Here are 100 books that Lost & Found fans have personally recommended if you like
Lost & Found.
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I came to the U.S. in my early twenties to pursue a PhD, trading the familiar for the unknown. I am a scientist, an immigrant, and a daughter whose life was irrevocably fractured when my mother passed away in India while I was navigating the demands of graduate school. Grappling with grief, identity, and belonging in a foreign land shaped me to my core. The books on this list, centered on themes of family, loss, and the search for home, resonated with my experiences in profound ways. They offered me hope and a vital sense of connection, and I hope they speak to you just as powerfully.
Michelle made me laugh, made me cry, and made me feel the full weight of reconnecting with a mother only to lose her.
I related deeply to her sense of self unraveling after losing the person who anchored her world—I lost my own mother in my late twenties. Through her vivid memories of time spent with her mother and grandmother, and her journey of reclaiming herself through the foods of her childhood, Michelle pulled me in and carried me forward.
The New York Times bestseller from the Grammy-nominated indie rockstar Japanese Breakfast, an unflinching, deeply moving memoir about growing up mixed-race, Korean food, losing her Korean mother, and forging her own identity in the wake of her loss.
'As good as everyone says it is and, yes, it will have you in tears. An essential read for anybody who has lost a loved one, as well as those who haven't' - Marie-Claire
In this exquisite story of family, food, grief, and endurance, Michelle Zauner proves herself far more than a dazzling singer,…
The Victorian mansion, Evenmere, is the mechanism that runs the universe.
The lamps must be lit, or the stars die. The clocks must be wound, or Time ceases. The Balance between Order and Chaos must be preserved, or Existence crumbles.
Appointed the Steward of Evenmere, Carter Anderson must learn the…
COVID killed my father early on during the pandemic. Every day, I blogged about him. First, when he was in the ICU and I was begging the universe to save him. Then, after he died, as I grieved in a world that seemed cold and lonely. I wrote about Dad, telling stories of happier times, to keep him alive through my memories and to share his life with others. Soon, friends started recommending books about grief. In reading, feeling, and absorbing the pain of others, I somehow felt less alone.
I loved this book because it brought me into a the heart of Ward’s culture.
She brilliantly depicted the discrimination African-American men experience in America. Her love for her brother was endearing. I cried when she wove in the story of his death, and the deaths of other men she knew while growing up.
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'A brutal, moving memoir ... Anyone who emerges from America's black working-class youth with words as fine as Ward's deserves a hearing' - Guardian
'Raw, beautiful and dangerous' - New York Times Book Review
'Lavishly endowed with literary craft and hard-earned wisdom' - Time
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The beautiful, haunting memoir from Jesmyn Ward, the first woman to win the National Book Award twice
'And then we heard the rain falling and that was the blood falling; and when we came to get in the crops, it was dead men that we reaped' - Harriet Tubman
Jesmyn Ward's acclaimed memoir shines…
COVID killed my father early on during the pandemic. Every day, I blogged about him. First, when he was in the ICU and I was begging the universe to save him. Then, after he died, as I grieved in a world that seemed cold and lonely. I wrote about Dad, telling stories of happier times, to keep him alive through my memories and to share his life with others. Soon, friends started recommending books about grief. In reading, feeling, and absorbing the pain of others, I somehow felt less alone.
A friend recommended this book to me when I was blogging about my Dad’s death. I took his advice and I’m glad I did.
In the wake of my dad dying, I felt disjointed from the world, and it felt as if nothing was real, as if I was living in an altered reality.
In reading The Year of Magical Thinking, I was able to take comfort from Joan Didion. Even though her circumstances were different, I was able to relate to her experience.
From one of America's iconic writers, a portrait of a marriage and a life - in good times and bad - that will speak to anyone who has ever loved a husband or wife or child. A stunning book of electric honesty and passion.
Several days before Christmas 2003, John Gregory Dunne and Joan Didion saw their only daughter, Quintana, fall ill. At first they thought it was flu, then pneumonia, then complete sceptic shock. She was put into an induced coma and placed on life support. Days later - the night before New Year's Eve -the Dunnes were just…
Magical realism meets the magic of Christmas in this mix of Jewish, New Testament, and Santa stories–all reenacted in an urban psychiatric hospital!
On locked ward 5C4, Josh, a patient with many similarities to Jesus, is hospitalized concurrently with Nick, a patient with many similarities to Santa. The two argue…
My husband of 35 glorious years died of Pancreatic cancer in 2020. In two months, as COVID slammed, we had to put our beloved dog down, my husband’s lesson horse went hooves up, my husband died, I replaced two HVAC units and a water heater. I am a writer/journalist whose style is conversational. Writing about my grief maelstrom as if telling a friend focused me on the dark humor. My book Horse Sluts and articles in Horse Nation and other equine and/or mature-focused magazines are written in the same, “I’m no expert, but this is my experience” POV. I know the tone that helps.
Come on, we who slog through loss need a break from other people’s grief. I offer The Cruelest Month as one of my favorite L. Penny books in which to escape.
I escape to the façade of the idyl of Three Pines. Smell the brioche from Gabri and Olivier’s Bistro, dodge an insult from Ruth walking her duck. Despite betrayal and mortal danger, Inspector Gamache is sure to prevail. I need these people.
Death is complicated by human emotional frailty in The Cruelest Month as death is in “true” life. The séance at the evil Hadley House offers hope, for some, of bringing back lost souls. I too sometimes yearn to bring back my wandering souls. Penny has talent with phrasing, braiding of stories within the story, and professorial knowledge of the arcane. All a break from “dealing” with the mire of loss.
'No one does atmospheric like Louise Penny' ELLY GRIFFITHS
There is more to solving a crime than following the clues. Welcome to Chief Inspector Gamache's world of facts and feelings.
It's Easter, and on a glorious Spring day in peaceful Three Pines, someone waits for night to fall. They plan to raise the dead . . .
When Chief Inspector Gamache of the Surete du Quebec arrives the next morning, he faces an unusual crime scene. A seance in an old abandoned house has gone horrifically wrong and someone has been seemingly frightened to death.
COVID killed my father early on during the pandemic. Every day, I blogged about him. First, when he was in the ICU and I was begging the universe to save him. Then, after he died, as I grieved in a world that seemed cold and lonely. I wrote about Dad, telling stories of happier times, to keep him alive through my memories and to share his life with others. Soon, friends started recommending books about grief. In reading, feeling, and absorbing the pain of others, I somehow felt less alone.
Even though Adichie’s father did not die from COVID, it happened during the pandemic when the world shut down. To this, I could relate all too well.
I spent the pandemic, and months afterward, grieving my father’s death, and I found comfort reading the stories of other daughters whose dads have died.
A personal and powerful essay on loss from Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, the bestselling author of Americanah and Half of a Yellow Sun.
'Grief is a cruel kind of education. You learn how ungentle mourning can be, how full of anger. You learn how glib condolences can feel. You learn how much grief is about language, the failure of language and the grasping for language'
On 10 June 2020, the scholar James Nwoye Adichie died suddenly in Nigeria.
In this tender and powerful essay, expanded from the original New Yorker text, his daughter, a self-confessed daddy's girl, remembers her beloved father.…
My husband of 35 glorious years died of Pancreatic cancer in 2020. In two months, as COVID slammed, we had to put our beloved dog down, my husband’s lesson horse went hooves up, my husband died, I replaced two HVAC units and a water heater. I am a writer/journalist whose style is conversational. Writing about my grief maelstrom as if telling a friend focused me on the dark humor. My book Horse Sluts and articles in Horse Nation and other equine and/or mature-focused magazines are written in the same, “I’m no expert, but this is my experience” POV. I know the tone that helps.
“Bat shit is patient.” Simple, clear, dead on to describe the crazy life-clowns that leap from dark corners as I fend off grief... loss.
I Was Better... may not be a “grief” book, per se, but Fierstein dances us through the fears, struggles, and losses in his journey to live a life he wants. His quote, “Look back, but don’t stare” felt as though he quoted it for me to help deal with many joyous and painful memories of my husband.
I Was Better... is a tropical island where I could escape the squalls of my life of loss. I relished his musicals, strode the flamboyant streets of New York, and was embraced by Fierstein’s poignant and dearly funny honesty. His rage against the night was mine too. He and I kept dog paddling – together.
NEW YORK TIMES BEST SELLER • A poignant and hilarious memoir from the cultural icon, gay rights activist, and four-time Tony Award–winning actor and playwright, revealing never-before-told stories of his personal struggles and conflict, of sex and romance, and of his fabled career
Harvey Fierstein’s legendary career has transported him from community theater in Brooklyn, to the lights of Broadway, to the absurd excesses of Hollywood and back. He’s received accolades and awards for acting in and/or writing an incredible string of hit plays, films, and TV shows: Hairspray, Fiddler on the Roof, Mrs. Doubtfire, Independence Day, Cheers, La Cage…
A Duke with rigid opinions, a Lady whose beliefs conflict with his, a long disputed parcel of land, a conniving neighbour, a desperate collaboration, a failure of trust, a love found despite it all.
Alexander Cavendish, Duke of Ravensworth, returned from war to find that his father and brother had…
My husband of 35 glorious years died of Pancreatic cancer in 2020. In two months, as COVID slammed, we had to put our beloved dog down, my husband’s lesson horse went hooves up, my husband died, I replaced two HVAC units and a water heater. I am a writer/journalist whose style is conversational. Writing about my grief maelstrom as if telling a friend focused me on the dark humor. My book Horse Sluts and articles in Horse Nation and other equine and/or mature-focused magazines are written in the same, “I’m no expert, but this is my experience” POV. I know the tone that helps.
Loss and grief torpedo inner peace. Dogfulness is a tap on the head that reminds me I can rest on islands of serenity.
Loss makes us hold on, to grip. My dog flops down and goes Zen. Instead of pacing through the minefield of my mind, Dogfulness urges me to go for a walk. This book nudges me to “travel hopefully.” Like my dog, every walk is a good walk.
Simple, brief, golden peace filled quotes and reminders. Dogfulness gives me permission to be more present each day. To enjoy acts of kindness, mine, and others towards me. To allow the promise of giving and receiving love again.
Words of support don’t have to come from long, dreary memoirs, airy-fairy self-help books, or “You think you are suffering? I’ll see your tragedy and raise you one” best sellers. Respite can come from a dog.
The path to inner peace? Let your dog show you the way! Dogs have nailed how to enjoy living life to the fullest, in the moment, often at our expense. Dogfulness is an affectionate take on the things dogs do that drive us around the bend, but we love them in spite of their selfish dog-centered behavior.
Something important is taking place in our society today: People are being dogful. At home, at work, in love and relationships, in the back of vehicles, and curled up on the sofa, being dogful is an idea, a new way of being whose…
COVID killed my father early on during the pandemic. Every day, I blogged about him. First, when he was in the ICU and I was begging the universe to save him. Then, after he died, as I grieved in a world that seemed cold and lonely. I wrote about Dad, telling stories of happier times, to keep him alive through my memories and to share his life with others. Soon, friends started recommending books about grief. In reading, feeling, and absorbing the pain of others, I somehow felt less alone.
Like Didion, Laura Gaddis’ experience was different than mine, but grief and the desire to be a mom are ubiquitous.
My own quest to have a child was not as easy or as straightforward as it is for many people, so I could appreciate and empathize with Gaddis’ journey. The grief I experienced when my dad died was much different than Gaddis’.
While losing a parent is difficult, I can’t fathom how much harder it is to endure the death of a child. But grief binds people together, and Gaddis' writing is so sharp and poignant that I could easily empathize with her pain.
Mosaic is a story of exploration and self-identification, of grief, relationships, tackling mental health, and how to walk through difficult times when there is nowhere else to go. The story follows Laura, who along with her husband Jason, embarked on having a baby, only to go on a journey that spanned over five years. Over this time, Laura learned the hard truth about pregnancy loss, the medical field, and how to negotiate unforeseen difficulties. She persevered through four high-risk pregnancies, with the last one being a pregnancy more successful than the rest. Yet, it posed many tribulations, launching Laura and…
I write, coach, and lead at the intersection of identity, healing, and leadership, especially for women navigating cultural complexity. As a South Asian woman raised in the U.S., I spent years unpacking inherited narratives about devotion, obedience, and silence. This list reflects books that helped me reclaim power, soften shame, and lead from a place of alignment rather than survival. Each title here offered me tools, language, or perspective that shaped not just how I show up in the world, but how I guide others to do the same.
This book reminded me that while immigrant stories can carry deep grief and pressure, they’re also held together by quiet acts of care that are sometimes hard to see, but no less real.
I loved how the author claimed her identity as American while still drawing comfort from Indian culture. Her deep love for her father and the painful clarity he eventually gains about who holds power in their family felt especially healing.
This book helped me see how much shared experience exists in immigrant households, and how love and harm often sit side by side. It also affirmed that even in the messiness of it all, healing is still possible.
Here We Are is a heart-wrenching memoir about an immigrant family's American Dream, the justice system that took it away, and the daughter who fought to get it back, from NPR correspondent Aarti Namdev Shahani.
The Shahanis came to Queens―from India, by way of Casablanca―in the 1980s. They were undocumented for a few unsteady years and then, with the arrival of their green cards, they thought they'd made it. This is the story of how they did, and didn't; the unforeseen obstacles that propelled them into years of disillusionment and heartbreak; and the strength of a family determined to stay…
It is April 1st, 2038. Day 60 of China's blockade of the rebel island of Taiwan.
The US government has agreed to provide Taiwan with a weapons system so advanced that it can disrupt the balance of power in the region. But what pilot would be crazy enough to run…
“Where do you get your story ideas?” I’m often asked. The answer is, “I’m cursed.” As in the Chinese curse: May you live in interesting times. I was a serial wife and a single mom. I’ve been both poor and rich. I’ve travelled to far-flung places around the world. I’ve done extraordinary things, like the time I rode with the New York City Mounted Police in researching my novel, Trail of Secrets. I write what I know, about life with all its ups and downs, beauty and ugliness, magic and mystery.
I come from a dysfunctional family. Perhaps that’s why I’m drawn, like a rubbernecker to the scene of an accident, to novels about dysfunctional families.
To quote Tolstoy: “Happy families are all alike. Unhappy families are different, each in their own way.” To call the family that inhabits the house in We All Live Here unhappy is putting it mildly. They’re more like survivors of a shipwreck adrift at sea in a lifeboat, hoping to be rescued before they die or kill each other.
This novel is funny, wickedly so at times, with a lot of heart. And like the patriarch of its fictional family, a failed actor with substance abuse issues and a habit of stretching the truth when it suits him, never dull.
The #1 New York Times bestselling author, whose books so many love, brings us a fresh, contemporary story of a woman and her unruly blended family
“Nobody writes women the way Jojo Moyes does.” —Jodi Picoult
Lila Kennedy has a lot on her plate. A broken marriage, two wayward daughters, a house that is falling apart, and an elderly stepfather who seems to have quietly moved in. Her career is in freefall and her love life is . . . complicated. So when her real dad—a man she has barely seen since he ran off to Hollywood thirty-five years ago—suddenly…
