5 Lesser-Known Books That Have Changed My Life (and Why)

           

             I have long found myself captivated by the classical giants of literature, those revered texts that have endured the test of time. Yet, in the past few years, I’ve discovered a compelling shift in my reading habits. Contemporary works, while often overlooked in favor of their older counterparts, have emerged as some of the most profound and life-altering books I’ve encountered. These are stories that, despite their relatively recent publication, carry a weight and resonance akin to those traditional masterpieces. Each of them has left an indelible mark on me, and as I return to them at different stages of my life, they continue to stir something deep within, allowing me to re-examine myself and the world around me. In my personal library, these books have become my own classics—works I believe deserve far more recognition and attention than they often receive.

One such work is The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller, a novel I first read during my college years. This breathtaking retelling of the Iliad, seen through the eyes of Patroclus and his relationship with Achilles, captivated me with its elegant prose and emotional depth. Unlike the rigid, heroic portrayal of Achilles that we often encounter in ancient texts, Miller’s retelling breathes new life into these iconic figures by humanizing them and exploring the tenderness of their bond. It was a revelation to me, how classical narratives, which I had long revered for their grand scale, could be transformed into intimate, emotional stories that speak to the heart of the human condition. Through Miller’s lens, I found myself reflecting on themes of love, loss, and the inescapable influence of fate, all while marveling at the complexity of the legacy we leave behind, not through grand acts of valor, but through the quieter moments of connection we share with others. The book made me acutely aware that love, especially the love that transcends time, circumstance, and memory, remains the most profound and enduring legacy one can leave.

Similarly, Feed by M.T. Anderson, a novel I encountered during my early high school years, profoundly shaped my understanding of technology and its role in shaping our perceptions and relationships. In this dystopian vision of the future, individuals have a direct neural link to an all-encompassing “feed,” a constant stream of information and consumption. What initially appeared to be a satirical examination of consumerism soon morphed into a chilling critique of the ways in which technology and media erode the boundaries of human experience. The novel’s exploration of the emotional and intellectual consequences of a hyper-connected world felt eerily prescient, especially given the rise of social media and digital saturation in our modern lives. Feed made me question not just the implications of technology on our attention spans and capacity for deep thought, but also its corrosive effect on empathy and authentic connection. It was one of the first works that forced me to confront the potential dehumanization wrought by the very tools meant to connect us.

Small Great Things by Jodi Picoult is yet another book that has had a profound impact on my worldview. I first read it during the early months of the pandemic, at a time when the country was grappling with difficult and urgent conversations surrounding racial injustice and systemic inequality. Small Great Things is a courageous exploration of the intersections between race, class, and privilege, set against the backdrop of a tragic and heart-wrenching medical case. The protagonist, Ruth Jefferson, a Black labor and delivery nurse, finds herself caught in a moral and legal quagmire when she is prohibited from treating the newborn child of white supremacist parents, only for the child to later die. Picoult’s unflinching portrayal of systemic racism in the healthcare system, as well as in the justice system, was a wake-up call for me. It was not merely a story that demanded empathy; it was a challenge to examine the ways in which our society's structures perpetuate inequality. The novel does not offer easy answers, and it is in the complexity of its characters and their decisions that the true power lies. For me, it was a turning point—forcing me to confront my own biases, privileges, and responsibility in addressing these urgent societal issues.

Another book that resonated with me on a deeply emotional level was The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab. This novel, which blends elements of historical fiction, fantasy, and a poignant meditation on memory and identity, presents a narrative that is both beautiful and haunting. The story follows Addie LaRue, a young woman in 18th-century France who, in a moment of desperation, makes a Faustian bargain that grants her immortality at the cost of being forgotten by everyone she meets. The premise itself is both tragic and thought-provoking, exploring what it means to live a life that no one will remember. Schwab’s prose is lush and evocative, weaving themes of legacy, identity, and the quiet longing for connection into a narrative that lingers long after the final page. The novel’s exploration of how we are remembered—or forgotten—struck a deep chord within me, especially as Addie’s journey unfolds over the centuries, offering an insight into the ways in which we carve out our own meaning in a world that is often indifferent to our existence. It is a meditation on the fragility of memory, and the importance of leaving behind something, however small, that connects us to others.

Lastly, Slow Days, Fast Company by Eve Babitz, a collection of essays that vividly captures the unique and often contradictory spirit of Los Angeles, holds a special place in my heart. Babitz, whose writing is both raw and radiant, offers a glimpse into the city’s cultural landscape through a series of intimate, humorous, and often poignant reflections. Born and raised in Los Angeles, I found Babitz’s portrayal of the city to be a perfect encapsulation of its contradictions: the glamour and the grit, the superficiality and the depth, the isolation and the connection. Her essays are not bound by conventional narrative structure, but instead capture moments in time: fleeting, beautiful, and uncontainable. What I admired most about Babitz’s writing is its willingness to embrace the messiness of life, and to find beauty and meaning in the chaos. It gave me the permission to write with a similar rawness and authenticity, to reflect not only on the grand moments, but on the quiet, mundane ones that hold their own kind of power. This book was a reminder that life is not always neatly packaged, but in that imperfection lies its richness.

These five books, each distinct in its narrative, tone, and themes, have changed how I think, how I write, and how I engage with the world around me. Some have guided me through the intricacies of girlhood; others have helped me navigate the complexities of technology, race, identity, and memory. While they may not all be as widely recognized as other literary works, each of them has left a profound and lasting impression. They are my personal classics, stories that challenge, inspire, and ultimately change the way we see ourselves and the world we inhabit. If you are in search of works that linger with you, that expand your understanding and deepen your empathy, I recommend starting with these.