Honestly, 2020 was such a brutal year on so many levels, but it forced me to seek out books that weren't just good, they were emotional life rafts. One that kept floating back up for me was 'A Psalm for the Wild-Built' by Becky Chambers—it's this quiet, gentle novella about a monk and a robot having philosophical talks in a post-factory world. It's not a big, loud, happy story, more like a deep breath after you've been crying. The way it frames purpose and rest felt like a direct response to the collective burnout.
On a completely different note, I tore through 'The House in the Cerulean Sea' by TJ Klune in one weekend. It's like being wrapped in a warm, slightly quirky blanket. The found-family vibes are so strong, and the central premise about a caseworker for magical orphanages discovering joy again… yeah, it hit different that year. I remember finishing it and just sitting there, feeling lighter for the first time in months.
I'd be remiss not to mention 'The Midnight Library' by Matt Haig too, even if it got super popular. The concept of getting to try out all your possible lives could feel heavy, but the core message about the value of the one you're actually in was genuinely reassuring when so many paths felt closed off.