11 Books That Changed My Life

She's in her Jesus Year, y'all

It’s my birthday.¹

Last year I read a Lenten reflection from an older woman talking about how strange it was to think of Jesus as younger than her, and now I realize that Jesus was my age. 33. I’ve long heard jokes about this year being your “Jesus Year”, the year the Messiah died on a cross and the year I…will finally learn how to clean the inside of my washing machine with a lemon? Only time will tell, folks.

I’m currently rereading The Fellowship of the Ring, and my favorite part of the entire series is truly the scrumptious descriptions of Bilbo’s birthday party. In the spirit of the hobbits, I wanted to bestow upon you a gift for my birthday. This isn’t a full letter, just a simple note from me to you. You know I love a good booklist, and I was tempted this year to share what I would call my foundational books. (I am, for full disclosure, copying the formidable

Sarah Clarkson

, whose book is mentioned below ).

What are foundational books? They aren’t necessarily my favorite books. They certainly aren’t my most-read books. They aren’t even the books I most frequently recommend, necessarily. They’re simply the books that I feel have made up the foundation of my soul. They’re the books that have made me who I am, and they’re the books that, by reading, you could get to know me better with.

The list, like me, is eclectic and sporadic. Do your own reading discernment—there are tons of online resources helping you know what topic appear in what books. If you’re curious about other booklists, just a reminder that I made a ton during 2023—or what I had dubbed our Year of Books!

Without further ado, here are 11 foundational books of my life. I would absolutely love to hear some of yours in the comments! (And why 11? Because I was genuinely stressed out trying to get it to 10, and then remembered that this is my newsletter and I can do what I want! So…11!)

1. He Leadeth Me by Fr. Walter Ciszek: You’re not surprised. If there is one book I recommend over and over again, it’s this Jesuit’s tale of being kept imprisoned in Siberia for over a decade. Fr. Ciszek’s words on accepting the will of God have radically transformed my heart and helped me to see the world in the way God intended it to be seen: one formed, shaped, and treasured by himself. If I’m suddenly hit by a bus and you’re all weepily praying and there’s a hashtag involved, please ask Fr. Ciszek for his intercession because I want to be the miracle that reveals his sainthood.

2. Devotions by Mary Oliver: I read one of these poems almost every single morning. Mary Oliver introduced me to poetry, and her words perfectly encompass the idea Jeanette Winterson articulated about the power of poetry during hard times: “when people say that poetry is a luxury, or an option, or for the educated middle classes, or that it shouldn’t be read in school because it is irrelevant, or any of the strange and stupid things that are said about poetry and its place in our lives, I suspect that the people doing the saying have had things pretty easy. A tough life needs a tough language — and that is what poetry is. That is what literature offers — a language powerful enough to to say how it is. It isn’t a hiding place. It is a finding place.” If you’re new to poetry, I highly recommend starting with this volume. Oliver’s poetry is just so approachable, and it frequently touches on the connection between God and the living world he created.

3. The Screwtape Letters by CS Lewis: It was hard to narrow down Lewis’ books, because so many of them have touched me in different ways. But I believe The Screwtape Letters was the first of his I’d ever read, so it seemed fitting as it kicked off a love of Lewis. It’s a series of letters from a demon to his nephew, all about the human being they’re trying to corrupt. It does such an excellent job at challenging our thoughts about faith and our quickness to judge other people, making, as the book says, our benevolence imaginary and our cruelty familiar. I re-read it frequently and every single time, a new section sticks out to me.

4. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares: I read The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants in middle school and have probably read it 15 times since. It’s a YA book about four best friends who are separated for a summer, but stay connected by mailing a magical pair or jeans back and forth. This book, to me, is the epitome of friendship and girlhood. It expresses the very best of what women have to offer: their relational love, their fierce loyalty, and their mothering spirits. This book taught me what friendship could look like when I was sorely lacking it.

5. Cloud Cuckoo Land by Anthony Doerr: In my opinion, Anthony Doerr is a modern great. His novels speak to the heart of the human experience while making you laugh out loud and consider your place in the world. Cloud Cuckoo Land is essentially a love letter to libraries, stretching over thousands of years and emphasizing how books can shape our thoughts and worlds. It’s a tome, and its many narrators can make it intimidating, but it makes me want to write well. On days when I simply can’t sit down and pound out one more scene, Cloud Cuckoo Land reminds me why I love to tell stories. I return to it when I’m feeling useless as a writer, and am reminded of the power of storytelling to affect culture.

6. Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott: I’m very frequently contacted by people who would like to write professionally. 10 out of 10 times, I’m recommending this book. Fun fact: although my day job is an author, I do not have an MFA and have never (ever) taken a writing class. What I have is a battered old copy of Bird by Bird. Widely acknowledged to be the premier text on how to write, Lamott’s book is less of a how-to and more of a manifesto on the power of putting your butt in the chair and getting your words out. I first read it at age 12, and find it just as meaningful now as I did then. It is accessible, it is poignant, and it is why I’m able to write books. Anne Lamott is God’s gift to writers everywhere.

7. My Sisters the Saints by Colleen Carroll Campbell: When I was in college, teetering on the edge of too many Stoli shots at the KK and regularly attending a Bible study, it was this book that took my hand and walked with me. It’s a memoir about finding yourself as a daughter of God, even while you love books and speeches and ripped jeans and having fun. It was one of the first books I read that told me giving my heart to God didn’t have to look like joining a nunnery (or never taking a Stoli shot again). It helped me see that my exuberance, my passions, and even my volume could all be used as gifts for the church, and weren’t things to be ashamed of. It’s an excellent book to give a college grad as a gift, and a very “seeker-sensitive”² read that still speaks firm truths.

8. Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine: When I was in fourth grade, I first read this retelling of Cinderella in which a young girl, cursed to always obey requests asked of her, attempts to change her fate. When I say this book had a chokehold on me—I mean, I must have read it 40 times or more. It centered a girl who was spunky, and vivacious, and smart. It showed womanhood in a light I’d never seen it in before, and kicked off a life-long love of fairy tale retellings. It perfectly balances the classic message of Cinderella (“have courage and be kind”) with an encouragement to girls everywhere, no matter their temperament, to help be the captain of their own ship. It’s a children’s book but is certainly worth a read as an adult if you’ve never had the good fortune of experiencing it.

9. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald: When I included this book on our list of classics during our Year of Books, many of you said it was overrated so this might be an outlier. But this book, which I re-read nearly every year, has stuck with me since high school. It was one of the first classics I ever enjoyed reading, and proved to me that I wasn’t as dumb as I’d spent most of my life thinking I was. It showed me I could enjoy reading old books by dead authors, and that there really was some wisdom to be learned from great texts of years past. I love its fantastic descriptions, I love its snappy dialogue, and I love that it’s short. When people want to begin reading classics but aren’t sure where to start, I always, always recommend Gatsby.

10. The Lager Queen of Minnesota by J. Ryan Stradel: Does J. Ryan Stradel owe me commissions at this point? Likely. The Lager Queen of Minnesota is a recent novel about an elderly woman who winds up brewing beer in order to help her granddaughter, and while there’s so many good things you could say about it—that it’s hilarious (it is) or that it’s well written (it is) or that it’s a masterclass in character development (it is). But those aren’t why it changed my life. Why it changed my life is because it showed me that characters in the midwest, who are doing nothing large or fancy or spectacular, but simply choosing heroic virtue, can make an incredible story. And when I finished reading it, that’s when I knew what type of books I wanted to write.

11. This Beautiful Truth by Sarah Clarkson: The past few years of my life have been marked by a heavy, significant suffering. I don’t choose to share specifics here because they heavily involve other people who live their lives offline, and to be honest, I’m still in the muck of processing much of what has happened. But I need you to understand that when I say suffering, I do mean the type of suffering that leaves you sobbing and shaking your fists at the sky, consulting therapists and spiritual directors and wise counsel and dear friends and begging the Lord to take away a cross that feels unbearable, then trying to live after he doesn’t. This memoir by one of my favorite writers details the author’s experience with mental illness, and talks about how finding God through beauty transformed her suffering. It changed the way I looked at my own cross, it changed the way I saw the significance of beauty in the world, and it honestly changed the way I experienced God.

I know I thank you regularly for being here, but I also know it’s not enough. I really do want to thank you all so, so much for reading my words (either this newsletter or my novels.) Sometimes when I explain what I do to people, I’m met with a look, like, people pay for that? And I’m reminded that I’m only where I am because of the generosity of kind, thoughtful, holy readers like you. I can’t believe I get to do this. I can’t believe you’re here.

I was wondering if I could solicit a little gift from you—would you leave a comment letting me know something you’d like to read about on Letters From a Catholic Feminist in the next year? Questions you want answered, thoughts you have percolating, topics you’re interested in walking through? I’m opening comments to all subscribers—be nice.

1. This headshot was taken by Mary Clare Lococo Photography.

2. I don’t use this phrase negatively—here, I mean it as a compliment!