For a New Liberty by Murray N. Rothbard. I gave this book another read-through about a month ago. Both “readings” have been an audiobook (acquired for free!) that I listened to while driving the daily commute. I think this might be the perfect book to recommend to friends who are mostly convinced of many libertarian ideas, but for whatever reason feel uncomfortable saying things like “the free market would provide a far more effective and moral legal system,” or “the national road system suffers greatly in the hands of our government; making the roads private would benefit the common good like no other highway reform.” Rothbard, as usual, is relentless in his logic, clarity, and persuasiveness in this classic text.
Some Desperate Glory by Edwin Campion Vaughan. This gem of a diary, written by a young (not yet 20 years old) British officer during his front-line experience in the Great War, was discovered in a family cupboard only three decades ago. Though not as polished as other WWI literature in this genre, Vaughan’s account details both the monotonous boredom and the sheer horror of war. Vaughan witnesses and survives one of the worst battles in the war at Ypres: he sees a cat eating the face of a German corpse, he bears the sound of his own wounded men screaming and moaning in pain while they drown in the mucky shell-holes of no-man’s-land, he watches in horror as a soldier cowering on the ground is motivated by Vaughan’s screaming and gathers the courage to run into battle — only to be shot dead 3 paces later, and he recoils in shock when a solider being prodded by Vaughan replies “I’m blind, sir” and turns to reveal half of a face ripped off by shrapnel. These moments are weighty but come interspersed between long periods of boredom, frustration, and the discomfort that Vaughan experiences when he lives in the French mud for 7 straight months.
St. Thomas Aquinas: The Dumb Ox by G. K. Chesterton. I picked up this book based on its reputation, and I wasn’t disappointed. Chesterton, who also wrote a much-acclaimed volume on St. Francis, tackles here one of the most monstrously-large figures in all of philosophy, and does so while keeping his project at about a couple hundred pages. Chesterton’s touch is poetic and delicate as he urges the reader to understand the fundamental love Aquinas had for reality, liberty, practical life, and everything that the scholastics are accused of dismissing. Chesterton, a firm Catholic, also makes a (persuasive) argument that, in many ways, Aquinas and Francis — an odd pair indeed — were very much the reformation before the Reformation. Compared to these thinkers, he writes, Calvin and Luther were reacitonaries. Not the typical line of reasoning about the relationship between the church and the reformers.