Books like The Power of Ethics — picked by fans

I’ll admit it—Jodi Picoult gets me in the feels every single time. But this was the one that hooked me. I thought I knew what I’d do if faced with the choice to conceive a child to save another. Simple, right? You save your kid.

But this story unraveled all my assumptions. It made me pause and really consider the perspective of the child conceived for a purpose. Then it threw the whole family into court—and suddenly, I was questioning everything again. I found myself discovering new values I didn’t even know I held.

This book didn’t just move me—it changed me.

I was a young mom when I first read this book, and abortion, death with dignity, and orphaned children weren’t exactly topics I was seeking out. But Irving pulled me in with a story so human, so layered, I couldn’t look away.

What struck me most was how these enormous ethical conflicts—ones that still ignite fierce debate—were explored through a quiet, powerful relationship between a boy and his mentor. Watching that relationship evolve helped me understand that ethics aren’t fixed; they shift with time, context, and lived experience.

This book made me sit with discomfort, question certainty, and lean into compassion. And that’s why I still think about it.

I like to think I’m a good person—and this book reminded me that being one doesn’t make hard decisions any easier. What it did give me was permission to stop expecting clarity all the time. I appreciated how it showed that ethical choices aren’t always about right vs. wrong but sometimes right vs. right.

It helped me see that moral discomfort isn’t a failure—it’s a sign that I care. And that these decisions, while messy and imperfect, are survivable. That meant something to me. I didn’t walk away with all the answers, but I did walk away feeling braver.

I’ve never forgotten the Milgram experiment—but I’d never turned it inward until I read this book. It forced me to ask: Do I ever follow instructions just because they’re expected? That question unsettled me—in a good way.

This book helped me recognize the quiet moments where obedience can blur into complicity. And more importantly, it gave me tools to pause, reflect, and re-anchor my values. What stayed with me most was the reminder that ethical clarity doesn’t have to happen in isolation. Community and collaboration are essential—not going it alone is a value I didn’t realize I’d been craving.

In a world obsessed with schedules and statistics, I found myself drawn to this whimsical tale about a man who rolls a dice to make life's big decisions. It mirrored my own youthful spirit–a time when I lived very spontaneously, even writing novels as experiments in happenstance. It was a time of unexpected adventures, an antidote to dull routines.

Nowadays, over-planning and seriousness sometimes creep in. But thankfully, I have my children to remind me of the simple, healing joy of play–life doesn’t always have to be so meticulously planned.

I appreciate Christopolous’ book because he renders concrete the abstract realm of papal pronouncements by studying their reception by sixteenth-century Italian women and their confessors. He also unearths the complexity of attitudes to abortion that existed even within the church establishment in this period.

When Pope Sixtus issued a 1588 edict declaring all who aborted their pregnancies were automatically excommunicated and reserving the right to absolve them to the papacy alone, bishops across Italy’s Renaissance states objected. They argued that neither they nor their confessants could afford to travel to Rome to seek absolution; they sought mercy and forgiveness for the women to whom they ministered.

With this example, and in other parts of his book, Christopolous treats his subjects with sensitivity and precision.

Disinformation is a major issue today, so any nonfiction book that explores it in depth is one that I will surely dive into. I liked how, like any nonfiction book, it covers various aspects of it, such as social media and cognitive biases. There’s plenty of content to appreciate here.

Scully's tour de force investigates the state of humanity's relationship with animals through a Scriptural lens, exploring the multifaceted concept of "dominion" from the Biblical creation story as he takes on industrial farmers, trophy hunters, and others who gain fame and fortune on the backs of suffering nonhuman creatures.

I continue to be moved by the author's courage in using his voice as a well-known Republican speechwriter to dismantle the notion that compassion for animals is a "liberal" cause. His immersive research into the full range of manifestations of animal cruelty makes this one of the most shocking and compelling texts I have read on the subject of our treatment of other beings. 

This book turned me into an activist. Mary Daly walked me through a riveting cultural history of various forms of misogyny and talked me through how they are all connected to the patriarchy. She managed to link up Suttee, Chinese Foot Binding, Female Genital Mutilation/Cutting, Witch Burnings, and American obstetrical practices in one theme- the patriarchy acting out its misogyny, and deconstructed language, mythology, and Christianity in the process.

This book was the most important book I have ever read (and re-read) for sorting out thinking about why women are subjected to things, globally, and clearly indicated no culture is left out, and no culture is much better than any other on this count. Challenging is an understatement. A brilliant, complex book.

In this beautifully written study of Lincoln’s pre-presidential years, the political ethicist William Lee Miller, a warm and generous friend as well as a gifted scholar, argued that to “appraise Lincoln fairly” one “should not compare him to unattached abolitionists in Massachusetts or to anyone a century and a half later” but rather to “other engaged politicians in the Old Northwest in the 1850s,” who were far more skeptical about racial equality than Lincoln was.

Miller observed that Lincoln was consistently “cordial and welcoming in his treatment of individual African-Americans,” but that he was more than that. In Miller’s words, Lincoln’s interaction with those Blacks demonstrated “a racially inclusive egalitarianism.” Miller’s companion volume, President Lincoln: The Duty of a Statesman is an equally insightful examination of Lincoln’s presidential years.