100 Books like The Dark Heart of Every Wild Thing

An oldie but goodie - many of the techniques described are still applicable in modern times. Beard includes lengthy descriptions and illustrations of building all kinds of small shelters, including cabins, treehouses & towers. He helped start the Boy Scouts of America and was an avid woodsman, illustrator, and conservationist. His tips on outdoor living are invaluable – including two chapters on how to use an ax. 

This book takes readers into the swamps of Florida where wild things eat people. I’m a huge fan of Carl Hiaasen, Dave Barry, and John D. McDonald, all of whom write (or wrote in the case of McDonald) about south Florida. So it’s great to find a YA book for boys set in the Everglades. Like with most of Tim’s books, the characters push the boundaries of what they know to be right, but do not cross the line. Boys take chances. Or at least the boys I grew up with did. We explore the outdoors, go it alone, test things, break things, and often get trapped in situations of our own making. Escape from the Everglades allows me to enjoy being a kid again without, you know, getting gobbled by a gator.

Charlotte Drummond is a sort of anti-Carrie Simpson: same era, but fictional and feminist, living on the lower Columbia River. She joins a search for a girl lost from a remote logging camp and discovers more than she bargained for. There’s so much to love in this quiet novel, mainly the vivid and unflashy rendering of landscape and unfolding of memorable characters.

And, bigfoot. 

I may be an outlier, but I will assert that this is Elizabeth Gilbert’s greatest book. I think the lively realness of her literary voice and gift for human insight was most transcendent telling this story (and what a story!) that was not her own.

Not a week goes by that I don’t think about Eustace Conway’s description of how nature is a circle and our life in the modern world is made of boxes. That, and the entirety of The Last American Man, changed my worldview forever.

Gonzales has a way of providing information in a compelling manner, managing to use stories to present ideas rather than approaching them clinically. Deep Survival is a fascinating look at how people interact with the world as influenced by their unique and our shared human psychology and experiences. This book provides insight, but also inspiration to pay more attention and learn from our own experiences, creating a mental foundation for further exploration and growth. 

Survival books these days tend to be more flash and gimmicks than qualify information, just selling an author’s image rather than providing practical, valuable tools that can be immediately put to use by any inquisitive and motivated reader. Brown not only eschews such silliness, but he also provides the information in a tone and with an attitude sadly unusual in the genre and at large, inspiring curiosity, awe, and respect for the world around us rather than a clumsy attempt to dominate it.

This is a book I related to closely because I have paddled in northern Canada for weeks at a time and am well aware of the biting black flies, wind in your face, and fickle weather. 

It tells the story of a 600-mile paddle from a camp along the Canadian border that trained wilderness paddlers, starting as young as twelve. This trip was the capstone of the camp's training and consisted of six late-teenagers and one experienced guide. The trip faced many unexpected challenges, including ice flows and packs of slush too thick to go through but too soft to wade on. As usual, I am experiencing these obstacles right along with them and assessing the options. With considerable ingenuity, the boys manage to push and drag the canoes, fully loaded with gear, through the pack and keep going. In one stretch, it rained for four days in a row.… show more.

I read this novel in one sitting, swept up and carried away to a world I never knew and a place I’ve never been: New Zealand’s West Coast, a rough and rugged land where after just five days in the country, the entire Chamberlain family disappears.

With the parents dead, what will become of the children? And what will they do to survive? Complicated moral choices elevate this richly drawn, intensely atmospheric, and absolutely stunning story of loss and endurance.

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.

I am a die-hard Tim Winton fan, but I only recently picked up The Shepherd’s Hut. True to form, Winton produced yet another Australian masterpiece: I can still call myself a Winton fanatic. 

Like always, I loved Winton’s distinctly Australian voice and setting and the delicate care with which he approached Jaxie’s character. Not a single sentence nor word is wasted; every moment is brimming with Australianess. 

The transformation of Jaxie’s remoteness to rough tenderness is where this book is at its best. In Fintan McGillis, Jaxie finally finds a parental figure who sticks by him, who leads with love, even when he’s tough, and who doesn’t leave first.

This novel defied my expectations and didn’t end where or how I thought it would. I thoroughly enjoyed embarking on this derailed journey with Jaxie.