Over the years, I've built this little list in my head in which I carefully reference all the authors who manage to break my heart in the quietest way possible. They're not many, mind you : [a:Jodi Lynn Anderson|94868|Jodi Lynn Anderson|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1337023922p2/94868.jpg], [a:Tana French|138825|Tana French|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1535655031p2/138825.jpg], [a:Robin Hobb|25307|Robin Hobb|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1397885202p2/25307.jpg] - it takes a particular talent for moving me to the core without resorting to shock value, for using a carefully built characterization rather than some action-packed catastrophe.

Their novels are the very same I struggle to recommend and even more, quote, even though they're part of my all-times favorites. If I ever have to explain what exactly make them so special, you'll find me squinting my eyes in concentration, uttering nonsense, probably using adjectives as questions - Tough-provoking? Layered? - but the truth is, it might just be too intimate for me to expose them in some dialectic light.

See, if I'm being honest, I've always felt low-key irritated by all this Art is food for the soul discourse, because for one I'm no artist and above all, I have a hard time dealing with spirituality. Yet if someone asked me, Show me parts of your soul, Anna, after laughing and rolling my eyes I'd probably point to these books and say There. There. There.

Well. If his other works are like [b:Never Let Me Go|6334|Never Let Me Go|Kazuo Ishiguro|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1353048590l/6334._SY75_.jpg|1499998] I'll have to add [a:Kazuo Ishiguro|4280|Kazuo Ishiguro|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1424906625p2/4280.jpg] to that list, because God, I'm not remotely okay.

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