100 Books Like Cape

This may be one of the most-read books in our house, which is saying something for a book about a gardening aficionado named Evan, whose dog dies in the first few spreads.

It’s hard for even our 2-year-old not to bristle when Evan, in his grief, violently destroys his beloved garden. But watching how he unintentionally nurtures a once prickly vine into a prized-winning pumpkin has all of us cheering with each read.

I love how this story doesn’t shy away from the deep pain that comes with losing someone we love and doesn’t sugarcoat the long, often lonely process of coming back to the surface for air. Kids are ready for this honesty, and this book does it with a gentle but honest sense of purpose. 

While books that hit death right on the nose can be a meaningful resource for kids, sometimes stories with a softer touch are what meets the moment.

That’s where the magic of this book comes in. A kid and his grandpa go on one final adventure together to a magical world of their making before the Grandad decides to stay, sending Syd back to the real world alone.

This whimsical storytelling leaves me with that exact right feeling of wonder and heartache that comes with an honest grappling with death. It’s that emotional center that allowed our kids to sit with their own questions: where did Grandad go? Why couldn’t the boy stay there, too? Will they see each other again? Getting to explore these questions in the light instead of keeping them anxiously buried under the surface has been a real gift for our crew.

This book isn’t just powerful because of how it allows kids to think (and ask) about death, but because of the staggering beauty in the storytelling itself.

We see two stories play out in neighboring houses—in one, a child is born; in the other, a dog is put to sleep. These parallel scenes help children see the circle of life in a way that is both accessible and, at times, heartbreaking.

I’ve read this story to our kids no less than 20 times, and each time, there’s an unmistakable silence as we witness the first and last breaths take place. It’s an absolute stunner and one that I’ve turned to time and again in my own processing of loss.  

This has been my go-to book for processing loss with our kiddos. It connects the human experience of death to that of animals and plants in a matter-of-fact yet deeply comforting way.

I adore the specific, clear language that doesn’t require abstract interpretation for a small child. There’s a palpable sense of peace that comes with zooming into a range of life cycles and the finality of landing with some version of, “That is the way butterflies live, and that is their lifetime.”

By staring death right in the eye (no, really…there are dead insects galore), it no longer feels so terrifying or out of reach. We all have beginnings and endings, and we are tasked with the living in between. 

“About seven years ago,” Rachel Cohen writes at the beginning of Austen Years, “not too long before our daughter was born, and a year before my father died, Jane Austen became my only author.” Weaving together memoir, biography, history, and literary criticism, Cohen draws upon five of Austen’s novels to make sense of her own life and work as she raises young children, moves across the country, and grapples with her father’s death. The result is a brilliant and beautiful reflection upon family and loss, isolation and transcendence, and reading and rereading.

As I entered the strange new territory of grief and a solitary life after 37 years of an unconventional marriage, I found myself looking for solace from authors who could show me the way forward. Martha Cooley’s retreat to a small, medieval Italian village brought the first tentative smiles to my early months of grieving. My husband and I shared a love of Europe and stayed in our own medieval village in Tuscany just a few years before he died. Cooley used her retreat to deal consciously but gently with the many deaths she’d faced over a traumatic ten years, as well as the impending death of her mother. Her reflections related to mortality and carrying on after the loss of loved ones were a comfort as I began to confront the uncomfortable challenge of stepping into a new life without my husband and best friend. 

He describes the death of his partner from alcoholism and the events leading up to it in an unflinchingly honest and moving way. It's raw and personal but that's what grief is. It's beautiful and respectful and shows how grief is both a shared experience and so completely individual at the same time. 

It is rare to find a book by a therapist that is written so viscerally and openly about their own personal experience. In writing about the sudden and unexpected death of her husband, Bill, Sasha has her professional and personal hat on.

I could almost feel her grief coming in waves through the pages, but rather than that being depressing, the therapist in her writes with wise observations on what is happening, what she is going through, and what helped at any given time; and just as importantly, what didn’t.

I have recommended this book to so many people going through grief and also to those who support them. It is a must-read! 

I found a kindred spirit in Laura Carney when I first read her memoir about her inspired six-year quest to complete her father’s bucket list, thirteen years after he was killed by a distracted driver. Her story echoed a main reason I set out to write mine: “I want my dad’s life to matter.”

I loved how Carney, in detailing her many adventures, leaned into writing about the expansiveness of her grief while also celebrating the largeness of who her father was. Her honesty about confronting her fears and mental health challenges, uncovering family secrets, and finding her own resilience along the way struck a powerful chord in me. This book continues to teach me how who I am and what I do can be instrumental in fulfilling my father’s legacy.  

This book made me realise that a great novel could be largely plotless. The Tree of Man simply describes the lives of a husband and wife in Australia—a sort of echo of the Garden of Eden set in the Outback. I can’t claim that I remember many details about it now—I read it years and years ago, but I do know that it made me feel that I too could write a plotless book, based on simple, everyday human experiences.