Books as medicine for minds, communities
Bibliotherapy, an old yet newly rediscovered concept, now stands at the intersection of literature, mental health, and social action.
According to Iran Book News Agency (IBNA), citing LitHub, Jess Décoursey Hines, a librarian and author, explores in a recent essay how reading can serve both as individual relief and as a collective force against anxiety, grief, and the burnout of the contemporary world.
“I have often felt like a part-time therapist as a librarian,” she writes. People share their secrets with librarians. We build relationships with regular visitors, listen to their struggles, and deliver something beyond the books themselves. Twenty years ago, during my library studies, I first encountered the term ‘bibliotherapist,’ and I was curious: is bibliotherapy simply a calming reading experience, or does it require a mental health professional?”
While arts, music, and drama therapy have long held formal places in academic programs and the mental health system, bibliotherapy remains less widely recognized. Hines recalls wondering when the “medicine of books” would reach its peak — perhaps that moment is now, with the emergence of figures like Emily Ramble, a clinical social worker and author of Bibliotherapy in the Bronx (2025). Ramble’s book is not a technical academic text limited to professionals but a poetic, accessible guide for book lovers. She reminds readers that bibliotherapy is far from new: in ancient Egypt, one of the earliest libraries welcomed visitors with a sign reading “House of the Healing Soul.”
The term bibliotherapy first appeared in 1916 in a humorous article in The Atlantic. During World War I, the Library of Congress and the American Library Association distributed hundreds of books for therapeutic purposes to soldiers. At the time, debates arose over whether patients should avoid books related to their illness or whether reading should serve as an escape from — or reflection on — reality. Hospital librarians even wore medical uniforms and “prescribed” books alongside doctors and nurses.
Ramble views bibliotherapy as an accessible tool for groups with limited access to formal mental health services. She distinguishes between developmental bibliotherapy, which takes place in schools and libraries, and clinical bibliotherapy, which is confined to psychotherapy. According to her, general advice for grief or heartbreak is rarely effective, as every experience is personal. Ramble begins with a “reading interview,” reads the book alongside the participant, and uses the text as a platform for dialogue about family, relationships, anxiety, and trauma.
In contrast, other approaches rely on curated reading lists, such as those promoted by the School of Life in London. In these models, readers engage independently with books over time. While this method may not suit acute crises, it can illuminate deeper human questions.
Research published in media such as Time and NPR shows that reading fiction can increase a person’s capacity for empathy. But is this empathy guaranteed? Sigrid Nunez wryly notes in her novel The Friend that while reading may enhance empathy, writing might slightly diminish it. This caution serves as a reminder that books are not miraculous, but they can sharpen the language of experience.
Bibliotherapy also holds a special place for children. Family therapists use storybooks to help children find an “authentic language” for their emotions. Non-didactic narratives told from the perspectives of animals or children help youngsters recognize their experiences without clinical terminology.
Ramble further emphasizes the link between bibliotherapy and activism. The history of Black librarianship in the US — from Sadie Delaney to the Schomburg Library — shows that libraries themselves can be radical instruments of change. Today, bookstores highlighting banned or controversial books continue this tradition.
In a world where screens have replaced pages, Ramble reminds readers that books need not be “conquered.” Sometimes fragments and “whispers” are enough. A short poem or the final lines of a novel can provide a survival force during times of censorship, threat, or fear.
Ultimately, bibliotherapy does not promise instant salvation, but it offers a defiance of despair. As Ramble notes, in an era fed by fear, polarization, and erasure, reading can move us from isolated individualism to a broader collective horizon — where pain is acknowledged, named, and perhaps made a little lighter.