100 Books Like My Wild and Sleepless Nights

Raised in a survivalist family that rejected formal education and medical care, Westover never entered a classroom until age 17.

Her journey from rural Idaho to earning a PhD from Cambridge is a remarkable story of transformation through self-education, resilience, and the pursuit of truth, even when it means questioning your origins.

Like Westover’s father, my father held very strong beliefs separating us from others. But we both instinctively know there was more to life.

This book is set in Shaker Heights, a neighborhood so relevant it becomes a character in the story. Plant these actors and this plot in a community where perfection isn’t the rule, and the book flounders.

The characters in this book are no different than the people in my own neighborhood, until the author let me see what they were really like. Little Fires Everywhere is filled with secrets and beliefs that turn out to be drastically wrong—just the kind of book I celebrate.

I love the grittiness of this—an account of a walk along the South West Coast path, when terminal illness and poverty haunt the walkers and everything is in a state of flux.

It doesn’t glamorize the walk; it’s often uncomfortable with lots of biting wind and pouring rain. At times, there are even threats from others they come across who are sleeping rough. Overall, it’s a description of nature at its most raw and authentic.

Although we glimpse moments of inspiration and beauty, I like the fact, as well, that it doesn’t have a big, blowsy Hollywood ending—at the close, the future appears uncertain, although there is a definite sense that a new energy has been discovered.

It ends on a simple, perfect moment as the author describes her and her husband as “lightly salted blackberries hanging in the summer sun” and adds significantly that’s “all that is… show more.

A shooter in a zoo might not sound like the premise for an exploration of motherhood, but this brilliantly paced thriller is just that. On a day trip to the zoo with her four-year-old son, Joan must flee from a gunman, a task made all the more complicated by having to simultaneously negotiate the quotidian questions and tasks of parenting.

A hungry child, or one who needs the toilet, can be challenging at the best of times, let alone while hiding in an empty animal enclosure trying to avoid imminent death! Ultimately, the primary role of any parent is to keep their child alive. Fierce Kingdom puts this ordinary occupation in extraordinary circumstances, and the result is utterly compelling. 

It was McNish’s poem Embarrassed – a reflection on society’s inability to cope with a mother breastfeeding her child in public – that first led me to her work. I shared it with everyone. 

Part diary, part poetry collection, Nobody Told Me is born of the same honesty and documents her experience from the moment she discovered she was pregnant at Glastonbury and through the first two years of her daughter’s life. 

There’s an immediacy that comes with the pieces being offered exactly how they were written, whether that was “at four AM, some on the loo...[or] at work”. Motherhood, especially early motherhood, has little time for polishing (of furniture or of words), and this lack of editing is, I think, what allows me to see myself reflected in the poems.

As Spilt Milk’s protagonist Bea Straw is a mum-blogger, I was keen to read experiences of real-life “mummy influencers”. Braithwaite’s book – part memoir, part manifesto – was of particular interest because she is Black, somewhat of a rarity in the picture of motherhood painted by social media that tends to be both very white and very middle class. 

Documenting the difficult birth of her daughter and the subsequent mishandled complications, Braithwaite exposes the many and varied ways in which women of colour are disadvantaged and endangered by racial bias. 

While light in tone, there’s a power and vulnerability in Braithwaite’s writing, and I learnt so much from this brilliant book.

Suicide is a grisly subject; even taboo in many cultures.

Rather than skirting around the issue, Niven tackles it in a head on collision of brotherly love. His account of drug abuse and his ‘wee’ brother’s life that slipped through everyone’s fingers is as mesmerizing as it is difficult to read. Niven’s raw honesty disarms the reader as Niven´s prose brings the deepest of human torment into stark focus.

I recommend reading this book that unearths deep truths about family, commitment, suffering, and love.

William and his wife lost their baby in its last term and had to endure the torment of an induced stillbirth.

The same thing happened to a dear friend years ago so when I heard William as embarking on this brave endeavour to write about it, I was intrigued. The publisher, Little Toller Books, decided to create a space for William’s male voice in a publishing genre that is dominated by women’s.

The result is a heart-wrenching tale of grief as William clamours to contextualise the world he has been thrown into. William’s skill as a writer lies in his depiction of the indescribable. I’m sure there were months of soul searching and pen holding before he finally hit upon a way of converting his pain into the stunning prose. I am so grateful he did. And you will be too.

Deciding to place a child for adoption is one of the most excruciating decisions in the human experience. When Amy Seek, a promising architecture student, becomes pregnant, she’s not yet ready to become a parent. But she’s also not ready, completely, to hand over her child to a perfectly lovely family. Her tale of love, heartbreak, and acceptance is a reminder to parents and non-parents of all circumstances that there are lots of ways to make a family—and in this case, it was the best, most perfectly imperfect option. I think this is a really important book for everyone in the adoption triad (birth parents, adoptive parents, adoptees) to read, because it really gets up close and uncomfortably personal with the struggle some birth mothers undergo, despite the unlimited love they have for their babies. 

I loved this book when I initially read it, and return to it time and again. Adrienne Rich is, quite simply, the mother of motherhood studies. 

This book strongly resonates with me and my experiences as a mother, particularly how Rich defines mothering and motherhood as two distinct states of being: Motherhood–the patriarchal institution (this is where we get all the do’s and don’ts of what society expects of us as mothers)–and mothering–the actual affective labor of bringing up children. 

One section in particular–where Rich compares the freedom of the summer break with the return to restrictions of term time and the ‘rule of the father’–is as true now as it was then. This is a personal take on motherhood infused with passion and intelligence. I highly recommend it.