He got up and sat on the edge of the bedstead with his back to the window. “It’s better not to sleep at all,” he decided. There was a cold damp draught from the window, however; without getting up he drew the blanket over him and wrapped himself in it. He was not thinking of anything and did not want to think. But one image rose after another, incoherent scraps of thought without beginning or end passed through his mind. He sank into drowsiness. Perhaps the cold, or the dampness, or the dark, or the wind that howled under the window and tossed the trees roused a sort of persistent craving for the fantastic. He kept dwelling on images of flowers, he fancied a charming flower garden, a bright, warm, almost hot day, a holiday—Trinity day. A fine, sumptuous country cottage in the English taste overgrown with fragrant flowers, with flower beds going round the house; the porch, wreathed in climbers, was surrounded with beds of roses. A light, cool staircase, carpeted with rich rugs, was decorated with rare plants in china pots. He noticed particularly in the windows nosegays of tender, white, heavily fragrant narcissus bending over their bright, green, thick long stalks. He was reluctant to move away from them, but he went up the stairs and came into a large, high drawing-room and again everywhere—at the windows, the doors on to the balcony, and on the balcony itself—were flowers. The floors were strewn with freshly-cut fragrant hay, the windows were open, a fresh, cool, light air came into the room. The birds were chirruping under the window, and in the middle of the room, on a table covered with a white satin shroud, stood a coffin. The coffin was covered with white silk and edged with a thick white frill; wreaths of flowers surrounded it on all sides. Among the flowers lay a girl in a white muslin dress, with her arms crossed and pressed on her bosom, as though carved out of marble. But her loose fair hair was wet; there was a wreath of roses on her head. The stern and already rigid profile of her face looked as though chiselled of marble too, and the smile on her pale lips was full of an immense unchildish misery and sorrowful appeal. Svidrigaïlov knew that girl; there was no holy image, no burning candle beside the coffin; no sound of prayers: the girl had drowned herself. She was only fourteen, but her heart was broken. And she had destroyed herself, crushed by an insult that had appalled and amazed that childish soul, had smirched that angel purity with unmerited disgrace and torn from her a last scream of despair, unheeded and brutally disregarded, on a dark night in the cold and wet while the wind howled

6 Books That Make You Feel Thankful

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So much of our culture stokes our desire and our greed, because that’s what fuels the economy, not thankfulness and gratefulness. 

The books below are defiantly counter-cultural, because they will help you to feel satisfied and whole. Sure, there’s longing and striving inside these books, but I think overall the reader will walk away from these books feeling a strong satisfaction and wellness about the world.

The books below are not “What Terrible Lives These Characters Lead! Be Thankful You’re Not Like Them!”

That’s not true thankfulness.

That’s actually a type of smugness.

You can read Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian and think, “Boy, I’m sure glad that I’m not getting scalped and tortured in the hardscrabble West!” But I don’t think most people would select that book from a line-up if they were looking for something to help them feel more thankful.

True thankfulness is feeling grateful for everything that you have without comparing yourself to anyone else. Comparison is the death of thankfulness. 

The books below help you feel genuine thankfulness about your life. They have characters who are thankful, a celebration of the beautiful parts of the world, and a right prioritization about what constitutes the good life.

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I start with Wendell Berry because everything he writes, from his poetry to his nonfiction to his fiction, exudes a kind of well-ordered approach to the world. 

In this novel, Jayber Crow, there’s a solid sense of what it takes to live the good life, and Jayber is grateful for the world, for the patterns of farming, and for the simple things. 

It’s impossible to read without feeling a sense of satisfaction for the bedrock elements of beauty in our own lives.

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Isn’t it strange that a book describing a couple who are dead on the beach can make you feel more alive?

Yet Jim Crace accomplishes just that. By detailing the very specific and beautiful way that nature takes care of decomposing bodies, this book ultimately celebrates what makes us human.

I guarantee you’ll feel more appreciative of life after reading this.

If you can set aside the giant squid, Sasquatch, and space aliens, Busy Monsters is ultimately a celebration of marriage. That’s the beating heart: undying love for a spouse. It makes me feel grateful for the institution of marriage, and the commitments you make inside matrimony. 

Besides, every single sentence in this book is a carnival, and if you can avoid feeling envy for such a mastery of the English language, you will feel deep thankfulness for the beauty of words.

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There’s such a beautiful, funny, charismatic energy to this book, specifically from the main character Mr. Blue.

From giving millions of dollars away to the poor, to celebrating poverty by living in a cardboard box, Mr. Blue never falls prey to petty coveting and lust for wealth. He is the perfect picture of thankfulness.

It’s an unabashedly religious book, but ultimately it has such an exalted vision of the human life, of all that is possible and glorious, that you can’t help but be infected by it.

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Jack Gilbert is a mensch. A true mensch. 

I’ve posted one of his poems to the left — “A Brief for the Defense.” It’s a poem from his Collected Poems that offers a defiant happiness in the face of the sadness of the world. This joy in spite of tragedies is a hallmark of a thankful life. As Gilbert says:

Risk delight. 

Have stubborn gladness. 

Give thanks even for the end.

Admit there will be music despite everything.

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Is there another book with such power to make you marvel at the natural world? 

When you read Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, you are filled with wonder and gratefulness for the glory that is nature. 

Annie Dillard has such a curious mind, and writes so beautifully, you want to wander out to a meadow and make snow angels in the grass. 

If nothing else, she teaches you to be thankful for the world we live in.

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Every writer NEEDS this book.

It’s a guide to writing the pivotal moments of your novel.

Whether writing your book or revising it, this will be the most helpful book you’ll ever buy.

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Every writer NEEDS this book.

It’s a guide to writing the pivotal moments of your novel.

Whether writing your book or revising it, this will be the most helpful book you’ll ever buy.

Learn More