100 books like The Thought Gang

I love this book because it feels deep—it is deep—but it’s also engaging. There’s a story and characters to follow, but at its core, it’s a fascinating introduction to philosophy.

The meaning of life, the big questions, how to understand and negotiate the world. I first read it as a teenager during my gap year in Southeast Asia, and it was the perfect mental companion to the bombardment of my physical senses. Zen turned my perception of the world upside down, and I reread it occasionally.

It has one of the most memorable titles of all time, and I still quote its core message, which involves motorcycle maintenance.

Martha Nussbaum’s book isn’t written as roman à thèse (thesis told as story) but it focuses on the dialogues of Plato and her work helped me understand a possible intention behind his philosophical fiction—when I was writing my own thesis on a more modern philosopher—especially how it tries to avoid the conflicts and suffering that compose Greek tragedy. Spanning millennia of muse-inspired myth about people under pressure, from Antigone in Ancient Crete (who just wanted to bury her traitorous brother) to Sophie in Nazi Germany (who had to choose between her children’s lives) this movingly-written and erudite book has the disturbing but very human insight that the howling Furies don’t let us off the hook just because we had no choice. And neither does our conscience.  

I recommend the sequel to Pirsig’s more famous bestseller because I’ve never owned a motorcycle (and I find bicycle maintenance hard enough), but now I own a sailboat—where his second story is set—so when he describes hearing people walking on the cabin roof, or checking the knots on the mooring ropes, I know exactly what he means because I’ve experienced this. Some of his fans felt this sequel was a betrayal of the magical mysticism of undefined Quality he described in the first book. For me, although problematic, it was a necessary clarification and one I not only used for my academic work on a range of controversies from abortion to transgender but also in my life-coaching practice: to inspire holistic transformation on all levels of wellbeing. 

This was a book I bought and loved and lost (my fault for leaving it in the University of Glasgow library) but not just because I loved the TV series. Ok, mostly. But also because it gave me a whole new insight into the forceful philosophy of Nietzsche as embodied by Buddy’s friend, rival and nemesis, Faith, and this was really useful for me trying to put generational conflict into words for my Ph.D. The 25 authors obviously love the series and, as this is one that I know well and have rewatched with audio/subtitles in various languages as an easy way to learn, their insights have added interest by providing another layer of meaning in this already multi-dimensional enthralling—and hilarious—narrative. I want this book back!

Once I settled in to read the life story of the scandalous 19th-century French femme fatale Marguerite (Meg) Steinheil, I didn’t get back up until I finished. What a ride! Then, I immediately went back to the beginning and read it again.

Meg became notorious in 1899 for literally being in the bed (and the clutches) of the French president when he suddenly died. But wait, there’s more! That’s not even the most incredible moment in her life story. At one point, I started yelling at the book: "Meg, what, no!"

This book has everything you want in a story: murder, sex, scandal, and an unlikely heroine’s pluck and poignancy. History that reads like a novel. What more could you want?

This consummate French philosopher explores the lineage of psychiatry as an intertwined field of knowledge and form of power. For Foucault, moving beyond asylums, in the nineteenth and twentieth century armies called on psychiatry to assert the reality of military power and the functioning of military purposes. A similar relationship has taken place with the family in relation to nation-states and military establishments. The author provides many useful concepts to appreciate the psychiatrization of soldiers as shocked, exhausted, hysterical, neurotic, and traumatized, among other diagnostic categories. From this work, a significant value I gained is a historical understanding of how modern psychiatry developed in relation to armed forces and warfare.

In December 1970, a group of acclaimed American culinary experts met in Provence, where Julia Child had a holiday house, planning to celebrate Christmas together. Joining them were food writer Richard Olney and novelists Sybille Bedford and Eda Lord, all living relatively close. Barr, Fisher's grandnephew relies on her journal and letters to recreate their sumptuous tables in delectable detail. Alas, hopes for a joyous gathering of friends soured as egos clashed and petty rivalries intervened; MFK left abruptly and spent Christmas alone in Avignon. What interests me is how these authorities on French cuisine engaged with the French, the relationship between the 'French' cooking they portrayed and the food of the French, and their response to the changes creeping into France post-1968.

David Curtis’ copiously illustrated book is a wide-ranging yet detailed introduction to the world of artists’ film, with over 400 filmmakers discussed. The survey is rooted in the historical avant-garde of the 1920s and ‘30s but covers work up to the present day. While major figures such as Steve McQueen and Bill Viola are mentioned, equal space is devoted to little-known filmmakers from France, Poland, and elsewhere.

Faye’s book has been extremely controversial, exposing him to sometimes quite nasty attacks by Heidegger apologists. But with respect to the core of what his book is about—the pro-Hitlerite seminars given by Heidegger during the years when he was most closely aligned with the Nazis—it’s an absolutely devastating account. The book is a must-read. Should be read in conjunction with Charles Bambach’s 2003 book, Heidegger’s Roots.

Orwell is my favorite nonfiction writer.

This is a workplace memoir in part because of the engaging, disgusting scenes where he labors as a plongeur (dishwasher) in a grimy French restaurant. But in a broader sense, it’s a book about the hard work of being poor.

Every sentence is intelligent and the overall thrust is deeply moral—Orwell’s calling card.