100 Books Like Pastoral

This is the darkest of Hermann Hesse’s well-known spiritual journey novels. Unlike works such as Siddhartha, and Demian, Harry Haller in Steppenwolf is a despondent, surly, and suicidal misfit, incapable of coming to grips with the bourgeois culture around him, which seems to him irreparably antithetical to the classical art and literature he worships.

Haller’s eventual spiritual awakening is far more subtle and less dazzling than those Hesse portrayed in other works, and for me, therefore, in many ways more relatable. Deeply ingrained in my mind is Hesse’s image of the gramophone playing tinny, distorted works by master classical composers—which Haller at first despises— but then comes to see that it is much like his trying to decipher mystical truth, which manifests to him in a sort of abridged and imperfect form—because that is all that we, as corporeal humans, are able to discern.

Lady Oracle was one of the novels I read in the several years after first having the vague notion that I might like to write a novel akin to Steppenwolf but that would be set in the approximate present day and have a female protagonist. As Lady Oracle’s main character is a writer who, after periodically reinventing herself, now fakes her own death, flees her intellectual, non-dancing husband, and holes up in an Italian village, I saw possible avenues for my own husband-leaving Kari. Would Kari flee to another country? Would she have secret lovers or a history of being fat? Would she, too, fake her own death? Kari ultimately didn’t follow many of Joan Foster’s paths, but she might have.

I’ve been a devotee of Robertson Davies since my early twenties, when my alternately terrifying and delightful supervisor at the Pacific Lumber Company recommended Fifth Business to me. While all of Davies’s mature novels (the Deptford trilogy and the Cornish trilogy, as well as The Cunning Man) have commonalities with my own novel in their explorations of creativity and the psyche, here I’m recommending The Lyre of Orpheus. Why? It tells the simultaneously comic and deep story of a group of foundation directors who find themselves sponsoring and even helping script an opera begun by E.T.A. Hoffmann, now to be completed by their protégé, a brilliant but obnoxious and somewhat gender-ambiguous young composer. Davies’s account of the opera’s genesis and production helped me create my characters’ own theater piece.

Sorcerers is the tale of teenaged Eliot, who’s growing up in Philadelphia in the 1950s and strives to learn magic. Let’s not confuse this with the magic found in Harry Potter, the Narnia books, or in any of today’s fantasy worlds; Eliot studies basic stage-magic tricks and gains entrance to the Sorcerers, a club of aspiring teen magicians. Some Sorcerers are adept and elegant; others graceless gawks. As the novel develops, there's mystery, and to everyone's surprise, some of what might be termed "real magic" and strange power. This is a bildungsroman about human possibility, which is what prompts me to recommend it here. It's subtle and unusual, with a deep understanding of humanity and spiritual development. I've not encountered many novels that attempt what this one does. 

The last book in Lucy Maud Montgomery’s beloved Anne of Green Gables series, this volume focuses on Anne’s children as they grow into adulthood during the tumultuous years of World War I.

With Anne’s youngest daughter Rilla as the central protagonist, Rilla of Ingleside is the poignant story of a young woman coming of age at a time when people thought the world might be coming to an end.

Rilla grows from a spoiled and flighty young teen to a capable and level-headed young woman as she watches the young men in her community – her brothers included – march off to war.

While it’s not central to the story, a highlight of this book is Dog Monday, the little yellow dog belonging to Rilla’s eldest brother, whose loyalty as he patiently waits at the train station for his master’s return knows no bounds.

Although it’s the final book in… show more.

Anne Shirley is a perfectly imperfect heroine, and that’s why I love her. She’s creative and imaginative and gets so lost in her daydreams that she can forget the flour in a cake or to cover leftover pudding, leaving easy access for a peckish mouse. Her temper matches her red hair, and she refuses to let anyone insult her dignity. She dreams of meeting kindred spirits—those individuals you just click with.

Although I first discovered Anne as a teen, I’ve returned to her throughout my life, and at each stage, she’s there like an old friend. The best part of knowing Anne has been meeting kindred spirits from all around the globe who share their own stories of reading and loving Anne.  

I’m always a fan of graphic novels that capture the mood of the book, rather than trying to make everything perfectly accurate to the original. Mariah Marsden’s adaptation of Anne of Green Gables perfectly captures the magic and beauty of one of my favorite childhood books.

I mentioned how much I enjoyed this adaptation to a friend who’s also a fan of L.M. Montgomery. However, my friend hated this adaptation (especially how Anne’s nose is drawn!) which I actually found very liberating as I considered adapting The Great Gatsby. I’d been concerned about how people who loved Gatsby would view my adaptation, but this made me realize that some people would love my book and some people wouldn’t—and that was okay!

I love the way there is a mystery within a mystery. A group of actors is staging a play for the benefit of the passengers on a transcontinental train trip across Canada. The protagonist, who is undercover and posing as a waiter, befriends the lead actor and takes a page out of Hamlet, using the play to pressure the villain into making a mistake and incriminating himself. Accurate details about working as a waiter lend a sense of ‘David versus Goliath’ to the storyline.

George Manuel was once asked by a white coworker, “Does Indians have feelings?” Refusing dehumanization, Manuel reveals the ongoing colonial relations between First Nations and the Canadian settler state. He charts his political journey from Secwepemcúl̓ecw to the National Indian Brotherhood to the World Council of Indigenous Peoples.

Manuel argues that the victories of the anti-colonial independence movements of the twentieth century did not end colonial domination of Indigenous Peoples—what he calls the Fourth World. The Fourth World is not a destination but the right to travel on your own road in your own way.

With a new insightful introduction, foreword, and afterword, the book's latest edition shows how Manuel’s analysis of colonialism and vision for solidarity continue to be relevant to contemporary struggles for decolonization. 

I love a book where the idyllic life people see from the outside is NOT accurate.

This story followed one family as their life spiraled out of control and I was enthralled with the shifting perspectives and the way the story peeled back the layers of this seemingly perfect family. It’s dramatic, messy, and full of tension.

While not all of the twists surprised me, I still found it a gripping, entertaining read. I certainly wouldn’t want to be living next to these neighbours!