Books like Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

This book completely reshaped how I think about courage, connection, and what it really means to live a meaningful life.

She challenges the idea that vulnerability is weakness and instead shows it as one of the truest forms of strength. The concepts are easy to understand but not always easy to practice. It gently pushes you to look at how you show up in your relationships, how you handle shame, and how often we protect ourselves by blaming, judging, or staying silent.

What I love most is how she blends deep research with so much humanity. She writes with scientific credibility but also with warmth, humility, and a feeling that she’s speaking directly to you.

Even though this book has been around for a while, its message still feels incredibly relevant. It’s the kind of read that stays with you and quietly changes the way you think, act, and connect.

This made me laugh, and it made me cry. I challenge anybody with a heart not to feel for Augie Pullman as he not only survives a new school and new situation but thrives in them. He doesn’t just overcome his self-doubt; he proves to himself and everyone else that he’s not only his classmates’ equal but their superior. Augie surpasses every single other child character in this book with his compassion and intelligence. He is a hero of the 21st century. 

As cliché as it sounds, I couldn’t put it down. In between reading sessions (that I undertook with my daughter), I found myself obsessing about Augie’s plight and wondering what would happen to him next. I needed to know how the young boy with the messed-up face would respond and react to whatever challenges the world, his school, his town, his family, and his friend threw at him.… show more.

I am in awe of the repressed, elegiac emotion that Ishiguro brings to his characters.

Never Let Me Go kept me in a state of constant tension between Kathy’s version of events (which is full of omissions and self-deception) and the version I was constructing in my own head (which was so often at odds with hers).

This is something Ishiguro also does brilliantly in other books, but here I was particularly drawn to the deft way he shows us a morally bankrupt adult world through the eyes of an adolescent protagonist – that’s exactly the territory I write.

Like the fish who doesn’t realise the water is there, Kathy struggles to understand the true nature of Hailsham until it’s far too late; and there’s real moral anger behind the quiet delivery.

I’d read the reviews, so I was prepared for a great book. I wasn’t prepared to be thrown out of my comfort zone—but in the best possible way.

Mandel made me sit with what it really means to lose everything and still create something beautiful. It’s not about saving the world; it’s about creating a new dream and making it your home. I loved how it celebrates art, memory, and the strange persistence of humanity even when everything else is gone.

This book reminded me that hope is often raw, painful, and ultimately necessary.

I love how this book told the story of technology that feels only slightly ahead of reality.

I was working at Google at the time that I read this, and what resonated with me was the enormous amounts of data being collected, the optimism around what that data could enable, and the subtle ways algorithms were already beginning to shape human behavior.

It made me start thinking about where those nudges could ultimately lead. And it’s not just the amount of data being collected, but how willingly people embrace it when the experience is good enough, and it comes beautifully packaged.

That’s a similar idea I explore in my book: how much control we willingly hand over to our technology overlords in exchange for free email, better-targeted advertising, and a little more convenience.

Honestly, this book crushed me, but in the most beautiful way possible.

It taught me that love can be found in the most unexpected places, even when faced with life's harshest realities. This narrative made me appreciate the small but significant moments in life, a lesson I try to convey in my own writing.

I had stopped reading children’s and teen fiction for a couple of years, for the first time in my half a century of life, and then I read A Curse So Dark and Lonely.

There’s a different sort of adventure here, and I think I related to Harper a little bit extra because I have a chronic illness and when it flares up, my limp is so very obvious. It felt good to see magic + that realism.

The combination of magic, a protagonist I could connect to, and fairy tale elements made me start opening the covers of other books I’d bought and shelved.

I love the way the magic moves through this novel in quiet, intimate ways.

It’s never flashy, nor is the magic there only for the sake of excitement. It whispers a twisted love. It’s dreadful and beautiful, both to Addie LaRue and to the reader. Because of it, Addie changes. Addie lives in our world, in historical times and today, and the magic exists in our world. 

One of the things I love about literary fantasy is that the main characters have true emotional arcs. We’re drawn into their experiences because we care about them. The questions they ask themselves are ones we all ask: Who do I want to be? What makes life meaningful? What do we owe the people we love?

Willow Chance is an adopted twelve-year-old genius who can diagnose an inordinate number of medical conditions.

To ease her anxiety, she counts by sevens. After her adoptive parents die in a car accident, Willow’s neurodivergence doesn’t allow her to deal with the trauma in typical ways which surprise people around her. As other characters in this multiple-point-of-view story emerge and get to know Willow, they find her entirely endearing and would do anything for her. I found it satisfying to see how Willow processes through her grief in her own way.

This story is beautifully written, and I wanted to swoop in and protect Willow.

This book filled me with pure wonder. The futuristic setting felt like a glimpse into a world we’re on the brink of creating, where technology can be both a refuge and a battlefield. I loved the way it combined a digital universe with a gritty, imperfect reality—it made me think about how much potential the future holds, both thrilling and terrifying.

The sense of exploration and possibility was so vivid that I found myself daydreaming about what could be long after I turned the last page. It’s a story that reminds me how powerful imagination can be. The characters aren’t perfect, which made them feel real, and I was hooked by the idea of ordinary kids taking on extraordinary challenges. This one made me feel like anything was possible in the future.