As a humanities student, I read a lot. I count it a blessing (though others might count it a curse!). I don’t necessarily get to read what I want to, but I’m thankful to be exposed to and compelled to think critically about a wide variety of literature, especially old literature. And I’m thankful that some books I read for school have influenced the way I think or imagine or dream. In fact, this past year of reading has been for me exciting and―if it’s not too early to say―formative.
So because I have spent so many hours of 2023 reading, my way of recapping the year is to map out a timeline of months with a book for each. These are the books that articulated my unwritten feelings, that made my heart beat faster, that have taken up long-term residence in my brain. These are the books that opened my eyes to the weight of reality. They helped me see with clearer vision. I thank God for this blessing of reading.
January | The Odyssey by Homer (trans. Fitzgerald)
Weariness, grief, longing for home: these are the driving emotions of Odysseus. He felt human to me―perhaps a mythological hero, battle-hardened and kingly and ruthless, but not above regret and worry and exhaustion and despair. I resonated with him because I, too, was far from family and wondering how to find home in an unfamiliar place. Seeing my life told already in this ancient story showed me that my sense of distance and homesickness were not peculiar to me, but common to the human condition.
February | Confessions by Augustine
I’ve written a little about Augustine’s Confessions before. He puts into words the great internal struggle against the flesh and the enslaving force of sin. Through his eyes my fight against sin became a matter of desire and delight, for the will always follows that which it desires. I sin because I believe―against reason―that there is greater pleasure and delight and fulfillment in living apart from God. Augustine taught me to recognize the insanity of sin.
March | The Consolation of Philosophy by Boethius
In this ancient dialogue written by a Roman consul in prison, I was struck by the coherence of logical reasoning that exposed Fortune as completely untethered from contentment. That is, “wealth cannot extinguish insatiable greed, nor has power ever made him master of himself whom vicious lusts kept bound in indissoluble fetters; dignity conferred on the wicked not only fails to make them worthy, but contrarily reveals and displays their unworthiness” (Book II). Reason alone cannot produce godly contentment, but such tight argumentation paved the way for me to grasp the utter foolishness of discontentment in the face of misfortune.
April | Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky
The Underground Man is one of the most wretched, hateful, easily hated characters I’ve ever understood and related to. I saw myself in him: his craving for the approval of others, his delusional sense of superiority, his miserable self-consciousness. My vices may not be as pronounced or as obvious as his are, but I recognized his thought patterns in myself and how these ugly motives drive little anxieties, little aggressions, little gambits for power and dignity.
May | To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
I love Woolf’s prose. That alone would propel me through her novels. But I also loved how she illuminated the subconscious motives and wars and struggles for power that play out in perfectly domestic, polite relationships. It was fascinating and revealing and convicting. And I loved her intensely abstract representation of the inner workings of the mind―solipsistic isolation and subjective perception, feelings I have had before but could not express. Woolf stretched my reading abilities, but I mean it when I say it was worth every bit of concentration.
June | Humility: The Joy of Self-Forgetfulness by Gavin Ortlund
I was (and still am) captivated by the vision of humility painted by Ortlund. He quotes Lewis in the preface: that if you were to meet a truly humble man, “all you will think about him is that he seemed a cheerful, intelligent chap who took a real interest in what you said to him” (qtd. in xxv). How freeing humility is! Ortlund fueled my desire to cultivate humility, not just out of obedience to God nor love for neighbor, but to live in joy and awe and wonder.
July | Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands by Paul Tripp
Love, know, speak, do: the four basic steps of both formal and informal biblical counseling. This paradigm has shaped the way I think about encouraging and helping people the Lord gives me the opportunity to minister to. I have a long way to grow in my personal ministry, but I am truly so thankful for this book and how it refined my methods and goals in loving and serving others in the church. This book landed particularly close to home because faithfulness in my relationships within the body has been a continual object of thought and prayer for me this year.
August | Holiness by J.C. Ryle
Before reading Holiness, if anyone had asked me whether or not I wanted to be holy, or whether holiness is an important part of the Christian life, I would have said yes―the answer is obvious. Yet Ryle pressed into my heart the urgency and the necessity and the preciousness of holiness. I was confronted by the reality that holiness must be pursued without regard for anything else. I read Holiness with a group of friends and was helped by their honest reflections. And in light of the difficulty and toil of holiness that we all shared, Ryle’s observation that the presence of a struggle―a battle within―indicates the Spirit’s sanctifying work was and continues to be a great comfort and encouragement.
September | The Nicomachean Ethics by Aristotle
What is the highest good? What is the function of man? How do leisure and work fit into the good life? In the end, I arrive at different answers than Aristotle, but it was through him that I learned to ask these questions. To Aristotle, virtue, flourishing, and function are not separate pursuits (as if we must separately try to be moral and happy and useful), but interrelated. This basic idea is so very compelling to me and, I believe, coherent with a biblical perspective, for it is only as we fulfill our God-intended purpose of glorifying him that we can ever hope to attain all-satisfying joy.
October | The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot
I felt so many parts of my season of life reflected in this Victorian novel and its protagonist, Maggie: rootedness in my hometown vs. novelty and progress, struggling to break free from the pursuit of others’ approval, self-doubt and a strong conscience. And I was moved by Maggie’s faithfulness in resisting the whims of her present desires, despite their strength, for “if we judged in that way, there would be a warrant for all treachery and cruelty―we should justify breaking the most sacred ties that can ever be formed on earth. If the past is not to bind us, where can duty lie? We should have no law but the inclination of the moment” (495-96).
November | Delighting in the Trinity by Michael Reeves
I started Delighting in the Trinity on my flight back to school in September. I finished it on my flight home in December. The book itself is quite short―just 130 pages―and readable. The only reason it took so long was because I had barely any time to read for leisure once school started. But encouraged by the reminder that reading just 15 minutes a day is still steady progress, I took the book with me to read in the spare moments of my day: standing on the subway platform, waiting for class to start, riding the train to church. A few pages at a time, I snuck Trinitarian theology into my everyday. Reeves impressed on me the reality of our triune God, who is deeply personal, overflowing in love, and glorious in his perfections―and all as I moved through utterly ordinary, earthly rhythms and routines of life.
December | Don’t Waste Your Life by John Piper
Stewarding my time well has been an ongoing concern of mine this semester. More than avoiding distraction and being productive in my day-to-day work, I’m also thinking about stewarding the limited years of my life, especially as the decisions I make now as a student have the potential to shape my future profoundly. I love Piper’s words in this book. I love his unflinching assessment of reality: that safety is an illusion, that mindless amusement is a tragic waste, and that the only thing that ultimately matters is living joyfully for the glory of God. I share his fear of wasting my life, and I long to live urgently, boldly, and faithfully, boasting only in the cross.