Books like The Lost Daughter — picked by fans

This 1965 novel by English author Margaret Drabble follows protagonist and PhD student Rosamund as she becomes a single mother.

Educated, upper-middle-class Rosamund narrates with a quintessentially British and—for me—highly enjoyable blend of primness and humor. Fascinatingly and somewhat frustratingly, Rosamund keeps her pregnancy a secret from her daughter Octavia’s father, even after Octavia is born. She’s like a strange English Virgin Mary who studies Elizabethan sonnets and really doesn’t want to “put anyone out”.

Her story also offers an interesting glimpse into class issues in 1960s London and the way that experiences of pregnancy and motherhood can both transcend and accentuate class divisions.

Heti’s heady, meditative, heavily autobiographical novel documents its narrator’s personal ambivalence about the idea of motherhood.

While this is not a conventional novel with a linear plot, it is a gorgeously written reflection on what motherhood means, or could mean, in general and to our narrator in particular. With unflinching honesty, she explores not only the question of whether or not she wants a child of her own, but also her identity as her mother’s child and her position as a descendant of Holocaust survivors.

I found so much to relate to in these pages; I often set out to underline a sentence and ended up underlining an entire page, feeling like Heti had put her finger on something I’d experienced but had never articulated so well.

Kristen is a friend of mine, and I felt a strong sense of kinship to her work not only because I admire her personally but also because it deals with so many of my novel’s own themes—grief, family, unplanned pregnancy.

Motherest’s main character, Agnes, is a college student who describes her life on campus, her pregnancy, and the loss of her beloved brother through a combination of traditional narration and a series of letters written with increasing urgency to her absent mom. Agnes’s voice and letters are both hilarious and heartbreaking. Every once in a while, you meet a character who you miss when their story ends—for me, Agnes is one of them.

I loved this novel for its savage intelligence and frank exploration of the problems of inhabiting a body while trying to live a “life of the mind.”

Protagonist Dorothy is an adjunct English professor whose ectopic pregnancy and miscarriage are not so much the subject of this book as a metaphor for Dorothy’s life in general: her hopes have not materialized, and her nonstop thoughts rarely lead to action. Readers who have struggled to claw their way up the academic ladder (particularly those who’ve spent a lot of time at the bottom of that ladder) will especially enjoy this book.

Be prepared for visceral descriptions of Dorothy’s body—of all that it produces, and all that it fails to produce.

I read this book when I was a new mom myself, and I was fascinated to learn how much I had in common with animal parents all over the world. In the process of birthing, feeding, protecting, cleaning, and teaching our offspring, we all face similar challenges and tradeoffs and reap remarkable rewards.

Several stories from this book have stuck with me for years, like the one about breastfeeding bat moms needing to offload their milk into any willing mouth, whether it’s their own baby or someone else’s, just to lighten their load enough to fly!

I frequently use this child’s book to help young children cope with the divorce of their parents. Too often, I’ve found, parents don’t know how to talk to their children about divorce, and even more often, children don’t know how to talk to their parents about their feelings and what they may see as the end of their family. I Don’t Want to Talk About It follows a young girl who just doesn’t want to talk about her fears and painful feelings when she discovers that her parents are divorcing. However, with the gentle help of her parents, she is ultimately able to gain the courage to talk to them about what the future holds. The children I’ve counseled about divorce have responded well to this soft and empathic book. I highly recommend it.

This exquisite memoir validated for me what I already know but sometimes resist in my own writing: let it bleed onto the page. The grief, the heartache, the anger, the resolve.

I read this book nestled safely in bed and caught myself thinking: Yes! Do more of this. Throw off the damn blankets and tell the truth! That’s how we heal.

This first book gave me the necessary perspective to consider the impact of divorce on my children’s entire lifespan, not just their childhoods.

It lays the groundwork for what legacy we’re breaking, since hopefully your children are young and you’re still married. I never once thought about how divorce when my three children were small would influence the nature of their adult intimate relationships and ability to navigate marriage in their future, even though I had direct experience with it influencing mine.

This is the spell breaker of all the divorce books. It will snap you out of any trance you’re in that might be preventing you from factoring in your children’s lives. It was the first time an author spelled out to me how divorce impacted me as a child and young adult, and it explained so many reasons for my behavior in relationships, especially fear of commitment.

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This book gave me courage when I was at a low ebb. 

Clover bravely describes the ferocity of her longing and grief over her mother following an accident. Her mother is alive but is not the person she knew and loved, more a toddler in an adult body. Clover takes flight as a teenager, and in her mission to understand her own shock and turmoil, she is drawn into challenging and sometimes dangerous situations with people, which she handles with fortitude.

I was left feeling that in the face of adversity, if we are brave and walk towards our grief, we can handle it eventually, bringing it forward into a new landscape (in Clover’s case, adulthood) and learning from it every step of the way. 

With the rise in so-called “gray divorces,” adult children of divorce find that they are just as wounded, betrayed, devastated and grief-stricken as young children. The myth that it is better to “wait to divorce till after the kids are grown” turns out to be just that, a myth. Adult children of divorce have been neglected in divorce books until recently, and this book is a resource geared toward their unique circumstances, helping them process and adjust to their parent's divorce. Divorcing parents would also benefit from reading it if they have adult children.