, and I find it essential for anyone committed to both personal and social transformation.

This book is aimed at children who have experienced a bereavement and will be massively helpful to them. I wish I had this book as a child! It's not patronising just clear and I found it very useful as an adult too because some of the techniques are simple but profound and that's often what we need when managing grief. 

Some picture books about death spend the majority of their pages leading up to the death of a character, but in this colorfully illustrated and powerfully written story, Old Turtle dies on the first page. The remainder of the book is spent reflecting on all the ways Old Turtle impacted the ocean creatures around him: he helped a whale find her pod, he saved a starfish, and he rescued a manatee tangled in fishing net. 

Throughout the story, the reader is reminded that turtle “made his world a better place” and that each of these animals impacted by turtle will always remember him. This story helps readers understand the importance of their actions and the connections we all have.