The most recommended books about old men

I was a professional couch-potato. I grew up with a clear choice: Use my head or use my feet. I ignored activity in my pursuit of more cerebral choices.

Despite the urgings of my loving family, the advice of others, and by-pass surgery, I continued my sedentary ways. It was only when I held my new grandson that I began to assess who I wanted to be as a role model.

Chris Crowley and Henry Lodge got me up off the couch and into activity. I have a better life because of their encouragement and detailed plans. 

You don’t have to be sedentary like me to appreciate this book. Turns out that you should do more as you run pel-mell into your senior years. Chris and Henry show you how you can step up your game.

The Nobel-prize winning laureate has written many more famous books dealing with the human condition, most notably The Remains of the Day and Never Let me Go, but this is, to my mind, his best rumination on humanity's familiar ache. Ishiguro's The Remains of the Day is a flawless book and similarly themed, but there is something about the post-war regrets, delusions, and self-justifications of the aging Japanese artist Masuji Ono that just slay me and make me want to weep. Ishiguro is of course the king of unreliable narrators, so I don't want to give away the big reveal here, but how denial of the truth and self-delusion can misdirect us in life, is at the core of this masterful insight into the human condition.

This novel has everything I love – a narrator who’s definitely not telling us everything, newly arrived in a remote house by a lake in Norway that is so clearly drawn I can see and feel it in my bones.

Trond has secrets and this is where he’s going to live now. There’s a man down the track whose window he can see when it falls dark. A river flows fast beyond the trees. Petterson’s beautiful, spare writing creates a filmic atmosphere in which past mysteries unfold as Trond begins to learn to live alone with his past.

Stunning story-telling, wonderful place-setting, and a character utterly unlike me that I loved reading in his solitude.

It is rare for a story to stay with me as long as this one has. The weaving together of grief and hope was both heartwrenching and heartwarming. We are created and called to love God and love others. That isn’t always easy or convenient. This story showed what loving your neighbor can look like and how it can change a life. 

I’ve always been fascinated by beekeeping and this lovely novel was a treasure trove of information and folklore about bees. I appreciated the way the author skillfully weaved the information into the story.

What made the story even more compelling is that the bees themselves became central characters. The novel chronicles elderly beekeeper Albert’s life and his lifelong friendship with his neighbor and fellow beekeeper, Claire, and the rift that tore their friendship apart. This is a beautifully written story and one that I will not soon forget.

Alessandro’s closing in on the end of life, while Nicolo is fresh out of the pasture.

Their friendship seems at first principally a vehicle for Alessandro’s relating his extraordinary life story, but the honest confessions and tender gestures they exchange along their walking journey through the Italian countryside are rich and fulfilling for each.

They’re at opposite ends of their lives, and yet one senses each is hereafter under the influence of the other.

The novel tells the story of a group of friends who have taken it upon themselves to carry out the “last orders” of their drinking partner, Jack Dodds, to deliver his ashes to the grey seas of Margate. As they drive to the coast, their errand becomes a poignant journey into their collective pasts.

Swift described it as an homage to William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, and it follows a similar narrative structure, with chapters titled with the names of the seven key characters, with a shifting narrative perspective to follow the story from each of their eyes.

As a reader, you naturally find your favourite narrative viewpoint. For me, it was Ray, “Lucky Ray,” the obsessive gambler, which for me was the real centre of the novel.

Balzac wrote some 90 novels in a fury of creativity, dying at only 51. I haven’t read all 90 or even close to them, but of those I have, this book is by far my favorite. (I’m not alone. It was Henry James’ favorite, as well.) 

Set in a seamy boarding house in Paris around 1820, it’s the story of a father’s love for his two social-climbing daughters who let their father see them rarely and then only for his money. I’ve never read anything like this depiction of a father’s love, desperate and ever-hopeful—a man who lives in reduced circumstances so he can save every penny to give his ungrateful daughters.  

I treasure this book as I treasure the memory of my long-dead father, for this transcendently sad and beautiful book takes me into a world close in spirit to that of his own life. His own experience was the experience of the immigrant worker, the Irish rural one.

With the astonishing new economic prosperity of Ireland, the London of the book is no longer there. The prose of O’Grady and the photos of Pike constantly play one across the other to shattering effect. The book was made into a fine film.

Readers will note a certain interplay across my choices of books: John Berger wrote a beautiful foreword to the first edition. The beautifully produced 2023 edition is much better than the 1997 one. The epigraph of the book is from Seferis: “I whispered: memory hurts wherever you touch it.”

I have a hard time understanding why this book didn’t do better than it did commercially because it was a well-executed technical endeavor. Even more, than the really well-done twist ending, the biggest thing I really liked about Alex Pavesi’s book was that the story was told through the eyes of an editor as she reads a series of short stories.

I experienced the stories in real-time with her, but at the end of each, she critiqued them, with the result being an ongoing series of, well, let’s call them easter eggs for me. Again and again, throughout the whole book, she kept pointing out details I’d missed in each story that had a deeper meaning. It’d be easy for this format to get old, but it never did, at least for me. Then, should we take these stories and piece them together as bricks in the wall for the… show more.