This one goes out to all the haters.

I’ll say it up front: I love The Great Gatsby and I don’t care who knows it. I am one of those people who think that it is THE great American novel. It might be the book I have reread the most in my life. And although it probably shouldn’t at this point, it continues to shock me how every time this book comes up in conversation, it’s someone saying how much they disliked it. Which puts me in a fighting mood.

So instead of declaring single combat against every detractor who detracts in my presence, let’s just put this to bed once and for all.

Why do you hate The Great Gatsby? I’ve heard every reason why people claim this book is bad.

“It’s boring.”

Please. You’ve got love triangles. You’ve got lavish parties. You’ve got mobsters and illegal alcohol schemes. You’ve got weird, semi-hallucinogenic fever dreams. You’ve got people being run over. You’ve got murder-suicides. What more do you want?

“The writing is too flowery. It feels bloated.”

You tell me:

He smiled understandingly — much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced — or seemed to face — the whole external world for an instant, then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.

If this quote alone, a description of the impression Gatsby’s smile made on Nick, doesn’t rule out a problem with the writing style, I don’t know what will.

“The characters are so unlikeable.”

Good! That’s one of Fitzgerald’s points! Honestly, I’d be more worried if you found them particularly likable. If you dislike the characters, there’s hope that you can like the book. If you like the characters, you need to do some self-reflection.

So how can this book be at once both universally acclaimed and generally despised? What’s the real reason people don’t like it? I’ll tell you:

It’s because you were assigned it in high school.

The Real Problem with Gatsby

Writing as a former teacher (and current teacher-at-heart), if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that every book students get assigned starts with the disadvantage of having been assigned. We humans are naturally rebellious, and we don’t like it when people tell us what to do, even if what they tell us to do is good for us. If you hate this book, my bet is your foundational sentiment towards it has more to do with the fact that you were required to read it than it has to do with the book itself.

Now listen, I understand where you’re coming from. I felt the same way about a number of books I read in high school. I thought I didn’t like Old Man and the Sea (it’s awesome, by the way). I thought I didn’t like The Scarlet Letter (it’s awesome, by the way). I thought I didn’t like Antigone (it’s awesome, by the way).

What I learned is that I was holding something against these works based purely on the fact that I was told they were great and, therefore, I was required to read them. It’s like when someone introduces their friend to you at a party and they lead with, “This is so-and-so. He is SO funny.” What is most people’s response going to be? “Oh yeah? Tell me a joke.”

So I give this next piece of advice with all the love in my heart: get over it. It’s time that you take this book on its actual merits and not on your experience of having to do a book report on it in high school. I hope by the end of this defense you’ll at least be convinced to pick the book back up and give it one more try. I’m not really intending to convince you to change your mind. I’m intending to convince you to be willing to have your mind changed.

It would help to start with a brief synopsis.

The Overview

The Great Gatsby is the story of a mysterious millionaire who throws monstrously extravagant parties on Long Island all for the purpose, we find out, of impressing a woman who’s already married, while her aggressively awful husband cheats on her with an already married woman who wants to be rich, all while the narrator just kind of stands by and watches all this happen (because he claims reserving judgment is a matter of infinite hope?).

Everyone is lying about something, a car ruins one, two, three, four, FIVE lives, and nobody attends a very expensive funeral.

Feeling convinced yet?

Now we can focus on these unlikeable characters. I mean, this is the criticism of the book, the number one reason people claim not to like it: the characters are the worst. To a certain extent, I’m not going to argue. We’ve got:

Nick, our narrator. He suspects himself of being one of the few truly honest people in the world, all while he stands by and watches everyone do whatever they want.

Gatsby, the surface-level golden boy. He’s rich, handsome, polite, rich, a great host, hopeful, and rich. He’s also incredibly mysterious and, we find out, completely obsessed with Daisy. He has devoted his whole life to creating a persona that he believes she’ll want to be with, completely forgetting that she wanted to be with the man he was before.

Daisy, the loveable airhead who doesn’t know what she really wants. She’s alluring, aloof, and out of control at all the wrong moments.

Tom, the insecure racist. He throws around his money and his influence in a way that’s almost daring someone to call him on it. He’s a perfect example of the axiom that we often see our worst sins in others, being constantly suspicious of Gatsby and Daisy, outraged at their brazenness, all while he openly flaunts his affair with Myrtle.

Jordan, the cold and distant golf pro with a cheating scandal that got mysteriously swept under the rug.

Myrtle, the over-the-top side piece who is married to the only halfway decent person in the book and would happily trade him in for the life of status she sees with Tom.

And Wilson, Myrtle’s husband, who works hard, scrapes by, and can’t pull together the courage to stand up for himself against anyone until he’s finally pushed too far.

After writing that out, I almost convinced myself to abandon this attempt to persuade anyone to feel differently. But I press on!

What’s up with these people? And why would Fitzgerald fill a book with them? To say they aren’t exactly role models is to understate so severely as to be on the verge of absurdity. I wouldn’t even really want to be around these people, much less be like them. Is Fitzgerald just so critical of America and American life in his time that when he looks at his society this is how he sees it? It’s safe to say Fitzgerald is critiquing something, but I don’t think we should go as far as to say it’s America. To really understand what Fitzgerald is doing here, we’re going to have to take half a step back and ask ourselves, in full earnestness, what are these characters doing?

Despite how much we want to criticize them, we have to admit these characters are doing something very human. They’re doing something that every one of us is doing right this very second. They’re doing something that people have been doing as long as people have been doing things. They are trying to answer a question that continues to be asked and will never go away: What is the good life, and how do I get it? The friction generates in how they go about it or, even more fundamentally, in what their actions and decisions tell us about what they think the “good life” is.

Nick leaves his old-money life to become a bondsman in West Egg, believing the good life lies not in inherited comfort but in being a decent man in a decadent world. Yet he brings that comfort with him—his father bankrolls him, he settles among East Coast wealth, and he has immediate access to Tom and Daisy—and he shows little decency. His over-tolerance is contemptible.

Gatsby strives for the wealth that would make him a worthy match for Daisy, his love. But Daisy (or rather, his idealized version of Daisy) becomes more a trophy to be obtained than a person to be loved, and we learn he’s willing to obtain her by any means necessary.

Daisy holds comfort above all, even her own self-respect and desires. She is a “beautiful little fool,” who can’t give up her comfort even in the face of clear abuse.

Tom wants the world to stay the way it is because he’s at the top of it. As is often true with people at the top, this leads Tom to believe that hierarchy is what protects civilization. He aims to preserve this hierarchy, an effort that manifests in Tom as hypocrisy, casual cruelty, prejudice, and overall imperiousness.

Every character has their idea of the good life, but every character warps it in some way. So what’s Fitzgerald’s point?

Why You Should Read The Great Gatsby

Despite how some people understand him, I don’t think Fitzgerald’s point is to criticize the idea of there being a “good life,” and more thematically for the work, I don’t think he’s criticizing the idea of “the American Dream.” I think this book is a warning. If Fitzgerald could just say it outright to us, I think it may go something like this: “There is a good life, an American Dream. There are also people out there who will warp it to serve their own ends and try to feed their idea of it back to you. Don’t let them. Don’t let them destroy it, and don’t let them, through their behavior, convince you it isn’t real and never was. Keep pursuing it, and know a bad example when you see one.” (I also think it’s right to acknowledge here that a large part of Fitzgerald’s critique is directed specifically at his cultural moment in America, to which everything above applies.)

So you don’t like the characters? You don’t like what they seem to stand for? What they care about? How they go about their lives? Then I say again: good. Fitzgerald wants you to know a bad conception and poor execution of the good life when you see one. He also wants to leave you with the question, “What is it then?” It’s easy to criticize other people’s conception of the good life; it’s much harder for us to formulate and defend our own.

At this point, you may be thinking, “Fine, maybe there’s more to it than I thought. But one book to change your life? How could this be a book to change my life?”

I’ll start my answer to this with a quick story:

I read this book for the first time when I was a junior in high school, and I was captivated by it. Not in a “I like what these people have going on” kind of way, but in a “this book is making me think a lot of things” kind of way. I was excited every day to get to class to discuss what we’d read, and I always had a lot to say.

During one discussion, the question of Daisy’s blindness to Tom’s infidelity came up, and I said, with full confidence, “Daisy is so dumb.”

My teacher (one of my favorite teachers of all time) looked at me from behind his podium, holding his coffee in his signature way where he basically wrapped his whole forearm around the thermos and pressed it right up against the center of his sternum, and said, “Is she?”

Now I’d love to say something here like, “and that’s when it clicked,” but it wasn’t instantaneous. It took some back and forth, with him pushing back against my defense of my claim. But through our conversation, and a larger class discussion, I came to realize I hadn’t given Daisy a fair shake. I had judged Daisy purely on her actions and what I, as an outside observer, was confident she should have done. In my assessment of Daisy, I took into account very little of her circumstances, her motivations, her fears, her desires. I was the moral gavel finalizing a judgment on Daisy’s life.

So, how did The Great Gatsby change my life? It deepened my capacity for sympathy.

Does this mean I think the characters are likable? No. Does this mean I think their behavior is excusable? No. To explain it with a phrase my dad would often say growing up, I’m not saying they’re right. I’m just saying I understand.

How many of us, if we were honest with ourselves, don’t resonate on some level with the desire to prove ourselves both capable and decent? Which of us wouldn’t, if given the opportunity, claw for the life we believed would win us the admiration of the person we love? Who doesn’t desire comfort? Who wants their life thrown into irrevocable turmoil?

In a time when sympathy and understanding are in short supply, with family members boycotting holiday dinners over political opinions, people cutting out “toxic” friends who offered them some criticism, and complete strangers dehumanizing each other in online disagreements, maybe a book like The Great Gatsby is exactly what we need to start working out the muscle of sympathy again.

One final piece of advice: don’t go full Nick. What I mean is there is an important distinction between sympathy and affirmation. Nick Carraway, in an attempt to reserve all judgment, all but affirms the actions of his companions by never speaking a single word against them. This is not sympathy. This is acquiescence.

So if Fitzgerald intends to leave us with the question of what the good life actually is, then I think he leaves us with one final challenge (and if he doesn’t, then allow me): once you’ve answered that question, go and tell the Nicks and the Gatsbys and the Daisies and the Toms and the Jordans and the Myrtles about it. Disabuse them of their idea of the good life, and share with them one that’s better.

And a really good first step in doing that is to understand them.

So go and read this book. Give it another chance. It’s low-stakes practice in sympathy. Maybe it’ll get you one step closer to learning to love your hard-to-love neighbor.

Skippable?

My least favorite article ever in the entire history of Substack was published in December. It was called “The 40 Famous Classics You’re Allowed to Skip (And Why Everyone Secretly Agrees).”

The very first “skippable” book it listed was The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky, which it describes thus:

Profound philosophical exploration of faith, doubt, and morality — also 800 pages of Russian names and existential spirals.

The novel is 800 pages. It is full of existential spirals. It is difficult, at times, to read. The first time I read it in college, I had to put it down two-thirds of the way through due to already-present mental health difficulties that it was intensifying.

Had I never picked it back up (or “skipped” it in the first place), there would have only been one problem.

I would have missed out on likely the greatest novel ever written, and one of the profoundest experiences available to us as human beings.

But I would have saved a few hours! What a bargain.

Let’s begin.

The Details

I had the privilege of picking The Brothers K back up this year, this time in the company of friends.

I have a book club (which is now an @Inkwell locals group) in my city — a group of a dozen or so friends whom I am inexplicably able to convince to meet up weekly to discuss books. These consist of 20-somethings through 80-somethings, many of whom were first-time readers of Dostoevsky, and two of whom had literally written books of their own on him (this one and this one).

Needless to say, this was pretty special. If you can read the book with friends, I highly recommend it. My reading was so much richer this way than if I’d been trudging away on my own.

We also happened to be reading Michael Katz’s new translation. Questions of accuracy to the original Russian are above my pay grade. But having previously spent time in both the Constance Garnett and the Pevear &Volokhonsky translations, Katz is the one that finally felt right, tonally speaking.

Rather than like a meticulous philosophical treatise or a Dickensian stage monologue, Katz felt like a frantic, drunk old town sage yelling into your ear in a pub — and I’m pretty sure that’s how Dostoevsky is supposed to feel.

The humor of the book came through much more clearly this go-round, as did the awkwardness, the dread, the shock, and all the other stops along the emotional rollercoaster that is a Russian novel. But amidst all this, the philosophical and spiritual power of Dostoevsky’s masterpiece came through that much more clearly as well.

The Overview

Ostensibly, The Brothers Karamazov has all the trappings of a detective thriller.

It is the story of one family.

The father, Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, is a scoundrel. Drunk, angry, buffoonish, rakish, he is the (excuse of a) father of three(ish) sons.

Dmitri is, in some ways, much like his father. An impulsive sensualist, he wears his feelings on his sleeve, loves and lusts for women insatiably, fights his father over money — and repents with apparent fervor.

Ivan is a cool, calculating, intelligent rationalist. His intellectual abilities give him the privilege (or is it a burden?) of feeling above most of humanity. He, like Nietzsche, has reasoned beyond morality toward a view of the world in which “everything is permitted.”

Alyosha, a young novice, seeks shelter from the chaos of his world in the peace of the monastery. Possessing the temperament of a revolutionary, he throws himself into spiritual devotion the way other men would throw themselves into political upheaval. He is devoted to his elder, Father Zosima, whom most of the village sees as a saint in the making.

Oh — and lest we forget — a bonus baby: Smerdykov, the bastard child born (as most assume) from Fyodor’s rape of Stinking Lizaveta, the half-witted town holy fool. If the other three are the emotional, intellectual, and spiritual aspects of the human person, Smerdykov is the demonic — as Brian Zahnd points out in his excellent review of the book.

Partway through the book, Fyodor is found dead. All the aspects of the detective story are present: accusations, clues, evidence, trials, testimonies, sentences.

But beneath these trappings, The Brothers Karamazov is a novel about all of the deepest questions: Who is God? How can he be good when he allows us to suffer? What does it mean to be free? In what sense are we free, and how can our freedom be best used? How can we be good? How can we be forgiven? How can we be sure that our lives mean something? How can good triumph over evil when it is always sacrificing itself?

I could go on. This is a novel that continues to open out. It is an infinite tapestry, an endless array of threads to follow. Only a couple of other novels in my personal history (Moby-Dick and East of Eden) have ever risen to this same level of universality. The thing is ubiquitous. It is as large as life itself.

With what follows, I am going to make a futile attempt to trace a few of these threads — to preview, in brief, a few of the ideas that are at play in the vast heart of this book.

If you like what you see, go read the thing.

If you don’t like what you see, it is probably my fault and not the book’s.

Please, just go read it.

Above All, Do Not Lie to Yourself

“Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.“

This is Father Zosima’s advice to Fyodor, right as the book begins.

But we see it reflected all throughout the novel, as various characters live into or away from the truth — and reap the respective consequences.

Decisive Moral Action

Have you ever experienced the strange sensation of realizing — seemingly for the first time — that you are a human being with free will?

Ever thought with wonder (or a shudder) about the butterfly effect?

Ever been freed (or paralyzed) by the realization that there are quite literally millions of options for what you could do with the next ten seconds of your life . . . or the next ten months. . . or the next ten years?

Kierkegaard says that “anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.”

And his brother-in-Christian-existentialist arms Dostoevsky has chalked this novel full of this paradoxical idea.

Throughout the book, characters must choose to take up their free will, to take decisive moral action, to do what seems best even when insufficient knowledge is available — or to freeze, sit back, let the universe take them for a ride, and find out what consequences might await.

Vocation and Calling — Monks in the World

Like many of us wired with a more spiritual bent, Alyosha feels the call toward an ascetic life.

He feels, viscerally, the call of Christ to “leave everything you have and follow me.”

He feels the evil of the world and wants respite from it.

He feels, it seems, that if he could just take the decisive step, become a monk, and throw it all away — he will have checked the spiritual “box” and done the thing he was born to do.

It is for this exact reason that Zosima sends him away from the monastery and challenges him to be “a monk in the world.”

He must fulfill his human responsibilities toward his (very) human brothers. He must learn to face evil without being overcome by it. He must learn what it looks like to actively love real, strange, funny, broken people in a real, strange, funny, broken world.

Without once disparaging the monastic lifestyle, Dostoevsky explores the mystery of individual calling, asking whether, for some of us, the “great possessions” we must sell in order to inherit eternal life might, in fact, be spiritual ones.

Active Love

And speaking of active love, this is one of the ideas at the very heart of the book.

Active love is a harsh and fearful thing compared with the love in dreams. Love in dreams thirsts for immediate action, quickly performed, and with everyone watching. Indeed, it will go as far as the giving even of one’s life, provided it does not take long but is soon over, as on stage, and everyone is looking on and praising. Whereas active love is labor and persistence, and for some people, perhaps, a whole science.

Throughout the novel, we watch characters experience this stark difference. We see the irony between their own ideas of love and their actual selfish actions. We shake our heads. We laugh.

And then we look in the mirror.

The Onion, or A Bunch of Broken People Redeeming Each Other

Once upon a time there was a peasant woman and a very wicked woman she was. And she died and did not leave a single good deed behind.

The devils caught her and plunged her into the lake of fire. So her guardian angel stood and wondered what good deed of hers he could remember to tell to God;

‘She once pulled up an onion in her garden,’ said he, ‘and gave it to a beggar woman.’

And God answered: ‘You take that onion then, hold it out to her in the lake, and let her take hold and be pulled out. And if you can pull her out of the lake, let her come to Paradise, but if the onion breaks, then the woman must stay where she is.’

The angel ran to the woman and held out the onion to her.

‘Come,’ said he, ‘catch hold and I’ll pull you out.’

He began cautiously pulling her out. He had just pulled her right out, when the other sinners in the lake, seeing how she was being drawn out, began catching hold of her so as to be pulled out with her. But she was a very wicked woman and she began kicking them.

‘I’m to be pulled out, not you. It’s my onion, not yours.’

As soon as she said that, the onion broke. And the woman fell into the lake and she is burning there to this day.

“Perhaps if she’d responded differently,” one of my friends remarked when we read the passage, “all of Hell could’ve been emptied.”

It’s a little story, told by one of the characters midway through the book. It seems insignificant. But as the story goes on, it takes on increased significance. The onion, it turns out, has layers.

The small, gracious right decisions of characters lead to small, gracious right decisions by other characters.

And amidst the mire of everyone’s foolishness, perhaps there is a greater hand at work, pulling us all out of Hell after all.

Cana of Galilea

Midway through the book is the most beautiful and emotionally moving passage of literature I have personally ever read. I read it 4-5 times per year, and it never fails to move me to tears.

Because this article is a taster, I am going to paste a (fairly lengthy) portion of the passage for you here with zero context. It’s from the Garnett translation, because that is what’s available online.

If you want to skip down, that will be your loss.

But when he had begun to pray, he passed suddenly to something else, and sank into thought, forgetting both the prayer and what had interrupted it. He began listening to what Father Païssy was reading, but worn out with exhaustion he gradually began to doze. ......

“And when they wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith unto him, They have no wine” ... Alyosha heard.

“Ah, yes, I was missing that, and I didn’t want to miss it, I love that passage: it’s Cana of Galilee, the first miracle.... Ah, that miracle! Ah, that sweet miracle! It was not men’s grief, but their joy Christ visited, He worked His first miracle to help men’s gladness.... ‘He who loves men loves their gladness, too’ ... He was always repeating that, it was one of his leading ideas.... ‘There’s no living without joy,’ Mitya says.... Yes, Mitya.... ‘Everything that is true and good is always full of forgiveness,’ he used to say that, too” ...

“Jesus saith unto her, Woman, what has it to do with thee or me? Mine hour is not yet come.

“His mother saith unto the servants, Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it” ...

“Do it.... Gladness, the gladness of some poor, very poor, people.... Of course they were poor, since they hadn’t wine enough even at a wedding.... The historians write that, in those days, the people living about the Lake of Gennesaret were the poorest that can possibly be imagined ... and another great heart, that other great being, His Mother, knew that He had come not only to make His great terrible sacrifice. She knew that His heart was open even to the simple, artless merrymaking of some obscure and unlearned people, who had warmly bidden Him to their poor wedding. ‘Mine hour is not yet come,’ He said, with a soft smile (He must have smiled gently to her). And, indeed, was it to make wine abundant at poor weddings He had come down to earth? And yet He went and did as she asked Him.... Ah, he is reading again”....

“Jesus saith unto them, Fill the waterpots with water. And they filled them up to the brim.

“And he saith unto them, Draw out now and bear unto the governor of the feast. And they bare it.

“When the ruler of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and knew not whence it was; (but the servants which drew the water knew;) the governor of the feast called the bridegroom,

“And saith unto him, Every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine; and when men have well drunk, that which is worse; but thou hast kept the good wine until now.”

“But what’s this, what’s this? Why is the room growing wider?... Ah, yes ... It’s the marriage, the wedding ... yes, of course. Here are the guests, here are the young couple sitting, and the merry crowd and ... Where is the wise governor of the feast? But who is this? Who? Again the walls are receding.... Who is getting up there from the great table? What!... He here, too? But he’s in the coffin ... but he’s here, too. He has stood up, he sees me, he is coming here.... God!”...

Yes, he came up to him, to him, he, the little, thin old man, with tiny wrinkles on his face, joyful and laughing softly. There was no coffin now, and he was in the same dress as he had worn yesterday sitting with them, when the visitors had gathered about him. His face was uncovered, his eyes were shining. How was this, then? He, too, had been called to the feast. He, too, at the marriage of Cana in Galilee....

“Yes, my dear, I am called, too, called and bidden,” he heard a soft voice saying over him. “Why have you hidden yourself here, out of sight? You come and join us too.”

It was his voice, the voice of Father Zossima. And it must be he, since he called him!

The elder raised Alyosha by the hand and he rose from his knees.

“We are rejoicing,” the little, thin old man went on. “We are drinking the new wine, the wine of new, great gladness; do you see how many guests? Here are the bride and bridegroom, here is the wise governor of the feast, he is tasting the new wine. Why do you wonder at me? I gave an onion to a beggar, so I, too, am here. And many here have given only an onion each—only one little onion.... What are all our deeds? And you, my gentle one, you, my kind boy, you too have known how to give a famished woman an onion to-day. Begin your work, dear one, begin it, gentle one!... Do you see our Sun, do you see Him?”

“I am afraid ... I dare not look,” whispered Alyosha.

“Do not fear Him. He is terrible in His greatness, awful in His sublimity, but infinitely merciful. He has made Himself like unto us from love and rejoices with us. He is changing the water into wine that the gladness of the guests may not be cut short. He is expecting new guests, He is calling new ones unceasingly for ever and ever.... There they are bringing new wine. Do you see they are bringing the vessels....”

Something glowed in Alyosha’s heart, something filled it till it ached, tears of rapture rose from his soul.... He stretched out his hands, uttered a cry and waked up....

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The Furnace of Doubt

This book contains perhaps the deepest engagement with the problem of evil of any novel in modern history.

In the fifth book of the novel, Ivan explains the reasoning for his agnostic, nihilist skepticism:

“It’s not God that I don’t accept, you must understand, but the world created by him; I don’t accept God’s world and can’t agree to accept it.”

He goes on to describe, in graphic detail, all manner of horrific abuse and evil recounted in the newspapers of the time, much of it committed against innocent children.

It is, in the eyes of many, the most poignant expression of the problem of evil ever written.

How could a Christian write something like this? How would Dostoevsky respond to his own character?

The rest of his book would be his answer.

And while I’ll leave it to you to explore that answer for yourself, I will note that one of the most valuable things about this book is that — amid the myriad examples of kitschy Christian art that looks for trite truisms and easy answers — The Brothers Karamazov does no such thing.

It stares into Nietzsche’s abyss until the abyss stares back — but perhaps the abyss is not the one to win the staring contest.

If there is any man for the job, it’s Dostoevsky — gambling addict that he was, harassed by the government, a political prisoner, sentenced to death and rescued at the last minute, given years of hard labor instead. The book’s hero, Alyosha, is named after Dostoevsky’s son — who died at three years old, just as he began composing The Brothers Karamazov.

“It is not as a child that I believe and confess Jesus Christ,” Dostoevsky confided in a letter to a friend. “My hosanna is born of a vast furnace of doubt.”

Conclusion: The Terrible Disease of Loneliness

The book ends, by typical novel standards, rather strangely.

Without spoilers, suffice it to say that the dust has settled on the murder.

Alyosha, our monk in the world, has become a sort of captain of a troop of young, poor boys who would otherwise be up to various mischief, likely harassed and abused by various bad actors — sheep without a shepherd.

One of the boys has recently, tragically died, and the final scene comes just after his funeral. Alyosha addresses the other boys:

Gentlemen, we shall be parting soon. Right now I shall be with my two brothers for a while, one of whom is going into exile, and the other is lying near death. But soon I shall leave this town, perhaps for a very long time. And so we shall part, gentleman. Let us agree here, by Ilyusha’s stone, that we will never forget – first, Ilyushechka, and second, one another. And whatever may happen to us later in life, even if we do not meet for twenty years afterwards, let us always remember how we buried the poor boy, whom we once threw stones at – remember, there by the little bridge? – and whom afterwards we all came to love so much. He was a nice boy, a kind and brave boy, he felt honor and his father’s bitter offense made him rise up. And so, first of all, let us remember him, gentlemen, all of our lives. And even though we may be involved in the most important affairs, achieve distinction or all into some great misfortune – all the same, let us never forget how good we once felt here, all together, united by such good and kind feelings as made us, too, for the time we loved the poor boy, perhaps better than we actually better than we actually are. My little doves – let me call you that – little doves, because you are very much like those pretty gray blue birds, now, at this moment, as I look at your kind, dear faces – my dear children, perhaps you will not understand what I am going to say to you, because I often speak very incomprehensibly, but still you will remember and some day agree with my words. You must know that there is nothing higher, or stronger, or sounder, or more useful afterwards in life, than some good memory, especially the memory from childhood, from the parental home. You hear a lot said about your education, yet some such beautiful, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man stores up many such memories to take into life, then he is saved for his whole life. And even if only one good memory remains with us in our hearts, that alone may serve some day for our salvation.

He goes on.

Kurt Vonnegut once mused,

“What should young people do with their lives today? Many things, obviously. But the most daring thing is to create stable communities in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured.”

It is a thought that seems even more applicable in our day than it did in Vonnegut’s own.

Alyosha’s final act in the book — like some of the final acts of Jesus — is to establish a community of friends. Tied together by shared memory. Loyal compatriots. Arm-in-arm for whatever may lie ahead.

And as our book club spent its final meeting on this passage, finishing the pilgrimage that is The Brothers Karamazov, it struck me that Alyosha (and Jesus?) had managed to forge just such a community among us, too.

The onion was still pulling people out of the abyss.

It was more fitting — and more meaningful — than I can say to complete this book around a table of friends who had taken this long, emotional, at times arduous journey together. It was not an easy task, but an infinitely worthwhile one, and it was far more enjoyable done together.

It was a lot like life itself.

So that’s my encouragement to you.

Read this book. Read it with friends. I think you’ll be glad you did.

Coby Dolloff writes and teaches at Pepperdine University in Malibu, CA. His deepest interests lie at the intersection of theology and comedy. Read his work on Substack, Christ and Pop Culture, Christianity Today, and Ekstasis.

Books can change your life. They’ve certainly changed mine. From the classic early read that sticks with you forever to the breakout business book to the right biography at the right time to the novel you just can’t put down, books captivate and shape us.

In the lead-up to launching the Library Company, I was doing what any library proprietor would do… reading about reading. It’s remarkable how many books tell us about the books the people we like liked.

Rebecca Romney’s new book, Jane Austen’s Bookshelf, traces Austen’s influences through the books in her library. The Literary Churchill takes you through the world of books that made the great statesman. To paraphrase that great reader and writer, “We shape our libraries, and then our libraries shape us.”

In this new series, I’ve asked a few great readers to tell us what books have shaped their lives. In the coming weeks, you’ll read an assortment of recommendations and reviews on books that will change your life.

Tomorrow morning, Coby Dolloff kicks off the series with an amazing essay on Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. Coby’s not just a great writer, he’s an excellent guide to one of history’s greatest books!

Fiat Lux!

Cole

The news of peace in the Middle East is a joy to the world. Even as the deal slowly creeps forward, it really seems as though this 20-point plan will provide a path forward for Israel and Gaza and continue the work of the Abraham Accords.

For our purposes, though, there’s a bookish thread running through this deal. Jared Kushner, who has been at the center of the negotiations, is not a career diplomat or a historian. He’s a real estate investor and private equity chief who, five years ago, said he read 25 books to understand the Middle East. In an interview on 60 Minutes this week, he and Steve Witkoff proclaimed themselves “deal guys.” Since then, he’s been mocked and ridiculed for that statement, but book readers want to know: which 25 books did he read??

Kushner has never released that full list but has mentioned some books worth reading over the years. In his interview with Lex Fridman, he mentioned Prisoners of Geography by Tim Marshall, an innovative look at the world through a series of regional chapters on geography, resources, cultural faultlines, and historical trends. This is a great book for anyone who wants to get up to speed on how the world’s geography affects politics.

Here are a few others he or those close to him have mentioned:

- Thirteen Days in September: The Dramatic Story of the Struggle for Peace by Lawrence Wright – A detailed day-by-day account of the 1978 Camp David Accords between Anwar Sadat, Menachem Begin, and Jimmy Carter.

- Hamas vs. Fatah: The Struggle for Palestine by Jonathan Schanzer – A study of the internal Palestinian political divide between the two major factions.

- State of Failure: Yasser Arafat, Mahmoud Abbas, and the Unmaking of the Palestinian State by Jonathan Schanzer – Focuses on Palestinian leadership and governance issues.

- The Last Palestinian by Grant Rumley & Amir Tibon – A biography of Mahmoud Abbas, which Kushner’s team says was “dog-eared with sticky notes.”

When it came out in 2022, I read Kushner’s memoir of his time in the White House, Breaking History, and found it to be an insightful look at the issues he worked on in the Trump administration. I also wrote down all the other books he mentioned:

- Coming Apart by Charles Murray – a sociological look at the dividing classes in American life, and a prediction of the populist surge leading up to 2016.

- The Gatekeepers: How the White House Chiefs of Staff Define Every Presidency by Chris Whipple – the best book I’ve come across describing the history and nature of the President’s chief of staff, from H. R. Haldeman to John Kelly

- Death by China: Confronting the Dragon - A Global Call to Action by Peter Navarro – Trump’s trade advisor in the first term and a long-time China hawk lays out his prescription for how the U.S. should deal with China in the 21st century.

- The Art of War by Sun Tzu – the classic eastern manual on life, war, competition, and politics.

- Diplomacy by Henry Kissinger – though their styles are very different, Kushner has been compared to Kissinger in recent weeks. This is Kissinger’s magnum opus on negotiation, detante, and realpolitik.

- The Fight for Jerusalem: Radical Islam, The West, and The Future of the Holy City by Dore Gold – a former ambassador to the U.S. from Israel, Gold chronicles the centuries-long struggle between Muslims and Jews in Jerusalem.

- Palestine: Peace not Apartheid by Jimmy Carter - the Carter administration negotiated the Camp David Accords, establishing peace between Israel and Egypt. Zbigniew Brzezinski was Carter’s National Security Advisor and the visionary behind the peace plan.

- The Hundred Year Marathon: China’s Secret Strategy to Replace America as the Global Superpower by Michael Pillsbury - another China hawk, Pillsbury’s book has been extremely influential among the Trump team, covering China’s plans to weaken the U.S. and establish itself as the global superpower.

So, maybe it isn’t quite so easy as reading 25 books about the Middle East. But this list of Jared Kushner recommendations is a great place to start.

Let us know what you would add! Find our other books on the Middle East in our online catalog.

Believe it or not, I took civics twice, once in 7th grade and again in 9th. I took the required American History course in college (though I postponed it to my senior year), and in all three cases, I had great teachers. My lack of knowledge about anything pertaining to American history has far more to do with user error than anything else, but it was what it was. I hit a low point when I was sitting around talking with some friends one night and I had no idea when the civil war started and stopped, who was president during WWI, or who Teddy Roosevelt was, much to my own detriment.

So in a moment of resolve, I thought to myself, how do people know all this stuff about American history? Reading, of course, the answer to most questions, I’ve come to decide. So I set out to compile a self-education reading list. Reader beware, I thought, I can’t spare that much time to read, and I wasn’t sure at the time how interested I would be 100 pages into an endless set of historical tomes.

Like many of you, I grew up under the impression that history was boring. So I took the necessary precautions and set some ground rules. No ordinary history books would do. These books needed to fall under a strict set of criteria. The books, or authors, needed to have won a prize, preferably the Pulitzer, for history or biography. They needed to cover a good swath of history. As I came to find out, good biographies don’t just give you an overview of their subject, but they recreate the surroundings in such a way that you can see why people did what they did and the effects it had at the time and after. They needed to be well written. I wasn’t interested in books history buffs enjoyed; I wanted to read the books people liked to read. Last - I wanted to be able to finish in a year, so I had to be picky. Most of these books are long, but you can workably read one a month and finish in a year, or two, like I did.

Thomas Jefferson: The Art of Power - Jon Meacham (1743-1826)

It’s debatable - and probably an unpopular take given Alexander Hamilton’s recent resurgence - but I think this is one of the most important books to understand the founding ideas that shaped America. Jefferson wasn’t just the third President, he was one of the towering political and intellectual figures of the founding. Meacham assesses the extent of Jefferson’s influence, his staggering brilliance, and presents America’s founding renaissance man.

Undaunted Courage - Stephen Ambrose (1800-1806)

The Lewis and Clark expedition might be the most underrated segment of American history. After Jefferson purchased almost a million square miles from Napoleon, he sent his personal secretary and an expeditionary force to find a path to the pacific. Their extensive journals and maps powered American exploration for decades, but the courage of their journey embodied the American spirit for far longer.

The Most Famous Man in America - Debby Applegate (1813-1877)

This one doesn’t make it onto most people’s lists, but Applegate’s biography of Henry Ward Beecher captures the religious and social climate of American from the founding generation through reconstruction. Beecher, the father of Harriet Beecher Stowe, was America’s famous preacher. The son of a hellfire and brimstone fundamentalist, Beecher charted the course out of fundamentalism and into the social gospel. Millions of Christians and the mainline denominations would follow 50 years later.

Rebel Yell - S. C. Gwynne (1824-1863)

On my journey through American history, I stopped for several months to read about the Civil War and found Stonewall Jackson particularly interesting. Jackson was one of the greatest military minds America has ever produced, and if he hadn’t been killed during the battle of Chancellorsville, the war would have gone very differently. We can be glad about that, and I’ll write elsewhere about how we assess Confederate generals, but Stonewall represents a defining type and era in American history. Paired with Hymns of the Republic, Gwynne’s books give an essential look at the Civil War, the men who waged America’s bloodiest conflict, and the way small events shape human history.

A Stillness at Appomattox - Bruce Catton (1861-1864)

This is one of the gold standards in Civil War history. Catton’s Civil War trilogy is hard to put down, and he gives a circumspect view of the war, the ideas that tore the nation apart, and the people involved.

Team of Rivals - Doris Kearns Goodwin (1860-1865)

You can’t read this book without coming away thinking Abraham Lincoln was the best president in the history of the United States. Upon winning one of the most hotly contested elections to dare, Lincoln filled his cabinet with his most bitter rivals. He knew he would need them if he had any chance of keeping the Union together. Goodwin masterfully profiles Lincoln’s cabinet, through all of their struggles and successes.

Our Ancient Faith - Allen Guelzo (1809-1865)

Lincoln’s second inaugural address is one of the most important documents in American history. In just 700 words, Lincoln captured the founding political and religious ideals of the country and applied them to the worst conflict in the nation’s history, the Civil War. In this brand new book, Allen Guelzo, our greatest living expert on Abraham Lincoln, explores the ideas behind Lincoln’s leadership, his commitment to democracy, and the vision for the United States that guided him to the presidency and through the Civil War.

For a great interview about this book, see Kevin DeYoung’s conversation with Guelzo on Life and Books and Everything.

The Metaphysical Club - Louis Menand (1861-1919)

After the Civil War, a group including Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., William James, Louis Agassiz, Charles Sanders Pierce, and a few others began meeting together and shaping the future of America. Their ideas, from the advent of modern psychology to legal theory to the philosophy of pragmatism, became the bedrock of American intellectual life for the next century. Menand brilliantly weaves their ideas and their lives in a readable and understandable story.

Brave Companions - David McCullough (1807-Present)

Although it is not one of his better-known books, this was actually my first encounter with David McCullough, and as you can tell from the second list below, my advice would be to read everything he’s written. There are very few historians who can write like McCullough. He’s a grandfather for every American. This book chronicles the American spirit, from the scientific endeavors of Agassiz and von Humboldt to the daring pilots of the early 20th century to the story behind America’s most historic cities. I listened to this one on Audible, and it was a delight I’ve returned to several times.

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The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt - Edmund Morris (1858-1907)

It doesn’t take much reading to realize that Theodore Roosevelt was one of the most interesting and significant figures in the history of our country. All at once a naturalist, rancher, author, historian, politician, governor, and the 26th President, there is little Roosevelt didn’t do. You wouldn’t expect that he was a sickly child, confined to an iron lung for a time, but filled with resolve. He willed himself to be the man that he became and Morris does a masterful job bringing you face to face with young Teedie.

The River of Doubt - Candice Millard (1912)

After he lost the presidential election of 1912, TR was in a bad place, but he didn’t react like most people would have; he decided to join an expedition down the Rio da Duvida, the river of doubt, a tributary of the Amazon. After several speaking stops in South America, he joined his son, Kermit, and famed naturalist George Cherrie. After this book and several others, Millard has become one of my favorite historians. River of Doubt reads like a thriller. I won’t give anything away, but things do not go well.

The Last Lion, Vol. 1-3 - William Manchester (1874-1965)

I don’t think it’s an overstatement to say that this trilogy is one of the finest ever written, on one of the greatest men who ever lived, certainly one of the most important in recent history. Manchester chronicles the life of Winston Churchill, and though this breaks the mold from purely American history, I couldn’t leave it out. This is the best overview of WWI and WWII you’ll come across, both for the perspective, (the British shouldered the load of both wars long before the Americans joined the war efforts), and for the writing. The first 40 pages of the first volume is worth the price of the trilogy. Manchester is that good. This is a long haul; it took me a year to read these three books, but it was worth every page.

Other Great Reads

I won’t make any claims that this list covers the full extent of American history. I can imagine some pushback over the lack of any books on the Civil Rights Movement and I didn’t come across a good book on WWI from an American perspective. The roaring 20s are largely missing, as are some colossal works on the American founding. It also took me two years to read these instead of one (some of this is due to William Manchester. His three thousand page volumes are worth it, but took me a year by themselves.) These are the lessons you learn when you get out waist deep and have a look around. In the years since, I’ve added several books to the list:

John Adams - David McCullough (1735-1826)

The Federalist Papers - (1776-1779)

The British Are Coming - Rick Atkinson (1775-1777)

1776 - David McCullough (1776)

Robert E. Lee - Allen Guelzo (1807-1870)

Hymns of the Republic - S. C. Gwynne (1864)

Custer’s Trial - T. J. Stiles (1839-1876)

Truman - David McCullough (1884-1972)

The Second World Wars - Victor Davis Hanson (1940-1945)

The Path to Power - Robert Caro (1908-1941)

Letter From a Birmingham Jail - Martin Luther King, Jr. (1963)

Parting the Waters - Taylor Branch (1954-1963)

Decision Points - George W. Bush (2000-Present)

The point of all this is to encourage you to dig into our history. America is the greatest nation in history for so many reasons. We can learn from every era, but in the sweep of history, no group of people has fought harder for the cause of liberty. No country has ever put so much trust in the will and the rights of the people. No country has worked harder to advance the causes of freedom and human dignity across the world. And it hasn’t been easy. Take up any book on this list, and you won’t just be proud to be an American; you’ll feel a renewed energy and vigor to take up the cause of freedom, no matter the cost, to understand our nation, and to revere those who sacrificed everything to make it what it is.

In the opening talk at the library, I mentioned several books about reading and readers, the founding of libraries, and the American spirit of the “Democracy of Knowledge.” For those who were there, I held up these books, and they were on display to look through. But I thought I’d share these with everyone.

These books capture a set of ideals. From Franklin’s dream to create a library in Philadelphia to Lincoln’s drive to read his way into a law career, these books and their protagonists demonstrate the power of ideas, the grasp of things gone before, and the value of imbibing the classical tradition.

Autobiography, Benjamin Franklin

Benjamin Franklin, Walter Isaacson

Because we’ve based our library on Franklin’s, there’s no better place to start than his autobiography. Though it ends before the major events of the American Revolution, it has all the contours of Franklin’s extraordinary American life. From a middle school dropout to a publishing tycoon to a promising career in diplomacy, Franklin shares his life with wit and wisdom.

Poor Charlie’s Almanac, Charlie Munger

One of Franklin’s modern-day disciples is Charlie Munger. Better known as a billionaire investor, Warren Buffett’s right-hand man can teach you a lot about everything. Like Franklin, Munger devoted himself to the pursuit of knowledge, mastering the basic concepts across the disciplines, and to the very rare quality of common sense. In this set of talks and essays, you’ll see Munger’s brilliance, his range, and you’ll become a bit wiser about life.

Thomas Jefferson: A Biography of Spirit and Flesh, Thomas Kidd

The great man of letters in American history must be Thomas Jefferson. Though he penned the Declaration of Independence when he was only 33, it was just one among his long string of literary accomplishments, among them being our 3rd President and founding the University of Virginia. Another great biography on Jefferson is Jon Meacham’s The Art of Power (see the American history list coming out Monday). Kidd’s is shorter and more focused on Jefferson’s faith and spiritual beliefs, including the interesting saga of the Jefferson Bible and his own claim to be a Christian.

Harry Truman, David McCullough

To take an opposite extreme, Harry Truman didn’t go to college, much less found one, but he knew the value of reading. He kept Plutarch’s Lives on his desk because he found it to be a store of wisdom for life and politics. But don’t underestimate Truman. McCullough, one of our great American historians, shows him to be an extremely consequential president, a practical man, and one who defined the presidency and set the trajectory of the country for decades to come.

Parallel Lives, Plutarch

If there is one book that has influenced almost every significant figure of history in the West, Plutarch’s Parallel Lives would be second only to the Bible. Writing in the 1st century AD, Plutarch conceived the idea of writing biographies in parallel, such as those of Alexander and Caesar, and then included an essay comparing them and drawing lessons. Of the 23 original pairs, we have 22 in the complete editions of his work. The Lives is a treasury of history and wisdom, written by the greatest biographer of the ancient world.

Churchill: Walking with Destiny, Andrew Roberts

Churchill usually needs no introduction on this reading list, but you might not know what a reader he was. Although he did not attend Oxford or Cambridge, he conducted a course of self-education while stationed in India as a young soldier. Covering Gibbon, Macaulay, and the classics of the West, he imbibed both the content and the style of these writers, and that combination would make him the man Britain needed in its darkest hour. Additionally, Churchill was a great writer of history. In his lifetime, he published more words than Shakespeare and Dickens combined. Andrew Roberts’ book is the best single-volume biography of his life and one of the great books of this century.

The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Edward Gibbon

One of the books Churchill read, kicked back on his cot in Bangalore, was Edward Gibbon’s history of the Roman Empire. Gibbon was the most renowned historian of his time and a masterful writer. Passing through the temples in Rome, he was inspired to recount the history of that great empire and how it had fallen through successive centuries. Although Gibbon is unfairly critical of Christians in ancient Rome, his writing and analysis are emblematic of the best of the West.

The History of England, Thomas Macaulay

Another great British historian, and one whom Churchill modeled his life and writing, is Lord Macaulay. An essayist, member of Parliament, and historian, Macaulay had the rare gift of making anything interesting. His history of England grapples with the great themes of civilization, power, and personality. Like most Victorians, he subscribed to the “Great Man” theory of history, in which individuals play an outsized role in shaping the future. Maybe that’s another reason he was one of Churchill’s favorites.

Andrew Carnegie, Andrew Nasaw

If there is a bookend for Benjamin Franklin, it’s Andrew Carnegie. He founded 3,500 libraries out of his own pocket. He exemplifies the golden age of public benevolence and shaped the country through his love of reading and learning. This biography focuses on his early life, business success, and long quest of philanthropy in the U.S. and abroad. There are thousands today who still feel his influence as they walk into their local Carnegie Library.

Lincoln, David Reynolds

Lastly, Abraham Lincoln should be included in any list of notable readers. He is undoubtedly among our greatest presidents and one of our smartest. He got there through reading. From the Bible to law books and history, Lincoln drew upon what had come before and fashioned it into a beacon of light shining into the future. It’s difficult to imagine any other person holding the nation together as Lincoln did. When you go into the Lincoln Memorial in the capital and see his speeches on the walls, you can almost see the threads running through them from all that had come before. Reynolds’ biography is insightful, comprehensive, and an enjoyable introduction to our 16th President.

If you prefer, listen to the audio from the opening of the Library Company, September 27, 2025, in Carlton Landing.

Let’s begin our story on July 1, 1731. A group of men gathered in Philadelphia, devoted to the ideas of the day. Once a week, in the evenings, they met to discuss the great questions of their age. This was the kind of gathering that foreshadowed the American Revolution, following the Scientific Revolution, which had turned the leading minds of the day toward human progress, knowledge, and the development of society.

But these men were not philosophers or theologians. They were craftsmen—surveyors, glaziers, printers—and most famously, Benjamin Franklin. The group, known as the Junto or the Leather Apron Club, realized that although each owned a few books, if they pooled their collections, together they might form one of the finest libraries in the New World. So they did.

They chartered the Library Company of Philadelphia, the first subscription library in the world and the first public library in the United States. In their charter, they wrote:

“None appears better adapted to that important end than a public library. An institution of this kind is so generous and extensive in its nature that it affords instruction on the most easy terms to all who are desirous of improvement. The opulent friend to learning may be furnished with authors not generally found in private collections, and the genius that might languish and be discouraged for want of proper opportunities may have access to many volumes containing the experience of past ages and the present time.”

They had already discovered what we might call the “Amazon problem.” When you buy all your books online, you only find what you already know to look for. The beauty of a library—whether arranged by the Dewey Decimal system or the Library of Congress classification—is that when you find one book you like, you also discover others on the shelf, curated and vetted by the library, waiting to surprise you.

“When men thus possess the means of being acquainted with the arts and sciences,” the founders wrote, “it may justly be expected that important inquiries will be prosecuted and the good of society increased.” It would be hard to improve on that vision for our own town.

The Library Company of Philadelphia became a model for communities across America—and it is the model we’ve followed in founding the Library Company of Carlton Landing.

The Democracy of Knowledge

There is something profoundly American about the public library. You may have heard it called the “democracy of knowledge”: the belief that if anyone wishes to better themselves, they should have the resources to do so.

For most of history, libraries were the preserve of kings, scholars, or private collectors. The concept of a library open to everyone is relatively recent, dating back only two hundred years. Today, if your town has a public library, you are part of the tiniest fraction of people in human history with such access.

Franklin, who dropped out of school at the age of ten, read his way into becoming one of the leading statesmen, scientists, authors, philosophers, journalists, and entrepreneurs of his day. His extraordinary life still inspires people across every part of American life. Charlie Munger, the architect of Berkshire Hathaway with Warren Buffett, kept a bust of Franklin on his desk. Davy Crockett died at the Alamo with Franklin’s autobiography in his jacket pocket.

Thomas Jefferson also understood the power of books. When the British burned the Library of Congress in the War of 1812, Jefferson sold his personal library of 6,487 volumes to Congress, insisting that lawmakers must have access to the world’s knowledge. If you’ve been to Washington, you know the most impressive, beautiful building in our capital is not the Capitol itself or the White House but the Library of Congress, still preserving Jefferson’s original collection and now housing a copy of every book ever printed.

Libraries have shaped leaders throughout history. Harry Truman, the only twentieth-century president without a college degree, kept Plutarch’s Lives on his desk in the White House. Winston Churchill, who never attended Oxford or Cambridge, read voraciously as a young soldier in India—Gibbon, Macaulay, Plato, Darwin, Smith—and quoted them throughout his career as the statesman who saved the twentieth century.

My own love of reading began in an unlikely place: a fraternity house at Oklahoma State University. We were required to complete two hours of study each day. Because I worked through college, my only option was from five to seven in the morning. Sitting alone in the study room, I began, for the first time, to actually read the books assigned. I discovered that nothing is more enjoyable than exploring the history of the world and coming face-to-face with great thinkers.

C. S. Lewis once wrote that the joy of reading old books is that you can grapple with minds you could never otherwise meet. That discovery changed me, and I have been an avid reader ever since.

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Libraries Through the Ages

The most famous library in history is the Library of Alexandria, tragically destroyed, setting human knowledge back by centuries. Yet it was modeled after Aristotle’s library in Athens, housed at his Lyceum. When his students carried the idea to Egypt, Ptolemy II founded the Museon—the “Temple of the Muses”—where learning, reading, art, and music inspired all who entered.

Libraries, however, are not only lofty temples of knowledge. They are also refuges for pleasure, wonder, and rest. To open a book, to flip through pages or illustrations, is to enter another world. The phrase “reading for pleasure” requires some nuance. Reading is not a shallow pleasure. It’s not like the short-lived pleasures of endless scrolling, or the dopamine hit of seeing a like on social media. The pleasure of reading is deep and demanding. Great art requires something of us: attention, patience, and quiet. Books challenge us to think, to lengthen our attention span, and to inhabit the space of our own minds.

Sadly, reading is in decline. Forty years ago, more than half of teenagers read for pleasure on any given day. Today, only 14 percent do. It is no surprise that reading comprehension is also suffering. Deep literacy is one of the most important skills a student can develop during their time in school. In fact, the abilities to read, think critically, synthesize, examine opposing perspectives, and consider an argument too big to hold in your head all at once are more important than the content students learn. When they leave school, they should have the tools in place to learn anything. Reading is the cornerstone.

In fact, the single strongest predictor of student success is not wealth, school, or location. It is whether parents read aloud to their children. Reading is the bedrock for growing into the people we want to be.

A Vision for Our Town

That is why we founded the Library Company of Carlton Landing: to give our children and community a different future. We want them to delight in the wonder of books, to find joy in a beautiful space, and to come face to face with the greatest minds in history just steps from home.

By 1920—less than 150 years after Franklin’s first library—there were 3,500 libraries in the United States, nearly half of them founded by one man: Andrew Carnegie. Carnegie, who funded more libraries than anyone in history, inscribed his motto above their doors: Fiat lux—“Let there be light.” His vision still inspires our own. Libraries are lighthouses in their communities.

I’ll leave you with a final story. A boy in rural Illinois, with only one year of formal schooling, had access to a small-town library. After losing his first political race, he decided to pursue a career in law. Unable to attend school, he read his way into the profession, devouring every book in a local attorney’s private library—including Franklin’s Autobiography. Two years later, he passed the bar. He would go on not only to practice law but to become our sixteenth, and perhaps greatest, president: Abraham Lincoln.

And that is why every town needs a library.

What a wonderful opening event at the Library Company! The room was packed, books were checked out, memberships were purchased, and everything felt like it was in full swing.

There’s no denying that this is a special community. The level of support, interest, and willingness to jump in and help is unmatched. And now there’s a very special place to learn, grow, discuss, read, and gather around great ideas.

Thanks to everyone who came out to make it a great launch!

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In the coming weeks, you will start to get recommendations, updates, and interesting facts about our collections at the Library Co. Currently, we have 2,609 books in our catalog, but many hundreds more in our stock room, and many donations are on the way.

You can find our catalog here. As we scan, stamp, and process new books, they will be added to this list. When you arrive, feel free to browse or request a book to check out, and we'll be happy to help you find it.

There are so many exciting things ahead! Keep and eye out for more updates this week. Thanks to everyone who came to our open house!

Fiat Lux!