100 Books Like Where the Lost Wander

Here is another masterpiece.

It purports to be historical fiction set in the Old West, following one of the last great cattle drives. Yet within a few chapters, it begins to feel like a series of episodes from Grimm’s fairy tales.

I remember at UC Irvine, where I earned my Fiction MFA, several fellow writers were reading this novel alongside me. We kept stopping each other in the hall or at cocktail parties to relive this or that chapter, struggling to understand how it could be both so entertaining and so good.

The fact that it is long—a real doorstopper of a book—adds to its “too-big-for-one-genre” feel.

It’s hard to believe this classic is celebrating fifty years on television. And, of course, long before that, it was a treasure of a book that delighted generations of young people. The worst-kept secret is: you don’t outgrow this beloved author’s work.

It’s probably her fault that just thinking about covered wagons makes me long for the good old days—ones that came and went long before I was born. It’s not just the kind of book you want to read over and over again; it’s the kind of book you want to read aloud to others.

I read this book for the first time when I was probably nine or ten and I think this was one of the books that really started it all. It put words to what I felt about the West...the glory of the wide plains, the kind of guts it took to survive, the love of a boy and a horse, and the lengths they would go for each other. It's a perfectly wistful and beautiful western. 

Louis L'Amour wrote dozens of novels about the West but this one I loved because of the sweet wistfulness that was contrasted with the harsh reality of frontier living. Evie Teal is a widow whose husband rode out for cattle and never came back, leaving her alone in the wilderness with two children and only guesses as to how he could have died. Conn Conagher is a poetry-loving, quiet cowboy who hasn't much but his integrity and good name. Neither thinks the other could possibly be interested in them, and the quiet, understated love story just draws you in. 

This historical fiction novel features nineteen-year-old Jim Keath, born white, but rescued and adopted by the Crow when he was badly wounded by a bear. He lives as a trapper now, avoiding both sides of his life, but when his younger siblings write to him, asking for his help in staking a land claim, he can't run from his past anymore. The story deals beautifully and honestly with human nature, the harsh realities of survival in Oregon Territory, and the importance of family. And the stark western landscape plays a large part in the story.

A slightly more modern take, this book is set in the 1930s, in the perspective of a girl who inherits an ailing Wyoming ranch and she falls in love with the land and the people who inhabit it. What I loved about this one was the discovery of the land and the lifestyle through the eyes of the main character. Throw in a mystery and a lovely romance and you'll be breathless by the end. 

I wasn't only captivated by this book. I had to consume the entire series. It was hard to wait for the last couple of books, but it was well worth it.

I'm a big fan of the author, John Deacon, and I enjoy his many other series too, but the Heck and Hope series is my favorite. It’s got a larger-than-life hero, the full experience of the western frontier, and wholesome family values. I loved this series so much, I sent copies to my favorite aunt so she could read them too.

This is the kind of book you get lost in. My favorite stories almost always include a trail—a journey. And the path followed by Lewis and Clark is, of course, more than just a journey.

I loved experiencing this excursion through the perspective of the heroic young mother. If it weren’t for her, the expedition would have been doomed. I’m long overdue for another read of this book, and I’m looking forward to diving back into it one of these days.

I have always held a deep appreciation for Mary’s novels, but this particular one struck a chord with me on a deeper level. The narrative is rich with adventure and suspense, making it an exhilarating read. Trace emerges as one of my favorite protagonists; I admire his ability to navigate the complex themes of responsibility and love in his role as a protector, even though he’s overwhelmed with the task he’s taken on. I also liked the heroine.

Though she was initially portrayed as a damsel in distress, she showed remarkable strength, which I found particularly engaging. The story has unique characters and a community that emphasizes shared values. I also appreciated the subtle humor that is interwoven throughout the story.

Terms of Endearment has every single thing that I search for in a perfect reading experience: engaging dialogue, humour, realistic life situations, and—in Aurora Greenway—one of the most memorable literary characters ever put to paper. In less capable hands, Terms of Endearment might simply have joined the ranks of hackneyed stories about a domineering parent and their submissive child. But through his mastery, McMurtry shows us that strength comes in many different guises. It’s not always the loudest person in the room who commands authority; quiet fortitude can be just as powerful as a brazen authority. I’ve learned this more than once in my own life, and I was delighted to see it illustrated here.