You don’t have to outgrow your middle-grade books

This novel follows children from tribal communities resisting mining in Odisha. It’s fierce, grounded, and honest. Reading it as an adult, you can’t help but reflect on your own capacity for resistance and how courage often begins with small, unglamorous acts of persistence and does not have to be always loud and flashy.

Roz, a robot, wakes up alone on a remote island and must figure out how to survive. Along the way, she learns about empathy, connection, and what it means to belong. Adults reading it find themselves tracing Roz’s journey as their own. How do we stay tender in a harsh world? How do we adapt without losing ourselves? And how do we build communities that sustain us? It’s a fable for navigating adulthood as much as childhood, and for grownups it somehow feels like a wakeup call.

Is that a simple alphabet book? Well, the depression bit in the title makes it clear it’s not. The book takes readers through storms and shadows before nudging them toward hope. For children, it’s a safe entry point into talking about big feelings. For older folks, it’s disarmingly clear: mental health is real, it deserves compassion, and it shouldn’t be hidden behind jargon. Its honesty feels radical in a world where we often dress up pain instead of naming it.

This seemingly simple story about a boy living with two very different grandfathers—one a gentle storyteller and the other a strict disciplinarian—has something for everyone. For younger readers, it’s about learning to belong in two worlds at once. For adults, it asks how much of our younger selves we’ve carried forward and how much we’ve silenced in order to “grow up”. It’s tender, funny, and gently profound, and it lingers because it asks questions we rarely let ourselves face.

This is a sharp, empathetic story about body-shaming and self-acceptance. After being fat-shamed at a party, Ananya spirals into diets, doubt, and distorted mirrors, just as her family and friendships start shifting too. It’s deeply relatable to a generation that has grown up with social media filters, but it’s also a reminder for others of how cruel we can be to ourselves and how powerful it is to finally say “enough”.

Full of laughs, adventure, and clever twists, this book is pure fun. But it’s also about choices, second chances, and hope. It confirms that play and imagination are not frivolous. Sometimes the best way to navigate complicated emotions is through the lens of curiosity, adventure, and even silliness. A joyful proof that wonder has no age limit.

A mix of Korean folklore and family grief, this book is magical and deeply moving. It’s a chance to sit with memory, loss, and healing in a way that feels both honest and hopeful. It refuses the idea that growing older means growing numb and dead inside. Instead, it insists that wisdom comes from staying open to wonder and emotion, even when it hurts.

On the surface, this is the story of a boy and his fox. Beneath that, it’s a meditation on love, loyalty, and letting go. Adults find themselves reflecting on relationships—how patience, courage, and vulnerability are what sustain them, and how sometimes love means setting someone free. It’s a simple book that manages to articulate what so much adult fiction circles around but rarely says outright.

Funny, warm, and full of heart, this story about self-expression and acceptance is joyful to read at any age. It’s a reminder for us that empathy and celebrating difference never lose their relevance. It’s also a quiet manifesto: that kindness matters, that humour heals, and that being yourself (unapologetically) is its own kind of revolution.

Stories of mules, dogs, elephants, and other unsung heroes of war may not sound like everyone’s go-to read, but this book is unexpectedly universal. Confession: I worked on it with Nandini in 2024-25, and while the animals’ trauma was difficult to face while editing the manuscript, it felt necessary. Adults will be struck by how it reframes courage and loyalty, showing that bravery often looks quieter and more empathetic than we imagine and that those lessons matter far beyond the battlefield.