Tag Archives: Reading

Turning the Pages Together: A Lifelong Reader’s Guide to Essential Reading Essays

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Writing about books is many times rarely about the books themselves.

Rather, it’s about the quiet transformation that occurs in the space between the page and the reader. For many years on 27gen, I have explored books not merely as objects on a shelf, but as engines of continuous learning, tools for leadership, and companions through the various seasons of life.

If you are new to 27gen – or if you are looking to revisit the foundational essays that define our collective journey through the printed word – this landing page serves as a curated guide to our key posts on reading. Here, you will find summaries and direct links to these essays, organized by theme to help you navigate through the reflections, strategies, and stories that have shaped my reading journey.

The Evolution of a Reader’s Library: Downsizing & Discovery

A library is a living organism; it grows, shifts, and inevitably contracts as our lives change. These posts examine what happens when we confront our physical shelves and re-evaluate our relationship with book collecting.

Masterclass Strategies: How to Read for Mastery

Reading deeply requires intention and method. Moving beyond simple consumption, these essays break down strategic frameworks for cross-referencing ideas, building expertise, and reading across multiple texts simultaneously.

Leadership & Continuous Learning

Great leadership is fueled by continuous learning. These essays highlight how reading acts as an essential engine for perspective, empathy, and executive decision-making.

Reflections on the Joy & Transformative Power of Reading

At its heart, reading is an act of delight and human connection. These posts celebrate book culture, seasonal milestones, and the profound mental shifts that happen when a powerful writer meets an open mind.

Where to Start?

If you’re unsure where to dive in:

Thank you for being part of the 27gen reading community.

Pick a post, pull up a chair, and let’s keep learning together.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

The Shop That Keeps Reinventing Itself

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Every book I own was bought somewhere, from someone, on a particular day. I rarely think about that part. The book itself takes over, its subject and its spine and the weight of it in the hand, and the shop where I found it mostly fades into the background of the transaction. 

Evan Friss has written a history that puts the shop back in front.

The Bookshop, published by Viking in August 2024 at 416 pages, asks what the American bookstore has been, who stood behind its counters, and what the rest of us were doing when we walked through the door.

I came to it as a synoptical collector first and a reader second, which may be the wrong order for a reviewer but is the honest one. Over five decades I have built shelves on Walt Disney and the company that carries his name, on America’s founding era, on hospitality, on leadership, and many more topics. Much of that collection was assembled one store visit at a time. Right now I am doing the reverse, sending books back out into the world, and Friss’s history landed on my desk at a moment when I was thinking hard about where books come from and where they go.

The Author and the Approach

Friss is a professor of history at James Madison University, and his earlier books on bicycles and American cities suggest a writer who likes ordinary objects that turn out to carry large stories. The bookstore suits him. It is a commercial enterprise and a civic one at once, and it is easy to overlook because it is always right there on the corner.

He built the book on solid ground. He drew on oral histories, archival collections, municipal records, diaries, letters, and interviews with leading booksellers. You can feel that range in his words. Some passages read like social history, others like a trade-journal profile, and a few have the intimacy of a conversation across a counter.

The structure deserves attention because it is the book’s most deliberate choice. Friss does not march from the colonial period to the present in a single line. Instead, each chapter is set in a particular bookshop or book-delivery system that stands for a theme in American bookselling, and that single place anchors a larger argument. A reviewer noted that the author’s definition of “bookstore” is generous enough to take in mobile bookselling and the sidewalk vendors of New York City. I think that generosity is right. A history confined to the tidy storefront with a bell on the door would miss half the story.

Boston, Chicago, and the Making of an Institution

The book opens in Boston, at the Old Corner Bookstore, run by Ticknor and Fields. Friss treats it as the birth of the American bookstore, and the claim is persuasive. Before shops like this, bookselling in the colonies and the young republic was a loose affair of printers who sold their own output, importers, and itinerant peddlers. What Ticknor and Fields built, and James Fields in particular, was a place where publishing, retail, and literary society overlapped. Authors came by to talk. The shop was a destination as much as a business.

I have spent enough time researching the founding generation to find this part of the story familiar in its outline. The men who wrote the Declaration and argued over the Constitution lived in a world where a book was scarce, expensive, and passed hand to hand. Their libraries were statements of intent. The modern bookstore is a nineteenth-century invention in many respects, and it came into being because enough Americans wanted to read, and wanted somewhere respectable to do it.

From there Friss moves to Chicago and the book department at Marshall Field’s, where Marcella Burns Hahner served as buyer, manager, and public face of the store. This is among the book’s better choices. It brings in the department store as a bookselling venue, a woman running a major retail operation in an era when few did, and the idea that books could be sold to a mass audience in the same building as gloves and furniture. Friss describes Marshall Field’s as a critical moment in the trade, and the department store era does mark a turn toward bookselling as a business of volume and display.

True to my previous readings about the Gilded Age and the Progressive Era (spanning from the late 19th century through the early decades of the 20th century), I thought the book would  have more about the economics of that period. The pages on the mechanics of buying, discounting, and the pressure that large retailers put on small shops are interesting but brief. This is a personal note, and actually it points to a quality of the whole book: Friss prefers people to spreadsheets, and the reader mostly benefits from that preference.

The Shop as Gathering Place

If the book has a single idea running through it, it is that the bookstore has never been only a place to buy books. One reviewer put it plainly, observing that the central theme is that the bookshop tends to serve several functions at once. That strikes me as accurate, and it is where the book earns its keep.

Friss gives considerable space to bookshops that served particular communities. He takes up feminist, Black, gay, and radical bookshops, and these chapters carry the most emotional force. The Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookshop in Greenwich Village is the clearest case. According to one reviewer, it shows how a bookstore can be far more than a place where books are sold. Such a shop gave people who had few safe public places a room where they could be among their own. Friss also writes about Julie Morse’s Amazon Bookstore, a feminist shop whose name has nothing to do with the online giant that later claimed the word.

He is also willing to look at shops that most readers will find uncomfortable. One chapter concerns a movement bookstore that operated as a de facto headquarters of American Nazism. Including it was a risk,  but a historically correct one. If the bookstore can be a refuge, it can also be a recruiting office. A history that celebrated only the shops we admire would be a kind of advertisement. Friss lets the institution show its full range, and he does so without sensationalism.

I think this is the most important thing a history like this can teach, and it is relevant to the civic themes I often write about on 27gen. Printed material shapes communities for good and for ill, and the shop is where that shaping happens in public. The books on the shelf are only half of what a store is. The other half is the conversation, the notices on the cork-board, and the people who come in on a Saturday because they know others will be there.

The Human Cast

The brick and mortar bookstore may be the primary topic, but Friss writes best when he is writing about individuals. He profiles booksellers across the book, and several of them are memorable. Mitchell Kaplan, the founder of Books & Books in Coral Gables, Florida, gets the label “the Convener” for his work in building a place where readers could gather. Donna Paz Kaufman, who has run seminars for people hoping to open bookstores, appears alongside her husband, with whom she owns a shop on Amelia Island.

And then there is Vaughn, the UPS driver. Friss includes a tribute to the delivery man at Three Lives & Company, where the author’s wife once worked as a bookseller. This passage  resonated with me more than any of the many other good set pieces. It is the kind of detail that only someone who has been inside a bookshop on an ordinary Tuesday would think to record. Every shop depends on people like Vaughn, and almost no history ever mentions them.

The personal touch has a cost; Friss tells us openly that he could not cover every important shop. Readers who want an encyclopedia of American bookstores will not find it here, and readers who care about a favorite shop in their own town may feel overlooked. Friss is not trying to be complete. He is trying to be representative, and by that standard the book mostly succeeds.

The Numbers and the Mood

The closing chapters turn toward the present, and the tone shifts.  According to U.S. Census numbers, between 2012 and 2021 the number of bookstores fell by 34 percent and bookstore employment fell by 53 percent. The average American spent roughly thirty dollars a year on books, and nearly half of adults read no book outside of work or school.

Friss does not settle into despair, though. He captured his larger argument in a sentence I kept returning to: the bookstore survives by redefining itself. That is the pattern the earlier chapters set up. The shop became a department store counter, then a chain, then a community center, then a coffee-and-events destination. Each reinvention was a response to pressure. The institution has been declared dying many times, and it has adapted each time. The reader is left to judge whether the next adaptation will arrive in time.

Because they reflect my early book-buying, the chain era is where I would have liked more reflection. Borders, which started in Ann Arbor in 1971, went bankrupt in 2011, and Barnes & Noble shut down a large number of its stores in 2023, though their store numbers have rebounded above 750 as of this year. Along with Waldenbooks, these were the shops that most of my generation of readers knew best. They were large, bright, and well stocked, and they let you sit on the floor for an hour without anyone minding. When they went, something went with them that the independents could not entirely replace. Friss treats the chains fairly, but the book’s focus tilts toward the smaller shops, and rightly so.

What I Brought With Me

A brief pause to say something about my own shelves, because the book kept sending me back to them.

The Disney collection is the largest, well over five hundred books built across fifty years. I did not buy them in a single place. They came from used shops in towns I was passing through, from the tables at conventions, from catalogs that arrived in the mail, and from the occasional new-release display where I would pick up a title I had been waiting on. Looking at the Disney

shelves now, I can nearly sort them by where I found them. This one was a lucky discovery in a back room. That one I special-ordered and waited weeks for. Several of my unique finds came from a wonderful afternoon spent in John K. King Used and Rare Books in Detroit. 

The leadership shelves tell another story. At one time that library held over two thousand books. It now holds fewer than two hundred. The downsizing has been deliberate, and it has taught me something that Friss’s book explains from the other side. A book that has finished its work for you has to go somewhere. In the old model, it went to a used shop, which resold it to the next reader, and the cycle continued. The shop was the circulatory system of the book trade. When I take a box of books out of the house, I am relying on that system, and I find it a comfort that somewhere a person behind a counter will look at what I brought and decide whether it deserves a second reader.

Reading Friss as an amateur historian of the founding era, which is how I have mostly been reading the past year, I noticed how many of his themes echo the civic questions that occupied my other writing earlier this year. The founders believed an informed public was the foundation of self-government. They did not say where the public would buy its books, but the bookshop became that place by default. When a shop closes, a town loses a piece of its civic infrastructure, quietly and without a vote. I think about the heritage work I have done on Mecklenburg County, and how much of local memory lives in the places where people gather and the printed material they pass around. A bookstore is one of the few commercial spaces that doubles as an archive of its neighborhood’s interests.

There is a family angle developing as well. Though I don’t come from a large extended family, it was a well-read one, and the books I have kept are in part a way of keeping the family’s habits of mind in one place. Genealogy has made me aware that most of my ancestors left almost nothing in print. They left land records, church registers, and the occasional Bible with names in the front. The Great Wagon Road journey, which I followed on a journey of my own, carried families who owned very few books and who carried the ones they had with great care. A shelf of books is a luxury of recent centuries, and the shop that filled it is a luxury of a more recent one still.

My Two Cents Worth

The Bookshop is a warm book, and warmth often has a way of making a reviewer suspicious. Not for me! Friss’s affection for his subject sometimes softens the critical edge. The coverage of the digital era is thinner than the coverage of the earlier periods, which is natural for a historian but leaves the most pressing questions to the final pages. And as earlier noted, the selection of shops is bound to disappoint anyone looking for their own favorite.

The book has real strengths which easily outweigh any weak spots The unusual thematic structure works. The research is deep and easy to read. Friss has a good eye for the telling detail, whether it is the UPS driver or the department store buyer, and he is honest enough to include the uncomfortable chapters alongside the celebratory ones.

Who should read it? Anyone who has ever lost an hour in a shop without noticing. Anyone who collects, as I do, and has wondered about the chain of hands that brought each volume to the shelf. And readers of American history who want to see how an ordinary institution reflected the larger changes around it, from the growth of literacy and the rise of mass retail to the push for civil rights and the long contest over what Americans should be free to read.

I closed the book with a short list in my head of shops I want to visit, and a longer one of shops I wish I had visited before they closed. That seems to me the right effect for a history like this. It sends you back out the door and down the street, toward a room where books are kept and where someone is likely to ask what you are looking for.

Book Buyers, my favorite local book shop.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

A Library Finds Its Next Readers

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A few weeks after I wrote about the slow work of downsizing my personal library, I received a comment that stuck with me longer than I expected. A friend said he’d benefited over the years from the ideas in my shelves, the writing that came from them, and, eventually, some of the hard copies themselves – books that had passed from me to him at exactly the moment he needed them. I hadn’t set out to make that point in the original piece, but he found it anyway: a book doesn’t stop working when it leaves your hands. Sometimes that’s when it starts.

That comment has been on my mind while I’ve packed the next round of boxes, because this round is different from the last. The beginning of culling was mostly about subtraction – deciding what no longer served me and letting it go to a used bookstore or donated for charity. The next round involved about 300 volumes on a specific topic to a good friend who knew everything in them, but still took them on for use in his expanded role.

This one has a different destination. Somewhere north of a thousand volumes on leadership and vision, trimmed down from a collection that once ran closer to two thousand several years ago, are headed to the amazing staff members of my church. And the more I’ve thought about who’s going to be reading them, the less this has felt like my story to tell.

So I’ll keep this part short: over several decades, I built a leadership shelf the same way I built the others – one book leading to the next, one author’s argument prompting a search for someone who’d answer it differently. Vision, organizational culture, the specific discipline of leading people who didn’t have to follow you but chose to. It grew because the questions never really stopped being useful. What’s changed is that I’m no longer the only person those questions belong to.

Who Actually Needs These Books

Church staff members, especially the younger ones, tend to be leadership-rich and leadership-resource-poor. Someone in their twenties or early thirties gets handed real responsibility fast – a ministry area, a team of volunteers twice their age, a budget, a Sunday morning that will not run itself – and very little formal preparation for the part of the job that has nothing to do with theology. Seminary teaches you to read a text. It doesn’t always teach you how to run a staff meeting, manage conflict between two volunteers who’ve served together for twenty years, or figure out why a team that agrees on the mission still can’t agree on the plan. That’s a different kind of literacy, and it’s the kind this collection was built to develop.

What a shelf like this offers a young leader isn’t a single right answer – it’s range. One book on vision will tell you to cast it boldly and repeat it until people live it out in front of you. Another will tell you vision emerges from listening, not proclamation, and that leaders who arrive with the answer already formed miss what their people actually need. Both are right, in different seasons, with different teams. A twenty-six-year-old three months into their first real leadership role doesn’t yet have the experience to know which season they’re in. What they can have, if the books are sitting on a shelf down the hall instead of in a secluded and unused collection, is quick access to people who’ve already worked that question through.

That’s really the whole case for donating a library like this instead of simply letting it disperse. A used bookstore will always find a buyer eventually. What it won’t do is put the right book in front of the right twenty-eight-year-old the week she’s staring down her first genuinely hard personnel decision, unsure whether to be more patient or more direct. Proximity is the value here as much as content. A resource you have to seek out gets used rarely. A resource sitting in a newly-commissioned staff library gets picked up on a Tuesday afternoon by someone who didn’t know they needed it until they saw the spine.

What I Hope Happens Next

I don’t expect every book to get read cover to cover, and honestly, that was never the standard for me either. Some of these were read in full three times over the years; others got mined for a single chapter and then sat, still useful, waiting for the next question that would send someone back to them. I’d rather see this collection get treated that way by its next owners than sit unopened out of some misplaced obligation to finish what I started. A leadership library is a reference tool as much as a reading list. Its job is to be there when the specific problem shows up, not to be completed.

What I’m hoping for more than anything is that a few of these books become to somebody on that staff what certain books became to me at their age – not just information, but a kind of company. The comfort of knowing someone else has wrestled with the exact frustration you’re wrestling with this week, and wrote it down clearly enough that you can borrow their thinking until yours catches up. That’s what a good leadership book actually offers a young leader: not a script, but companionship in a job that can feel isolating even when you’re surrounded by people all day.

The shelves in my house will be lighter for it. I’m entirely at peace with that trade. A library that sits still and simply accumulates was never really the point – mine included. The point was always what the books could do once they reached the person who needed them most.

For the next chapter of this particular collection, that person just happens to be someone who is much younger than me, standing in front of a room full of volunteers and trying to figure out what to say next. I love and respect them deeply, and hope this collection of ideas can help them on their journey.

I know one of these books will say it for them like it said it for me.

A special thanks to Rick, Anita, Debbie, and Carroll for loading up, moving, unloading, and shelving the library in a little over an hour!

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

Letting Go of the Library: What Downsizing Is Teaching Me About Why I Read

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I have a confession that may surprise people who have seen my bookshelves: I did not build my library on purpose from young adulthood. Not many people set out at twenty-two to accumulate thousands of books. It happens one Tuesday at a time, one impulse purchase at a used bookstore, one “I’ll just order this too while I’m at it” click, until one day you look up and realize you have built something. A collection. A record, almost, of every question you’ve ever chased.

That’s the part people miss about book love. They think it’s about the reading – and it is, mostly – but it’s also about the keeping. The shelf is a kind of memory you can touch.

So when I tell you I’ve begun the slow, painful process of downsizing that library, I want to start further back than the boxes currently stacked in my garage. I want to start with where the habit came from, because you can’t understand why parting with a book feels like parting with a small piece of yourself unless you understand how it got there in the first place.

Where It Started

I grew up looking forward to My Weekly Reader landing on my desk every week in first grade – a thin, newsprint magazine of current events written for kids, and about as far from a leather-bound classic as you can get. But it did something classics rarely do, especially for a six-year-old: it made the outside world feel worth paying attention to. That’s an underrated function of reading. Long before it teaches you anything specific, reading teaches you that there’s more to know, and that knowing it is a pleasure rather than a chore.

The habit had a model at home, too. My father would pull a book down from the various shelves around our house most evenings after the workday was done – not performatively, not as a lesson for the children watching, just as a quiet, consistent fact of who he was. I didn’t articulate it this way at the time, but I absorbed something important: reading wasn’t an activity you scheduled around your life. It was part of the architecture of an ordinary evening, as normal as dinner. In my mid-thirties, I noticed I’d fallen into the same rhythm without deciding to. Some inheritances aren’t houses or watches. Some are just habits, passed down so quietly you don’t notice the transfer until you’re the one carrying them.

How a Shelf Becomes a Library

Here is where I’ll admit something that sounds like an exaggeration but isn’t: My “library” is in fact made up of multiple libraries on various topics. The single largest cohesive library is my collection of books about Walt Disney and the company he built, now over five hundred volumes, spanning releases from 1939 up through  a much anticipated purchase coming in a few weeks. Five decades of buying, one book at a time, on a single subject.

Nobody plans that, at least not in the beginning. 

What happens instead is something closer to what Mortimer Adler called synoptical reading – the practice of putting multiple books on the same subject in conversation with each other rather than reading any single one as the final word. You read one author’s account of how Walt Disney approached storytelling, and it raises a question the book doesn’t answer, so you go find another author who tackles it from a different angle. Then a third. You’re not collecting books so much as collecting arguments, perspectives, and blind spots that only become visible once you’ve got enough voices in the room together.

The trouble – if you can call it that – is that this kind of reading is inherently accumulative by design. You can’t practice synoptical reading with three books. You need enough of them to reveal the patterns and the contradictions, and “enough” tends to keep redefining itself upward. My Disney library isn’t really about Walt Disney anymore, not entirely. It’s about vision and leadership and and hospitality and how an organization sustains a creative culture across generations – Disney just happens to be the case study deep enough to keep teaching me something new after fifty years. 

And it’s not the only synoptical library in the house. 

There are shelves built over the last year for founding-era American history that grew the same way, one book answering a question the last one raised. There are three large vertical shelves on hospitality rooted in the home, with another two shelves containing books on the subject that I have written about. There’s a large selection of books about the hospitality industry seen through a culinary lens. And many more smaller ones: Hamburgers. Donuts. Bridges. J.R.R. Tolkien. Sherlock Holmes. Reading. Shepherding. And not surprisingly, Books. There’s a couple of fiction shelves: All of Stephen Hunter’s books, and the original Tom Clancy works.

Though not technically synoptical, the biggest of all is the general topic of Leadership and Vision – slowly built over at least forty years, first in graduate school, then gaining momentum in three church staff positions, then accelerating 2012-2025 when my job at the time required reading – lots of reading! At one time, that library numbered over two thousand books, but I’ve trimmed it down over the last few years to just under one thousand books.

A personal library, it turns out, is rarely one collection. It’s several, growing at different speeds, for different reasons, until they’ve filled every room that will hold them (plus a garage, plus – until recently – a storage unit).

Part of what fuels the accumulation is simply the hunting. There’s a particular satisfaction in walking into a used bookstore with no list and no agenda, just an open question you’ve been carrying around, and finding the one volume that happens to answer it. I’ve spent whole afternoons doing exactly that, working through curated shelves at a favorite spot and walking out with  a book or two I didn’t know existed that morning. When my former occupation carried me all over the country, you can be sure the first search I performed was “used bookstores near me”. A retailer can get you a specific title in two days. It cannot replicate that particular kind of luck, and I suspect the luck is half of why collectors keep collecting long after the shelves have stopped having room to spare.

The Day That Keeps Finding Me

The beginning of this downsizing project falls near a very auspicious day on the calendar.

August 9th does something odd to my calendar every year. It’s my father’s birthday. It’s also National Book Lovers Day. I’ve written about that coincidence before, and I’m not going to pretend it’s anything more than calendar arithmetic – but coincidences earn their keep when they keep making you think, and this one has never stopped.

Book Lovers Day, at its best, isn’t really about celebrating volume. Plenty of people can point to towering shelves without having been changed much by what’s on them. The day is worth marking because it asks a better question: not how many books have you read, but which ones actually shaped you. For me, that question and my father’s birthday have become impossible to separate. He didn’t hand me a reading list. He handed me an evening habit, and the habit did the rest of the work over the next fifty+ years.

He used to say something I’ve quoted before and will probably keep quoting: “I never made much money, but I made a lot of friends, and that’s what’s important.” He wasn’t talking about books when he said it. But it’s the same instinct, really – the belief that the things worth accumulating in a life are relational, not material. Friends, in his case. In mine, apparently, over five hundred books about a fascinating man who built an empire on curiosity.

Arguing With Your Own Shelves

Which brings me, finally, to the boxes in the garage.

Downsizing a personal library sounds like a logistics problem – what fits on the shelves, what doesn’t – and at the surface it is. But the harder work isn’t physical. It’s that every book on those shelves represents a decision you made once, for a reason that felt sound at the time, and downsizing means reopening every one of those decisions and asking whether you’d make the same call today.

Some of that is easy. The duplicate copies. The books bought for projects that finished years ago and will never be revisited. The reference material now more useful as a searchable PDF than as eleven pounds of hardcover. Letting those go doesn’t cost much.

I started, for what it’s worth, with the “easiest” shelf in the library – a collection of almost three hundred books from a long-practiced career phase that’s behind me now. Once I made the decision, it was relatively easy to call my friend Danny who is the most knowledgeable person in the field, and he graciously agreed to accept the library. Dropping off the books a few days later was gratifying as he perused the books and some of his staff began sorting them for immediate use. This decision was only “easy” in light of the fact that I knew the volumes were going to  a fellow “book nerd” who respected them and would use them appropriately.

Starting there wasn’t strategy so much as self-preservation. If I’d opened with the shelf that holds my father’s books, I’d have quit the whole project in an afternoon. There’s something to be said for building momentum on the boxes that don’t hurt (much), so that by the time you reach the ones that do, you’ve at least got some practice at making the call.

What costs something is the rest of the pile – the books that aren’t really about their contents anymore. The ones your father gave you. The ones you bought the week you started a new chapter of your life and haven’t opened since, but can’t quite explain why you’re still keeping. The signed first edition that will probably never appreciate in value but represents an afternoon you remember more clearly than the book’s actual argument. Synoptical reading taught me to keep gathering perspectives until the picture got clearer. Downsizing is the opposite exercise: learning to let a single memory be enough justification to keep something, without needing to defend it against the logic that says you should let it go.

I’ve started with a simple, imperfect rule: I ask whether I’m keeping the book or keeping the version of myself that bought it. If it’s the second one, I try to find another way to hold onto that memory – a photograph of the shelf before it changes, a note in a journal about why the book mattered – so the object can go without the memory going with it. It doesn’t always work. Some books I’ve picked up to donate and quietly put back, unconvinced by my own argument. That’s fine. This isn’t a project with a deadline. It’s a negotiation, and negotiations take as long as they take.

What I haven’t done, and don’t intend to do, is treat this as pure subtraction. The Disney collection will  stay intact, and even grow – that’s not sentiment, that’s an active research project with decades of momentum behind it. The founding-era shelf is slowly growing, not shrinking, alongside the  current interest and writing it supports. For now, many of the syntopical shelves will remain the same. Downsizing, done honestly, isn’t about arriving at some minimalist ideal where the shelves are bare and the mind is supposedly clearer for it. It’s about being honest for the first time in years about which books are still doing work in your life and which ones are just doing time.

What Stays With You

My father’s books – the actual physical volumes that sat on his shelves – mostly didn’t make it into my collection intact. Estates get divided, and books, unlike heirloom furniture, rarely survive the process as a set. But a handful did make the trip, and they sit now in spots I chose for them deliberately, not filed with everything else. I don’t reread them often. I don’t need to. Their presence is the point, not their content – a small, physical reminder that the habit I’ve spent a lifetime indulging didn’t start with me.

That’s the thing about a personal library that a spreadsheet of titles will never capture. It’s not an inventory. It’s a kind of autobiography written in other people’s words – which books you reached for during which years, which arguments changed your mind, which ones you kept even after you stopped needing them, just because you remembered who you were when you bought them.

Downsizing doesn’t erase that autobiography. If you do it with any care at all, it just edits it – cutting the passages that no longer serve the story and keeping the ones that do. My shelves are smaller than they were a few months ago, and they’ll keep shrinking more before I’m satisfied. But the books that remain are, if anything, a more honest account of who I am than the fuller shelves ever were.

There’s a version of this essay that ends with a tidy lesson about minimalism, or about letting go, or about how less is somehow more. I don’t believe that version, and I don’t think you should either. Some libraries deserve to keep growing – mine will, on the shelves that are still doing active work. The point was never the size of the collection. It was always whether the books on it could still tell you something true about the person who kept them.

My father taught me to read before he taught me anything else worth remembering. Figuring out which of his books, and which of my own, are worth keeping turns out to be one more thing he taught me – just later than I expected, and the hard way. If you’re standing in front of your own shelves right now, wondering where to start, I’d tell you what I wish someone had told me: start with the easy shelf, be honest about the hard one, and don’t mistake a smaller library for a smaller life. 

The books that matter will let you know.

They always do.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

Glazed, Frosted, and Sprinkled: Getting Ready for National Donut Day

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Though I certainly enjoyed donuts throughout my childhood, a single book is responsible for the fondness I have for them as an adult.

Books will do that to you.

Like many things in my life, this fondness all came about because of a book: Homer Price.  I have great memories of reading one of the stories in the book about Homer and Uncle Ulysses and the automatic doughnut machine.

 I remembered the image of doughnuts stacked on the counter, shelves, and stools with more coming out of the machine every minute.

I didn’t realize at the time how a book about donuts could be linked to so much more in life.

THE DOUGHNUTS takes place in the 1940’s when an uncle of a boy named Homer opens a luncheonette. Uncle Ulysses, much to the chagrin of his wife Agnes, is a man fond of new-fangled gadgets and has installed a doughnut making machine in his restaurant.

One evening, while Homer is visiting his uncle’s restaurant, Uncle Ulysses leaves Homer in charge of putting the finishing touches on the doughnut machine while he stops by the barber shop. Homer works on the machine and is soon visited by an “advertising man” who stops by for coffee and a doughnut.

While the man waits for the doughnut machine to begin working, a wealthy woman enters the restaurant. She asks Homer if she can mix up the doughnut batter for him, takes off her diamond bracelet, and sets to work. 

Soon the doughnut machine is working – too well! Homer cannot stop the doughnuts from popping out of the machine! Her job finished, the woman leaves and Homer and the advertising man look for places to store the doughnuts.

Homer and the man put their heads together and come up with a scheme to sell the doughnuts “2 for 5 cents” in order to be rid of them. Eventually, the wealthy woman returns, claiming to have left her bracelet in the restaurant.

Shortly, it becomes evident that the bracelet must be in one of the thousands of doughnuts. Homer has an idea! He makes a sign offering one hundred dollars for anyone who can find the bracelet. It doesn’t take long for the doughnuts to be gobbled up and the bracelet to be found.

The end of the story finds Uncle Ulysses trying to explain to skeptical Aunt Agnes why there are tons of crumbs from dozens of doughnuts left on the restaurant counter!

Trivia Note: Have you ever seen the short film The Doughnuts, based on the story above?

As I recall, the copy of Homer Price I had as a boy came from that wonderful invention designed to sell books to eager young readers like me: the Scholastic Book Fair. Not only could I order books, but our classroom benefited too by receiving books for our in-room library. Sadly, many years later when my kids were in elementary school, the Book Fair was less focused on books and more on junk. That’s another story for another time.

What’s the big deal with a child’s book published in 1943, read by a first grade teacher to her class in 1964, bought by a second grader as soon as he could in 1965, and fondly remembered over sixty years later?

Regular readers of this website know that reading and books are a big deal to me. Introduced by my schoolteacher mother, encouraged by my daily reader father, and nurtured over the years by teachers and professors, it’s not too far off the mark to say these images explain the big deal about reading:

Books have the power to ignite the imagination and foster creativity in children. This imaginative capacity can carry over into adulthood, allowing individuals to approach challenges with creative problem-solving skills and innovative thinking. Seeing this image, and reading about Homer’s dilemma and ultimate solution planted a seed in me: sometimes the best way out of a jam is to sit and think first, and then act on the solution that comes to you.

Reading from an early age has been linked to improved cognitive abilities, such as better language skills, broader vocabulary, enhanced critical thinking, and stronger analytical capabilities. These cognitive benefits persist into adulthood, enabling individuals to process information more effectively and think more critically. Putting together a disassembled donut machine, then making it work so well that Homer had to come up with an idea to get rid of all those donuts – that’s critical thinking!

Children who cultivate a love for reading at an early age are more likely to maintain a curiosity and thirst for knowledge throughout their lives. Books become a gateway to continuously learning new things, exploring different perspectives, and expanding their horizons. Homer’s curiosity got him into the problem, and willingness to continue thinking got him out of it.

I could go on, but I hope you get the point: While not everyone who loved reading as a child maintains that passion into adulthood, those who do often find that their early love of books has profoundly shaped their intellectual, emotional, and personal development in enduring ways.

All from a child’s book about a runaway donut machine…

…which is where I now hope to make the connection for you!

It’s that time of year again when the sweet, doughy aroma of fresh donuts fills the air and Americans come together to honor one of the nation’s most beloved breakfast treats. Friday, June 5th marks National Donut Day 2026, a delicious holiday that pays homage to the humble yet iconic donut. This is an annual recognition, falling on the first Friday of June each year.

With roots tracing back to World War I, when Salvation Army “Lassies” fried donuts in soldiers’ helmets as a morale-boosting treat, National Donut Day has become an annual tradition that transcends generations. This year’s celebration promises to be even sweeter, with donut shops and bakeries across the country rolling out their finest creations to mark the occasion.

From the classic glazed to the creative cronut, the donut landscape has evolved dramatically over the decades, reflecting the changing tastes and culinary adventurousness of American consumers. Gourmet donut boutiques have taken the humble pastry to new heights, adorning them with artisanal ingredients like small-batch jams, craft chocolates, and hand-torched meringues.

At the same time, the nostalgia for simpler pleasures remains strong, with long lines still forming at old-fashioned donut counters for pillowy yeast-raised rings and sugar-dusted cake donuts. After all, there’s something undeniably comforting about biting into a fresh, warm donut that instantly transports you back to childhood.

There are several reasons why donuts have become such a beloved and popular food in American culture:

  • Convenience and portability: Donuts are easy to eat on-the-go, making them a convenient breakfast or snack option for people with busy lifestyles.
  • Nostalgia and comfort food: Donuts evoke a sense of nostalgia and comfort for many Americans, reminding them of childhood memories, family gatherings, or neighborhood donut shops.
  • Variety and customization: Donuts come in an endless array of flavors, glazes, toppings, and fillings, allowing for personalization and catering to diverse tastes.
  • Indulgence and treat: Donuts are often seen as an indulgent treat or reward, satisfying cravings for something sweet and decadent.
  • Cultural significance: Donuts have become deeply ingrained in American culture, with events like National Donut Day and the association with coffee breaks and diners.
  • Accessibility and affordability: Donuts are widely available and relatively inexpensive, making them an accessible indulgence for people from various socioeconomic backgrounds.
  • Marketing and branding: Major donut chains like Dunkin’ Donuts and Krispy Kreme have successfully marketed and branded their products, contributing to the popularity of donuts.
  • Versatility: Donuts can be enjoyed at any time of day, from breakfast to dessert, and can be served on various occasions, from casual gatherings to special events.

The combination of convenience, indulgence, nostalgia, variety, and cultural significance has made donuts a quintessential American food that appeals to a broad range of consumers and has become deeply embedded in the country’s culinary landscape.

This year, celebrate National Donut Day by indulging in your favorite fried confection, whether it’s an old reliable or an Instagram-worthy gourmet creation. Share one with a loved one over a steaming cup of coffee, or treat your office mates to a box of assorted delights.

However you choose to commemorate the occasion, take a moment to appreciate the humble donut and its rich place in American culture and history. From the battlefields of World War I to the modern artisanal bakeries, the donut has proven its enduring appeal and cemented its status as an iconic American comfort food.

So grab a napkin and prepare to get deliciously sticky – it’s almost National Donut Day, and the only acceptable response is to treat yourself to a sugary, doughy delight – and a good book!

The rings of batter kept right on dropping into the hot fat, and the automatic gadget kept right on turning them over, and the other automatic gadget kept right on giving them a little push, and the doughnuts kept right on rolling down the little chute just as regular as a clock can tick – they just kept right on a comin’, an’ a comin’, an’ a comin’, an’ a comin’.

Uncle Ulysses

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

Beyond the Pile: How Our Shelfies Tell the Stories We Live

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Today on #NationalShelfieDay – Wednesday, January 28th – readers worldwide will point their cameras at their bookshelves, capturing everything from meticulously organized libraries to precarious towers threatening imminent collapse. But hidden within these snapshots lies something far more revealing than mere book collections – they’re intimate portraits of our intellectual journeys, visual maps of the curiosities that shape our lives, and honest documentation of the beautiful tension between who we are and who we aspire to become.

The Honest Geography of Reading Life

While social media often demands perfection, the most compelling shelfies embrace chaos with pride. These are the photographs that reveal coffee-stained bookmarks jutting from half-finished volumes, library loans teetering atop personal purchases in gravity-defying arrangements, and that one book that’s been sitting unread for three years but might be perfect for next month. They show books piled on nightstands, stacked beside reading chairs, or occupying that awkward space between the bookshelf and the wall where they’ve somehow established permanent residence.

These unvarnished captures resonate because they reflect reality. Our book piles aren’t failures of reading discipline but rather evidence of active, engaged literary lives. Each book waiting represents curiosity sparked, a recommendation followed, or an impulse honored. Together, they form physical manifestations of intellectual ambition, visible proof that our reading appetite consistently outpaces our available time.

When Collections Become Conversations

Yet beyond the TBR pile lies an even more fascinating phenomenon: the specialized collection. These aren’t random accumulations but carefully curated conversations across time, perspective, and expertise. Look closely at any serious reader’s shelfie, and you’ll discover entire sections devoted to subjects that have captured their imagination and refused to let go.

Consider my ultimate – and always growing – Disney collection, numbering over 500 volumes, dating from 1939 to current releases. Under the watchful eye of Engineer Mickey, these books represent more than fandom – they document my ongoing fascination with Walt Disney the man, childhood memories of Disney, and participating in some of the best leadership and hospitality practices that exist. This isn’t hoarding; it’s scholarship pursued with passion.

Or examine my Bridges collection, where each spine represents the human drive to connect, to overcome obstacles, to span the impossible. These books ask us to envision a world without bridges – London without crossings over the Thames, Manhattan as a truly isolated island, San Francisco cut off from both north and south. Understanding the stories behind our bridges fosters deeper appreciation for their history and provides insight into the humanity of engineers and engineering itself. It’s a collection that celebrates both literal and metaphorical connections.

The Power of Synoptical Reading

Among the most intriguing shelfies are those built around synoptical reading – gathering books by various authors around similar subjects for comparison and expansion of knowledge. These collections transform the humble book pile from random accumulation into curated symposium. They demonstrate reading as an active pursuit of knowledge rather than passive entertainment.

My culinary collection spans everything from childhood meals and family cooking traditions to professional restaurant management and food history. This culinary shelfie documents a family deeply embedded in food culture: a mother who became a caterer, an oldest son whose twenty-year career has taken him from pizza baker to pastry chef to restaurant general manager, a youngest son who pursued Culinary Arts at Johnson & Wales and now manages events at a university. Each book in this collection doesn’t just represent recipes – it captures lessons about life, work, family, and the connections forged around tables.

The Sherlock Holmes collection tells a different story of reading evolution. It begins with one book – Michael Dirda’s “On Conan Doyle, Or, The Whole Art of Storytelling” – that piqued curiosity and left me hungry for more, rereading all the stories from my young adult years. Dirda’s passionate celebration of Conan Doyle as a master storyteller cast new light on classic detective stories, inspiring deeper exploration. For avid readers, finishing one book is often just the beginning of a journey into a new subject or author. A great book has a way of leaving you wanting to dive deeper into the world or ideas it exposed you to.

This approach becomes incredibly powerful because it reveals how ideas evolve over time, exposes the blind spots that individual authors might miss, and often leads to insights that none of the original writers could have reached alone. In our current world of endless information streams, synoptical reading is less about consuming more content and more about becoming a thoughtful curator who can weave together the best thinking on complex topics into something genuinely illuminating.

The Unexpected Collections

Sometimes our shelfies reveal passions that surprise even ourselves. Who accumulates an entire collection devoted to hamburgers? Guilty. Someone who understands that even simple things reveal complexity when examined from multiple angles – literary, culinary, and what I cheerfully admit is “arbitrary: based on random choice or my personal whims.” From humble beginnings to current status as a global icon, the burger has cemented its place in hearts and stomachs worldwide. Diving into books about burgers becomes not just about savoring deliciousness but appreciating rich history and cultural significance.

The donut collection explores similar territory. For many, the humble donut is far more than a sweet treat – it’s a symbol of comfort, a trigger for nostalgia, and a wonderful nod to American culinary ingenuity.

These delightful rings of fried dough have spun their way through centuries, leaving a delicious trail of history, personal memories, and significant business lessons in their wake. To find the “hole” truth requires jumping headlong into books that explore the multifaceted world of donuts, from fascinating origins to status as global icons.

The history of donuts in America is a testament to their enduring appeal. From Dutch settlers to modern-day gourmet bakers, each era has contributed to the rich tapestry of donut lore. So next time you savor a donut, remember that you’re partaking in a delicious slice of American history.

Literary Pilgrimages and Family Legacies

Some collections document decades-long relationships with particular authors or universes. My Tolkien collection began in junior high with “The Hobbit” and “The Lord of the Rings” and expanded over subsequent decades to include not only multiple re-readings but all of Tolkien’s published and unpublished works, plus books written about Tolkien’s work by other authors. These aren’t books merely owned – they’re territories explored and re-explored, landscapes that continue shaping how we think, feel, and dream.

The Stephen Hunter collection traces another kind of journey – following Bob Lee Swagger, “the Nailer,” through a sprawling multi-generational saga that meticulously builds a family legacy of marksmen, lawmen, and warriors stretching back over two hundred years. Since 1993’s “Point of Impact,” readers have followed not just one hero but an entire lineage, understanding that sometimes our greatest stories aren’t contained in single volumes but unfold across entire series that demand shelf space and loyalty.

The Library Connection

Many shelfies inadvertently capture another truth about modern reading life: the integration of library books into personal collections. Some readers intermingle borrowed volumes with purchased ones, creating temporary arrangements that shift weekly. Others maintain separate, highly visible locations for library loans – for me, just outside my office door – allowing them to stay top of mind, handy to grab coming or going, so as to always have one or more in process.

These arrangements tell stories of resourcefulness, of readers who understand that ownership and engagement aren’t synonymous, who build relationships with their local libraries and librarians. The weekly library pilgrimage has become ritual for many readers like me, a sacred appointment appearing in calendars alongside work meetings and social obligations. These visits yield not just books but the pleasure of discovery, the satisfaction of completing one reading mission while embarking on another.

The Perfect Imperfect Shelfie

On National Shelfie Day, resist the urge to tidy or curate excessively. The best shelfies capture reading life as it actually exists, complete with precarious stacks, mixed genres, and honest documentation of intellectual ambitions. 

When thousands of readers share photographs of their own literary accumulations, shame dissolves. We see ourselves reflected in others’ stacks and towers, recognizing that our reading ambitions outpacing our reading time is universal rather than personal failure. There’s genuine pleasure in acquiring books that exists independently from reading them. Each new addition represents possibility and promise, another potential adventure or insight waiting just beyond the current read.

These honest captures celebrate not just the books we’ve read but those we aspire to read, not just our literary accomplishments but our ongoing ambitions. They document the beautiful tension between finite time and infinite curiosity, between the books we’ve finished and the worlds still waiting to be explored.

Your National Shelfie Day Challenge

Here’s your mission for today, should you choose to accept it:

First, locate all your book piles. Yes, all of them. The one on your nightstand, the stack hiding behind your bedroom door, those books camouflaged among decorative pillows on your couch, and the collection you’ve strategically positioned to block that wall stain you keep meaning to paint over. 

Next, photograph your book piles exactly as they exist in their natural habitat. Post with pride, and tag it so fellow bibliophiles can find you. Bonus points if you can count how many books are in your pile without having to actually count them twice. Double bonus points if you admit in your caption which books have been sitting unread the longest.

Capture your collections – whatever they may be. Share your collections, the cookbooks, the mystery series, the professional development texts, the hobby guides, the literary fiction, the guilty pleasures. Show us the collections that tell your story, that map your curiosities, that reveal the subjects you can’t stop exploring from multiple angles.

This is your intervention and your celebration rolled into one. I’m not here to shame anyone’s book pile. I’m here to document it, share it, and collectively acknowledge that we’re all in this beautiful, ridiculous predicament together – surrounded by more books than we can read in several lifetimes, yet somehow always eyeing that next title, planning that next library visit, making room for just one more.

Because ultimately, our shelfies don’t just show what we read. They show who we are, who we’ve been, and who we hope to become. They’re visual autobiographies written in spines and dust jackets, honest portraits of lives lived in pursuit of knowledge, beauty, adventure, and understanding.

So point your camera. Capture your chaos. Share your stories.

Your move, reader.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

Capturing the TBR: #LibraryShelfieDay and Our Towers of Literary Promise

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In the digital age where everything from breakfast to sunsets demands photographic documentation, there exists one social media trend that book lovers have embraced with particular enthusiasm: the shelfie. This portmanteau of “shelf” and “selfie” has spawned its own unofficial holiday, #LibraryShelfieDay, celebrated each year as readers worldwide turn their cameras toward their bookshelves to share their literary landscapes with fellow bibliophiles.

Yet among the carefully curated collections and color-coordinated spines, one element appears in nearly every true reader’s shelfie with endearing inevitability: the TBR pile. For normal readers, TBR stands for To Be Read. However, when it comes to books, I am anything but normal! Books don’t come into my house unless they will be read – consequently, TBR means To Be Read and Re-Read for me!

Those precarious towers of books, stacked horizontally atop neatly shelved volumes or claiming entire sections of furniture, tell stories as compelling as any novel they contain.

The Honest Bookshelf

While some readers meticulously arrange their shelfies to present only finished reads or aesthetically pleasing arrangements, the most authentic captures embrace the chaos. These are the photographs that show books piled on nightstands, stacked beside reading chairs, or occupying that awkward space between the bookshelf and the wall. They reveal coffee-stained bookmarks protruding from half-finished volumes and library books teetering atop personal purchases in a delicate balance that defies both physics and organization.

These unvarnished shelfies resonate because they reflect reality. Your book pile – TBR or recently completed – isn’t a failure of reading discipline but rather evidence of an active, engaged literary life. Each book waiting to be read or re-read represents curiosity sparked, a recommendation followed, or an impulse honored. Together, they form a physical manifestation of intellectual ambition, visible proof that our reading appetite consistently outpaces our available time.

Geography of Literary Intention

My TBR arrangement tells its own story. Some maintain a single, ever-growing stack, adding new acquisitions to the top while theoretically working from the bottom up. Others scatter smaller collections throughout my office and home, creating thematic clusters or separating library loans from personal purchases. I typically organize by subject/theme, and then priority, placing must-reads within arm’s reach of my favorite reading spots. Occasionally, I embrace complete spontaneity, letting mood and moment determine my next selection.

The Japanese concept of tsundoku describes the act of acquiring books and letting them accumulate unread – what? While sometimes wielded as gentle accusation, most dedicated readers recognize themselves in this practice without shame. My TBR pile serves practical purposes beyond mere hoarding. It functions as insurance against the unthinkable scenario of having nothing new to read or something that demands a re-read, offers variety when reading moods shift unpredictably, and stands as tangible evidence of my commitment to future learning and growth.

Synoptical Stacks and Thematic Towers

Among the most intriguing book piles captured in #LibraryShelfieDay posts are those built around specific subjects or themes. These collections reveal readers pursuing deeper understanding through multiple perspectives. One might spot a tower of thought on home hospitality, three biographies of the same historical figure lined up together, or a cluster of novels from a particular literary movement awaiting comparative analysis. Science enthusiasts might display competing theories side by side, while philosophy readers gather texts in dialogue with one another.

Glancing at the images accompanying this article should provide the reader a clue into my reading habits and collections. I’m a HUGE synoptical reader – gathering books by various authors around similar subjects, for comparison and expansion of the knowledge of the subject.

This approach becomes incredibly powerful because it reveals how ideas evolve over time, exposes the blind spots that individual authors might miss, and often leads to insights that none of the original writers could have reached alone. In our current world of endless information streams, synoptical reading is less about consuming more content and more about becoming a thoughtful curator who can weave together the best thinking on complex topics into something genuinely illuminating.

These synoptical reading projects transform the humble book pile from random accumulation into curated symposium. They demonstrate reading as an active pursuit of knowledge rather than passive entertainment. Each book becomes part of a larger conversation, with the reader serving as moderator between different voices and viewpoints. The resulting shelfies document not just books owned but intellectual journeys planned.

The Library Connection

Many shelfies inadvertently capture another truth about modern reading life: the integration of library books into personal collections. Borrowed volumes intermingle with purchased ones, creating temporary arrangements that shift weekly. These mixed stacks tell stories of resourcefulness, of readers who understand that ownership and engagement aren’t synonymous, who build relationships with their local libraries and librarians. I don’t intermingle my weekly library “borrows” – they maintain a very visible location just outside my office door. This allows me to keep them top of mind and handy to grab coming or going, so as to always have one or more handy. Here’s the current crop, with a few more coming later today on my weekly visit to the library.

The weekly library pilgrimage has become ritual for many readers, a sacred appointment appearing in calendars alongside work meetings and social obligations. These visits yield not just books but the pleasure of discovery, the satisfaction of completing one reading mission while embarking on another. The resulting TBR piles blend personal investment with communal resources, private reading goals with public literary treasures.

Finding Joy in the Accumulation

Perhaps the most valuable insight shared through #NationalShelfieDay celebrations is the collective permission to embrace our book piles without guilt. When thousands of readers share photographs of their own literary accumulations, the shame dissolves. We see ourselves reflected in others’ stacks and towers, recognizing that our reading ambitions outpacing our reading time is universal rather than personal failure.

There’s genuine pleasure in acquiring books that exists independently from reading them. Each new addition to the book pile represents possibility and promise, another potential adventure or insight waiting just beyond the current read. These books don’t reproach us with their unread status; instead, they offer comfort through their mere presence, assurance that intellectual nourishment stands ready whenever we need it.

The Perfect Imperfect Shelfie

As #LibraryShelfieDay approaches next week, resist the urge to tidy or curate excessively. The best shelfies capture reading life as it actually exists, complete with precarious stacks, mixed genres, and that one book that’s been sitting unread for three years but might be perfect for next month. Include the library books with their due date slips visible, the impulse purchases still sporting bookstore bags, the gifts from well-meaning relatives who perhaps missed the mark on genre preferences.

These honest captures celebrate not just the books we’ve read but those we aspire to read, not just our literary accomplishments but our ongoing ambitions. They document the beautiful tension between finite time and infinite curiosity, between the books we’ve finished and the worlds still waiting to be explored.

So when #LibraryShelfieDay arrives next week, point your camera toward those towers of possibility. Capture your book pile in all its chaotic glory. Share it proudly, knowing that somewhere, countless other readers are doing the same, each of us celebrating not just our love of reading, but our optimistic, enduring belief that somehow, someday, we’ll get to them all.

The Library Shelfie Day Challenge

Here’s your mission for the coming week, should you choose to accept it: 

First, locate all your book piles. Yes, all of them. The one on your nightstand, the stack hiding behind your bedroom door, those books camouflaged among the decorative pillows on your couch, and the collection you’ve strategically positioned to block that wall stain you keep meaning to paint over. Resist the urge to organize them into something Instagram-worthy. Do not alphabetize. Do not arrange by color. Do not hide the romance novel with the embarrassing cover or the self-help book you bought during that 3 a.m. existential crisis. 

On #LibraryShelfieDay coming next Wednesday 1/28, photograph your book pile(s) exactly as they exist in their natural habitat, post it with pride, and tag it so fellow bibliophiles can find you. Bonus points if you can count how many books are in your pile without having to actually count them twice. Double bonus points if you admit in your caption which books have been sitting unread the longest. This is your intervention and your celebration rolled into one. We’re not here to shame anyone’s book pile. We’re here to document it, share it, and collectively acknowledge that we’re all in this beautiful, ridiculous predicament together. 

I’ll be expanding my #Shelfies from those you see here – will you join me?

Your move, reader.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

The Pages That Shaped Us: A National Book Lover’s Day Celebration

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August 9th holds two profound meanings for me: it’s my father’s birthday, and it’s National Book Lover’s Day. The connection between these dates tells a story about legacy, love, and the transformative power of the written word. Each year as this day approaches I reflect on the power of reading and how my father instilled it in me.

When Words Become Memory

The last time I saw my father truly himself was during Christmas 2011. By then, several strokes had stolen his ability to read – the very thing that had defined so much of who he was. But as I wandered through our family home that quiet holiday evening, his books still lined every shelf, silent witnesses to decades of curiosity and growth.

I pulled volume after volume from their resting places, each one triggering a cascade of memories. Here was the history book that sparked our dinner conversation about World War II. There, the biography that led to his stories about perseverance. Opening each cover was like stepping into a time machine, hearing his voice again through the pages he had loved.

Two months later, on February 25, 2012, the legacy of those books became his lasting gift to me.

The Making of a Reader

My father embodied what author Jessica Hooten Wilson beautifully captures in her observation: “The manual labor of the past that allowed a human being to work in an embodied way, and to contemplate in heart and mind while working with one’s hands, encouraged the desire for reading after the physical exertions were completed.”

After twelve-hour days at his gas station, six days a week, my dad would settle into his chair with a book. Not occasionally – almost every single night. He understood something profound: that reading wasn’t just entertainment, it was essential nourishment for the soul.

This passion became the cornerstone of our family culture. As young children, every two weeks my mother would drive my brother and me to the library in the next town over. We’d return with armloads of books – I’d devour mine within days, then spend the remaining time impatiently waiting for our next literary pilgrimage.

That rhythm became my heartbeat. Elementary school, high school, college, graduate studies, decades into my professional life, and now accelerated in retirement – the weekly library visit remains sacred. Three or four books returned, three or four new adventures collected.

The Art of Deep Reading

National Book Lover’s Day isn’t just about celebrating our love of books – it’s about honoring the profound ways reading shapes us. I’ve discovered that the deepest rewards come not from reading widely, but from reading deeply.

Following Mortimer Adler’s wisdom in How to Read a Book, I practice what he calls synoptical reading – diving deep into subjects by consuming multiple perspectives on the same topic. It’s like being a detective, gathering clues from various sources to solve the mystery of understanding.

For over three decades, I’ve been conducting a synoptical investigation into Walt Disney and his revolutionary approach to creating experiences. My Disney library has grown to over 500 books, spanning from 1939 to last week’s latest releases. These aren’t just books about cartoons and theme parks – they’re masterclasses in vision, leadership, innovation, and human connection.

But Disney isn’t my only reading obsession. I maintain several “reading threads” – ongoing explorations of topics that fascinate me. Current deep dives include:

  • Charting the evolution of hospitality in American culture
  • What it means to be a “modern elder” in today’s world
  • Biblical leadership principles of “shepherding” for contemporary challenges
  • Discovering the “revolutionary” importance of Charlotte and Mecklenburg County in the 1770s

Synoptical reading often plays an important role in the Wednesday Weekly Reader, so I’m devoting an article next week – stay tuned!

Reading as Revolutionary Act

In our age of infinite scrolling and bite-sized content, choosing to read a book is almost rebellious. It’s a declaration that depth matters more than speed, that contemplation trumps consumption.

Prior to retirement, most evenings I would continue my father’s tradition – settling in with a book after the day’s work is done. As I continue to adjust to my new lifestyle, one thing is a constant – reading has expanded! I may be researching topics like those above, or working on my other major website projects – concepts of First Place Hospitality and the Modern Elder. Other times, it’s pure pleasure reading, the kind that makes you forget time.

Thomas Edison understood this hunger for knowledge and put it this way: “I didn’t read a few books, I read the library.” That’s the spirit we need to recapture – not just reading for information, but reading for transformation.

Your Book Lover’s Day Invitation

This August 9th, how will you honor the books that have shaped you? Here are some meaningful ways to celebrate:

Create New Traditions:

  • Start a synoptical reading project on a topic that fascinates you
  • Host a book swap with friends who share your interests
  • Write letters to authors whose work has impacted you
  • Create a reading nook that invites daily literary escapes

Share the Love:

  • Gift a meaningful book to someone who needs its message
  • Volunteer with literacy programs in your community
  • Share your favorite quotes using #NationalBookLoversDay
  • Mentor someone just beginning their reading journey

Go Deeper:

  • Revisit a childhood favorite with adult eyes
  • Finally tackle that classic you’ve been avoiding
  • Join or start a book club focused on challenging reads
  • Practice the four levels of reading Adler describes

The Legacy Lives On

Every August 9th, I’m reminded that the greatest gift my father gave me wasn’t his collection of books – it was his modeling of what it means to be a lifelong learner. He showed me that reading isn’t just about acquiring knowledge; it’s about remaining curious, staying humble, and never stopping our growth.

In a world that often feels chaotic and overwhelming, books offer something irreplaceable: the opportunity to slow down, think deeply, and connect with the vast tapestry of human experience. They remind us that we’re part of something larger than ourselves, contributors to an ongoing conversation that spans generations.

So today, pick up a book. Not just any book, but one that challenges you, changes you, or simply brings you joy. Turn the page with intention, knowing that somewhere, a future reader will be grateful for the path you’re helping to preserve.

After all, we’re not just book lovers – we’re the keepers of humanity’s greatest conversation.

What book will you turn to today? What conversation will you join? The pages are waiting.

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.

A Charlotte Birthday Adventure: Burgers & Books!

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For the true book lover, every day is an opportunity to turn a new page, but a birthday offers the perfect excuse for a grand adventure rooted in the love of reading and good food. 

Welcome to the 4th Annual Bob’s Burgers and Books Birthday Bash!

Just as 27gen blog posts delve into The Joy of Reading: Reflecting on Another Year Between the Pages and Cultivating Continuous Learning Through Reading, a birthday celebration can be a tangible expression of that passion, combined with another universal delight: the hamburger.

The connection between intellectual curiosity and culinary exploration runs deeper than one might think. Articles like My Quest for the Perfect Hamburger: A Literary, Culinary, and Arbitrary Journey in Pursuit of America’s Iconic Delight highlight the intentionality behind savoring a meal, much like Reading Between the Lines encourages a deeper understanding of texts. 

Therefore, a birthday itinerary for a Charlotte book and burger enthusiast seamlessly weaves these two passions together, creating a day of discovery for both the mind and the palate.

The day begins with a literary pilgrimage to some of Charlotte’s finest used bookstores. First, Julia’s Cafe & Books provides a more relaxed atmosphere, blending the aroma of coffee with the scent of old paper. This airy cafe combined with a used bookshop offers a comfortable and social environment, allowing for a coffee or a light snack as you browse their curated collection. The added benefit of supporting Habitat for Humanity with every purchase makes your literary finds contribute to a good cause. Here, the focus is on quality used books, and the comfortable seating invites you to settle in and perhaps even begin reading your new acquisition. 

Next, Book Buyers offers the classic, sprawling used bookstore experience, where the thrill of the hunt for a hidden gem mirrors the anticipation of a good story. With its vast selection and cozy, slightly labyrinthine feel, it’s a place where you can easily get lost in the stacks for an hour or two, unearthing forgotten treasures or beloved classics. The presence of resident cats only adds to its charm, creating an atmosphere that invites leisurely browsing and serendipitous finds.

Both Book Buyers and Julia’s offer a tangible connection to Beyond the Page: C.S. Lewis on the Transformative Power of Reading and the simple joy of discovery.

Mid-day, the adventure shifts to the equally cherished pursuit of the perfect burger. Charlotte boasts several great burger joints, but two distinct establishments embody different facets of Burger Magic: Exploring the Universal Fascination Behind America’s Favorite Dish. 

Brook’s Sandwich House is an iconic, old-school, cash-only institution, serving up a classic, unpretentious burger with a side of local history. Established in 1973, it’s a walk-up window joint with ample outdoor picnic tables. Expect no-frills, fast service, and a truly local experience. Their cheeseburger with chili and crispy fried bologna are legendary, representing a testament to tradition, much like Tracing the Origins and Early Development of the Hamburger in America. The experience at Brook’s is about authentic, satisfying flavor, often enjoyed in a bustling, no-nonsense environment. With a 10 a.m. opening time, I can treat it more like a burger brunch!

In contrast, Ace No. 3 offers a more contemporary and polished take on the burger. With a focus on quality ingredients and perfected techniques, it represents the evolution of Burgerology: The Art and Science of the Perfect Patty. The atmosphere is more modern and trendy, and the menu often features creative toppings and a selection of craft beers. Their signature “THE ACE” burger, with two 1/4 lb. chuck blend patties, American cheese, grilled onions, house pickles, and Comeback sauce, provides a more gourmet experience. 

Comparing the simple, chili-laden charm of Brook’s to the elevated, smash-burger experience of Ace No. 3 provides a delicious quest for culinary perfection, mirroring the varied approaches to reading discussed in posts like Reading Between the Ears: Synoptical Reading, Leadership, and the Magic of Disney.

Since Anita has a wonderful surprise planned for dinner at the end of the day, I had to make a choice of just one – and Brook’s Sandwich House wins the day. 

The afternoon brings another opportunity for literary immersion at That’s Novel Books, conveniently located within the vibrant Camp North End complex. This used bookstore offers a curated selection of genres and a focus on community, creativity, and art. It’s connected to Hygge Coworking, giving it a cool, collaborative feel. Here, you might find more contemporary titles, local authors, and unique gifts. The Camp North End setting also allows for exploring other shops, art installations, and perhaps even grabbing a celebratory drink or treat if time allows, extending the birthday festivities.

Just as 27gen explores various facets of reading, from Turn the Page: Exploring National Book Lover’s Day to Mastering Anything: A Strategic Guide to Continuous Learning Through Reading, this birthday adventure celebrates the multifaceted joy of being a book lover. It’s a day to indulge in the intellectual nourishment of a good book and the satisfying pleasure of a great burger, proving that Yes, Leaders are Readers! are burger enthusiasts too. 

My birthday adventure will end with a relaxed and very special dinner with Anita in the evening, perhaps enjoying newly acquired books or discussing my burger from the day, cementing the memories of a perfectly tailored birthday in Charlotte.

Beyond the Page: C.S. Lewis on the Transformative Power of Reading

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A friend once asked me to define a true reader. Of course, I answered with a quote from a book:

I went on to share the source of the book, The Reading Life, by C.S. Lewis, and I want to share it here.

The revered teacher and bestselling author reflects on the power, importance, and joy of a life dedicated to reading books in this delightful collection drawn from his wide body of writings.

More than fifty years after his death, intellectual and teacher C. S. Lewis continues to speak to readers, thanks not only to his intellectual insights on Christianity but also his wondrous creative works and deep reflections on the literature that influenced his life. Beloved for his instructive novels including The Screwtape Letters, The Great Divorce, and The Chronicles of Narnia as well as his philosophical books that explored theology and Christian life, Lewis was a life-long writer and book lover.

Cultivated from his many essays, articles, and letters, as well as his classic works, The Reading Life provides guidance and reflections on the love and enjoyment of books. Engaging and enlightening, this well-rounded collection includes Lewis’ reflections on science fiction, why children’s literature is for readers of all ages, and why we should read two old books for every new one.

A window into the thoughts of one of the greatest public intellectuals of our time, this collection reveals not only why Lewis loved the written word, but what it means to learn through literature from one of our wisest and most enduring teachers.

C.S. Lewis’ The Reading Life is a carefully curated collection of his thoughts, essays, and correspondence about the art and joy of reading. Compiled posthumously from various sources, including letters, lectures, and previously published works, this volume offers readers a glimpse into the literary mind of one of the 20th century’s most influential Christian thinkers and writers.

The collection opens by establishing Lewis’s deeply personal relationship with books from childhood. Far from presenting reading as merely educational, Lewis reveals it as transformative and essential to his intellectual and spiritual formation. He recounts being “baptized” into the world of Norse mythology as a child, describing the profound way certain texts awakened his imagination and shaped his worldview.

Lewis distinguishes between different types of reading experiences throughout the collection. He contrasts what he calls “literary” reading – where one engages with a text for its inherent aesthetic qualities and transformative potential – with reading merely for information or distraction. Lewis argues passionately that the former holds greater value, allowing books to change us rather than merely entertaining or informing us.

One of the collection’s strengths is Lewis’s discussion of how to approach literature. He advocates for reading with receptivity and openness, suggesting that truly experiencing a book requires temporarily setting aside our own prejudices and assumptions. Lewis emphasizes that good reading involves surrender – allowing ourselves to be led by the author rather than imposing our interpretations from the outset.

Lewis also explores the relationship between reading and moral development. While he rejects the simplistic notion that reading “good” books automatically makes one virtuous, he acknowledges literature’s capacity to expand our moral imagination and help us understand perspectives beyond our own limited experience. His nuanced view recognizes literature’s power without overstating its moral effects.

The collection addresses practical aspects of reading as well. Lewis offers insights on rereading, suggesting that revisiting books is essential to truly understanding them. He discusses the value of reading older works, arguing that they provide necessary perspective to counter the cultural blindness of our own era. Lewis also tackles the sometimes intimidating prospect of reading “the classics,” providing encouraging advice for approaching difficult texts.

What makes The Reading Life particularly compelling is Lewis’s voice – erudite but accessible, passionate but reasoned. His writing exudes both intellectual rigor and childlike wonder. Whether discussing medieval literature or children’s stories, Lewis conveys the same infectious enthusiasm for the written word.

The collection’s most profound sections explore reading as a spiritual practice. Lewis suggests that literature can prepare us for divine encounters by awakening longing and helping us recognize beauty. While never suggesting that books replace religious experience, he positions them as potential conduits for transcendence.

Lewis’ Christian worldview and his literary preferences tend toward the classical and medieval. As such, some may find his perspectives on modern literature limited by his own historical context and personal taste. Additionally, the collection’s posthumous assembly means some thematic repetition occurs across selections.

The Reading Life is ultimately a celebration of literature’s capacity to expand our consciousness. Lewis portrays reading not as escapism but as a means of encountering reality more fully. Through books, he suggests, we can transcend the limitations of our individual perspective and experience the world through different eyes.

For those who already appreciate Lewis’s work, this collection provides valuable insights into the literary influences that shaped his thought. For newcomers, it offers an accessible introduction to Lewis’s brilliant mind and his approach to literature. For all readers, it serves as a compelling reminder of why we read and how books can transform our lives.

In an age of digital distraction and superficial content consumption, Lewis’s reflections on deep, attentive reading feel especially relevant. The Reading Life invites us to reconsider our relationship with books and challenges us to read not merely for information or entertainment but for transformation. It reminds us that the true value of reading lies not in the quantity of books we consume but in how deeply we allow them to shape us.

We want to see with other eyes, to imagine with other imaginations, to feel with other hearts, as well as with our own.

C.S. Lewis

Part of a regular series on 27gen, entitled Wednesday Weekly Reader.

During my elementary school years one of the things I looked forward to the most was the delivery of “My Weekly Reader,” a weekly educational magazine designed for children and containing news-based current events.

It became a regular part of my love for reading, and helped develop my curiosity about the world around us.