Some Books and Writers
- Jon Nelson
- May 17
- 14 min read
Updated: Jul 23
A friend of the blog asked which books have shaped me. It’s not an easy question. The first time I read with real focus was at the age of fifteen. For Christmas, I’d asked for everything James Joyce wrote, along with some critical studies, including the well-known Ellmann biography (now the subject of a biography itself), which our family dog chewed to pulp, leaving the last hundred pages soaked in slobber. That year, I read mostly Joyce, books about Joyce, and books Joyce read. The next year, maybe out of impatience with Joyce, my father gave me the full Princeton edition of Kierkegaard, and a new cycle began. What follows is a list of books and writers that have mattered to me, grouped loosely by theme.
The Desert Island Scenario
The Douay-Rheims parallel with the Latin Vulgate and the unrevised King James
On the Nature of Animals by Claudius Aelianus (not a boring page)
The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri (my lifetime book)
Summa Theologica and the Catena Aurea by Thomas Aquinas
Gargantua and Pantagruel by François Rabelais (Sir Thomas Urquhart translation)
The Anatomy of Melancholy by Robert Burton
The Collected Works of Jeremy Taylor (the "Shakespeare of the Divines")
The Oxford English Dictionary
Criticism I Return To
I’ve been fortunate in my education. It started at a traditional private high school, continued through an undergraduate program that blended science and language study, during which I worked as a geology TA and later conducted fieldwork in Spain, and culminated in graduate school, where I learned from folks ranging from the methodologically conservative to the radically experimental. Along the way, I had the chance to meet critics I admired and others working in areas I will never connect with. I came of age in the post-theory era, when it was still assumed that everyone should be familiar with literary theory. Even so, my critical tastes have always leaned toward the old-fashioned, which, I suppose, is only natural for someone drawn to the eighteenth century, a subfield long known for attracting traditionalists. In that sense, it’s a bit like the old joke about medievalists: there are medievalists, and then there are those Chaucerians.
Charles Whibley (1859–1930) – An English journalist and literary critic known for his conservative essays and contributions to Blackwood’s Magazine, most of which were anonymous. If he is remembered today, it’s for being T. S. Eliot’s mentor. But he was a tussler. To enjoy him, you need to immerse yourself in the politics of the day. Much of his best writing was done anonymously; in public, he was far more polite than he truly was.
Desmond MacCarthy (1877–1952) – A British literary critic and journalist, Desmond MacCarthy was prominent in the Bloomsbury Group, though not quite of it. More pitied now than read. Best known for his essays and editorial work, he’s largely forgotten. He rather perfectly embodies Cyril Connolly’s line: “Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first call promising.” To me, he represents the last true gasp of the traditional English man of letters. Most of his work remains uncollected, but it’s all well above the average. If I could write like anyone, it would be MacCarthy.
Ernst Robert Curtius (1886–1956) – A German literary scholar renowned for his work European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, which explored the continuity of classical traditions in medieval literature. It is still essential to read if you want to take the royal road to understanding that tradition, which is the tradition.
Hugh Kingsmill (1889–1949) – A British writer and journalist known for his biographies, essays, and satire. He was quite a piece of work, one of those self-professed hacks who frequently operated at a genius level and wasted it on ephemera. A brilliant anthologist. If he’s remembered, it’s likely for his biography of Charles Dickens, a favorite book of George Orwell’s. Kingsmill is always fun to argue with, and reading him feels like being sharpened. He was also one of the last great editors of Punch. Typical Kingsmill: "Writers are idolized not because they love their fellow men, which is never a recommendation and in extreme instances leads to crucifixion, but because their self-love is in tune with current fears and desires, and in giving it expression they are speaking for an inarticulate multitude."
F. L. Lucas (1894–1967) – An English literary critic and classicist, brilliant intelligence officer, terrifying polemicist, and towering snob, he’s best known for his book Style and his groundbreaking editorial work. There is no way mere humans can live up to Lucas’s standards, but it’s obvious to me that he has the correct ones.
Erich Auerbach (1892–1957) – A German philologist and literary critic, acclaimed for his seminal work Mimesis, who also wrote brilliantly about Dante. One can take or leave even the best literary criticism, but Mimesis changes everyone who reads it closely.
Northrop Frye (1912–1991) – A Canadian literary theorist and critic, Northrop Frye is best known for The Anatomy of Criticism, though his work is remarkably wide-ranging. I own his collected works and enjoy his writing style more than that of almost any other critic. It’s not flashy, but you always know where Frye stands. He once said that his prose was modeled on George Bernard Shaw’s, which makes sense. As much as I dislike Shaw the man, he perfected the classical style in English: prose with the force and consistency of a riveting gun that won’t stop. Shaw's Collected Prefaces are a case study in how every sentence can be wrong, but every word perfectly placed. Frye writes like that.
Guy Davenport (1927–2005) – An American writer, translator, and illustrator, best known for his essays and fiction that blend scholarship with storytelling. Davenport is someone who opens doors to places you did not know existed. I first read him in my early teens and have always been grateful that I came across his work.
A Few Books About Imagination
My interest in Lafferty doesn’t stem from a deep engagement with genre fiction, though I’ve always loved great fantasy, especially when it’s understood more broadly than the marketing category shaped by Lester Del Rey and others. The stuff in the fantasy and sf section of the bookstore does very little for me. When I turn to genre for escapism, it’s usually to mystery or crime procedurals..
Deutsche Sagen, 2 Volumes (1812–1815) by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm – Their early collections of German legends and folklore, distinct from the later fairy tales, rank among the greatest compilations ever assembled. It’s something of a crime that they’ve only been translated into English once. These two volumes are pure German joy, along with Johann Peter Hebel’s Treasure Chest and a copy of Simplicius Simplicissimus. The closest English writing that feels like this to me is Smollett’s translation of Gil Blas, which Lafferty apparently loved. It’s essential reading if you want to understand the Spain section of The Flame is Green, where it served as a major influence. (As an aside, Smollett’s version of Don Quixote is, in my overopinionated view, the only enjoyable one in English.)
Khaled: A Tale of Arabia (1891) by F. Marion Crawford – A "fantasy" novel set in an Arabian Nights-inspired world, exploring themes of love and transformation by the unjustly forgotten F. Marion Crawford. He picked a fight with Henry James over posterity, and he didn’t win. This is ironic because the cultured Americans that James loved to write about were far more like F. Marion Crawford than James himself was.
Marcel Schwob (1867–1905) – A French symbolist writer known for works like The Book of Monelle (1894) and Imaginary Lives (1896), blending historical fiction with philosophical themes. Fortunately, he is now in print. One of the secret masters. No Schwob, no Borges.
Lady into Fox (1922) by David Garnett – A novella about a woman who transforms into a fox. This is slick fantasy, but it has so much edge that it belongs to a fantasy tradition that doesn’t quite have the right name, one that overlaps with Lafferty in many ways. It shocks without being offensive. Perfection in what it does.
Devil’s Tor by David Lindsay – I’m in the minority in thinking this is his best novel. Not for everyone.
Tros of Samothrace (1934) by Talbot Mundy – Talbot Mundy is my favorite of the Argosy crowd, just edging out writers like Harold Lamb. Tros of Samothrace is a historical adventure set in ye olde ancient times, following the exploits of the titular Greek hero. Of all his books, King of the Khyber Rifles is probably the one I enjoy most. Mundy reads like a pulpy, left-leaning version of John Buchan. Regarding Buchan, I’d bet money Lafferty was very familiar with Prester John. Mundy was a theosophist and a nutjob, but he could tell a yarn.
Henry Treece (1911–1966) – A British author best known for his historical novels for young readers, particularly the Viking Trilogy—Viking's Dawn (1955), The Road to Miklagard (1957), and Viking's Sunset (1960). Much of his finest work is illustrated by the astonishing Charles Keeping. I’ve spent more time than I probably should thinking about this much-neglected writer. Like Lafferty, his imagination circles apocalyptic violence and the death of worlds. I hope someone writes a book about him.
Gormenghast (1946–1959) by Mervyn Peake – A gothic fantasy trilogy comprising Titus Groan (1946), Gormenghast (1950), and Titus Alone (1959), depicting the lives of the Groan family in a decaying castle. It’s something I return to every few years. I'm also a huge fan of Peake's art and nonsensical verse.
The Collected Jorkens by Lord Dunsany – A three-volume collection of short stories featuring Mr. Joseph Jorkens, a raconteur who tells fantastical tales in a London gentlemen's club setting. This is one of my favorite genres, and it was fun to see Lafferty pastiche and mock it in Space Chantey.
Philosophers Who Shape My Thinking
G. W. F. Hegel (1770–1831) – A German idealist philosopher, best known for Phenomenology of Spirit. Taking classes on German Idealism—especially Kant and Hegel—had a major influence on me, not least because they demanded real stamina and were taught by a leading scholar. While German Idealism doesn’t appeal to me personally, it’s been invaluable for understanding later philosophical developments. Hegelian ideas like the inverted world stick with me.
Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860) – A German philosopher of pessimism who saw the world as driven by irrational will and deeply influenced existentialism, psychoanalysis, and literature. He was probably the first philosopher I read seriously. It was a good choice because he writes well.
William James (1842–1910) – An American psychologist and philosopher, William James was a central figure in both pragmatism and functional psychology, and is widely known for his letters and major works such as The Varieties of Religious Experience. I return to James at least once a year, drawn by the warmth of his style and his approach to life. My favorite of his works will probably always be The Principles of Psychology, which has little to do with his pragmatism. His essay on the “PhD Octopus” was prophetic.
R. G. Collingwood (1889–1943) – An English philosopher and historian, R.G. Collingwood is best known for his work on the philosophy of history and art, and for his idealist view that we understand the past through imaginative re-enactment. His ideas shaped how I thought about historical understanding before I fully committed to philosophical realism. I first read him in my early twenties, at just the right time. When I think about history, he’s usually somewhere in the background, still shaping how I feel it, even if not how I understand the workings of historical imagination.
Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889–1951) – An Austrian-British philosopher who fundamentally reshaped analytic philosophy with works like Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus and Philosophical Investigations. I’ve never regretted the time I spent reading him. His deep appreciation for Tolstoy also made me a lifelong admirer.
Michael Oakeshott (1901–1990) – A British political philosopher who championed a skeptical, tradition-based approach to politics and critiqued rationalist models of governance. He was not, by most accounts, a particularly good man, and if you hear much about him outside conservative circles, it’s likely in connection with his treatment of Iris Murdoch and others. Still, his views on liberal education align almost exactly with mine. Like Richard McKeon, he’s someone I read not only for the sharp analytic insight but also because of a deep temperamental affinity.
Donald Davidson (1917–2003) – An American philosopher influential in the philosophy of language, action theory, and mind, Donald Davidson is best known for his theory of anomalous monism and his account of radical interpretation. When I know I’m speaking with someone fundamentally opposed to my deepest commitments, Davidson and the tradition that loosely follows from him are usually where I begin. Like Kripke’s idea of rigid designation, his work is useful for deflating overextended claims about metaphor and meaning, which are common in my professional circles. Much of what passes for theory in these contexts often feels to me like a thin, stylized version of counter-Enlightenment thinking, Vico or Herder repackaged in the vocabulary of whichever continental framework happens to be fashionable.
Reinhart Koselleck (1923–2006) – A German conceptual historian who pioneered the study of historical semantics and emphasized the temporal structures of political and social concepts. The value of his work is tied to German, which is a shame.
Niklas Luhmann (1927–1998) – A German sociologist and systems theorist, known for his highly abstract theory of social systems as self-referential, autonomous networks. If I didn’t believe in God, I would be tempted to see social systems the way Luhmann does. Although I disagree with many of his presuppositions, his histories of ideas like intimacy and the art world get much right, in my mind, and he is someone I often think about.
Raymond Geuss (b. 1946) – An American philosopher critical of liberal political theory, influential in political realism and the Frankfurt School tradition. He writes the smartest essays I have read that have a view on things just about as far from mine as is possible. One of my favorite thinkers for his intellectual acuity and brilliance with language. The best living philosopher who is also great writer.
Robert Brandom (b. 1950) – An American philosopher working in the tradition of analytic pragmatism, especially known for inferentialism and his interpretations of Hegel and Sellars. He is not someone anyone is going to read for his style, but he is the most interesting living philosopher to me outside the Catholic tradition. Without faith, I would probably be very convinced by his project; and I think he is correct about how normative commitments work in language, even if I disagree about why.
Collected Works That Are Important to Me
These are writers whose complete works I own and have read, mostly, if not entirely. They feel like good friends, like books sometimes do when you’ve lived with them long enough.
Samuel Butler (1612-1680)
Alexander Pope (1688–1744)
Samuel Johnson (1709–1784)
Laurence Sterne (1713–1768)
Henry Fielding (1707–1754)
Walter Savage Landor (1775–1864)
William Hazlitt (1778–1830)
Thomas De Quincey (1785–1859)
Thomas Babington Macaulay (1800–1859) – The real inventor of modern English prose.
Lytton Strachey (1880–1932)
William Faulkner (1897–1962) – My favorite American writer who is not R. A. Lafferty.
Private Obsessions
Death’s Jest-Book (1850) by Thomas Lovell Beddoes (1803–1849) – A gothic drama blending Renaissance tragedy with macabre humor, reflecting Beddoes's preoccupation with mortality and the supernatural. It is, finally, shifty and inscrutable.
William Barnes (1801–1886) – An English poet and philologist known for his poems in the Dorset dialect; he is a largely forgotten literary genius who captured sounds one can only here in his work. Something similar can be said about another favorite work, The Eneados, Gavin Douglas's 1513 Scots of Virgil's Latin Aeneid.
Mór Jókai (1825–1904) – Mór Jókai is something special. Told by the Death’s Head is probably the place to start. There was a brief fashion for translating him into English in the early 20th century. Unfortunately, it died out.
The Dawn in Britain (1906) by Charles Montagu Doughty (1843–1926) – An epic poem exploring the early history and mythology of Britain. This one would take a long time to describe. There is simply nothing like Doughty’s English. He decided that Shakespeare had ruined the English language and went from there.
Uncle Stephen (1931) by Forrest Reid (1875–1947) – The first in the Tom Barber trilogy. Reid was a friend of C. S. Lewis, who enjoyed his works. He was gay, something apparent in all his novels. Like Denton Welch, a brilliant stylist.
Caleb Catlum’s America (1936) by Vincent McHugh (1904–1983) – This one follows Caleb Catlum across America. Full of satire and folklore. I would pair it with Constance Rourke.
Neither Man Nor Dog (1946) by Gerald Kersh (1911–1968) – A collection of short stories, this one shows Kersh's versatility in genres ranging from crime to the supernatural. Kersh was Harlan Ellison’s favorite writer, and Ellison was right about how great the stories are. A favorite, right up there with the short stories of Robert Aickman.
Manservant and Maidservant (1947) by Ivy Compton-Burnett (1884–1969) – All of Ivy Compton-Burnett is like Lafferty: all of one piece. If you like her work, which is mainly dialogue-driven and about as wickedly funny and darkly comic as writing gets, you’re in luck because there is a lot of it. Jane Austen if Jane Austen had absolutely zero sentimentality.
I Capture the Castle (1948) by Dodie Smith (1896–1990) – A coming-of-age story narrated by a teenage girl living in a decaying English castle; a longtime favorite novel.
Mr. Weston's Good Wine (1927) by T. F. Powys (1875–1953) – An allegorical novel where Mr. Weston visits a village to offer his "good wine," with themes of grace and redemption. I enjoy very, very few writers as much as T. F. Powys. He is my British R. A. Lafferty, though he is not nearly as hopeful. As with Lafferty, his short stories are a good place to start.
An Armful of Warm Girl (1953) by W. M. Spackman (1905–1990) – Spackman sees straight through Americans.
The comic book work of Carl Barks (1901–2000) – Perfection in its category. If you think you’re too grown-up to enjoy Barks, you’re missing out on one of the great American storytellers.
Maurice Richardson (1907–1978) – Richardson is remembered mainly because of J. G. Ballard, but Ballard was wrong about him. His best work was written for newspapers and has never been collected. It is brilliant, biting, and forgotten. He also wrote a scathing memoir of his time at Harrow, which includes a sharp portrait of one of the fascinating literary eccentrics of the coming age, the endlessly self-pitying E. H. W. Meyerstein. Meyerstein is hard to find, but worth seeking out, especially for his novel Tom Tallion (1952) if you want something very different.
Yvor Winters (1900–1968) and the Stanford Poetry Tradition – Not the syllabus version of the Stanford poets that makes the rounds in writing programs. The other one—the one that includes Edgar Bowers and J. V. Cunningham. The one where form matters, epigram counts as thought, and style is a kind of ethics. My favorite American poets of the 20th century are John Crowe Ransom and James Merrill.
Favorite 20th-Century Poet
David Jones (1895–1974) – British poet, painter, and modernist. My favorite 20th-century poet. He isn't easy, but he is the real thing. The Sleeping Lord is the place to start, and having a crib's more than helpful. Video introduction.
Catholic Thinkers
Patriaric Fathers
Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274)
John Henry Newman (1801–1890)
Léon Bloy (1846–1917) –The original pilgrim of the absolute and perhaps the most difficult Christian you will ever encounter—one who is, unnervingly often, right. Pope Francis startled the Catholic world by quoting him. Flannery O’Connor once said she wished he would be the iceberg to her ship. You can be certain that, at some point, he has said something to offend every person capable of taking offense. “The only real sadness, the only real failure, the only great tragedy in life, is not to become a saint.”
G. K. Chesterton (1874–1936)
Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange (1877–1964)
Ronald Knox (1888–1957)
Romano Guardini (1885–1968)
Christopher Dawson (1889–1970)
Hans Urs von Balthasar (1905–1988) (With some serious reservations.)
Jean-Pierre Torrell
Servais Pinckaers
Thomas Joseph White (b. 1971) – My favorite living theologian.
Andrew Willard Jones
Reference Works I Lose Myself In
Etymologies by Isidore of Seville – An early medieval encyclopedia aiming to summarize all existing knowledge, often through etymological explanations.
Oxford English Dictionary and its essential companion
Dictionary of Untranslatables: A Philosophical Lexicon, edited by Barbara Cassin – Explores philosophical, literary, and political terms that resist easy translation.
Percy’s Anecdotes by Sholto and Reuben Percy – A collection of varied anecdotes. Lord Byron called it the only thing you needed to look educated in England.
The Classical Tradition – A comprehensive work on the reception and influence of Greco-Roman antiquity, edited by Anthony Grafton, Glenn W. Most, and Salvatore Settis. Full of mini-essays with information everyone should know.
A Dictionary of the Underworld by Eric Partridge (1949) – A lexicon cataloging British and American criminal slang, offering insights into the language of the underworld.
