Bookshelf

I love reading books. There have been times when I have been overcome by a great sorrow, when I could not see the point of life and the road ahead seemed to stretch endlessly into darkness, with no light at the end of the tunnel. And yet, even then, the thought of reading a book felt like that light.

The thought that I could open a book and, for a while, experience life as someone else—to laugh, to love, to grieve, to wonder—has always been deeply comforting to me. To be reminded that there are still stories waiting to be lived, even if only through the pages of a book, has sometimes been enough to make life feel bearable again.

Funnily enough, it has always been the sad stories that have stayed closest to my heart. Perhaps that is why Kafka’s words resonate with me so deeply:

“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us... A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.”

So here is a list of the books I have read and the ones I am reading—not in any particular order, but as an ode to the very things that make life livable.