In 2018, I announced I would celebrate 25 years of life by publishing “lists of my 25 favorite films, books, and albums.” That year I only succeeded in writing a “25 Films for 25 Years” list and lost the time and motivation to finish the project before I turned 26. Then, in 2023, I began the attempt again, publishing “30 Films for 30 Years.” The sequel arrived a year late, hence it was called “31 Albums for 31 Years.” I’m close enough now to turning 32 that I’ll complete the sequence with “32 Books for 32 Years.” If I ever attempt to repeat this three-part project, it will not be until I turn forty. It took far more time and effort than it was probably worth. But I do love to champion the works that have been most formative for me as a viewer, listener, and reader, and in the process of writing this books list, I’ve enjoyed reminiscing about the contexts in which I was introduced to each of these texts.

* = Included on my 25 Books for 25 Years list (unpublished)

After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory (1981) — Alasdair MacIntyre

It’s probably not a good sign to the casual reader that my list starts off with this very academic tome that takes a sweeping survey of and makes a complex argument about the history and decline of moral philosophy in the West. It’s not light reading, to be sure, but it’s one of the most intellectually formative books I’ve read. It provided the theoretical basis for my Master’s thesis and got me interested in classical philosophy.

[I discussed this book with Ian Heisler and Tommy Gehrig on an episode of the In the Margin podcast in July 2018.]

The Bruised Reed* (1630) — Richard Sibbes

This is a deeply encouraging book for weak and struggling Christians (read: all Christians). It was reading this that inspired the title of my most recent and most personal album.

The Chronicles of Narnia* (1950–1956) — C. S. Lewis

A childhood staple. I grew up reading all seven books, listening to Focus on the Family’s excellent radio dramatizations, and watching both the BBC-produced television and Disney/Walden Media-produced film versions. My favorites among the seven are the bookends (The Magician’s Nephew and The Last Battle) and the unusual outlier The Horse and His Boy.

TIED: The Cost of Discipleship* (1937) and Life Together (1939) — Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Bonhoeffer’s exposition of the Gospel of Matthew in The Cost of Discipleship was one of the things God used to spur me to count the cost of my own discipleship in college—and consider it a liberating gain to pay. And certain passages from Life Together continue to shape how I think about Christian community.

Culture Making: Recovering Our Creative Calling (2008) — Andy Crouch

Crouch’s central thesis (“the only way to change culture is to create more of it”), his five diagnostic questions for cultural artifacts, the distinction between postures and gestures, and the chapter on power—among other things in this insightful book—have fundamentally (re)shaped how I think about creativity, change, and cultural engagement. Now I can never hear a commencement speaker or nonprofit leader talk about “changing the world” without thinking we need to start small and just go make something that’s good.

[I discussed this book with Ian Heisler on an episode of the In the Margin podcast in July 2018.]

The Death of Ivan Ilyich* (1886) — Leo Tolstoy

Tolstoy’s novella about a Russian bureaucrat who realizes, only at the end of a long terminal illness, that he has wasted his life living for respectability and material success is one of the most affecting works of fiction I’ve ever read. It’s a text I should return to every so often to remind myself of what Ecclesiastes says, that life is a vapor and it is good for the soul to spend time in the house of mourning. To live well, we must learn to die well. The Death of Ivan Ilyich also holds a special place in my heart because the first time I ever taught a classroom of college students, this was our text.

[I discussed this story with Ian Heisler on the last proper episode of the In the Margin podcast in June 2019.]

Don’t Waste Your Life* (2003) — John Piper

From 2012 to 2020, I listened to the audiobook version of Don’t Waste Your Life once a year. During those crucial, formative young-adult years, I found it helpful to keep returning to it to re-examine my ambitions and priorities. It’s an exercise I would recommend to others.

Ender’s Game* (1985) — Orson Scott Card

A great work of science-fiction with startling psychological insight. This was the last book we read in the dystopia-themed college literature class that inspired me to become an English major when my filmmaking ambitions fizzled out. My team, the “doubleplusunlosers” (a reference to 1984, the first book we read), led a class session on the second half of the novel.

The Freedom of Self-Forgetfulness: The Path to True Christian Joy (2012) — Timothy Keller

At less than 50 pages, this is more a sermon or pamphlet than a book, but there is more liberating, life-giving truth to be found in it than there is in most 500-page books. If you, like me, often feel overwhelmed or inadequate, or if you also keep catching yourself doing “good” or “important” things not because you really want to but to seek approval from others, then you should read this—and read it again and again. I don’t think I will ever not need its reminder that God’s verdict has already been made in my favor because I belong to Christ.

The Gospel for Real Life: Turn to the Liberating Power of the Cross … Every Day* (2002) — Jerry Bridges

Jerry Bridges had a great gift for explaining and applying gospel doctrines to the everyday challenges of Christians. And he did this in deceptively simple, straightforward prose. There is nothing flashy about his writing, but he was one of the best writers of devotional/theological non-fiction the church has had in the past few decades. When he passed away in 2016, I was moved with gratitude for his life as I considered how much his writing ministry had shaped how I relate to God according to the gospel.

A Gospel Primer for Christians: Learning to See the Glories of God’s Love* (2008) — Milton Vincent

This short book, an explanation of the truths and implications of the gospel that is written to be read as a devotional liturgy, was a gift from my friend Mikhal, who led a Bible study during my first semester of college and introduced me to his church, which became my own church family for the next eight and a half years. So not only is the book precious to me in itself, it is also a token of a dear friendship and a memento of a life-altering season of learning to walk in light of the gospel while in covenanting community with other believers, who just like me struggle daily to believe that God really is for them in Christ. I recommend spending a month with the book, reading one of the thirty-one “Reasons to Rehearse the Gospel Daily” each day and following that up each time with reading the “Gospel Narrative — Prose Version”—and then, coming back to the book a few months or a year later, and going through that routine again. It could change your life.

The Great Divorce* (1945) — C. S. Lewis

There are several works by Lewis that have changed how I think or live—The Abolition of Man, “Learning in War-Time,” Mere Christianity, “The Weight of Glory,” the chapter on friendship in The Four Loves, certain passages in The Chronicles of Narnia and The Screwtape Letters—but none so dramatically as The Great Divorce, particularly the scene with the artist. That section troubled me in high school, and when I revisited it in college God used it to convict me of my own idolatry of the works of my hands. That was one of the breakthroughs that led to my leaving filmmaking.

Harry Potter* (1997–2007) — J. K. Rowling

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, both in the books and the films, grew up alongside me. I’ve been slowly and sporadically re-reading the books the past three years, with two-and-a-half books left to go, and although Rowling’s prose style doesn’t hold a candle to that of the great novelists I would go on to read as an adult, I still enjoy her mystery plots and love spending time with these characters.

TIED: The Hobbit* (1937) and The Lord of the Rings* (1954–1955) — J. R. R. Tolkien

The Hobbit was an early favorite, and The Lord of the Rings was my most ambitious reading project to date when I read it at age 10.

Jayber Crow (2001) — Wendell Berry

Discovering the writings of Wendell Berry toward the end of my undergraduate studies was one of the reasons I decided to focus my graduate scholarship on American literature instead of British literature, and hopefully in the coming year I’ll be writing about his Port William short stories for a chapter of my dissertation. Speaking of the short stories, until this past year I would have chosen Fidelity: Five Stories as my Berry pick for this list of books, but then my third listen-through of the audiobook for Jayber Crow changed my mind. I have still read regrettably little of Berry’s abundant crop of fiction, essays, and poetry, but for now I will say that this novel is my favorite.

Just Do Something: A Liberating Approach to Finding God’s Will, or How to Make a Decision Without Dreams, Visions, Fleeces, Impressions, Open Doors, Random Bible Verses, Casting Lots, Liver Shivers, Writing in the Sky, Etc. (2014) — Kevin DeYoung

Just Do Something makes for a valuable complement and counterbalance to John Piper’s Don’t Waste Your Life. If that book supplies the big picture vision and inspires head-in-the-clouds ideals, this book supplies the advice for finding the puzzle pieces to fit that big picture and inspires boots-on-the-ground practice. I needed both when I was in my twenties, and still do.

Les Misérables* (1862) — Victor Hugo

One of the most exciting opportunities I had as a teen was to perform in my high school’s production of the musical version of Hugo’s epic novel. (People who know my mild-mannered persona would never guess which character I played.) Participating in the musical prompted me to read the source material—and I read the whole, unabridged thing, though it took me about a year to finish it. Reading literature rarely, if ever, brings me to the point of tears, but there is a moment toward the end that, over a decade later, I still remember for how deeply it moved me. That was the cathartic pay-off for seeing this ponderous tome through to the end.

My Ántonia (1918) — Willa Cather

I am almost at the point of saying this is my favorite novel. It’s a beautiful, bittersweet reflection on memory and nostalgia, on growing up and growing old, and the people and places that shape who we become.

On Writing Well: The Classic Guide to Writing Nonfiction* (1976) — William Zinsser

Outside of the coaching I received from a few high school and college instructors and, of course, lots and lots of practice over the years, reading this book has been the most significant contributor the gradual improvements in how I write. Zinsser’s watchwords “clarity, simplicity, brevity, and humanity” have become my own, and I’ve assigned at least parts of this book in almost all of my college composition classes.

Orthodoxy* (1908)— G. K. Chesterton

Cheap potshots at Calvinist caricatures aside, this is one of the best defenses of Christianity out there. The roundabout ways Chesterton arrives at his insights are often surprising, and his prose is superb. His prose is also frequently laughter-inducing, which is appropriate for a book that has helped me better appreciate the mirth of our Creator who, every morning, tells Creation to “Do it again! Do it again!”

[I discussed this book with Ian Heisler on an episode of the In the Margin podcast in February 2018.]

The Paul Street Boys* (1906) — Ferenc Molnár

When I was growing up in Hungary and attending public school, there was a standard classic novel that students would read in each grade level. In the fifth grade it was A Pál utcai fiuk, about a group of boys defending their after-school “grund”—an empty lot in the heart of Budapest—from a rival gang. The novel is sort of like The Sandlot … if The Sandlot weren’t about baseball, ended in tragedy, and was an allegory for (and critique of?) nationalism. Of all the works of Hungarian literature I encountered, this was the one that compelled me the most back then—largely because of the identification I felt with its protagonist, Nemecsek—and the only one I still remember vividly and fondly now.

The Portrait of a Lady* (1881) — Henry James

I became fascinated with the fiction of Henry James in my last semester of college when I realized that, like me, James was an American who had spent more years in Europe than in the United States, and that many of his stories are about the American expat experience. This realization came home to me while reading this novel, and I went on to write a term paper on how Isabel Archer’s defining decisions arise from her desire to belong somewhere as a meaningful contributor to the wellbeing of a particular people and place. As she puts it, “One must choose a corner and cultivate that.” That is still one of the pieces of writing I am most proud of, because it helped me articulate my own search for purpose among particular people in a particular place.

Republic (circa 375 BC) — Plato

Although I didn’t read Plato’s Republic until 2022, it may have been inevitable that it would become obsessed with it. I had been set up for this by reading Lewis’s The Abolition of Man a few times and having many, many conversations with Timothy Lawrence about the tripartite soul in Star Wars. Now I seem to find echoes of the tripartite soul, the allegory of the cave, and other scenes, ideas, and images from Plato’s dialogue almost everywhere I turn.

Reverberation: How God’s Word Brings Light, Freedom, and Action to His People* (2011) — Jonathan Leeman

Perhaps the most important development in my young adult years was that I became a member of a small Baptist church and deeply involved in its community life. Along the way I was introduced to a number of books on ecclesiology published by IX Marks, a ministry dedicated to building healthy churches. Some of these books I read on my own; others were discussed in church small groups. Reverberation, my favorite of the bunch, I met with a church member regularly to read out loud together and discuss. It’s my favorite IX Marks book because it winsomely conveys the conviction animating all the others: that it is the Word of God that works lasting change in individual hearts and in the congregation, and so we should put the Word front and center in our churches and follow its guidance for our church practices; spiritual growth will follow in time. I love this statement that Leeman quotes from Martin Luther: “I simply taught, preaches, wrote God’s Word: otherwise I did nothing. And then, while I slept or drank Wittenberg beer with my Philip of Amsdorf, the Word so greatly weakened the papcy that never a prince or emperor did such damage to it. I did nothing: the Word did it all.” (Reverberation has since been updated and reissued under a new title, Word-Centered Church.)

The Road* (2006) — Cormac McCarthy

Simply put, one of the profoundest and best-written novels I’ve ever read.

The Tale of Despereaux* (2003) — Kate DiCamillo

A beautifully written fable that is one example of why literature for children should be taken seriously as literature for everyone. It’s worth noting that I discovered this novel in high school, when I was outside its target audience.

The Temple* (1633) — George Herbert

George Herbert’s devotional poems were a revelation to me when Ms. Ooms, my high school British literature teacher, introduced them to my class. I was particularly intrigued when she quoted C. S. Lewis crediting Herbert as one of the influences that led to his conversion. In college, I got my own copy of the Penguin edition of Herbert’s Complete English Works, memorized “The Pulley” and “Easter Wings” for classes and wrote an essay analyzing the latter, and I created Mend My Rhyme, an album of musical adaptations of some of my favorite Herbert poems. I think that if I were to be placed on a desert island and could take only one book besides the Bible, it would be The Temple so I would finally have the time to linger with and ponder over every poem.

A Theology of Reading: The Hermeneutics of Love* (2001) — Alan Jacobs

This book has profoundly shaped my life in multiple ways. First, it was the first full book of academic literary criticism that I read—and, what is more, it is an excellent book of academic literary criticism written by a Christian, with explicitly theological concerns and priorities. With this book and later with his other writings, Jacobs gave me a template for pursuing literary scholarship and doing cultural criticism as a Christian. Second, the book both taught me and, crucially, modeled for me what it should look like to critique texts ethically. I talk and write a lot about the need to practice the virtues of attentiveness, appreciation, and charity when reading, watching, or listening, and about the need to resist what Paul Ricoeur called a “hermeneutic of suspicion.” All those categories originated with reading this book. Third, in teaching me to become a more charitable reader, the book has ultimately helped me become a more charitable person. I handle conflicts and controversies differently now than I might have if I had never read this book and been convicted by its arguments. Finally, I’m grateful to Jacobs for introducing me to the writings of Mikhail Bakhtin. His summary of Bakhtin’s views on attentiveness and interdependence has helped me seek the good in others more readily and confess my need for others’ help more willingly.

[I discussed this book with Ian Heisler on the very first episode of the In the Margin podcast in February 2018.]

“They Say / I Say”: The Moves That Matter in Academic Writing (2006) — Gerald Graff and Cathy Birkenstein

After On Writing Well, this has been the second most important resource for me as a writer. It’s also had a great influence on me as a thinker and communicator in general. I love the book’s vision of reading and writing as joining a conversation, and it’s insistence that joining that conversation successfully will require the cultivation of intellectual virtues. I have either assigned the whole book or selected chapters, or at least cited its main ideas, in every composition class I’ve taught.

Travels with Charley in Search of America (1962) — John Steinbeck

It certainly has its apparent flaws, and maybe it’s just that I’ve spent so much time with it in the past three years—and that’s because I’ve kept trying unsuccessfully to finish writing an article about it—that this somewhat-rambling memoir of an aging writer’s roadtrip with a French poodle has grown on me. Yet I keep discovering more of the book’s strengths, and some of its powerful images and perceptive reflections resurface regularly in my mind, which speaks to its lasting relevance 60 years later. I think I’ll be taking the occasional cross-country jaunt with Steinbeck and Charley for years to come.

The Wonderful Works of God: Instruction in the Christian Religion according to the Reformed Confession (1909) — Herman Bavinck

One of the things that kept me grounded during Covid-time was discussing Bavinck’s one-volume systematic theology almost every Saturday morning with my friend Anthony over the course of a year and a half. The best tribute I can give is that it wasn’t just good for my mind, providing instruction and intellectual exercise; more importantly, it was good for my soul, giving me greater confidence in the goodness and glory of God in a season of personal trial and social upheavel.

Why Place Matters: Geography, Identity, and Civic Life in Modern America (2014) — edited by Wilfred M. McClay and Ted V. McAllister

This multi-author collection of essays was given to me as a graduation gift by the Biola English Department. It was selected by one of my academic mentors, Dr. Haein Park, who first introduced me to “place theory.” The book, and the general idea conveyed in its title—that place matters for human flourishing—came into my life at just the right time, when the doors to old places that had defined me were closing, and figuring out where I belonged now (or wanted to belong next) had taken on a fresh sense of urgency. A lot of edited collections are uneven in quality, but not this one.

Honorable Mentions:

Every Moment Holy: Volume I (2019) — Douglas Kaine McKelvey
The Gospel at Work: How Working for King Jesus Gives Purpose and Meaning to Our Jobs (2013) — Sebastian Traeger and Greg Gilbert
The Phantom Tollbooth* (1961) — Norton Juster