100 Books Like The Poet as Believer

I was very interested to read Sylvia Gorelick's translation of Mallarmé's The Book. Since I've spent years studying unfinished works and dream projects, this translation of Mallarmé's mysterious masterwork really spoke to me. Gorelick manages to capture not just Mallarmé's words but the haunting sense of an artist struggling with an impossible project—one that consumed him for decades.

What I particularly appreciate is how she makes Mallarmé's complex ideas about poetry and the sacred accessible without simplifying them. Reading her translation helped me better understand why this unfinished work became such a significant influence on modern literature. For anyone interested in how artists grapple with their most ambitious visions, this book is essential reading.

I found White's book deeply resonant with my own biographical work on Genet. While my book Genet: la vie écrite focused on his artistic trajectory, White masterfully illuminates the personal dimensions of this complex figure's life.

What particularly moved me was how White's intimate understanding of both French culture and queer experience complements my analysis of Genet's theatrical works. His biography provides rich psychological insights that deepen and enrich my own research into Genet's creative process.

For anyone who, like me, has spent years studying the intersection of Genet's life and art, White's work is an indispensable companion that reveals new layers of understanding about this enigmatic literary genius.

I found Hollis Alpert's book refreshing because it cuts through all the myths about Fellini and shows us the real person. After watching Fellini's films for years, I was glad to finally read a biography that explains how he developed his unique style.

The book helped me understand his evolution from cartoonist to filmmaker and showed me how his early experiences influenced his later work. While other biographers sometimes get caught up in Fellini's larger-than-life personality, Alpert stays focused on helping us understand the director's creative process. This is a straightforward, honest look at one of cinema's most interesting figures.

I was interested by Stanley Kubrick's book because it shows just how deeply Kubrick researched and planned his films. As someone who studies unfinished film projects, I was fascinated to see all the detailed work that went into this movie that was never made—from the costume designs to the battle plans to Kubrick's handwritten notes.

The book lets us peek into Kubrick's creative process through the thousands of photos, documents and research materials he gathered. What makes this book special is that it doesn't just tell us about the film that could have been—it helps us understand how Kubrick's mind worked when developing his projects. This is a rare look at the early stages of what might have been his greatest film.

I had read another of Glenn Kleier’s books, The Knowledge of Good & Evil, which is a Dante-like trip into Hell – so, I was very excited when he released The Prophet of Queens, a book that plays in practically all of my ballparks: quantum physics, time anomalies, autocratic religious practices, and the sheer, almost lustful need to pursue a goal even though the consequences may shatter reality.

With the clever use of fairly mundane, workaday characters, Glenn Kleier throws open the doors to possibility and the repercussions of raging ambition.

I love this book – and, as with his others, is well-written.

Mario Bunge’s study is notable for the variety of its analyses of various diverse phenomena in which emergence is evident: in general systems theory, for example, as well as in language systems, social analysis, theories of holism, social systems, biology, epistemology, and biomedical sciences.

Bunge singles out a sense of “convergence” that highlights the integration of multiple sub-processes. It’s not just the specific relation between distinct parts that is a hallmark of emergence, but the integrated relation among these sub-processes. This book certainly broadened my perspective of the whole subject area.

Dante Alighieri’s Inferno, by many accounts, is the most accurate and true portrayal of Hell. It has been long speculated whether or not Dante, by means of dreaming or some other metaphysical affair, was truly able to visit Hell—the ways in which he describes the deadly sins of human life proves to be both very emotional and very comprehendible, in a way that can push one to both care more for the way that they choose to live, care more for the ways that they treat others, as well as understand the burdens of life and thus realize that it could, in some way, be worse off than it presently seems. 

This selection of essays focuses on the important concept of “downward causation” (a designation first employed by Donald T. Campbell), that is, the idea that, in addition to the “upward” causal influence of parts on wholes, which is the focus of stereotypical (bottom-up) reductionist views, wholes also exercise top-down emergent causal influences on their parts.

This has been a vital recurring issue and an identifying principle in most theories of emergence. Campbell and Mark H. Bickhard provide the culminating chapter in this book.

I’m a physician, so it’s probably not surprising that a book by a physician about an alien physician might hit my list of meaningful space operas.

What is surprising is Star Surgeon’s double-twist—the patients aren’t who we think they are, and the secret to getting Earth into the prestigious Galactic Confederation isn’t what we think it is—both of which actually had huge real-world thematic implications.

On face level, it’s a medical thriller: the protag’s the first alien to graduate from human medical school, and he’s got to prove himself by curing an epidemic on a remote planet without arousing the ire of his human teachers. (I felt like this in residency.) But on a metaphysical level, Star Surgeon is a quiet manifesto dissecting the origins of racism—and the very biology of sentience itself. 

I found this book by accident and was very glad I came across it while pottering around the shelves of my favourite second-hand bookshop.
On first appearances, the book looks like a missing-person-stroke-body-turning-up-many-years-later-in-mysterious-circumstances kind of story, but it goes much further into a world of conspiracy theories, malign medical technologies, and seemingly unfathomable crimes.
I loved the sheer pace of the book – very hard to put down – and how Iain Edward Henn set about weaving the characters, settings, and indeed reader into a possible (probable) new scientific paradigm.

Great stuff.