How many books did you read this year?

While I feel that a Top 10 books list is somewhat wanting when taken from a field of only 22, there are reads here that should definitely be included on your to-read list.

10. Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro

I read Never Let Me Go as a result of 101books.net. It’s an interesting story from the perspective of a clone built solely for organ donations, but I didn’t see how or why it was included on Time‘s Top 100 list. Did I miss the deeper meaning? Or was I just put off by the writing style? I’m still not sure.

9. Quitter, Jon Acuff

Quitter arrived at an interesting point in my life. I had already done what Acuff says not to do—namely, quit your day job to pursue your dream job without having another job lined up, though I’d argue that circumstances dictated my particular route, and I didn’t quit to pursue my dream job, although that’s what eventually happened.

Fortunately, just as my savings were depleted, I was given the opportunity to write for a law firm. A good friend met Jon at a book signing and picked up the book for me (and had it signed). A few months later I actually landed my dream job and in some strange way, I’d been doing what Acuff recommends for years, i.e. working toward that goal by pursuing writing (or art or music or whatever it is that makes you think, “If only someone would pay me to do this, then I’d never work again.”) during my non-work time. If you’re in that spot where you’ve spent too much time doing things you only tolerate, Quitter may be the book to help you realistically dream about a better tomorrow.

8. Decision Points, George W. Bush

I wouldn’t call myself a particularly political person, but I had to read about some of the transformative world events that occurred over the last decade, especially from the vantage point of one who was in the absolute middle of it all. Decision Points was fascinating and caused my respect for any sitting President to increase all the more.

7. The Hunger Games / Catching Fire, Suzanne Collins

From time to time, I’m a latecomer to the newest craze, a slow runner trying to catch up to an overflowing bandwagon. I didn’t read the Harry Potter series until right before the last book was released. Both then and now, I’m glad to have hopped aboard, especially with the imminent release of the movies. The books are easy to read, engrossing enough, and have just the right amount of Ender’s Game kids-as-killers to be subversively enticing.

6. Sanctuary of the Soul: Journey into Meditative Prayer, Richard Foster

Ever since Celebration of Discipline, I’ve been a fan of Richard Foster’s engaging style and practical thoughts on spirituality. Sanctuary delves into the practice of meditative prayer, something I need to learn to incorporate into my own life instead of just replying @God with 140-character prayers. I reviewed Sanctuary of the Soul for FaithVillage.

5. Jesus Land: A Memoir, Julia Scheeres

I read Jesus Land much earlier this year, but I recall it being a sad story of a sister who’s white and her adopted brother who’s black who both endured incredible hardship at a “Christian” camp in the Dominican Republic. It’s a shocking reminder of what happens when the words of Christ are terribly transformed into strict legalism.

4. King’s Cross: The Story of the World in the Life of Jesus, Tim Keller

Until King’s Cross, I had only heard of Dr. Keller through quotes and other writers. Now I know why people respect him and his works. King’s Cross looks at the gospel of Mark and uses clear, everyday language to elucidate much of what happened in this action-packed gospel. Dr. Keller is often touted as a present-day C.S. Lewis, and from reading King’s Cross I can see why. I’m anxious to consume more.

3. Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy, Eric Metaxes

Though I had attempted to read The Cost of Discipleship as a teenager, I knew little of Bonhoeffer the man. Now I feel as if I know too much. As a book of 624 pages, it’s not a quick read. Delving into his life in Germany, America, and throughout Europe leading up to and including World War II, Bonhoeffer is a close study of the man whose beliefs would eventually lead him to become part of the plot to kill Hitler.

Knowing that he would die as a result of his efforts makes the last few chapters of the book a rather breathtaking read as you wait to see how it all ends. But what stands out about Bonhoeffer the man is his unswerving allegiance to Christ and his ability to live out the Christian life under incredibly difficult circumstances. (Our Christian Living Editor at FaithVillage talked to Eric Metexas about his book)

2. Jesus, My Father, The CIA, and Me: A Memoir. . . of Sorts, Ian Morgan Cron

What’s not to love about an author who, when meeting him for the first time and saying “I plan to get your book soon,” pulls out a copy from his bag, signs it, then hands it to you free of charge? I was predisposed to like Jesus, My Father simply due to that generous exchange, but even had I not met Ian, I would have liked the book. Equally funny as it is touching, Cron honestly recounts growing up with an alcoholic father who just so happened to also work for the CIA at times. The book is well worth your time and your dollars. Here’s my review of Jesus, My Father, the CIA, and Me on Amazon. Here’s our three-part FaithVillage interview with Ian too.

1. Steve Jobs, Walter Isaacson

Currently, Steve Jobs’ biography is the #1 selling book on Amazon. This is not surprising. Steve Jobs was a much lauded technological luminary who passed from this world far too soon. I found this biography enthralling, especially as it recounted the early, near mythological days when Steve and Woz founded Apple in their garage.

While Isaacson rarely delves into the reasons Jobs was who he became (controlling, easily angered, brilliant), Jobs’ early childhood abandonment by his parents may have cast an inescapable shadow over his whole life. It’s fascinating to think that, had his parents never put him up for adoption, we may never have had iPods, iPhones, iPads, iTunes, MacBooks, or Pixar. (Lastly, I wrote an article about Steve Jobs’ resignation that was sadly prescient in some ways).

What are your top books for the year?

CC Image • Emborg on Flickr

In high school, I was one of those kids.

Nerd. Dweeb. Dork. Maybe the most appropriate descriptive is “bookish.” I loved to read, and for some strange reason after I entered High School, I got onto a classics kick. I devoured Dickens. I dared Dumas and Dostoevsky to entertain me. The most egregious of my prideful reading sins was battling Tolstoy. I read War and Peace in High School.

I didn’t go on many dates that year. And by “many” I mean “none.”

If you ask me now what I know about War and Peace, I’ll tell you that war happens, and peace happens, but that’s likely not what the book is about. There is no reason for a 15-year-old to read War and Peace. The only reason I ever read it is because it was the longest book I knew existed and I wanted to be able to say that I read an incredibly long book, regardless of the fact that I likely only understood ten percent of it.

Which leads me back to Bruce’s post about the long novel. He links to an article by Mark O’Connell entitled The Stockholm Syndrome Theory of Long Novels which proposes that readers, like captives, can became attached to their kidnapper if even the smallest amount of goodwill is shown to them at any time during their captivity. It’s a great read.

A paragraph that Bruce pulls from that piece resonated with me (emphasis mine):

“You finish the last page of a book like [Pynchon's] Gravity’s Rainbow and—even if you’ve spent much of it in a state of bewilderment or frustration or irritation—you think to yourself, ‘that was monumental.’ But it strikes me that this sense of monumentality, this gratified speechlessness that we tend to feel at such moments of closure and valediction, has at least as much to do with our own sense of achievement in having read the thing as it does with a sense of the author’s achievement in having written it. When you read the kind of novel that promises to increase the strength of your upper-body as much as the height of your brow—a Ulysses or a Brothers Karamazov or a Gravity’s Rainbow—there’s an awe about the scale of the work which, rightly, informs your response to it but which, more problematically, is often difficult to separate from an awe at the fact of your own surmounting of it.“

That’s why I read War and Peace. In some strange way, it was an achievement that made a socially awkward and quiet kid feel confident in himself.

Allow me to humblebrag for a moment. (You’ll have an opportunity as well). Since then, I’ve read a number of long books that have held me captive:

• The Count of Monte Cristo: One of my favorite books of all time
• The Bible: Also one of my favorite books of all time
• The Lord of the Rings Trilogy: Series count for this list
• The Harry Potter Series
• The Faerie Queen: This is what happens when you become an English Major
• Steve Jobs
• Bonhoeffer: This is the book likely responsible for this post. It took me months to finish, but I recently finished it.
• David Copperfield: Yep. Read it in H.S.
• The Book of Basketball: One man’s fascinating look at the top NBA players of all time
• Crime and Punishment
• Moby Dick
• East of Eden

Since reading Bruce’s blog and seeing that Infinite Jest was on the list, a book which I’ve started before but didn’t even get past 100 pages, I’m encouraged to give it another try.

Here’s your chance to humblebrag: What long novels have held you captive?

CC Image • DonkeyHotey on Flickr

As my girlfriend and I round the corner of her apartment complex, her energetic Boston Terrier in tow, another evening walker passes us by.

“There’s a young girl sitting over there, crying,” he says. “Her mom was supposed to pick her up, but she hasn’t come yet. You should say something nice to her.”

This random statement from an older man that neither of us knew causes us to exchange quizzical glances. With slow steps, made more unsure by the sure-to-be awkward situation, we approach the young girl. The evidence of her sadness, mixed with a tinge of embarrassment, shows in the tear stains beneath her timid eyes.

We walk right by her at first. We had dinner to get to after all. But we don’t venture much further than a few steps when both of us turn around, aware of a child, really, in need of help.

“What time were you supposed to be picked up?” “6:30,” she says quietly. I look at my phone. It’s 7:30. ”Do you want to call someone?” She nods. I hand her my phone. She dials two different numbers.

No answer.

“We’ll come back and check on you in a bit, to make sure that someone’s picked you up.” Another nod.

We go back inside and start dinner. In five minutes, we head back outside, hoping that we won’t see the girl because her mom has finally arrived. We peek around the corner and—voila—she’s gone. “Maybe she just hid because she’s embarrassed,” my intuitively smart girlfriend says, so we walk a bit further down. Sure enough, the girl reappears. We approach and she doesn’t see us.

I didn’t get her name the first time. (It’s this thing I do when I’m hoping a chance encounter doesn’t require anything of me). I ask now, “What’s your name?”

Barely audible, she says “Desiree.”

“Do you want to try to call again?” She nods. No answer. “Is your mom usually on time?” “Yes.” I stare at the ground. It’s almost dark. I’m at a loss as to how to help. Then, a white car pulls up and Desiree starts to walk toward it. I assume it’s her mom, but I don’t go to the car. I smile and wave, and my girlfriend and I walk back to her apartment, glad that the issue has resolved itself.

But the entire event unsettles me.

In hindsight, this event is a non-event. A child had to wait a little over an hour for her mother to pick her up. I still remember the day I was somehow forgotten at basketball practice and chose to walk four miles home. It was unsettling for me then (and I wasn’t as young as Desiree), but it wasn’t traumatic. Then again, we all become like children when we’re forgotten. We become acutely aware of our dependence on others, on our need for someone else to do for us what we can’t do for ourselves. When that dependence is severed, the present consequences can be earth-shattering.

I have no idea what Desiree thought, whether her mom had been in an accident, or if this was a recurring episode, or if her mom had legitimate reasons for being late. I know nothing of the story beyond what I’ve already conveyed. All I know is that this child was sad, embarrassed, tired, and likely hungry. I hoped that this was only a rare occurrence.

Though the circumstances themselves were mildly depressing, what unsettled me about this experience was my reaction, or lack thereof to be more precise.

I am afraid to put myself into other people’s stories. 

There are days when I wonder what I would do if I ever came across a severe traffic accident. Would I stop? Would I argue with myself that I’d be useless in helping someone who’s physically suffering because I wouldn’t know how to assuage their present pain? Would I let that be my way out of helping people? Sadly, I do this all the time.

High intentions, low completions.

The court of my mind is filled with the rhetorical flourishes of a jaded, high-dollar defense attorney. Whatever good that my heart wants to accomplish, my mind voices a hundred rebuttals. My loudest mental attorney most often complains that I don’t know what I’ll be getting myself into, that, at some deep level, an honest interaction with another human being, especially one in need, will cost me something that I don’t want to give up, whether that’s time, pride, money, or comfort. (Sacrifice always costs something—that’s why so few do it).

In other words, I have a fair grasp of my own story. Even though the book of my life has definitely not gone as I would have written it, I’ve come alive to the fact that I was never the author of it in the first place. In this place of freedom from worry about my own story—knowing that it’s in better hands than mine, but being able to see the major plot points coming together for a reason—I worry that my story will be irrevocably altered by putting myself into other people’s stories because I can’t control what happens when wildly unknown variables are introduced into the equation.

For instance, I was afraid that the people who Desiree called (and who didn’t answer) would later call me back, angered by a call from a random number, or upset by someone sticking their nose into other people’s business. (I did, in fact, get a call, but there was no anger, just curiosity as to who called). I was afraid that her mother would be angered, knowing that someone else knew she was late to pick up her crying child.

I was afraid that we would have had to sit with Desiree for more than 30 minutes, not because she was a scary kid, but because I selfishly believed I had better things to do. In other words, I was afraid she was going to ruin my plans, this poor girl whose plans had already been much more ruined than my could hope to be.

Really, this is the crux of the matter: I don’t want to place myself into other people’s stories because I’m far too busy trying to be the hero of my own. When I view my life as if I’m the protagonist, every secondary and tertiary characters’ needs become unnecessary, unless those needs serve to move my own story along in some way.

But what if, at least for a day, I was the tertiary character in Desiree’s story?
What if I was the throwaway character, prodded by the utterances of a stranger to reach out to a hurting child for her sake, not mine?
What if the course of my life was altered for the good by this momentary, chance meeting with Desiree?
What if I was the one without a name in the book of her life?

Would this be enough?

Jones, the titular Noticer, is an itinerant philosopher, counselor, and friend, who seemingly does not age. Through multiple “chance” meetings with people in various walks (and troubles) of life, Jones (and author Andy Andrews) doles out sage advice that always comes back to regaining a greater perspective.

While the advice is worthwhile, I find it difficult to believe that the characters in the book would change their lives so drastically based on reason alone, as if one encounter with a wise man who finally speaks truth into their lives will change years of bad habits. I believe it can happen; I just don’t believe it happens all that often. However, should someone in a like situation to those found in the book read The Noticer, they might in fact be motivated to change. Or at least think about changing. Which is forward progress, even if it’s barely… noticeable.

Then again, the book even makes mention of the difference between intention and action, citing intention without action as being the same as inaction. So do you intend to change, or will your actions show your change? That’s the open question at the end of the book: Did those who meet Jones actually change?

As for my internet outage, I realized I’m more fortunate to have even a non-functioning internet connection than probably four-fifths of the planet.

Greater perspective indeed.

- posted as part of the Thomas Nelson Book Review Blogging Team

www.ajjacobs.com

[P.S. A few weeks after this post, I found out a friend of mine was actually quoted in this book from an article he'd posted online years ago regarding Alcohol and the Bible.]