Reading in the liminal: The books that hold us between seasons

There is a particular kind of reading that feels like standing in a doorway, neither fully in nor fully out.

Not every book asks for deep attention, but some arrive quietly and stay with you longer than expected. They don’t rush to a resolution or pull you along with pace. Instead, they hold space, for a mood, a shift, a moment that hasn't yet found its shape.

These are the books I reach for when the seasons are changing, or when I am. They speak in low tones. They’re not always dramatic or even memorable in plot, but they create a feeling of pause. A space between.

Books to reach for in the in-between

These are the books I return to when things feel undefined, when the light is changing, or when life is shifting shape. They’re not always plot-heavy or neatly resolved. What they offer is something quieter: perspective, companionship, or simply the space to sit with ambiguity.

1. Blue Nights by Joan Didion

This is the follow‑up to The Year of Magical Thinking, and if that earlier work was about the shock of loss, Blue Nights is about what follows. The long tail of grief. The slow fade of memory. Didion writes from the edge of mourning, trying to hold shape in a world that no longer fits.

“When we talk about mortality we are talking about our children.”

It's a book that doesn't seek answers, only a form of noticing. A fitting companion in any kind of emotional dusk.

Read this if you’re feeling: introspective, uncertain, or looking for language around loss.

2. Stoner by John Williams

A quiet novel about an ordinary life, a university lecturer who moves through disappointment, small joys, and long stretches of quiet resolve. Its beauty lies in attention: to work, to love, to time. There’s no high drama, only the quiet weight of one life observed with care.

“He knew that whatever joy life offered, it would not abandon him for long.”

You don’t read Stoner for events. You read it to remember that the everyday can be enough.

Read this if you’re feeling: still, unmoored, or in need of slow perspective.

3. Gilead by Marilynne Robinson

Written as a letter from a dying father to his young son, Gilead is full of pauses, between generations, beliefs, moments of grace. The writing is deeply considered and suffused with wonder. It asks not for conclusions, but attention.

“This is an interesting planet. It deserves all the attention you can give it.”

It’s a book to be read slowly, perhaps over several sittings, or just one quiet afternoon.

Read this if you’re feeling: thoughtful, unsettled, or searching for quiet meaning.

4. Outline by Rachel Cusk

A novel that barely feels like a novel. Outline follows a woman in Athens, listening as others speak. It’s about the act of noticing, the way we absorb other people’s lives when we’re not sure what to do with our own. It’s sparse, elegant, and strangely absorbing.

“People can only tell you what they know. They can’t tell you what they don’t.”

It reads like a window left open — unobtrusive, but full of passing air and sound.

Read this if you’re feeling: detached, observational, or in need of distance.

5. Foster by Claire Keegan

A short book, almost a whisper. Foster tells the story of a girl sent to live with relatives in rural Ireland. The writing is so restrained you might miss its emotional weight, but it stays with you. It’s a book about noticing what’s absent, and how care can take quiet forms.

“My father said nothing. He put his hands in his pockets and looked away.”

Best read in one sitting, with something warm nearby.

Read this if you’re feeling: tender, off-balance, or in need of gentleness.

Liminal reading and you

What makes these books “liminal”? It isn’t plot mechanics or genre. It’s a felt sense, a mood that murmurs beneath the surface. These books are not resolutions. They are companions to transition. They are the pages you hold open when the seasons shift, when you are waiting for something unnamed in your own life.

They remind us that meaning is not always in the answer, but in the quiet space between questions.

Questions to sit with (and maybe share in the comments)

• What books have felt like thresholds to you?
• Is there a time you returned to the same book in different seasons of your life?
• How do you recognise a “liminal” book when you encounter it?

Because reading isn’t always about escape. Sometimes, it is about waiting in the doorway, letting the story unfold in the space between what we expect and what we feel.