Five Books That made Me Cry…

Books are a doorway into other lives, other worlds, other people’s stories. If the book grips our heart and squeezes it tight, we are invested, intrigued, immersed in the story. Often, we are not merely reading the story we are IN it, sitting there amid the action, listening and watching and waiting, breath held, to see what happens next. Sometimes we get misty eyed. Sometimes we cry. Buckets. We know the characters and their dilemmas are not real, but they feel real, and their heartache touches us deeply. We carry the story with us for weeks or months – some characters and dilemmas, we never forget. This is the craft of good writing – the writer’s words generating an emotional response in the reader. And a dopamine hit.

Today, I want to share five books that made me cry — not just a few misty-eyed moments, but actual full-blown, ‘I need a minute’ uncontrollable kind of tears.

The Light Between Oceans by M. L. Stedman has to be up there at the top of the Weeper Scale for me. We chose it for our Book Club read a few years back. Set in the 1920s Australia, a lighthouse keeper and his wife find a boat washed up on their island with a five-month-old baby inside, alive and well. A tragic story unfolds. The book is beautifully written and some passages I reread for their utter emotional heft. Oh God, how I cried. When my daughter popped into say goodnight I couldn’t even speak – I was too choked to explain the story unfolding. At the Book Club I remained mute – very unusual for me – but I couldn’t trust myself not to sob uncontrollably. The ending? I was inconsolable.

My Name is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout. ‘But nothing happens in the book,’ people say. The book is a deceptively simple story about Lucy Barton who’s recovering in a New York hospital when her estranged mother comes to visit. Lucy tells us about her life; her childhood memories and we hear her conversations with her mother. Even though nothing overt is said, we get a visceral sense of the abuse, the dysfunctional family background and unspoken pain and secrets. So much unsaid. Powerful wordsmithing and a heart-breaking read.

Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt is a masterpiece memoir. It’s hilariously funny too, dark and witty with melt your heart moments. I read this book while on a family holiday in Canada and my kids were appalled and embarrassed to see me by the poolside laughing out loud and then, minutes later sobbing as discreetly as I could. It took me a while – to page 90 – to get into the book but it’s worth it.

The Spinning Heart by Donal Ryan. I remember reading this on an Ibiza beach one September. The first lines of the book read: ‘My father still lives back the road past the weir in the cottage I was reared in. I go there every day to see is he dead and every day he lets me down.’ It’s a gobsmacking start to a powerfully emotional read. The book follows a number of stunningly drawn small town voices in post Celtic Tiger Ireland. We get each character’s take on life in the town and the voices are harrowing, raw and authentic. I bought the book after hearing an excerpt read by the author on the RTE radio Arts Show one evening as I drove home. The writing is the kind that penetrates down into your heart and cracks it open.

Normal People by Sally Rooney. This time I was in a rooftop café in Rome the day after an Irish rugby match, in February 2019. ‘Why are you crying?’ my husbands asked as I wiped away the tears. I wanted to put my arms around Marianne Sheridan (the main protagonist), so lost was she. Marianne was one of those characters that I couldn’t get out of my head for months afterwards and I fervently hoped she found a good life after the official ending of the book.

I’m grateful to all those authors who make us feel. Crying over a book isn’t a sign of weakness — it’s a sign that the author touched something deep, real, and raw inside you. These books reminded me that words can wound, heal, and linger long after the story ends. If you’re looking for stories that will move you to tears, these five are a good place to start — just don’t forget the tissues.

Have you ever cried over a book?

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