What Are Some Books Like 'Growing Things And Other Stories'?

If you loved the quirky, heartfelt vibe of 'The Garden of Small Beginnings', you might enjoy 'The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper' by Phaedra Patrick. It’s got that same blend of humor and tenderness, following a widower who discovers his late wife’s secret life through her charm bracelet. The way it balances grief with small, everyday adventures reminds me so much of Abbi Waxman’s style—light but meaningful. Another gem is 'Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine' by Gail Honeyman. Eleanor’s awkward yet endearing journey toward healing hits similar emotional notes, though it’s a bit darker. Both books celebrate the messy beauty of starting over, just like 'The Garden of Small Beginnings' does. For something cozier, try 'The Bookshop on the Corner' by Jenny Colgan. It’s about a librarian who reinvents herself by opening a mobile bookstore in a Scottish village. The community-building and bookish themes give it that warm, uplifting feel Waxman fans adore. If you’re into gardening as a metaphor for growth, 'The Language of Flowers' by Vanessa Diffenbaugh is a deeper but equally poignant pick. The protagonist’s floral symbolism mirrors the way Lilian uses gardening to cope in 'The Garden of Small Beginnings'. Honestly, any of these would pair perfectly with a cup of tea and a quiet afternoon.

The Ten Thousand Things' by Robert van Gulik is such a gem—a historical mystery that blends rich Tang Dynasty settings with detective work. If you loved that, I’d recommend 'The Judge Dee' series, also by van Gulik, which follows the same magistrate through more intricate cases. The atmosphere is just as immersive, with all those tiny details about daily life in ancient China. Another great pick is 'The Ghost Bride' by Yangsze Choo. It’s not a detective story, but the way it weaves folklore and historical elements together feels similarly vivid. For something more philosophical but equally lush, try 'The Garden of Evening Mists' by Tan Twan Eng. It’s slower-paced but has that same meditative quality about nature and human connection.

Growing up, 'The Egg Tree' was one of those books that felt like a warm hug—its gentle storytelling and nostalgic illustrations left a lasting impression. If you loved its cozy, family-centered vibe, you might enjoy 'The Quilt Story' by Tony Johnston, which also weaves together generations through a cherished heirloom. Another gem is 'Something from Nothing' by Phoebe Gilman, where a grandfather’s love transforms a worn-out blanket into new treasures. Both books share that same heartwarming intergenerational magic. For something slightly different but equally comforting, try 'Ox-Cart Man' by Donald Hall. It’s a quiet celebration of simplicity and rural life, much like 'The Egg Tree'’s pastoral charm. And if you’re drawn to seasonal themes, 'When Spring Comes' by Kevin Henkes captures the same tender anticipation of holidays and nature’s cycles. These picks all have that timeless quality—perfect for readers who want stories that feel like coming home.

Reading 'Things That Grow' felt like uncovering a hidden gem among contemporary coming-of-age novels. It has that rare blend of poetic prose and raw emotional depth that reminds me of 'The Serpent King' by Jeff Zentner, but with a quieter, more introspective magic. Where similar books often rely on dramatic twists, this one lingers in the small moments—the way sunlight filters through leaves, the weight of unspoken family secrets. It's less about explosive growth and more about the tender, stubborn resilience of roots. What sets it apart is how it handles grief. Unlike 'We Are Okay' by Nina LaCour, which drowns in melancholy, 'Things That Grow' lets hope seep in through cracks in the narrative, like dandelions pushing through pavement. The protagonist's voice is so distinct—not overly quirky, not tragically passive, just achingly real. I finished it feeling like I'd pressed a favorite wildflower between the pages of my journal.

lyrical prose and body horror feels like wandering through a haunted greenhouse. If you loved that uncanny vibe, you might adore 'Her Body and Other Parties' by Carmen Maria Machado. It's got the same surreal, feminist twist on horror, mixing folklore with visceral physical transformations. Then there's 'The Vegetarian' by Han Kang—a masterclass in unsettling metamorphosis, where a woman's refusal to eat meat spirals into something deeply disturbing and beautiful. For something more fantastical but equally lush, Helen Oyeyemi's 'White is for Witching' delivers a house that devours women, told in fragmented, dreamlike prose. And if you crave more fungal grotesquerie, Jeff VanderMeer's 'Annihilation' has that creeping biological horror, though it leans more sci-fi. Honestly, I keep returning to these books because they all share that same delicious discomfort—like touching something organic and realizing it’s alive.

If you loved the meditative, almost poetic way 'Things in Nature Merely Grow' explores existence, you might fall headfirst into Robin Wall Kimmerer's 'Braiding Sweetgrass.' It blends indigenous wisdom with scientific observation, creating this lush tapestry that makes you see the world differently. The way Kimmerer writes about moss or maple trees feels like a conversation with an old friend—gentle but profound. Another gem is 'The Overstory' by Richard Powers. It’s a novel, but the trees are characters in their own right, whispering secrets about resilience and connection. For something quieter, try 'Pilgrim at Tinker Creek' by Annie Dillard. Her prose meanders like a creek itself, full of sudden, dazzling insights about insects, light, and time. It’s less about grand narratives and more about those tiny, transcendent moments when you realize a spider’s web is basically a universe. Oh, and if you’re into Japanese literature, 'The Sound of the Mountain' by Yasunari Kawabata has that same slow, organic pulse—family drama unfolding like seasons changing. Honestly, after reading these, I started noticing how my houseplant’s leaves unfurl in sunlight differently.

Ever since I finished 'What Grows in the Dark', I've been craving stories with that same eerie, atmospheric vibe—something that blends folklore with psychological unease. If you loved the way it twisted nature into something sinister, you might enjoy 'The Twisted Ones' by T. Kingfisher. It nails that unsettling rural horror feel, where the woods aren’t just creepy but almost sentient. The protagonist’s dry humor keeps things from getting too bleak, but the underlying dread is palpable. Another great pick is 'The Hollow Places', also by Kingfisher, which dives into surreal, otherworldly horror hidden behind mundane settings. It’s like stumbling into a nightmare version of Narnia. For something slower-burning but equally haunting, 'The Luminous Dead' by Caitlin Starling is a claustrophobic gem. It’s set in a cave system, so the darkness feels almost physical, pressing in on you. The relationship between the two main characters adds layers of tension, and the psychological horror builds so subtly you won’t realize how deep you’ve sunk until it’s too late. If you’re into unreliable narrators and paranoia creeping in like roots through a basement, this one’s a must-read. And hey, if you’ve got a soft spot for fungal horror (who doesn’t?), 'The Girl with All the Gifts' by M.R. Carey offers a fresh, heartbreaking take on it—though it leans more sci-fi than folk horror.

Ever since I stumbled upon 'The Secret Life of Plants,' I've been fascinated by the idea that plants might have their own hidden lives. If you're like me and can't get enough of this topic, you'd probably love 'The Hidden Life of Trees' by Peter Wohlleben. It dives deep into how trees communicate and support each other, almost like a social network. Another gem is 'Braiding Sweetgrass' by Robin Wall Kimmerer, which blends indigenous wisdom with scientific insights about plants' relationships with humans. Both books expand on that magical feeling of connectedness with nature that 'The Secret Life of Plants' evokes so well. For something a bit more experimental, 'The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating' by Elisabeth Tova Bailey is a quiet, meditative read that explores the subtle interactions between humans and small creatures—and by extension, the natural world. It’s not strictly about plants, but it captures that same sense of wonder. And if you’re into the intersection of science and spirituality, 'The Botany of Desire' by Michael Pollan is a must-read. It flips the script by examining how plants might be manipulating us just as much as we manipulate them.

If you loved the weirdly beautiful, darkly poetic vibes of 'Orange World and Other Stories,' you gotta check out Carmen Maria Machado's 'Her Body and Other Parties.' Both collections blend surreal horror with feminist themes, but Machado’s work leans heavier into folklore and body horror—think haunted dresses and eerie reimaginings of 'Law & Order.' Karen Russell’s 'Vampires in the Lemon Grove' is another gem; it’s got that same mix of whimsy and existential dread, like a story where presidents reincarnate as horses. Russell’s prose is lush and imaginative, perfect if you’re craving more of that Orange World-style strangeness. For something quieter but equally unsettling, try Helen Oyeyemi’s 'What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours.' Her linked stories play with fairy tales and secrets, and the writing feels like slipping into a dream. And if you’re after more apocalyptic vibes, Kelly Link’s 'Get in Trouble' is a must—her story 'The Summer People' alone is worth it, with its creepy, small-town magic. Link and Russell both have that knack for making the absurd feel heartbreakingly human, just like Karen Russell.

I’ve been on a real short story kick lately, and 'Neighbors and Other Stories' totally hit that sweet spot for me—quietly unsettling yet deeply human. If you loved that vibe, you’d probably adore Raymond Carver’s 'What We Talk About When We Talk About Love.' It’s got that same razor-sharp focus on ordinary lives with hidden fractures. Carver’s minimalist style feels like a punch to the gut in the best way. Another gem is Lucia Berlin’s 'A Manual for Cleaning Women'—her stories are gritty, tender, and full of unexpected humor, just like 'Neighbors.' Berlin’s knack for finding beauty in chaos is unmatched. For something more surreal but equally poignant, George Saunders’ 'Tenth of December' is a masterpiece. His stories blend weirdness with heart, like if 'Neighbors' took a left turn into the Twilight Zone. And don’t overlook Alice Munro’s 'Dear Life'—her Canadian small-town tales have that same slow burn, where the real drama simmers beneath the surface. Munro makes the mundane feel epic, and that’s a rare gift.