Books like You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense — picked by fans

I discovered my love for story early, growing up on TV and movies. I spent a good chunk of my teen years sitting in the dark watching everything that came out, especially foreign films. It’s safe to say that I learned the basics of storytelling by watching all the greats, from Hitchcock to David Lean to Kubrick. It’s no wonder I became a screenwriter rather than a novelist. But when I realized that story is story, regardless of the story form (book, movie, or TV commercial) a whole other world opened to me and my talent for story blossomed. Over the years, I grew this talent and passion and launched a career in Hollywood. 

I've been a horror fanatic since I was a little girl. At the age of 7, I was attempting to write my first horror novel, My Teacher is a Vampire, and at age of 9, I had already read my mom’s copy of, It. By the age of 16, I read the majority of Stephen King’s novels and was fascinated with Nosferatu, the original vampire, Vincent Price - the master of horror, and George Romero. When people ask why do I love the horror genre so much…my answer is: I’d rather read about the monsters in books and in movies instead of reading the newspaper or turning on the news and see the real monsters.

Born into an atheist family and a psychiatrist by background, I identified as a Christian in mid-life then became an interfaith minister. I believe everyone has a birthright to discover their own personal nature and purpose and although religion can help, it’s probably only a phase through which a properly evolved consciousness passes. You can read all the non-fiction and sacred texts you like, but I find spiritual fiction to be the best medium to explore and share fundamentals like this.

As a published author with an MFA in Writing, I know how hard writing can be in terms of how to find a muse, employ an elusive craft, and deal with the soul-shaking consequences of digging deep. But as a survivor of life, including multiple moves, broken relationships, alcoholism, illness, and debilitating grief, I've also experienced the transformative power of writing. I took that belief into the community, and developed writing workshops for cancer survivors, women facing domestic violence, and many other people wrestling with trauma and illness, often recommending some of these books in my workshops. And along the way, I’ve witnessed time and again what the written word can do. 

I’ve been a hillwalker and mountaineer since the age of 1 year 10 months – and longer than that, if you consider that my family’s been at it for over 150 years now. For the last 30 years, I’ve been writing walking guidebooks, general books about UK mountains, and articles in walking magazines like Trail, The Great Outdoors, and Lakeland Walker. My Book of the Bivvy on tentless sleepouts has acquired semi-classic status among the wilder sort of outdoor enthusiasts. I care about mountains, and I care about great writing about mountains, all of which is explored in my free weekly newsletter, About Mountains on Substack.

I have specialised in writing about radicals and non-conformists who seem to me to be the most interesting people in the world. I like books about people doing challenging things and making a difference. I love travelling to obscure archives in other countries and finding the riches of personal papers in dusty old rooms curated by eccentric archivists who greet me like an old friend.

When I was eighteen, I had an experience I call religious: I was sitting outside of an ivy-covered building at my undergraduate school and reading the opening words of Vergil’s Roman epic, The Aeneid (in Latin, but I didn’t know Latin yet). The sky became clearer; it shone with different light. It became clear to me at that moment that I was supposed to be a poet. So, yeah, I went on to learn lots of stuff, including languages, so that I could read poetry in them. I did all that to serve the greater goal of being a poet.

I am a chameleon scholar. Though my first love is poetry, I have written about all the arts, about 18th-century authors (especially Samuel Johnson), about theories of literature and literary vocations, about Sappho and other abandoned women, about ancients and moderns and chess and marginal glosses and the meaning of life and, most recently, the Scientific Revolution. But I am a teacher too, and The Ordering of the Arts grew out of my fascination with those writers who first taught readers what to look for in painting, music and poetry—what works were best, what works could change their lives. That project has inspired my own life and all my writing.

As a teacher, I often talk with my students about current events and highlight how disasters can spiral. Wildfire seasons are worsening, storms are getting stronger, wars are starting and never-ending, and sometimes, my students express some despair in the face of such cycles. Though it’s not a cure-all for this anxiety, I encourage my students to try and create something from this existential worry. Rather than scrolling through all the bad things that cross our screens, creativity can help us imagine a better world to work towards. Poetry about disasters can help us see them through.