80 Books Like 2000 Years of Disbelief

Apart from the existential fiction that I love (Dostoevsky, Kafka, Camus, etc.), this is one of my favorite books of all time. The editor, Walter Truett Anderson, gathered together the best collection ever of essays on the topics of postmodernism, deconstruction (and reconstruction), the wobbly nature of truth in the twentieth century (and now, the twenty-first century), and how we might go about reconstructing the truth now that we have so beautifully and mercilessly deconstructed it.

Authors included are Umberto Eco, Michel Foucault, Jean Baudrillard, Richard Rorty, Bell Hooks, and a ton of other great thinkers on the subject of our postmodern malaise and the difficulties of belief … in anything. If you don’t know this book, you will really, really want to get to know it.

When I was growing up, Paris was the world center for thinkers on existentialism and postmodernism, my two favorite subjects. I knew the names of Albert Camus, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Simone de Beauvoir better than the names of my classmates.

John Sturrock has written the best essays ever on the thinkers of that pivotal period in intellectual thought, among them, in addition to Camus and Sartre, Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, Roland Barthes, and Jacques Lacan. If you want a smart, eloquent, and accessible introduction to the postmodern thought revolution about the truth—how “true” lost its meaning and how it might mean something again—this is your book!  

One of the top freethinkers of the early 1900s, Chapman Cohen, is all but lost in the mists of history and obscurity. But he is one of my favorite sharp-eyed debunkers of humbug, without which debunking the truth stands no chance.

Cohen wrote on a wide variety of subjects, from how tyrants target scientists to the contemporary witch trials of his times to the connection between religious zealotry and a preoccupation with other people’s sexual practices to the differences between English and French atheism.

If you’ve read smart essays by the likes of Bertrand Russell and George Orwell, you will enjoy the essays of Chapman Cohen, a thinker you likely have never heard of—but might love to get to know.

Sufiism predates Islam and contains some of the most interesting thinking from the ancient world to stand alongside the ancient Greeks and Romans. All three traditions, the Greek, the Roman, and the Sufi, did a tremendous job of deconstructing humbug and turning a clear eye on the truth.

Teaching tales from the Sufi tradition have been passed down to us, but we no longer know where they came from—for instance, did you know that the famous tale of the blind men and the elephant is a Sufi teaching tale? Idries Shah has gathered together a wonderful collection of these teaching tales with names like The Man Who Was Aware of Death, The Man with the Inexplicable Life, and Wisdom for Sale. If you married the teaching tale, the fairy tale, and existential thought, this is what you would get. I love these tales! 

I once played Henry Higgins' mother in a local theatrical production of My Fair Lady. I delighted in the music and in portraying (in a white wig and wrinkled make-up) the stern, wise Mrs. Higgins, even as I also wondered whether Higgins and Pickering were perhaps secretly a couple and if Eliza was asexual.

This made me want to read the play on which My Fair Lady is based, George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion. I did not get answers to my somewhat whimsical questions about sexuality, but I did see in even greater relief the turning of women into objects that ambitious, selfish men may do.

With a title good enough to inspire the naming of a famous British band, Welsh poet Davies’ 1908 love letter to tramps and hobos drew directly from his own experience as a drifter in the US in the late nineteenth century.

Davies captures the life of jumping freight trains, joining the gold rush, and paying “boodle” to stay in the relative comfort of American jails. I love this book because it depicts the romanticism of the wandering mendicant without painting over the cracks of the hardships of roofless life (including parting company with one of his legs under a train).

There also are moments of humor (e.g., learning how to sleep standing up!) and the fascinating account of struggling to get his writing published on his return from his travels. It’s a classic.

Pilots in World War One were a breed apart. They had embarked on the creation of an entirely new dimension of warfare and, in many aspects, leaped off the earth like gods while the Tommies, poilus and doughboys battled in the trenches and mud below. But these warriors were doing so in the most harrowing conditions, in flimsy wood and canvas biplanes, risking hypoxia and hypothermia, anti-aircraft fire, and deadly dogfights, and, on the Allies’ side, being shot down without parachutes. Little wonder that fighter pilots lived on average for less than three weeks at the front. Cecil Lewis describes the exultation and the brutality of this war in sharply etched, often lyrical prose. The extraordinary thing is how he loved the air war: “To be alone, to have your life in your own hands, to use your own skill, single-handed, against the enemy. It was like the lists of… show more.

The Trio captures the essence of friendship and love and the coexisting yet diametrically opposed social anxieties that can accompany them. This is why I love this book–love is presented as complex, challenging, and fraught with more that is unsaid than actually expressed.

I also love this book because it expresses love as a real feeling, something that is experienced but not always easy to explain (or get along with). The characters are relatable, honest, and flawed, yet likable. The book is also set in beautiful locations–Stockholm, Paris, London–which makes it beautiful to read.

Like any art form, fashion has its share of tortured geniuses. Perhaps none combined genius and torture with as much panache as Charles James, who dressed celebrities and socialites only to die in poverty. Vogue editor Bettina Ballard remembered that “he was constantly cutting and perfecting” his toiles, “which he turned, very occasionally, into actual dresses.” A personality as complex and demanding as his sculptural evening gowns, James knew everybody and got along with nobody—and you’ll understand why after reading Klein’s biography, which draws on recently discovered, unfiltered tapes James made for a planned autobiography that, like so many of his creations, he never he finished.

This book is essentially a book of quotes from famous musicians, composers, and conductors. I find this book especially inspiring because of the trivial nature of some of the quotes. Sometimes it is just refreshing to read Beethoven complaining about his taxes, or Mozart trying to get paid after a gig. I use this book in my university classes constantly.