Books like Jacques the Fatalist

Commonly interpreted as the finest account of the ‘gigantic criminality’ of the Nazi and Stalinist totalitarian regimes, Arendt’s book has for me a more immediately visceral significance. It has profound things to say about what she called a "terribly cruel" contradiction lurking within the modern democratic commitment to equality.

She pointed out that although democracy demands that we recognize others as our equals, certain groups, especially for reasons of their past sufferings, are prone to misuse and abuse their democratic freedoms. They do so by violently asserting their rights to live as a "sovereign people" at the expense of others whom they treat as "superfluous."

Would Arendt have been surprised by the way a "democratic" state born of the ashes of genocide is nowadays behaving? Would she have condoned its military efforts to destroy "in whole or in part" (Genocide Convention Article 2c) a "superfluous" people known as Palestinians? Almost… show more.

An exhilarating set of 676 aphorisms composed by the Austrian-British anti-philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein during the final months of his life, On Certainty questions the human will to cock-sure knowledge and mastery of the world. It’s an appeal for greater humility about what we claim to know, a warning against literal-mindedness and self-indulgent talk of "facts" and "objective reality." Facts are artifacts, and what counts as truth varies through time and space, he dared to say.

Wittgenstein went on to imagine a world where instead of saying ‘I know,’ we chose more humbly to say "I believe I know." This suggestion has an important flipside: gloomy convictions that we’re living in a doomed age headed for hell are the conjoined twin of optimistic know-all certainty. Pessimism is optimism turned upside down.

At once Jewish, French, and Christian, an ex-factory worker and field laborer, and political thinker whose short life was tragically ended by a hunger strike against Nazism, Simone Weil should today be remembered as the first thoughtful defender of our need for social and ecological roots.

Published posthumously, this extraordinary book is a withering protest against deracination: the forcible uprooting of peoples’ lives by unbridled capitalism, state socialism, nationalism, and war. Anticipating the recent celebration of the ideals of civil society, Weil stood against violence and every form of institutional standardization, bossing, and bullying. Felt obligations toward others, freedom from arbitrary power, and self-government based on citizens’ grounded consent are, for her, the mark of a good society.

One of those rare pieces of political writing that outlive their moment of birth to become classics, Havel’s grippingly written essay invites us to rethink the meaning of power. The radical idea is that the powerful are never as powerful as they, or we, might imagine.

Since within any institution or political order, the lines of organized power pass like low-current electricity through all its subjects, the downtrodden always have within themselves the power to short-circuit the system and to remedy their own powerlessness by refusing the power of rulers bent on running and ruining their everyday lives. 

This book is like nothing I’ve ever read.

Fraimow combines a con-job storyline, a space diaspora setting, a 1920s aesthetic, and an unexpected sapphic romance, and somehow, it all works. I found myself totally immersed in the fragile glitz of New Monte, a kind of Monaco-in-space clinging to a satellite, where debutantes wear breathers as fashion accessories and extravagance masks the threat of scarcity.

And I fell in love with the characters: Ruthi, the cool, competent protagonist with a gift for wisecracks and a tender underside, and Sol, the chivalrous, sharp-suited, hoverbike-riding love interest, who develops from an intriguing antagonist into a fully-rounded human being who is Ruthi’s perfect match.

Samantha Shannon’s world-building in this series is second to none. We find ourselves in a future alternate version of the world, where the government monitors the population for those people with extraordinary powers: clairvoyants. Paige, our main character, is one of these – and a bit of an antihero to boot (my favourite kind of hero!). You will love and be frustrated by her – and root for the simmering romance plot.

I was deeply moved by this poetic in-verse novel that compassionately addresses harsh realities like coping with mounting stress and being a Black teen in America.

I felt a strong connection to the characters, who were well-developed and authentic, particularly the protagonist grappling with agoraphobia. The conversations about mental health were a nuanced and vulnerable exploration of expectations imposed on Black people dealing with mental health challenges.

Another novel with a great opening line, "Sometimes in the night he dreamed about the dead," The Master is a subtle and complex portrayal of the Victorian writer Henry James.

It begins at a moment in his career when, although lauded as a novelist, he has failed as a dramatist. He retreats from public life, buying a house in Rye, Sussex, where he lives alone, haunted by people from his past and preoccupied with the details of the Oscar Wilde case.

I loved the exploration of creativity and the consequences of dedicating yourself to the creative life, especially in terms of the uncomfortable relationship between artistic integrity and public response. This is a virtuoso depiction of social and psychological repression, the pain of unacknowledged sexuality, and the cost of art.

I love ghost stories. But I am rather tired of old houses with creaky furniture. The strangest and most dangerous monsters lurk in the wilderness, in the remote and inaccessible corners of the natural world. And what is more remote and inaccessible than Kanchenjunga, the third-highest mountain in the world, located on the border between Nepal and India?

I have always admired those mountain climbers of the past who, with inadequate equipment and minimal knowledge, braved the unknown dangers of the heights. Paver’s beautifully written novel is a historical mystery and a ghost story at one, whose final twist is as vertiginous as the pinnacle of the sacred mountain. 

I was absolutely hooked by the theme of chaotic teenage girldom and hilariously relatable characters, but the thoughtful discussions centering on disability and identity were simply fabulous!

I greatly enjoyed the portrayal of universal feelings of youth—confusion, longing for adventure, and a quest for meaning. The protagonist, who is autistic and Palestinian, highlights representation the world desperately needs more of.