Fans pick 100 books like Art of the Korean Renaissance, 1400-1600

I adore this Newbery Medal book and read it with my students often. I especially love this edition because it includes the author’s Newbery Medal acceptance speech. A Single Shard features a plucky homeless orphan and the incorrigible master potter he yearns to emulate despite limitations placed on orphans by the remnants of Confucian philosophy and hierarchy. In addition to absorbing social customs of the Joseon era, readers will learn about the creation of celadon pottery that renowned Korean artisans have produced for centuries. A Single Shard is a beautiful novel I recommend for all ages.  

If you want to learn about a time or a culture, I think an excellent way to start is to consult a primary source. Since I was setting my novel in the 16th century during the Japanese invasion of Korea, I wanted to learn as much as I could firsthand. This diary, written by Korea’s most famous admiral, is rich with cultural information and personal anecdotes. Admiral Yi Sun-Shin is a legendary war hero—brilliant, brave, and scrappy—whom Koreans compare to Admiral Nelson of the British Royal Navy. As I wrote my novel, I was inspired by the words of a man who accomplished greatness despite political intrigue and palace traitors, and who defeated a Japanese fleet that outnumbered his forces by 333 ships to 13. 

Just as art offers invaluable insight into traditional culture, so does writing. Maybe I’m biased, but I think literature provides a more exact view than any other art form. I enjoy indulging myself in the mythology and poetry of this book, especially the poetry of the Joseon era. Early Korean Literature introduced me to the traditional poetic form called Sijo, which is both beautifully simple and incredibly complex. Some of my favorite examples of sijo McCann includes are from the famous kisaeng courtier Hwang Jin Yi. Her soulful poems so inspired me that I tried my hand at writing my own sijo—so much harder than it looks!—and included one in my novel. 

Because I have a mudang (Korean shaman) in my novel, I wanted to research everything I could about the shamanic tradition. Among the many sources I read, this one stands out as both informative and approachable. Shamanism in Korea is an ancient religious form, yet the custom is still honored in modern Korea, and people consult mudangs for business or personal advice even today. Laurel Kendall, a cultural anthropologist, takes readers on a journey into the lives of these remarkable women as they consult with ghosts, dispatch malign spirits, and offer advice and comfort to families. I am a believer in the power of women, especially women who navigate a patriarchal society,    

I didn’t even know that indentured servitude to the police could be a thing for young women. Sure, sure, we’re talking about another place, another era—1800s Korea—but the immediacy with which Hur tells this story puts it right there for me. 

She weaves exacting detail and information throughout this gripping mystery: If the premise didn’t already hook me, I’d be pulled in by the way this mystery rapidly turns personal for Seol, our heroine. 

Translated many times under different titles, this is my favorite edition, influencing my life planning journey. The text is an intermingling of Buddhist, Taoist, and Confucian thought.

Huanchu Daoren (who goes by various names) was a retired civil servant, as were many great philosophers and mystics in China. His book is written in brief paragraphs, each paragraph is a teaching of ethics or of spirit.

I carried a tiny version of the book that fit in the palm of my hand wherever I went for about ten years when I was going through the toughest time in my life just to give myself encouragement. Whenever I dipped into it, reading three or four sentences, I would feel as if there was something more profound than what I was going through. 

Buddhist philosophers try to construct rational defenses of those claims about the nature of ourselves and the world that are central to the Buddhist project. So clarity about how we obtain knowledge is important to Buddhist thinkers. In this book Stoltz presents some of the fruits of their efforts, the epistemological theories of the tradition. What I most like about this book is the clarity with which Stoltz connects Buddhist theorizing about knowledge with trends in more recent western epistemology, bringing out both important overlaps and significant discontinuities. 

I read Being Peace about 30 years ago. It’s the first of many books by this Zen Buddhist monk that I’ve read since then.

In one short volume, it captures the essence of what he teaches in his writings, retreats, and videos. Each short segment has layers of meaning and emotion that, over time, settle into the soul.

Despite years of therapy and meditation, my periods of inner peace were few and far between. This book planted a seed that led to more books, a new meditation practice, and eventually to my going to a large retreat, joining a community of Buddhist practitioners, and becoming a therapist myself.

I’ve passed on many of Thich Nhat Hanh’s wise insights and observations to my own clients.

This, the biography of a 14th-century Tibetan Buddhist master, might seem out of place for a list that is about modern-day adaptations of ancient philosophies. However, I wanted to include it as a reminder that while philosophical reform can be all well and good, sometimes the masters of yesteryear are those from whom we still have the most to learn.

I find this book magical: its lucid descriptions of the rich intellectual and spiritual tradition of 14th-century Tibetan culture, its monastic curriculum and debates, and the evident commitment to enlightenment among its many protagonists, all of these things have much to teach us moderns who might just have a tendency to get a little cute when we think that we know best.  

One of the first places I heard about Buddhism was through Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, and Gary Snyder. The joy of reading Kerouac has worn off a bit, but Snyder and Ginsberg have become lifetime companions and real sources of inspiration for me, not least in their engagement with Buddhism. This collection of poems, essays, letters, and other writings brings them together with a much wider range of writers – Diane di Prima and Philip Whalen, Anne Waldman and Kenneth Rexroth, William Burroughs and Lawrence Ferlinghetti – showing how the best minds of two generations heard, felt and responded to Buddhism in their many different ways. It’s a real treasure-house of words.