In 2020, a few months into the pandemic, I started waxing poetic about what I called my “awaysickness.” Think of it as homesickness for anywhere other than home—a longing for novel places, for the novelty and inspiration that come from being somewhere new. As a travel writer, I was particularly accustomed to regularly using my passport; I flew internationally at least once a month. So when COVID hit and travel ground to a stop, the four walls of my studio apartment in Brooklyn felt tighter than ever.
It’s no coincidence that I set in far-flung settings with a narrator whose wanderlust rivals my own. I too have a close friend in Australia with whom I’ve explored remote corners of the globe (hi, Jen!). Travel shakes me up, fills me with happy froth like I’m a Pisco sour in a cocktail shaker; curiosity and wonder and delight all foam inside me as I take in fresh landscapes and meet friendly locals whose lives are so different from mine. Research shows that travel is a key stoker of creativity, and my personal experience proves that getting out of Dodge makes it easier to work through plot problems and daydream new scenes.
Like many people, I had trouble reading at the start of quarantine. I felt lonely and sullen and sapped, unable to focus on the words marching across the page. But after a while, I bought Madeline Miller’s CIRCE on a whim. Within a few paragraphs, I was no longer on my battered couch with my cat curled against my calves; I was on the breezy, sunlit island of Aiaia, sinking magical herbs into the earth and watching sailboats appear on the horizon. I chased it with WELL-BEHAVED INDIAN WOMEN, Saumya Dave’s sharp and poignant family drama that, for a few chapters, teleported me into Baroda, India.
Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I flew to the Netherlands and elbowed my way into the home of a Chinese immigrant family in Jean Kwok’s SEARCHING FOR SYLVIE LEE; I visited the gritty, patchwork Los Angeles of Steph Cha’s YOUR HOUSE WILL PAY; I appeared, coated with dampened dust, at a rustling ranch in California’s backcountry in Eliza Jane Brazier’s IF I DISAPPEAR. As I tore through these books, I felt it again, the high I’m always chasing as a travel writer—that zapping energy, that thrumming inspiration. The electric thrill of being somewhere new. My awaysickness? Newly bearable.
Stories can transport us to wherever we miss (or long for) most, and I hope inspires readers to daydream about travel again. My goal was to airdrop you into the story’s varied settings, so you’re right there with Kristen and Emily as they explore Chile—munching on empanadas at a roadside stand and admiring the mountain views and dancing to Latin pop on a jungly patio. (And then burying a body in a remote swath of farmland, as one does.) When we can’t travel in person, books are a beautiful way to escape. And as our grounded travel plans begin to take wing—planes hurtling into the air, tires hitting the road as we vroom toward destinations near and far—let’s marvel at books’ simple magic, at their quiet and elegant ability to take us anywhere. I can’t wait to toss a few paperbacks in my carry-on before my next trip, with a silent thank you to books for enriching our lives when we’re stuck in place and when we’re moving.
