Books That Shaped My Novel
Welcome to my library! In this space, you'll find a selection of my favorite books. Explore my collection to reveal the that motivate and inspire me.
Home to Big Stone Gap, Adriana Trigiani
Book Review: Home to Big Stone Gap by Adriana Trigiani
“You can only be yourself. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
— Adriana Trigiani, Home to Big Stone Gap
Home to Big Stone Gap is a gentle, character-driven story about returning to the life you built and wondering if it still fits. In this fourth installment of the series, Ave Maria is older, married, and seemingly settled, but her quiet discontent keeps bubbling beneath the surface. I found the pacing a bit slow at times. There were stretches where I wished for something with more urgency or surprise. Still, the novel’s real strength lies in its quirky, endearing cast of characters and how Trigiani brings this small Appalachian town to life with warmth and authenticity.
One of the significant plot threads revolves around the town play, which is the event of the year. It felt so typical of a small, insular community where everyone knows everyone, and the local stage becomes a stand-in for larger aspirations. While the stakes may be small, Trigiani writes it all with humor and heart, capturing both the charm and limitations of life in a tight-knit place. I appreciated the evolving relationship between Ave Maria and her husband, Jack. Their marriage isn’t romanticized but real, imperfect, and complicated by age, illness, and unspoken worries. Her concern for his health adds emotional weight to the story, and how she tries to balance her restlessness with loyalty shows a tender, often unspoken kind of love that feels earned.
One plot point that stands out was when an outsider arrives and ends up saving the day. It added energy to the story and reminded me how sometimes the people with the freshest perspective are the ones who can move things forward.
Overall, Home to Big Stone Gap is a warm, reflective novel about identity, community, and late-in-life transformation. If you enjoy character-driven stories with wit, heart, and a strong sense of place, this one is worth reading.
Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, by Gail Honeyman
I’m not sure I’ve ever fallen for a character the way I fell for Eleanor Oliphant. And by “fall,” I mean resisted, rolled my eyes, and then suddenly realized I was all in.
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At first, Eleanor’s regimented life and relentless commentary had me bracing for a quirky-comedy-meets-tragedy kind of read. But what I got was something far richer. Gail Honeyman manages to layer humor and heartbreak with such subtlety, it’s easy to forget just how much darkness is humming beneath the surface. And that’s part of what makes the novel so brilliant: Eleanor doesn’t even realize the full scope of her trauma until the reader is already in too deep to turn away.
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As a writer, I was especially taken by how Honeyman lets Eleanor unfold slowly. Nothing is handed to us in exposition. Instead, we piece her together like a puzzle; one awkward social misstep, one cringe-worthy comment, one tragic breadcrumb at a time. That technique kept me guessing and fully engaged. I tried to emulate this in my own novel. I really did. Let’s just say I fell short, but Honeyman gave me a masterclass in character reveal and emotional restraint, and an unusual healing process.
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What moved me most wasn’t just Eleanor’s transformation, but the quiet kindness of those around her, particularly Raymond, the IT guy with no fashion sense and a big heart. There’s no forced romance, no magical fix. Just the slow, awkward, painfully real evolution of a woman coming back to life.
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This book reminded me that sometimes healing is messy, nonlinear, and completely fine.
The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, by Alexander McCall Smith
Reading The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency was like sitting under a shade tree with a cup of tea, slowly discovering a new culture one story at a time. What struck me most was how Alexander McCall Smith wove Botswana’s culture so seamlessly into every page. We don’t just read about the country, we feel it in the rhythm of the conversations, in the respect for elders, in the quiet pride Mma Ramotswe carries for her homeland.
Mma Ramotswe is not your typical detective. She solves modest cases with wisdom and intuition rather than flash or force. She’s also the moral compass of the series, guided by compassion, tradition, and common sense. And while her sleuthing is enjoyable, it’s the cultural observations and small, human moments that linger.
This book inspired me while writing my own novel set in Mexico. McCall Smith doesn’t hit us over the head with cultural comparisons; instead, he lets the differences unfold naturally—in misunderstandings, in habits, in beliefs. That balance of humor and heart encouraged me to explore the small, often amusing moments that happen when cultures collide.
Though I’ve only read the first two books in this 22-book series, they left an impression. They reminded me that mystery doesn’t have to be gritty or fast-paced to be meaningful. Sometimes, it’s enough to follow a curious woman through the sun-soaked streets of Gaborone, observing her neighbors, drinking red bush tea, and gently putting things right.
It’s not just a detective story, it’s a love letter to Botswana
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Beachfront Memories, by Alice Munro
Beachfront Memories drew me in from the very first page with its quiet emotional power and beautifully rendered coastal setting. In a story rich with texture and longing, Munro introduces us to Margot, a woman who returns to her family’s beach cottage on the Carolina coast after a personal loss, similar to my novel, Winds of San Samora. What begins as a solitary retreat quickly becomes a transformative summer, one filled with healing, difficult truths, and unexpected connections.
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At the heart of the novel is Margot’s growing involvement in a local loggerhead turtle conservation effort. The scenes of her wandering the moonlit beach, protecting delicate nests and watching hatchlings scurry to the sea, are both meditative and moving. It was the first time I encountered the quiet heroism of turtle conservation in fiction, and it left a lasting impression. Munro weaves these environmental themes seamlessly into the emotional arc of the story, allowing the slow, patient rhythms of nature to mirror Margot’s inner repair.
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What I found most inspiring was how Munro allows Margot’s growth to unfold gradually, without drama or spectacle. Instead of a sudden transformation, we witness her tenderly reclaim pieces of herself, through friendships, beach walks, handwritten letters, and the tactile rituals of protecting fragile life. The love story, understated yet affecting, is just one current in a larger sea of rediscovery.
With her signature insight, Munro crafts a novel that is not just about turtles or tides, but about the resilience of women, the burden and beauty of memory, and the small, significant acts that restore our faith in ourselves.
