These are the books I hide in when the world’s gone wrong, when I just want to withdraw from reality for a while, when I’m miserable and lonely, or even when it’s a just a rainy grey day.
Almost all the Agatha Christie’s are comfort books. I can get lost in their complex mysteries, identify with the characters, and finish the book knowing everything came out right in the end.
And then there’s Jane Eyre, for the cold rainy days, when I need a good cry.
Sins of the Wolf by Anne Perry is one I turn to a lot – it’s my favourite of her Monk series. I get totally caught up in Monk’s fight to save the woman he won’t admit he loves from the gallows.
Wind in the Willows is utterly magical and still makes me laugh and cry and gaze in wonder at the Piper at the Gates of Dawn.
These books have been read over and over again, until I know them off by heart. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that when I’ve had a bad day, when I’m sad and disheartened and unhappy, these books are my comfort.