Books like The Wild Truth — picked by fans

This book was an integral resource when I began to write my book. It helped me shape the structure of my book.

F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, “If you have anything to say, anything you feel nobody has ever said before, you have got to feel it so desperately that you will find some way to say it that nobody has ever found before, so that the thing you have to say and the way of saying it blend as one matter—as indissolubly as if they were conceived together.”

This, and other books I've read, did this. My favorite books of all time have inventive structures. And reading these helped me find mine.

Nearly every line of this memoir stopped me in my tracks.

I read most of it at a local café, teacup in hand, blinking back tears more times than I care to admit. Gilbert's precision and beauty on the page are simply breathtaking. She doesn't describe the world so much as conjure it, and she pulled me in until her cobbled Roman streets and dusty Indian pathways felt like my own. I tasted that whole pizza with her, felt the sun’s warmth on her shoulders, and ached through each layered heartbreak as though it were mine.

She doesn't merely tell her story. She throws open the door to her innermost self and refuses to let you look away. I wept. I laughed. And when the last page came, I sat quietly for a long moment, reluctant to leave her and her world behind.

How do we make sense of death? How do we balance rational explanations with the ‘magical thinking’ of the heart?

In her honest and passionate memoir, Joan Didion—an iconic American journalist and author—attempted 'to make sense of the weeks and then months that cut loose any fixed idea I ever had about death, about illness…about marriage and children and memory…about the shallowness of sanity, about life itself’.

Her search for meaning leaned toward rational explanations, yet this remains a vital work in enabling us to accept the inevitable loss of those whom we love.

“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.”

I read A Room of One’s Own after my divorce and having—for the first time in my entire life—a place that was mine alone to decorate as I pleased. While Virginia Woolf was speaking on the macro, sociological struggles that women were facing during that time (the early 20th century), her words resonated with me to the present day.

Likewise, while it might be easier now for a woman to open a bank account or attend college than it was in 1929, the struggle of having our stories told and our identities outside that of mother or wife celebrated is still prevalent. 

This book hit me as both tragic and strangely hopeful.

Chris McCandless walked into the Alaskan wilderness with little more than a backpack and a stubborn streak, and people have argued ever since: was he brave, reckless, or just plain stupid? But his compulsion isn’t as rare as we might think. In my book, Cole feels the same tug—escape the sterile shoebox apartment and the $8 lattes. This can’t be all there is.

What drew me in wasn’t the verdict but his hunger for something real—stripping away every layer of artifice most of us cling to. Krakauer tells it with empathy and curiosity, letting you wrestle with the questions instead of handing you neatly typed answers. I recommend it because it forces you to stare down your own compromises: freedom versus responsibility, idealism versus pragmatism.

Admire Chris or dismiss him, you won’t forget him. And the story lingers like a… show more.

Foraging is my favorite survival skill. Discovering food in the wild provides the perfect dopamine rush, and it’s exactly what we evolved to do as humans.

Nicole’s comprehensive guide covers so many edible plants and also gives fun, inventive recipes, so that even if it’s not the apocalypse, you might want to experiment with things like pickled magnolia leaves or elderberry pancakes.

When I find wild plants I intend to eat, I always like to double check with another field guide or the online citizen science database iNaturalist to make sure I did the ID correctly – nobody wants to end up like Into the Wild’s Christopher McCandless in that bus in the Alaska wilderness!

The initial hook in Still Points North was, for me, the opening and its description of the 4-seat plane that the author often flew in with her father. I flew in one when I went to Denali for field research for my novel, and it became not just one of those memories I’ll never forget but also experiential data for my book. I also appreciated how the author so eloquently describes the landscape, comparing and contrasting life in the wilderness with life on the East Coast. But what most impressed me was her revelation, which coincides with the experiences of my novel’s protagonist, that relationships can sometimes be more frightening and challenging than Alaska’s natural savagery.

I’m always comforted to read all the different mistakes Gary Paulsen made while learning to drive a dogsled; it makes me feel better about my own (sometimes quite inefficient) attempts to acquire new skills.

It doesn’t hurt that his mistakes are so damn funny—especially from the safety of the reader’s side of the book! I wouldn’t want to experience The Night of Numerous Skunks, or hallucinate from continuous cold and physical exertion, but it does make a great story.

I never dreamed about running the Iditarod—and this book didn’t change that!—but I found it fascinating to read about someone else giving that kind of crazy a shot.

The oldest of my choices, published in 1920, this classic account of an epic 2,000-mile dogsled journey in northern Alaska, written by an Episcopal missionary, still makes lists of the best books about the 49th state. A masterpiece of adventure and ethnography, with lyrical descriptions of nature, A Winter Circuit is the work of a man not only deeply and widely read about polar exploration and the history of the Far North, but also keenly aware of the social forces bearing down on Alaska’s Native peoples, and eager to support and defend their time-honed way of life.

I first discovered this little gem of a book while researching a historical fiction novel of my own. Set in the 1920s, it’s about a little orphan girl named Bo who's being raised by two rough and tumble gold miners—both men. It’s a fun and exciting adventure story, while at the same time providing an insightful and authentic look at life after the famous Alaska gold rush. A perfect read for ages 8-12.