The 10 Best Books I Read in 2023
 Andrew Bacevich and Daniel Sjursen, eds., Paths of Dissent: Soldiers Speak Out Against America's Misguided Wars. This is a fine and often (though not always) insightful collection of 
personal essays, all of which describe how the authors came to their 
criticisms of America's wars in Afghanistan and Iraq over the past 
twenty years. All of the authors are veterans of these wars to one 
degree or another, and their range of experiences in and interactions 
with America's military establishment was probably the most informative 
part of the book to me. There are essays by deeply committed soldiers 
who fully embraced the bureaucratic realities of managing a global 
military presence, and came to oppose America's "forever wars" for 
strictly strategic reasons, their own positive experiences leading them 
spend a great deal of time explaining the how American generals failed 
to understand intricacies of counter-insurgency strategy, failed to 
appreciate and account for the logistics and costs of military 
technologies, and much more. But there are also essays by soldiers who 
were never on board with the rationales given for invading Iraq, or even
 Afghanistan for that matter; included in these essays are stories of 
the drug abuse, racism, incompetence, sexism, random violence, and 
massive waste and fraud on the part of their fellow soldiers--and 
sometimes themselves--while supposedly serving America's security 
interests and spreading democracy in the Middle East. Some of these 
authors look back on their time in these conflicts with pride but also 
deep regrets about all that went wrong; others look back with shame and 
horror; and others look back just grateful they escaped with their lives
 and limbs, when so many others did not. Ultimately, the largest point I
 take from these various multifaceted, but always militarily informed 
criticisms was simply: George W. Bush's time as president was a moral, a
 political, and a strategic catastrophe. By ordering the invasion of 
Afghanistan, and then keeping troops there beyond the immediate collapse
 of the Taliban, and much worse by ordering the invasion of Iraq, Bush's
 administration not only led to the deaths of hundreds of thousands, but
 ruined millions of lives, and unleashed pathological regrets and 
resentments, in the USA and abroad, that may never be put to rest.
Andrew Bacevich and Daniel Sjursen, eds., Paths of Dissent: Soldiers Speak Out Against America's Misguided Wars. This is a fine and often (though not always) insightful collection of 
personal essays, all of which describe how the authors came to their 
criticisms of America's wars in Afghanistan and Iraq over the past 
twenty years. All of the authors are veterans of these wars to one 
degree or another, and their range of experiences in and interactions 
with America's military establishment was probably the most informative 
part of the book to me. There are essays by deeply committed soldiers 
who fully embraced the bureaucratic realities of managing a global 
military presence, and came to oppose America's "forever wars" for 
strictly strategic reasons, their own positive experiences leading them 
spend a great deal of time explaining the how American generals failed 
to understand intricacies of counter-insurgency strategy, failed to 
appreciate and account for the logistics and costs of military 
technologies, and much more. But there are also essays by soldiers who 
were never on board with the rationales given for invading Iraq, or even
 Afghanistan for that matter; included in these essays are stories of 
the drug abuse, racism, incompetence, sexism, random violence, and 
massive waste and fraud on the part of their fellow soldiers--and 
sometimes themselves--while supposedly serving America's security 
interests and spreading democracy in the Middle East. Some of these 
authors look back on their time in these conflicts with pride but also 
deep regrets about all that went wrong; others look back with shame and 
horror; and others look back just grateful they escaped with their lives
 and limbs, when so many others did not. Ultimately, the largest point I
 take from these various multifaceted, but always militarily informed 
criticisms was simply: George W. Bush's time as president was a moral, a
 political, and a strategic catastrophe. By ordering the invasion of 
Afghanistan, and then keeping troops there beyond the immediate collapse
 of the Taliban, and much worse by ordering the invasion of Iraq, Bush's
 administration not only led to the deaths of hundreds of thousands, but
 ruined millions of lives, and unleashed pathological regrets and 
resentments, in the USA and abroad, that may never be put to rest. 
 Stanley Hauerwas, War and the American Difference: Theological Reflections on Violence and National Identity. Hauerwas definitely isn't everyone's cup of tea. A born essayist--in the
 most fundamental sense of the term, constantly "essaying" new ideas, 
rarely completing the one he had before the new one--his radical 
Christianity isn't developed carefully and consistently, thus leaving 
any remotely suspicious reader capable of dismissing his arguments as 
incomplete and unpersuasive. But for any of the tens of millions who 
can't help but recognize the radical, even absolutist, character of 
Christian teachings and expectations when it comes to matters of 
violence and peace, the many kernels of truth spread throughout 
Hauerwas's explication and explorations of theses basic doctrines are 
enormously valuable. His points about how we are addicted to violence 
and war in part because we don't want to cast impurity and guilt upon 
heroes of the past; about how violence and war is tied up in the very 
structures of state sovereignty and thus politics as we know of it 
today; about how American history can't help but associate war with 
idealistic causes which having been mythologized into the proper, "pure"
 understanding of our own identity...all of it is first rate. Hauerwas's
 reflections are, ultimately, an inspiration to Christians who want to 
understand a way to find in themselves a true conviction of peace, and 
that's a beautiful thing.
Stanley Hauerwas, War and the American Difference: Theological Reflections on Violence and National Identity. Hauerwas definitely isn't everyone's cup of tea. A born essayist--in the
 most fundamental sense of the term, constantly "essaying" new ideas, 
rarely completing the one he had before the new one--his radical 
Christianity isn't developed carefully and consistently, thus leaving 
any remotely suspicious reader capable of dismissing his arguments as 
incomplete and unpersuasive. But for any of the tens of millions who 
can't help but recognize the radical, even absolutist, character of 
Christian teachings and expectations when it comes to matters of 
violence and peace, the many kernels of truth spread throughout 
Hauerwas's explication and explorations of theses basic doctrines are 
enormously valuable. His points about how we are addicted to violence 
and war in part because we don't want to cast impurity and guilt upon 
heroes of the past; about how violence and war is tied up in the very 
structures of state sovereignty and thus politics as we know of it 
today; about how American history can't help but associate war with 
idealistic causes which having been mythologized into the proper, "pure"
 understanding of our own identity...all of it is first rate. Hauerwas's
 reflections are, ultimately, an inspiration to Christians who want to 
understand a way to find in themselves a true conviction of peace, and 
that's a beautiful thing. 
 Peter Levine, What Shall We Do? A Theory of Civic Life. This is a top-notch work of analytical and practical political and 
social theory, one that I've been meaning to read for a year. Through a 
sharp analysis of Elinor Ostrom, Jurgen Habermas, and the civil rights 
activism of Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr., Levine sketches 
out and concrete and deeply thoughtful set of insights and suggestions 
for people looking to engage in civic life, and make some democratic 
difference in their localities. He identifies key elements of each of 
the three above-listed traditions of participatory democracy and civic 
action, but also recognizes and explores the theoretical limitations of 
each, and from their provides a synthesis of recommendations. This is a 
book that, as a citizen and a teacher, I'm going to be pondering a 
while, considering how best to set boundaries, engage in deliberation, 
and model just behavior as I try to get local action to matter.
Peter Levine, What Shall We Do? A Theory of Civic Life. This is a top-notch work of analytical and practical political and 
social theory, one that I've been meaning to read for a year. Through a 
sharp analysis of Elinor Ostrom, Jurgen Habermas, and the civil rights 
activism of Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr., Levine sketches 
out and concrete and deeply thoughtful set of insights and suggestions 
for people looking to engage in civic life, and make some democratic 
difference in their localities. He identifies key elements of each of 
the three above-listed traditions of participatory democracy and civic 
action, but also recognizes and explores the theoretical limitations of 
each, and from their provides a synthesis of recommendations. This is a 
book that, as a citizen and a teacher, I'm going to be pondering a 
while, considering how best to set boundaries, engage in deliberation, 
and model just behavior as I try to get local action to matter.
          
 Warren Magnusson, Local Self-Government and the Right to the City. I finally got around to finishing this collection of essays by the 
political theorist Warren Magnusson, and I loved it. His insights are 
scattered, sometimes repetitive and not always well connected, but they 
remain brilliant all the same. His reconceptualization of "local 
self-government" in light of the "locality" of states in the 
international order, and the "locality" of individuals within a 
sovereign, contractarian state, is profoundly radical, opening up, to my
 mind anyway, all sorts of new ways of understanding the traditional 
definition of local government--specifically, its municipal form in 
towns and cities. Magnusson in these essays is a profound critic of 
sovereignty and subsidarity, seeing both of them as theoretical forms 
that define and delimit the kind of democratic mutualism and variability
 and practice that characterizes that huge, undefinable range of what 
I'll call "governmenting" (I'm definitely being influenced by David 
Harvey's use of the term "commoning" here) which takes place in cities. 
Magnusson wants us to think hard about a democracy, and right to 
self-government, that is not dependent upon territorialization, not 
dependent upon constitutional definitions. This puts him very much in 
the camp of left-libertarian or anarchist thinkers, but while he's 
familiar with the philosophical ideas behind those theories, he 
approaches their conclusions with a language all his own, and one that I
 find kind of brilliant. This man's thinking is a small treasure.
Warren Magnusson, Local Self-Government and the Right to the City. I finally got around to finishing this collection of essays by the 
political theorist Warren Magnusson, and I loved it. His insights are 
scattered, sometimes repetitive and not always well connected, but they 
remain brilliant all the same. His reconceptualization of "local 
self-government" in light of the "locality" of states in the 
international order, and the "locality" of individuals within a 
sovereign, contractarian state, is profoundly radical, opening up, to my
 mind anyway, all sorts of new ways of understanding the traditional 
definition of local government--specifically, its municipal form in 
towns and cities. Magnusson in these essays is a profound critic of 
sovereignty and subsidarity, seeing both of them as theoretical forms 
that define and delimit the kind of democratic mutualism and variability
 and practice that characterizes that huge, undefinable range of what 
I'll call "governmenting" (I'm definitely being influenced by David 
Harvey's use of the term "commoning" here) which takes place in cities. 
Magnusson wants us to think hard about a democracy, and right to 
self-government, that is not dependent upon territorialization, not 
dependent upon constitutional definitions. This puts him very much in 
the camp of left-libertarian or anarchist thinkers, but while he's 
familiar with the philosophical ideas behind those theories, he 
approaches their conclusions with a language all his own, and one that I
 find kind of brilliant. This man's thinking is a small treasure.
          
 Paul McCartney, 1964: Eyes of the Storm. I found 1964: Eyes of the Storm outside my front door this 
morning: a gift from a friend. I tore through the whole thing in a 
single day—of course, it's mostly photographs, so no big accomplishment,
 but still, it was a delight. I loved Macca's introductory essays; I 
felt as though I could see him sliding back and forth between repeating 
old stories automatically and being derailed by old memories he hadn't 
articulated in decades, if ever, obliging him to put words for the first
 time to the thoughts he remembers having had decades before. There's a 
good amount of unreflective, unimproved emotionality throughout the 
book, I think, in the short essays but also in the labels to his 
wonderful, candid photographs: the way he writes about his picture of 
George with the girl in the yellow bikini in Miami, for example, or a 
shot of a pensive Ringo leads him to write movingly about him as still 
the "new guy" in the band. And there's a two-page spread with photos of 
John and George where it's not hard to imagine the look of their faces 
weighing on Paul with all the weight of 60 years. The historical essay 
on 1964 by Jill Lepore is fine, but nothing special; just your standard 
coffee-table stuff, I suppose. But the photographs? An incredible 
treasure, and a delight.
Paul McCartney, 1964: Eyes of the Storm. I found 1964: Eyes of the Storm outside my front door this 
morning: a gift from a friend. I tore through the whole thing in a 
single day—of course, it's mostly photographs, so no big accomplishment,
 but still, it was a delight. I loved Macca's introductory essays; I 
felt as though I could see him sliding back and forth between repeating 
old stories automatically and being derailed by old memories he hadn't 
articulated in decades, if ever, obliging him to put words for the first
 time to the thoughts he remembers having had decades before. There's a 
good amount of unreflective, unimproved emotionality throughout the 
book, I think, in the short essays but also in the labels to his 
wonderful, candid photographs: the way he writes about his picture of 
George with the girl in the yellow bikini in Miami, for example, or a 
shot of a pensive Ringo leads him to write movingly about him as still 
the "new guy" in the band. And there's a two-page spread with photos of 
John and George where it's not hard to imagine the look of their faces 
weighing on Paul with all the weight of 60 years. The historical essay 
on 1964 by Jill Lepore is fine, but nothing special; just your standard 
coffee-table stuff, I suppose. But the photographs? An incredible 
treasure, and a delight.
          
 Bernie Sanders, It's Okay to Be Angry About Capitalism. This is a politician's memoir, and so I expected, and forgave, the many 
moments in the book, especially in the first few chapters, in which 
Sanders tells the stories of his own presidential campaigns both 
uncritically and somewhat simplistically. What I didn't expect, and 
greatly enjoyed, was seeing Sanders elaborate upon the things that he is
 truly passionate about--most particularly, the fact that contemporary 
capitalism makes it impossible for so many working people to not only 
get by on what they earn, but to also feel any kind of attachment to or 
gain any kind of dignity from their work. For all Sanders's talk about 
health care and education and billionaires, it is in regards to work, 
and the communities of labor and mutual recognition and respect for 
effort which ideally make the world of work something other than just 
tragedy which we must endure to survive, where he comes closest to 
genuinely and consistently articulating a democratic socialist vision. 
There are elements of a true visionary in his otherwise often 
boiler-plate left-liberal positions, and that's something that I am 
certain that, whether they could articulate it or not, millions of 
voters were captured by: that Sanders was presenting not merely a list 
of preferences, and not merely a roll-call of enemies, but also a vision
 of a better society. It comes through in this book, and that makes it 
great.
Bernie Sanders, It's Okay to Be Angry About Capitalism. This is a politician's memoir, and so I expected, and forgave, the many 
moments in the book, especially in the first few chapters, in which 
Sanders tells the stories of his own presidential campaigns both 
uncritically and somewhat simplistically. What I didn't expect, and 
greatly enjoyed, was seeing Sanders elaborate upon the things that he is
 truly passionate about--most particularly, the fact that contemporary 
capitalism makes it impossible for so many working people to not only 
get by on what they earn, but to also feel any kind of attachment to or 
gain any kind of dignity from their work. For all Sanders's talk about 
health care and education and billionaires, it is in regards to work, 
and the communities of labor and mutual recognition and respect for 
effort which ideally make the world of work something other than just 
tragedy which we must endure to survive, where he comes closest to 
genuinely and consistently articulating a democratic socialist vision. 
There are elements of a true visionary in his otherwise often 
boiler-plate left-liberal positions, and that's something that I am 
certain that, whether they could articulate it or not, millions of 
voters were captured by: that Sanders was presenting not merely a list 
of preferences, and not merely a roll-call of enemies, but also a vision
 of a better society. It comes through in this book, and that makes it 
great. 
 Jeff Speck, Walkable City: How Downtown Can Save America, One Step at a Time. A brilliant update and expansion of an important book. He's really like a
 left-leaning Charles Marohn, someone able to concisely cut through the 
complicated institutional realities which have pushed our cities in 
directions that are not only unsustainable, but central players in all 
sorts of economic, racial, and environmental harms. All of his new 
material is wonderful, but because of the genuinely inventive way he 
ties terrible road design to invasive policing to basic questions of 
freedom, I have to say I liked "More Engineering Confessions" the best.
Jeff Speck, Walkable City: How Downtown Can Save America, One Step at a Time. A brilliant update and expansion of an important book. He's really like a
 left-leaning Charles Marohn, someone able to concisely cut through the 
complicated institutional realities which have pushed our cities in 
directions that are not only unsustainable, but central players in all 
sorts of economic, racial, and environmental harms. All of his new 
material is wonderful, but because of the genuinely inventive way he 
ties terrible road design to invasive policing to basic questions of 
freedom, I have to say I liked "More Engineering Confessions" the best. 
 Paul Thompson and Patricia Norris, Sustainability: What Everyone Needs to Know. A superb introductory book, which defines and lays out the broad usages 
of the ecological language of stocks, flows, feedback, and all the rest 
when talking about the environment, business, the economy, governance, 
and much more. Not a polemical book, and in fact one that probably bends
 too far over backwards to avoid taking a strongly anti-capitalist 
stance, but overall, one I can't believe I haven't been using in my 
Simplicity and Sustainability classes all along.
Paul Thompson and Patricia Norris, Sustainability: What Everyone Needs to Know. A superb introductory book, which defines and lays out the broad usages 
of the ecological language of stocks, flows, feedback, and all the rest 
when talking about the environment, business, the economy, governance, 
and much more. Not a polemical book, and in fact one that probably bends
 too far over backwards to avoid taking a strongly anti-capitalist 
stance, but overall, one I can't believe I haven't been using in my 
Simplicity and Sustainability classes all along. 
 J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion. At the beginning of this year, before the school year started up again, I decided to read The Silmarillion, mostly because I was uncertain if I'd ever read the whole thing all the way through before. I still had on my shelf an old, taped with 
masking tape, paperback Ballantine edition of the book, which I remember
 being on my shelves when I was in high school, or earlier. I still have
 battered, paperback copies of LOTR too, but there's no mystery there; they're beat up because I read them to death. But The Silmarillion? Had I ever truly gotten through it? I honestly couldn't remember. Well,
 I've gotten through it now, and it's a masterpiece of romance and 
religion and myth. Tolkien's cosmology and legendarium includes echoes 
of all the great stories, whether humble or cosmic: Atlantis is here, 
and Rapunzel, and Oedipus. The rhythm of the writing sweeps you along; 
there's no way anyone who isn't an autistic savant can possibly keep 
track in their head all the names and places and dates through this 
multilayered imagined genealogy of thousands and thousands of years, but
 that's honestly not the point: the point is to be carried into an epic 
world, a world of a profound and tragic and romantic and heroic saga of 
elves and humans, monsters and gods, women and men. Tolkien carried me 
along, that's for certain, and I loved the journey.
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion. At the beginning of this year, before the school year started up again, I decided to read The Silmarillion, mostly because I was uncertain if I'd ever read the whole thing all the way through before. I still had on my shelf an old, taped with 
masking tape, paperback Ballantine edition of the book, which I remember
 being on my shelves when I was in high school, or earlier. I still have
 battered, paperback copies of LOTR too, but there's no mystery there; they're beat up because I read them to death. But The Silmarillion? Had I ever truly gotten through it? I honestly couldn't remember. Well,
 I've gotten through it now, and it's a masterpiece of romance and 
religion and myth. Tolkien's cosmology and legendarium includes echoes 
of all the great stories, whether humble or cosmic: Atlantis is here, 
and Rapunzel, and Oedipus. The rhythm of the writing sweeps you along; 
there's no way anyone who isn't an autistic savant can possibly keep 
track in their head all the names and places and dates through this 
multilayered imagined genealogy of thousands and thousands of years, but
 that's honestly not the point: the point is to be carried into an epic 
world, a world of a profound and tragic and romantic and heroic saga of 
elves and humans, monsters and gods, women and men. Tolkien carried me 
along, that's for certain, and I loved the journey.
 Thad Williamson, Sprawl, Justice, and Citizenship: The Civic Costs of the American Way of Life. A terrific dissertation-turned-book, stuffed full of good information an
 arguments, pointing towards the value (but also the limitations) of a 
civic republican perspective on addressing the problems of sprawl and 
its unjust, undemocratic effects on our civic life. The conversation 
about our built environment and how best to frame the ideological 
arguments about it have changed much in the nearly 15 years since this 
book was written, but as a primer to the basic theoretical arguments which surround the general topic of city life and transportation patterns and everything that flows from them, its value 
remains.
Thad Williamson, Sprawl, Justice, and Citizenship: The Civic Costs of the American Way of Life. A terrific dissertation-turned-book, stuffed full of good information an
 arguments, pointing towards the value (but also the limitations) of a 
civic republican perspective on addressing the problems of sprawl and 
its unjust, undemocratic effects on our civic life. The conversation 
about our built environment and how best to frame the ideological 
arguments about it have changed much in the nearly 15 years since this 
book was written, but as a primer to the basic theoretical arguments which surround the general topic of city life and transportation patterns and everything that flows from them, its value 
remains. 
 
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