I’ve worked in a second hand bookstore for almost two years now and one thing that I often get asked for from customers is a good book recommendation.
We are trained on how to give good and consistent recommendations.
And yet the bazaar thing is, very rarely do I recommend anything that resembles my personal taste in books.
In fact, majority of the time, I’ll recommend a book that I’ve never read before.
I quiz them on what authors they like, and what other books they have enjoyed in the past— and from there, recommend books similar or in the same vein.
Going off the very little information provided, I recommend a handful of books for them, and leave them to choose amongst the recommendations.
Hardly ever is it a book that I would read myself.
And yet most of the time, when the customer returns, they happily rave about how much they enjoyed the book.
Believe me, I do get excited when a customer comes in with similar tastes to mine, but naturally, its a rare occurrence.
For the last two years I have devoured modern chic-lit. New or recent release literary titles written by women for women.
And honestly, in the final months of 2024, I feel like I hit a total brick wall with this genre.
The modern landscape, the stories and boundaries placed around inclusivity and remaining relevant with the times— it’s honestly put a sour taste in my mouth.
Originality, and total freedom of speech, freedom of creative drive and will— it’s just not there anymore.
So much is coming off as same same.
Dull.
Boring.
And lackluster.
So naturally, I began to drift away from that scene.
And I’ve been finding myself with a deeper tuning into women’s classics, underrated older women’s literature titles, and nonfiction books such as memoirs and biographies on women throughout history, especially Australian women.
I’ve read a lot of women’s and mother’s stories. Nonfiction books on Motherhood through the ages. Women’s roles in society. Women’s roles in the family.
And, my gosh, I’ve really been enjoying it. So much.
A small handful of titles which I’ve enjoyed this year include—
Mothers Before: Stories and Portraits of Our Mothers as We Never Saw Them by Edan Lepucki
More Than Love An Intimate Portrait of My Mother Natalie Wood by Natasha Gregson Wagner
Dangerous Ideas About Mothers by Camilla Nelson & Rachel Robertson
Labour and Love: Women's Experience of Home and Family 1850-1940 by Jane Lewis
Skin: A Book of Blessings for the Woman Learning to Bear Life by Anna McGahan
The last two books that I read in 2024 were Helena Rubinstein The Woman Who Invented Beauty and Enter Helen The Invention Of Helen Gurley Brown And The Rise Of The Modern Single Woman.
And I really enjoyed them immensely.
These women were trailblazers. They made their own way in life.
And that truly fascinates me.
In 2025, I want to devour more books on women in general.
Any kind of women, from all backgrounds, all ages, all era’s.
Women from history, and women who pioneer today.
I want to circle back in and read more on the female celebrities of Old Hollywood, because it’s been a good decade since I really dove into that genre which I still really admire and love.
I want to read more about how women made a life for themselves, what their struggles and adversaries were. How they coped, how they rose. And how they truly shined. I want to read all about their passions and desires and what fueled them from within.
I want to read more published diaries, journals, letters and essays written by women throughout history because it truly is a timestamp, and a way of understanding women and their way of life from another era and past cultures.
I’m finding that the more I lean into my own femininity and womanhood. The more I surrender into this new era of my life (becoming a Mother)—
—the more I fall back on my roots. On all our roots.
And I get more curious.
I find myself in total awe of my grandmothers and their mothers before them.
I lean into feeling my ancestry within me.
And then, I allow all ancestry to envelope me.
And I feel held.
I feel like anything that I could possibly feel, or think, or move through— some woman has already been there.
They’ve already held the space.
And I could never be alone in anything that I do.
It’s wildly humbling.
Not only does it make me feel closer to women and completely justified in my own journey as a woman.
But it also allows me to feel cradled by the great unknown.
By what so many people refer to as god.
It’s a really satiating feeling.
And how wonderful that reading a few books can give me that.
Can show me that.
Can touch me in such a way,
to bring me closer to myself,
and my own joys, and my own passions.
It’s beautiful. A delight.
A pure pleasure of life.