100 Books Like Death

This book has had a profound influence on my thinking. While I’m not sure I agree with absolutely everything the authors propose, their central idea is compelling: that as humans, awareness of our own death shapes everything we do in life (consciously or subconsciously)—whether we write symphonies, climb Everest, start a family or enter the local baking competition.

The book underscores my belief that, while knowing we have an expiration date is terrifying, if we use that knowledge in the right way, it can be empowering.

I first read this book as a teenager and missed the full force of its ferocious satire. Re-reading it years later, I laughed out loud. Waugh’s genius is to set his story of a love triangle in a Los Angeles funeral home. This way, he gets to poke fun at Hollywood and the American funeral industry while giving the dead a prominent role in the drama.

When, for example, embalmer Mr. Joyboy starts wooing young cosmetician Aimée Thanatogenos, he does it through the expressions he puts on the faces of the corpses he sends to her makeup studio. When Aimée falls for his rival, a poet and pet mortician, the beatific smiles of Mr. Joyboy’s death turn into ghastly grimaces. It’s one of my favorite moments in the book—but there are many more.

When I began looking into how we humans send off our dead, this was the first book I read. Both moving and funny, it remains one of my favorites. Lynch, a poet, author, and professional undertaker, writes unsentimentally but with great compassion about the business of burying the dead.

While Lynch is critical of modern approaches to death—which he compares to the flush toilet, allowing us to quickly remove unpleasant reminders of our failing bodies—his book left me with a new understanding of the importance of the services provided by those who work in “the dismal trade.”

What I love about this highly unusual memoir from Julian Barnes is how he invites us to join him on his meanderings through a smorgasbord of intriguing topics and unexpected thought worms. As he explores his fear of death, he meets, greets, and remembers everyone from historical figures, poets, writers, and philosophers to friends and family members.

I found this book unexpected, poignant, and, at times, very funny. And as is true of so much of what I enjoy reading, this meditation on death does much to shed light on what makes us human. 

I’m amazed that more people aren’t talking about this book. It falls in line with the vampire romance genre so effortlessly, and yet it is egregiously overlooked. I remember reading it years ago when I was a teenager and being totally entranced. There’s this beautiful lilt to the writing, and the plot is so richly complex. It deals with the subject of immortality in such an interesting way, comparing the endless life of this vampire to the swiftly expiring life of this girl’s mother. The romance itself is actually refreshing as well. There’s this soft, sweet gallantry that you don’t see a lot in modern work, in my opinion.

The title itself is a consolation to me, and it turns out there really are several strong arguments for why we should be glad we don’t live forever, no matter how appealing that may seem. I found Stark’s whimsical tone throughout the book to be a pleasant departure from the leaden prose of most academic philosophers.

This book didn’t completely convince me that worrying about death is a waste of time, but it did get me part of the way there, and that was and is an enormous comfort to me.

If our traditions of death and burial are products of the past, then what might the future of funerals look like? 

I keep going back to this book because it’s such a sympathetic, insightful exploration of how social media and AI are already radically transforming our relationships with our dead. Not only that, but the very nature of memory itself is also changing in interesting ways.

The book deftly articulates both the positives and the shadow sides of grieving in an increasingly digital world, all expressed with warmth, wit, and a great understanding of the complexities of human nature.  

A friend recommended this slim book of 100 pages that poses a profound and direct question: How should we live in the end times when the climate crisis threatens our very existence? How can we garner the moral courage to live with the responsibility our times demand of us—as individuals and in collective? These are heavy queries but the philosophical and poetic lens of the authors opens that space to approach the challenge with more grace than fear. Plus, it’s a book that can fit in your back pocket, perfect for walks outside when you’re thinking about life and death in uncertain times. 

I would highly recommend this book to anyone who has suffered multiple losses of loved ones, whether it be a spouse, family member, or friend. Nancy Saltzman's story will enter into your soul and give you the strength of a woman who lost her husband and two children in a plane crash. She shares her story of love, loss, and rebuilding of a future as a radical survivor of cancer and loss of her family. Her spirit and desire to live life to the fullest are prominent in her story.

For anyone who has been shattered by a terrible loss and could not imagine a road to recovery, this intimate, poetic, and philosophically astute exploration of bereavement, of the mental ravages brought on by the loss of a child, will be a bracing and transformative reading experience.

This short and brilliant book has forever changed how I understand what it means to grieve and to master one’s suffering—it makes you feel less alone.