100 Books Like Will My Cat Eat My Eyeballs? Big Questions from Tiny Mortals About Death

This book completely changed the way I thought about aging and death. I listened to this book whilst walking along the Cornish Coastal Path in January. I was in the process of writing my own book about aging and had been focusing on biology but not humanity.

The warmth of the writing, the emotional journey that Gawande undergoes, the brilliant advice, and the wisdom from an expert all combine to make a wonderful life (and death) changing book.

This is a surprising book because while it is certainly macabre, it’s not morbid (at least not for me) and is strangely entertaining. It demystifies the human body and the process of death and dying. 

Even as the author delves into every aspect of dead bodies, she does so with compassion and humor. Rooted and backed up with science, this book held my interest from beginning to end, and I read it non-stop for over a day and a half. Despite its grave subject matter, this book is not dark or scary. It’s matter-of-fact and very educational.

I read this book when I was in a slump whilst working on my own and it really inspired me.

The job depicted here is fascinating but the woman carrying it out is doubly so.

Sandra - originally a married with kids man called Peter, who had suffered violence as a child - has been a drag queen, a sex worker, undergone gender reassignment, and takes all of this suffering and rich experience into her work cleaning up death scenes and hoarder houses.

The latter involving working with the damaged living who are often resistant. The human side of her job is beautiful and I saw the parallels with my own work and started writing again with vigour. 

This will look like nepotism because Richard is a dear friend who provided a quote for my book cover, however I am mainly friends with him because we are of the same mind about most things, including death.

We both deal with it using a good dose of sarcasm and humour whilst also being big old existential softies who have our moments.

His book about his cancer diagnosis sees his coping mechanism of humour balanced with the honest sadnesses of potentially leaving behind young children who might forget him, before returning to humourous disapproval at his wife's imagined new man.

My own firmly held belief that you can't live well without the shadow of death also comes through as he starts to live better and healthier in recovery, thanks to his brush with the reaper. 

When I began looking into how we humans send off our dead, this was the first book I read. Both moving and funny, it remains one of my favorites. Lynch, a poet, author, and professional undertaker, writes unsentimentally but with great compassion about the business of burying the dead.

While Lynch is critical of modern approaches to death—which he compares to the flush toilet, allowing us to quickly remove unpleasant reminders of our failing bodies—his book left me with a new understanding of the importance of the services provided by those who work in “the dismal trade.”

You might recognize Caleb Wilde from his prolific social media presence. And while Wilde’s funeral home is only about an hour from mine, that has nothing to do with the recommendation. What appealed to me about Confessions is Wilde’s naked honesty about the pervasiveness of death that many of us who work in the profession feel. Confessions is introspective, and at times funny, but my main takeaway is Wilde’s attempt to foster a more death-positive attitude with his text. Sure death is sad, and at times tragic, but there are life lessons to be learned and it doesn’t have to be a taboo subject in our culture.

Few books have been as influential on my understanding of ancient Egyptian mortuary culture as Jan Assmann’s Tod und Jenseits im alten Ägypten, known in English as Death and Salvation in Ancient Egypt. Assmann brings religious theory and ancient history together to argue that “death is the origin and center of culture.” 

We humans, for all our accomplishments in science, art, engineering, architecture, and literature, are haunted psychologically by the stark awareness of the reality that we all die. The various individual, group, and collective unconscious ways of trying to deny the reality of death are legion.

Becker stunned me with the way he organized a penetrating discussion of how many domains the effort to deny the reality of death enters. In the process of exploring these roads of travel to deny death, I found myself searching my own efforts to get meaning in my own life and try to prepare for my death.

Asha visits India every summer, filling her yellow suitcase with gifts for Grandma. When Asha returns to California, Grandma fills the suitcase with gifts for Asha. This summer, though, Grandma is gone, and the house isn’t the same without her there. Grandma’s final gift for Asha’s yellow suitcase—a quilt made from her saris that she created before she died—brings comfort to both Asha and the reader. 

This story allows readers to explore how a place feels without a special loved one there, and colorful illustrations bring brightness to this difficult subject. An author’s note shares that Sriram and her family also lost a grandparent and she used her family’s experiences as inspiration for this story in the hopes that it will bring comfort to others.

Metal Fish, Falling Snow is a terrific Australian road trip story, with a gorgeous cover. After Dylan’s mother suddenly dies, her mother’s boyfriend Pat drives her across the country to join her absent father’s family. During the trip, while experiencing the wilds of outback Australia first hand, Dylan gets to know Pat better. The novel deals with grief and evolving relationships, and is a very satisfying read.