in the company of solitude


Hello, bookworms; I have noticed that I am often more drawn to books that highlight or present solitude as a subtle theme in the books I read. Of course, this isn’t the case for all my reads, nor is it always the main focus, but after reflecting on a few recent books, I realized it’s something I keep returning to.

I assume that just as there’s a universal appeal in love and relationships, there’s also a universal draw toward solitude. I’m not entirely sure what it means for everyone—or even for me. It’s not that I actively seek out solitude. There have been moments when I wanted to be alone for a long stretch but never lost in the emptiness the word “solitude” can sometimes suggest.

One of the comforts that reading brings me is company. Company in the presence of a book, but also the character. As I read, I always seem to form a more intimate relationship, and honestly, as weird as this sounds, sometimes feel sad when I turn the last page. This happens best, or most naturally, with characters as introspective and solitary as I am. I wouldn’t define myself as an outright introvert or someone who seeks solitude, but I am certainly someone who loves my alone time; take that as you will.


However, one of my least favourite tropes in this discussion is the romanticization of loneliness. I believe this is a mistake—one that authors can easily make, but that carries explicit consequences in our lives. While I can certainly see the beauty solitude can offer and appreciate the melancholy highlighted in books like Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami or My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh, there is a danger in glorifying it. What I love about these novels is how the characters’ solitude allows their talents, dreams, and thoughts to be the highlight. It’s as if a spotlight shines on their inner worlds, and everything else fades into the background. Yet, this very focus on the individual can also tempt us to believe that isolation is inherently good or somehow noble.

I’ve gone through periods in my life—albeit short ones—where I was quieter and more isolated than usual. During these times, I felt uncomfortable, sad for extended stretches, and sometimes I tried to be more social but ended up feeling unlike myself. I’ve realized that my worst phases occurred when I let realism slip away: when I stopped questioning and accepted my circumstances. This acceptance gradually led me to reject positive interactions and turn away from things that would have helped me. I tend to overthink what might be “good” for me—perhaps this is common for many people.

Eventually, what helped me escape this mindset was breaking out of the bubble that drew its strength solely from being alone. Please don’t misunderstand me, this isn’t easy. I felt physically isolated and fell into the trap of believing that this was somehow beneficial. I still hold remnants of this belief, altering between what is objectively good for me and what most would deem good. But as much as I love reading about protagonists who wander alone and find meaning in solitude, I must remember that they are fictional; they can never be fully human in the way we are.

Still, I think one of the strengths of such novels is how they help readers tune out the white noise of daily life. In that quiet space, we can deeply identify with the characters’ habits, independence, and resilience. They often bring to light perspectives rarely heard in busy, crowded environments. Yet I struggle to find people who share my desire to be quiet and ask questions about everything—even when those questions lead nowhere practical. These might be unproductive musings, but I remain curious about them all the same. I am not unhappy about my lack of companionship with this; I am very content to spend some time alone in my head.


Here are a few of my favourite books, accompanied by this theme.

Either/Or by Elif Batuman: Follows a young woman who is navigating the solitude of intellectual and emotional self-discovery during her college years. Full review coming shortly! I am debating combining this with The Idiot, by Elif as well. Both phenomenal works.

Funny Story by Emily Henry: Emily Henry always manages to drive humour and connection together, even in a book following personal isolation. But guess what, it’s a funny story!

Eileen by Ottessa Moshfegh: I am Ottessa’s most recent victim. Yet, a consensual victim. I went through her backlog in about a week this month; I couldn’t seem to help myself. Eileen (a whole post on this author coming shortly) is a distraught and lonely woman who’s trapped in a brutal existence, and the reader essentially takes a seat as her dark thoughts unravel.

The Idiot by Elif Batuman: Oh, another Elif mention! As with all her books, you can expect a story of intellectual solitude and a character who grapples with life’s confounding contradictions (can’t we all relate….smh).

Mary Ventura and the Ninth Kingdom by Sylvia Plath: One of my favourite short stories of all time; easily. This is a haunting allegory of isolation, a bit of a fearful story of a girl’s escape and her journey toward it.

Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami: Just an all-around stunner. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Breath-taking. If I must be more explicit, it is a tale of love and loss steeped in the melancholic solitude of young adulthood.

Beach Read by Emily Henry: I have a soft spot for books, or books about books if you will. Beach Read is about two authors who grapple with their inner worlds and creative solitude while discovering connections.

The Yellow Wall-Paper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman: An incredibly captivating, 100-page read about how a woman’s forced isolation during postpartum drives her into a haunting psychological unravelling.

Normal People by Sally Rooney: A favourite amongst us all, I think. Normal People is about two deeply connected people, friends, lovers? Call it what you will, who struggle with feeling isolated even within their relationship.


And a few on my tbr!

  • Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
  • The Stranger by Albert Camus
  • The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin
  • The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro
  • Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee
  • To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

Thanks for reading!



4 responses to “in the company of solitude”

  1. […] in the company of solitude ⇉ Reading On A Star […]

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  2. What an interesting, reflective post that got me thinking! I’m a textbook extrovert in that I receive energy most through social interaction, and in addition one of my core values is community, yet even I see the value in solitude. I think the danger in solitude lies when we contrast the concept with community, rather than connecting the two. What I mean is, there is danger in believing that solitude is the opposite of community, rather than something that enables us to return and become a better community member. Many indigenous cultures have examples of intentional period of solitude and independence (for example, Indigenous Australian walkabouts and Indigenous American “vision quests”), usually where a young person goes out into the wilderness by themself to help them learn who they are, but these periods are ended by the young person rejoining the community, where their newfound self knowledge can be put to use for themselves and others. I think that’s a very healthy example of how solitude can be important for community! Anyhoo, enough of my rambling, thanks for making me reflect!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Lila I love this comment so much. I completely agree, and was trying to get at that danger as well. I don’t know if the reasons for falling into the trap of almost over-valuing being alone, comes directly from contrasting it to being with others. but i completely see your point. what i had struggled with, was sometimes with community, comes other things, and it’s the habits and opinions you have to almost, tolerate, to be surrounded by a community. That’s just my personal struggle, I think being comfortable alone has definitely led me to going too far with that thought. I really appreciate your examples of how this is done in Indigenous cultures, I really do wish there was more this sense of understanding that young people (typically) require some flexibility as they grow older. That may be why they often feel this entrapment, and need to escape. And it may go too far, as they don’t even have a substantial or genuine community to return to. Have a lovely day Lila 💙

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