Fans pick 76 books like Confessions

I read this book as part of my Search Inside Yourself (SIY) facilitator training when I worked at Google and later taught. I love this book because it’s full of science-based research on the power of mindfulness. I personally love all of Rick’s books and hosted him on my podcast, The Pausecast podcast (Ep. 17), where he blends his psychology and mindfulness expertise into easy and relatable concepts.

This book stuck out to me because Hanson shares how great teachers like Jesus, Moses, Mohammed, Gandhi, and the Buddha all had brains built essentially like anyone else's, yet they were able to harness their thoughts and shape their patterns of thinking in ways that changed history. I was inspired by their stories and also saw how I could model my own thinking in ways that better serve me and the world. 

Ah, it's still the best book on awakening! Despite its sublime title, this book is actually mostly about the ecstasy, with its multiple instances of “awakening porn”—alluring accounts of how someone, seemingly out of nowhere, while quietly washing the dishes or watering the garden, suddenly underwent a radical shift in perception and experience that opened up a whole new world.

Often, they say they don’t know how to speak of it, yet somehow do, in ways that send ripples and goosebumps through the body and skin of this reader. Handled with the deep kindness of Kornfield’s wise heart, they are never repetitive, always fresh, and collectively steer us through the author’s extensive commentary to understand what it would mean not just to awaken but to live an ever-deepening path of awakening.

This book changed my life. It showed me it was possible, and OK, to be a literary-minded youth and still embark on a spiritual journey that could lead who knew where. I have read it numerous times and am still caught every time by the gorgeous, clear, poetic writing and the spell-binding storytelling. I love the author’s reckoning with the hidden wisdom of his childhood in India and how far from that he strayed during his youth in England but then managed to reengage with it at a very deep level.

That opened up a profound journey into spirituality for him, recounted and observed by an acute literary sensibility and deep, informed intelligence. What it did for him, his book did for me, too. (The fact that Harvey later disavowed the guru he followed only intensifies the beauty of this critical phase of his journey.)

I go back to this again and again. Morinaga’s hilarious and frank take on his blundering attempts to stumble into Zen is irresistible.

The way he tracks his own arrogance, stubbornness, and misunderstandings as he tries to stand up to his austere master, by turns humiliated and scolded, then drinking up any faint praise, and just occasionally starting to open to the down-to-earth, kind but stern guidance his teacher is actually offering—all make for a book I love again and again, and don’t want to put down any time I pick it up. (I use it in Zen teaching frequently.)  And how he finally enters a deep, enlightened friendship with his master still moves me every time. It’s a timeless gem for me.

For most of us, the greatest enemy isn’t from without, but from within. This is true today and was just as true nearly two millennia ago when Saint Augustine of Hippo wrote his Confessions, the first autobiography. His struggles with sin and vice should be relatable to us all, especially his difficulty in abandoning his worldly desires. Would most of us be so brave as to abandon our wants for something far greater?

Like for Aristotle, this is no easy read, but Augustine must be credited with planting in the clearest and most dramatic way the central doubt: cannot we want and do something merely for the sake of the evil or wrong we would commit?

His story of the pear theft is bound to leave an impression on anyone, regardless of one’s religious background. Later Christian philosophers will try to get around Augustine’s doubts, with more or less success.

This is a powerful memoir. First published in French in 2016, one year after Mokhtar Mokhtefi’s death, it is an eyewitness account of twentieth-century Algeria, tracing his political journey from a poor village south of Algiers, through to the French secondary education, one of the few Muslims to do so, and his eventual engagement in the FLN in 1957. Graphically portraying the anger and disaffection that drives Algerians to rebel against French rule, the book is equally unsparing about the divisions and authoritarianism which riddle the National Liberation Front and shape post-independence Algeria. Beautifully translated by his widow, the writer and anti-imperialist activist Elaine Mokhtefi. 

This is not only a beautifully written book, it is an important one. Why? Because it poses challenging questions about the promise of post-independence freedom for Algerian women through a collection of short stories written between 1959 and 1978. First published in French in 1980, the writing style is at once innovative, lyrical, and unsettling as Assia Djebar explores the condition of Algerian women across the pre-colonial, colonial and immediate post-colonial periods. The inspiration for the book is Eugène Delacroix’s 1834 painting of women in an Algerian harem because, as Djebar explains in the post-face, this picture leads her straight to the conundrum of 1970s Algeria: “What would Delacroix see if he entered into contemporary Algerian apartments?” And for her the depressing conclusion is that he would still find women locked up and shut away just as in the 1830s. One of the most significant voices to emerge from Algeria,… show more.

Biography is perhaps my favorite genre because, at their best, biographies show us how people are both made by history and make history themselves.

This book is amongst the best political biographies I’ve ever read as it gives a passionate but also fair and critical account of one of the best-known revolutionaries of the 20th century, Frantz Fanon. 

It is a book both about ideas and the humans behind them and is serious on both counts. Whether it’s deep in explaining Fanon’s turn away from orthodox Marxism or his continued attachment to Caribbean poetry, or when simply painting a picture of an afternoon in Tunis when Fanon interacted with his many friends and colleagues, it is a lively read that was hard for me to put down. 

Isabelle Eberhardt was born in 1877. She was “a crossdresser and sensualist, an experienced drug taker and a transgressor of boundaries”. Born in Switzerland, she crossed the Sahara Desert on horseback dressed as a male marabout, driven by a hunger for nomadic adventures, and for love. Isabelle’s evocative diaries are intense, beautifully written, self-centred and dramatic, occasionally very funny. She fell madly in love with the Sahara, was accused of being a spy, married a young Algerian soldier, and drowned in a desert flash flood at the age of 27. This book is about a short life that burned radiantly and the desiccated landscape that mirrored her intensity.