Here are 79 books that Real and the Unreal fans have personally recommended if you like
Real and the Unreal.
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I’ve been a hiker for a long time, but it wasn’t until COVID-19 that I began to pay attention to the forests I was hiking through. I started with field guides to edible plants, then used Seek and iNaturalist apps to identify more species, and started taking macro photography of what I found. The more I paid attention to the minutiae of the natural world, the more I fell in love with every part of it. I’m worried our current priorities for climate change (preserving our way of life) are misguided. I’m worried about the future of all species. Every insect and every plant I’ve looked at close up is breathtakingly beautiful and worth saving.
As a fan of post-apocalyptic novels, I’ve always wondered what the world would actually look like without us. Weisman provides the answer in this book. He visits places that appear to have successfully moved on from humanity, such as the Białowiea forest, the Korean Demilitarized Zone, and the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, showing nature thriving without us.
It’s both comforting and sobering, suggesting, yet again, that humans aren’t necessary to the world and, in fact, maybe the world is better off without us. The most jaw-dropping revelation for me was when a paleobiologist calmly stated that humans will go extinct eventually. All species do. But life on Earth will keep going.
Revised Edition with New Afterword from the Author
Time #1 Nonfiction Book of the Year
Finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award
Over 3 million copies sold in 35 Languages
"On the day after humans disappear, nature takes over and immediately begins cleaning house - or houses, that is. Cleans them right off the face of the earth. They all go."
What if mankind disappeared right now, forever... what would happen to the Earth in a week, a year, a millennium? Could the planet's climate ever recover from human activity? How would nature destroy our huge cities and our…
From Pulitzer Finalist Laurie Sheck (A Monster's Notes), a new speculative literary fiction in the spirit of Italo Calvino, Umberto Ecco and Donna Haraway's Cyborg Manifesto that enacts an incisive and moving exploration into what it means to be human in the age of AI and increasing inhumanism.…
I’ve been a hiker for a long time, but it wasn’t until COVID-19 that I began to pay attention to the forests I was hiking through. I started with field guides to edible plants, then used Seek and iNaturalist apps to identify more species, and started taking macro photography of what I found. The more I paid attention to the minutiae of the natural world, the more I fell in love with every part of it. I’m worried our current priorities for climate change (preserving our way of life) are misguided. I’m worried about the future of all species. Every insect and every plant I’ve looked at close up is breathtakingly beautiful and worth saving.
What will happen to the world if most of us—everyone except one or two humans, in fact—disappear?
According to Marlen Haushofer, the world will continue on just fine. I find that idea to be a little shocking, sure, but also comforting: maybe humans aren’t essential to the world’s existence after all. Maybe the world doesn’t need humans for drama, love, heartbreak, or healing.
This is what I would call an anti-post-apocalyptic book, one in which no one is a hero because humanity is beyond saving. Instead, the narrator has deep relationships with several animals—a dog, some cats, and a cow—animals that aren’t anthropomorphized in the slightest but treated with dignity, love, compassion, and complexity. I reread this slow and meditative page-turner every few years. I’m going to keep reading it for the rest of my life.
“I can allow myself to write the truth; all the people for whom I have lied throughout my life are dead…” writes the heroine of Marlen Haushofer’s The Wall, a quite ordinary, unnamed middle-aged woman who awakens to find she is the last living human being. Surmising her solitude is the result of a too successful military experiment, she begins the terrifying work of not only survival, but self-renewal. The Wall is at once a simple and moving talk — of potatoes and beans, of hoping for a calf, of counting matches, of forgetting the taste of sugar and the…
I’ve probably been a naturalist since I was a child. I vividly recall having conversations with snow-capped mountains at the age of five. The most alive moments of my childhood were spent outside, and in that sense, not much has changed. I no longer live in the foothills of the Himalayas. Instead, I live in the high desert in New Mexico. But nature is as strongly present in my life now as it was then—what is new is the awareness of how swiftly nature is changing. While I read widely, books rooted in the natural world have a way of making their way to me—and it’s a joy to recommend them to passionate readers.
Haskell is an evocative writer, and I especially love his first book because I can visualize him revisiting the same patch of forest and finding more and more richness in it.
In the depths of winter, his sense of humor and performative art sort of explode, which leads to an indelibly funny scene.
A biologist reveals the secret world hidden in a single square meter of old-growth forest--a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize and the Pen/E.O. Wilson Literary Science Writing Award
Look out for David Haskell's new book, The Songs of Tree: Stories From Nature's Great Connectors, coming in April of 2017
In this wholly original book, biologist David Haskell uses a one- square-meter patch of old-growth Tennessee forest as a window onto the entire natural world. Visiting it almost daily for one year to trace nature's path through the seasons, he brings the forest and its inhabitants to vivid life.
"She plunged her blade into his chest, feeling it grind along his ribs..."
Outcast swordfighter, Kyer Halidan, was abandoned in a cornfield at age three. Now, twenty years on, she’s searching for answers: Who left her there? And why?
Kyer doesn’t suffer fools, and when she kills a man in…
I’ve been a hiker for a long time, but it wasn’t until COVID-19 that I began to pay attention to the forests I was hiking through. I started with field guides to edible plants, then used Seek and iNaturalist apps to identify more species, and started taking macro photography of what I found. The more I paid attention to the minutiae of the natural world, the more I fell in love with every part of it. I’m worried our current priorities for climate change (preserving our way of life) are misguided. I’m worried about the future of all species. Every insect and every plant I’ve looked at close up is breathtakingly beautiful and worth saving.
Like all good books, Reservoir 13 is transformative. It’s made me see the world differently, as a place where swallows and bats and the nettle and a river and ewes and wood pigeons and the weather and townspeople are all interconnected through the cycle of years. McGregor manages to do this through a collage-like structure, where a description of a person moves effortlessly into a description of nature, proving that all living things have seasons, stories, and beauty.
By the end of the book, I always feel kind of god-like as a reader, in the sense that I’ve watched and observed and loved, over 13 years, this human and non-human community. Who wants to let something like that go? It’s often easier to just start at the beginning again. This is another book I find myself rereading whenever I get the chance.
A New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice Longlisted for the Man Booker Prize
A “fiercely intelligent . . . daring, and very moving” about an English village haunted by one family’s loss—for readers of The Virgin Suicides and Zadie Smith’s NW (George Saunders, The Paris Review Daily).
Midwinter in an English village. A teenage girl has gone missing. Everyone is called upon to join the search. The villagers fan out across the moors as the police set up roadblocks and a crowd of news reporters descends on what is usually a place of peace. Meanwhile, there is work that…
I’ve been a sci-fi and fantasy fan ever since my childhood when I thought looking for spaceships and dragons in the night sky was just a normal kid nightly activity and not, you know, fiction. When seeking stories for my anthology City of Weird, I reached back into my childhood obsession with all things out of or beyond this world, but I found that I wanted tales that took my favorite themes and slanted them. Went to unexpected places, not only in time and space, but also in theme and approach. Like these five books, which I hope you will enjoy.
And speaking of, who better than Le Guin to inspire sci-fi and fantasy stories that are truly unexpected? Dispatches from Anarres, edited by Susan DeFreitas, is an anthology of stories by Northwest authors, all inspired by and in tribute to Le Guin, and the offerings are rich and unique. Like Michelle Ruiz Keil’s poetic war cry of ghost cats in “The Kingdom of the Belly,” Jason LaPier’s fascinating tale of the life of a bee colony—with some of the coolest names I’ve encountered in fantasy—in “Bee, Keeper,” and Stevan Allred’s clever Ib and Nib folk-story interludes. I read much of this book in an ER waiting room as my husband was being examined and then treated for a scary collapsed lung, and the uniqueness of these stories kept me beautifully distracted.
Named for the anarchist utopia in Ursula K. Le Guin's science fiction classic The Dispossessed, Dispatches from Anarres embodies the anarchic spirit of Le Guin's hometown of Portland, Oregon, while paying tribute to her enduring vision.
In stories that range from fantasy to sci fi to realism, some of Portland's most vital voices have come together to celebrate Le Guin's lasting legacy and influence on that most subversive of human faculties: the imagination. Fonda Lee's "Old Souls" explores the role of violence and redemption across time and space; Rachael K. Jones's "The Night Bazaar for Women Turning into Reptiles" touches…
My passion is writing. I started writing when I was 10 years old and my passion was reignited by my 11-year-old son. Writing runs in my blood as my late father was a journalist and the first black editor of the Zambia Daily Mail and my late brother was a poet. To date, I have published 17 children's books. I love writing children’s books with a positive message and also to make them laugh and entertained.
This book has an excellent message and the illustrations are amazing! I believe children will love it and adults will too. An experience of self-discovery, from little beginnings, through the challenges of life, to getting to be something more noteworthy. Learning how to let go so you'll be able to develop. "I may be little in measure, but interior I feel unimaginably huge!"
I Am Sequoia, A Pinecone's Adventure, an adventure of self-discovery, from small beginnings, through the challenges of life, to becoming something greater. Follow along this little pinecone's journey and experience the seasons of growth together. "I may be small in size, but inside I feel incredibly large!" Full color illustrations with great attention to details will bring this story to life. E.P.Clanton lives in Portland, Oregon where he enjoys the beautiful Pacific Northwest outdoors. He has an entrepreneurial background as an artist, multi-media craftsman and author. He loves cooking, hiking, camping, traveling and spending time his family, including playing and…
The Drum Tree explores an Earth equivalent world at the cusp of ecological and economic uncertainty through the discoveries and explorations of four exceptional teens and their families.
In this book, you will meet Delan—a drummer and forest wanderer, Hali—a dancer and free spirit, and Jase—a blacksmith and martial artist.…
I am a journalist, the author of 10 works of popular history, and, latterly, a playwright. For nearly 25 years, I have earned a living on the strength of my own writing. I have written one full-length play that was produced at an outdoor summer theatre in July 2023, and I have written three short plays for the Port Hope, Ontario Arts Festival. I now live in Peterborough, Ontario, about 90 miles northeast of Toronto, but have had a lifelong interest in the history of western North America by dint of having grown up in southeastern Saskatchewan and having worked as a journalist in Alberta in the early 1980s.
Paul Kane was a Toronto-born artist who travelled from Toronto all the way to present-day Portland, Oregon, between 1845 and 1848. As the title suggests, Paul Kane was keenly interested in the indigenous peoples of the North American West. His book, published in 1859 and re-issued in 1925 and again in 1968, provided 19th-century readers with fascinating portraits, in paint and words, of dozens of Indigenous peoples.
The book is no less compelling for contemporary readers who are interested in the loss of the world and the lives of 19th-century Indigenous nations.
This is a reproduction of a book published before 1923. This book may have occasional imperfections such as missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. that were either part of the original artifact, or were introduced by the scanning process. We believe this work is culturally important, and despite the imperfections, have elected to bring it back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide. We appreciate your understanding of the imperfections in the preservation process, and hope you enjoy this valuable book.
I’m a history professor, but I’m also a reader. I love books—fiction and nonfiction—that reveal a world, a character, an idea, or a political movement in ways that I didn’t previously fully understand. That make me see more deeply and think more clearly. I teach and write about the history of the United States, especially its history of radical or extreme political groups. Where did this interest come from? Well, I first visited the U.S. in 1980, when I was eleven years old, and truth be told, my fascination with the country and its people has not abated since.
Harrowing, haunting, and utterly compelling, Langer’s superb investigation of the murder of an Ethiopian immigrant called Mulugeta Seraw by racist skinheads in Portland, Oregon, in 1988 always reminds me of the importance of good journalism, the demands of justice and the power of empathy.
It is a book of focused, local history with a much wider story to tell.
A riveting account of a skinhead killing and a chilling look at the world in which it happened
On November 12, 1988, a group of Portland, Oregon, skinheads known as East Side White Pride met for an evening of beer and racist banter. Later that night, they encountered three Ethiopians; a street fight broke out and Kenneth Mieske brutally beat Mulugeta Seraw with a bat. In the early-morning hours, Seraw died.
Drawing on more than ten years of original research, award-winning journalist Elinor Langer takes the Seraw case as the occasion for a thorough investigation of the Nazi-inspired racist movement…
I am fascinated by how gender and sex, characteristics of our beings that we take to be the most intimate and personal, are just as subject to external forces as anything else in history. I have written about the cultivation of masculinity in college fraternities, the history of young people and the age of consent to marriage, and about a same-sex couple who lived publicly as “father and son” in order to be together. My most recent book is a biography of an abortion provider in nineteenth-century America who became the symbol that doctors and lawyers demonized as they worked to make abortion a crime. I am a professor at the University of Kansas.
The word “abortionist” usually conjures up images of dangerous back alleys where untrained men take advantage of women.
In the case of Rickie Solinger’s book, instead, we meet Ruth Barnett, who performed approximately 40,000 abortions in the mid-twentieth century (1918-1968) in Portland, Oregon, without losing a single patient.
What I loved about this book is how Solinger takes us behind the scenes of a thoroughly illegal abortion clinic that still managed to provide expert care to all its patients, even as it sought to evade the law and its enforcers at every turn.
Prior to Roe v. Wade, hundreds of thousands of illegal abortions occurred in the United States every year. Rickie Solinger uses the story of Ruth Barnett, an abortionist in Portland, Oregon, between 1918 and 1968 to demonstrate that it was the law, not so-called back-alley practitioners, that most endangered women's lives in the years before abortion was legal. Women from all walks of life came to Ruth Barnett to seek abortions. For most of her career she worked in a proper suite of offices, undisturbed by legal authorities. In her years of practice she performed forty thousand abortions and never…
This is a multicultural epic fantasy with a diverse cast of characters. Sickly fifteen-year-old Prince Psal, the son of warrior-king Nahas, should have been named Crown Prince of all Wheel Clan lands. But his clan disdains the disabled.
When the mysterious self-moving towers that keep humans safe from the Creator's…
Queer community means what we make it mean—but in the end, we mostly have each other, with our varied histories and problems and capacity to care for our peers and harm them. Intergenerational community is a model for young people that the problems they’re facing aren’t new. I grew up in LGBT youth groups, in a generational moment just before gay marriage, PrEP, and increased access to healthcare for trans people transformed our sense of what “activism” and “solidarity” meant. As the political pendulum swings in the other direction, I think some of the best stories we can tell are ones where we aren’t individuals or couples in our own narrative bubbles.
I don’t know if most librarians would understand or shelve this as YA, but Lowrey’s cast of eighteen-year-old trans punks and squatters have more in common with most trans kids, in 2006 or the present day, than many YA-marketed idyllic stories about teens with accepting families and limited substance use issues.
From nonprofits where suburban children pick fights with homeless teens to squats where young punks pressure each other into conforming to their own specific dysfunctional microculture in Portland, Oregon, this book resonates for me as tracking a moment in history—the youth of all the trans people who were in their twenties when I came out in my early teens, and were trying to devote themselves to the same community projects they had benefited from when they were runaways and train-hoppers.
Click, a straight-edge transgender kid, is searching for hir place within a pack of newly sober gender rebels in the dilapidated punk houses of Portland, Oregon circa 2002. Ze embarks on a dizzying whirlwind of leather, sex, hormones, house parties, and protests until hir gender fluidity takes an unexpected turn and the pack is sent reeling.
