Books like The Five Invitations — picked by fans

I loved this book because it gave language to instincts I didn’t yet trust.

I read it long ago, and its stories stayed with me—not intellectually, but somatically. This book doesn’t explain women; it remembers us. Through myth and archetype, Clarissa Pinkola Estés reclaims the wild, intuitive self that so many women are trained to domesticate.

It taught me that messiness isn’t a flaw—it can be the sign of something alive trying to return.

Few books have made me question my own life quite like Untamed.

I didn't connect with this book because my life is anything like Glennon Doyle's—it isn't. I connected with it because she puts words to something I think many of us experience: the quiet pressure to become the person everyone else expects us to be. It made me ask myself a deeply uncomfortable question: Whose life am I actually living?

I found myself thinking about all the ways expectations can slowly shape who we are, often so quietly that we don't even realise it is happening. How much of who we are is actually us—and how much of it is the version we've learned to perform for everyone else?

I kept thinking about how much courage it takes to stop performing and start listening to yourself instead.

I love this book and recommend it to people struggling with negative body image.

Sonya Renee Taylor teaches that we are all connected and that self-judgment in one person extends to the judgment of all people. I found myself digging deeply into the roots of any critical views that I might have held of my own body and then challenging them. Ultimately, it helped me embrace body neutrality and, ultimately, body liberation.

I love this book because it’s a pure and simple description of the physical reasons our lives end. I don’t believe anyone has ever brought death down to earth like Dr. Nuland.

I liked his book so much that I arranged to meet with him. I found him to be the same clear and compassionate person (and doctor) who appears on every page of his book.

What I admire the most is how he manages to describe some of the deadliest human diseases from the inside out, writing so clearly that readers can relax into understanding and let go of their worries without thinking.

There are many books about what dying has to teach the living. This is the one I keep on my bedside shelf. When I talk to people about my own experiences with hospice and dying, they sometimes wax ecstatic about the subject. I believe they’re right to see the possibilities for joy and spiritual growth, but I also think it’s crucial to look at death with clear eyes. As a former Buddhist monk and hospice director who has worked with dying people, Smith does just that. Again, and again, he emphasizes that death does involve suffering. But he also writes movingly—and honestly—about the experiences he’s witnessed, helping readers to face our own mortality and learn how to live better and more joyfully.

I sometimes read aloud from this book to hospice patients because when you’re dying, it’s easy to believe that it’s too late—too late to make amends, too late to reconnect, too late to do anything more for the world you’re leaving behind. Byock, a doctor who has worked extensively with dying people, says that’s not the case. Instead, he urges his patients to communicate with their friends and family members, to say thanks, to forgive, to apologize, and to express their love. The book is filled with examples of times people on the edge of death were able to connect more deeply or heal old wounds, changing the lives of those close to them for the better.

Pattison’s book offers a rare mix: specific insights based on evidence and experience, and a kind of gentleness. Here’s an example of what I mean: This is where I first read about the ups and downs of “the living-dying interval,” the time between when a person is diagnosed with a terminal condition and death. Just naming and describing the interval helps others better imagine what it’s like. Pattison is also good at pointing out important nuances. He discusses attitudes at different stages of life, because of course it’s not the same to die at age ten as at age ninety. First published in 1977, this collection of essays—which includes pieces by other authors—takes an academic approach, but it’s one that’s extraordinarily thoughtful.

I love the way this book explains how our individual development contributes to the greater whole, the expansion of the collective consciousness, which is the only way the world can improve.

It’s a big topic, but I do love the way Tolle argues that our egos are the problem (in the form of our delusions and irrationality) as well as the solution (our ability to mature beyond just thinking of ourselves) to humanity. I admire how Tolle asks us to consider our complaining, criticisms, and judgments in terms of our fragile and needy ego, and how we need to take better responsibility for how we impact others.

There is a whole section on living as a performance as opposed to being authentic and true to yourself, which got me questioning myself in a constructive way. 

As an artist, I seek inspiration from life, about life.

If creativity is about life, then life is about death. What better angle to view the light than from the shadows? I always keep death lurking about in my own work, though often thinking about it makes me deal with it in a lighter way, because only through the darkness can the light have meaning, and often through humor you can convey heavy things.

The author has been a constant inspiration to me, because he always tells it as it is. If you want spiced up feel-good spirituality, don’t read any of his books.

This book rattled and awakened me in a place that seemed taboo to tickle. Studying death and dying can be driven by ego (what are you going to wear at your funeral? Do you have your music picked out?) Not to say there is not some good in the ego-driven work-- contemplating that can be done no matter what angle you study. However, Being With Dying cuts to the chase. If you feel ready to dismantle your illusion of living forever (or, if think that you’ll only die on your own terms, but only when you’re ready) this book is for you.