Let me say what already should be obvious: 1,000 Books to Read Before You Die is neither comprehensive nor authoritative, even if a good number of the titles assembled here would be on most lists of essential reading. It is meant to be an invitation to a conversation – even a merry argument – about the books and authors that are missing as well as the books and authors included, because the question of what to read next is the best prelude to even more important ones, like who to be, and how to live. Such faith in reading's power, and the learning and imagination it nourishes, is something I've been lucky enough to take for granted as both fact and freedom; it's something I fear may be forgotten in the great amnesia of our in-the-moment newsfeeds and algorithmically defined identities, which hide from our view the complexity of feelings and ideas that books demand we quietly, and determinedly, engage.
Near the end of 2012 I made a bold goal for myself: read and review one hundred books per year for ten years, thereby releasing into the world one thousand examples of what I thought about something, available to those who do and do not know me, for as long as there's an Internet. Starting at the beginning of 2013, I read my thousand titles a little more quickly than anticipated, taking more like seven years to complete the project, and to memorialise the effort, I chose 1,000 Books to Read Before You Die: A Life-Changing List to mark the 1000th book. Turns out, this was an interesting choice to have made, forcing me to consider whether I had chosen the “right” books to have spent my time with; would I have somehow benefited more from following a list like James Mustich's “life-changing” one? And ultimately, I think the answer to that is no: I followed my own interests over the years, finding recommendations on Goodreads and elsewhere – such a lovely warren of rabbitholes and serendipitous stumblings – and even where the books I read were less than satisfying, I have enjoyed wording those opinions, too. And as for 1,000 Books to Read Before You Die itself, I really enjoyed Mustich's scholarship and enthusiasm regarding his own personal list, and while I appreciate that he writes that this list is “neither comprehensive nor authoritative”, I found quite a few titles that I will be adding to my own TBR list. Totally intriguing and worthwhile.
In his introduction, Mustich writes that his guiding principle while assembling his list was, What if I had a bookstore that could only hold 1,000 volumes, and I wanted to ensure it held not only books for all time but also books for the moment, books to be savored or devoured in a night? Declaring his metaphorical bookstore to be “a browser's paradise”, this quite long work (882 pages of very fine print; ach, the eye strain) might better suit a dipping in and out approach, but even reading straight through as I did, I never found the material to be dull or plodding. Mustich includes everything from children's books to philosophical treatises, and while I was interested to read each entry, his interests don't quite match my own; my personal list wouldn't be so heavy on celebrations of life in small English villages, definitive accounts of this and that war, old comic travelogues, odes to French food and Italian culture, the “ratiocination” brought to bear by great detectives on unsolvable murders, or biographies of American presidents. On the other hand, I was fascinated by the many books Mustich features on storytelling and art and how they shape (not only reflect) both culture and consciousness. In that vein, I hope to get to the following:
Study Is Hard Work by William H. Armstrong. Although schoolwork in this digital age may require new generations to pursue the spirit rather than the letter of Armstrong's directives, there is no doubt that the qualities of mind that his book fosters will be relevant to readers for as long as thought remains the currency of learning.
The Geography of the Imagination by Guy Davenport. Reeducating our eyes, metaphorically speaking, is Davenport's program precisely, as he wends his graceful way through the ideas of writers, thinkers, and artists in essays that are discursive, witty, learned, and bold, filled with enough ideas per page to keep one thinking for a week. (This) is the kind of book that makes us better readers, more curious, more perceptive, and more likely to discover connections ourselves.
Adam's Task by Vicki Hearne. Hearne's pages are alive with an exhilarating intellectual energy. They bring T. S. Elliot, Wittgenstein, and Dickens together with an Airedale named Salty, a “crazy” horse named Drummer Girl, and a bull terrier named Belle to enhance our understanding of morality, authority, responsibility, orthodoxy, dignity, courage, and, not least, language itself. (Read and reviewed here.)
Cultural Amnesia by Clive James. This massive, sprawling, quirky exploration of one man's humanistic vocation leaves us not only with a remarkable reading list, but with a thinking list as well. In its idiosyncratic way, it's a book you can't put down, and will never exhaust.
The Art of the Personal Essay, Edited by Phillip Lopate. Each piece is alive with the confidences and consolations of an ideal of imaginary friendship, the kind in which another's predilections and perceptions illuminate and expand upon our own.
The Story of My Teeth by Valeria Luiselli. The underlying subject of Luiselli's book is how value and meaning attach themselves to art and literature – in other words, how stories shape significance – and its overriding spirit is one of invention, exhilaration, and delight. (Read and reviewed here.)
Of Mustich's one thousand titles, I have read one hundred and sixty-three in their entirety, read portions of another ten or so (collected works and holy books), and read other works from some of his selected authors (from Agatha Christie and Albert Camus to Sinclair Lewis and Ali Smith). Some of his choices would not be on my own curated list of essential reading (The Da Vinci Code or Gone Girl) and some that I treasured in my youth (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance or On the Road), I suspect, might not be as meaningful to me today. But, this variety does reflect Mustich's aim to have in his imaginary bookstore something for everyone. There are many books here that I've always meant to read (The Second Sex or The Gormenghast Trilogy]), and to indulge myself further, I'll list a few more books I hope to get around to:
Possession by A. S. Byatt. (Read and reviewed here.)
Eyewitness to History, Edited by John Carey. (Read and reviewed here.)
Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes.
The Worst Journey in the World by Apsley Cherry-Garrard. (Read and reviewed here.)
Conversations With Glenn Gould by Jonathan Cott.
Brazilian Adventure by Peter Fleming.
The Spare Room by Helen Garner.
Forests by Robert Pogue Harrison.
Independent People by Halldór Laxness. (Read and reviewed here.)
Confessions of a Philosopher by Bryan Magee.
At Swim-Two-Birds by Flann O'Brien.
A Judgement in Stone by Ruth Rendell.
All Passion Spent by Vita Sackville-West. (Read and reviewed here.)
Landscape and Memory by Simon Schama.
The Man Who Loved Children by Christina Stead.
The Quest for Corvo by A. J. A. Symons. (Read and reviewed here.)
Hermit of Peking by Hugh Trevor-Roper. (Read and reviewed here.)
That ought to get me well on my way to my next thousand reads.
