My Favorite Books

I feel naked without reading materials. In my version of Hell, there’s nothing to read except a 17-year-old copy of Accounting Today magazine, with all the ads ripped out.

Here are some of the authors and books that I love reading most, in no particular order. There are many, many more to come. The links take you to Amazon.com so you can read reviews.

Lord of the Rings and other works by J.R.R. Tolkien. Tolkien taught me about nobility, and sacrifice and the beauty in simple things. And the profound importance of having a Quest.

Loving What Is by Byron Katie (possibly the most important self-help book of all time)

You Can’t Afford the Luxury of a Negative Thought, by Peter McWilliams

The Origin of Consciousness and the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind, by Julian Jaynes

Any of the deliciously sexy Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter novels by Laurell K. Hamilton. Like heroin or crack, only more literary.  Makes human/vampire/wereleopard polyamory seem like a pretty reasonable idea. Whew, I need a cigarette. Too bad I don’t smoke.

The Plays and Sonnets of William Shakespeare. I hear God speaking when I hear Shakespeare. And I don’t even believe in God.

Any of the Hitchhiker’s Guide series by Douglas Adams. How do you fly? You throw yourself at the ground and miss. (Duh!)

Outlander or any of the other historical romance novels featuring Claire and Jaime by Diana Gabaldon. Gabaldon’s characters are heartbreakingly real and present…and dead sexy, in a Scottish Highlander time-travel kind of a way.

The Beasts of Valhalla or any of the Mongo Mystery Thrillers by George Chesbro (most of which are now out of print.) I don’t usually go for the “gritty,” but Chesbro renders the horrific in a totally realistic way…but without losing touch with the humanity of the characters. Amazing, considering that most books in the series are chock-full of CIA conspiracies, would-be Dr. Evils, voluptuous snake-handlers, and of course, Ninjas.

Atlas Shrugged, The Fountainhead, The Virtue of Selfishness and other Objectivist screeds by Ayn Rand. Long-winded, yes. Profound, yes. Life-altering, yes.

Crocodile on the Sandbank and any of the subsequent Amelia and Emerson Peabody historical mysteries set in Victorian/Edwardian Egypt by Elizabeth Peters. Manly men, manly mummies, and sturdy, unconventional female Egyptologists who pack heat. I’m on ‘em like white on rice.

Magazines: Reason, Skeptical Inquirer, National Geographic, Money, Life Extension, Starlog

Many, many many more to come…