(Check the bottom of this blog post for the full list)
47 Books, One Year, and the Brutal Beauty of the Human Condition
In 2025, I read forty-seven books. Not because I wanted a number, or to impress anyone, but because I was searching. Searching for understanding, searching for answers, searching for something that could help me navigate the weight of being human. That year was heavy. Not in a dramatic way, but in the quiet, persistent way reality presses down on you when you begin to notice it, when you start really seeing life.
Across philosophy, poetry, religion, history, and psychology, the same lesson appeared again and again: everything is impermanent. Lives change suddenly. People disappear. Empires rise and fall. Moments dissolve. What we hold dear can vanish. And when the things we depend on for meaning are themselves fragile, meaning itself begins to feel fragile. And with that fragility comes the human condition in its rawest form: sensitive, overwhelming, frightening. That truth is brutal, and yet, it is also beautiful, because it demands we face life fully, without illusions.
Some books weighed on me more than others. Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat struck me first. His reflections on the fleeting nature of existence made me feel the urgency of every day, a pressure I had never felt before. Life keeps passing, with or without my consent, and if I wanted meaning, I had to find it in the moment. Each sunrise, each conversation, each small act carried significance precisely because it would not last forever. Reading Khayyam, I realized that life demanded my attention, demanded that I love it fully, and demanded that I discover meaning in the small details.
Ghalib’s poetry reinforced the same lesson. In his verses, I found someone who loved life in all its pain and absurdity. He did not avoid suffering or disguise his despair. He recorded it, embraced it, and transformed it into art. Reading him, I saw that human vulnerability could be beautiful and instructive, that expressing our condition—not running from it—is what gives it meaning.
The Anarchy by Dalrymple struck me differently. Here were lives unfolding in relentless realism. Generals, rulers, rebels, everyday people—all living, striving, failing, and dying. I watched them on the page, and I felt awe and fear. The sheer force of destiny in their lives was palpable. No matter how clever or determined, they could not escape the arc of fate. Reading it, I understood something profound: to live fully, I had to embrace my context, my place, my destiny, rather than struggle endlessly against it. And yet, even in this weighty reality, the brilliance, strategy, and beauty of human action shone through.
These insights were not just theoretical. They appeared in real moments of my life. Graduation became more than a ceremony; it was a confrontation with impermanence and change. Holidays, moving home, leaving a long-term side job—each transition felt charged with meaning. I could have been anxious, overwhelmed, or numb, but instead, I carried with me the lessons of Khayyam, Ghalib, and Dalrymple. I faced my human condition, accepted it, and expressed it. Through writing poems, sharing them, connecting with loved ones, I lived these lessons. I told friends how I felt, spent time with those I care about, and let love and honesty guide my interactions. It was in these small acts, in these choices, that theory became life.
Not every book was heavy. Some surprised me in ways I never expected. Baburnama revealed Babur as a poet, a chronicler, and a man of vivid life, not just the founder of an empire. 1984 shocked me with the horror of its vision of society, and The Travels of Ibn Battuta inspired awe with its sheer depth and meticulous observation of a world long gone. Each book reshaped my expectations of what a life, a story, or a historical record could be.
Some books made me laugh. Nasreddin Hodja by Arumugam Raj captured the trickster of the East, a character ridiculous yet wise, outrageous yet enlightening. His stories reminded me that life is not only to be endured or analyzed but also to be played with, enjoyed, and sometimes simply laughed at. Humor, insight, and wisdom can coexist in the strangest, most delightful ways.
Other books challenged my beliefs. Tao Te Ching and The Way of Chuang Tzu taught me that control is not always strength, that sometimes the most powerful approach is to flow with life rather than fight it. Majma al-Bahrain by Dara Shikoh expanded my view of comparative religion, showing that faith, philosophy, and inquiry could intersect in ways I had not considered. These books forced me to step outside my assumptions and see the world differently, and in doing so, they expanded my mind as well as my heart.
Awe and wonder appeared most clearly in The Anarchy. I shivered at the realism of life and death, of human brilliance and failure, and of the unstoppable flow of history. But awe was not limited to history. It appeared in the quiet poetry of Rumi, in the philosophical clarity of Seneca, and in the deep connection to nature in The Wisdom of the Native Americans. That book reminded me how materially obsessed modern life is, and how deeply we can learn from simplicity, observation, and presence.
I also discovered clarity and strategy in books like The Book of Five Rings, The Warrior Ethos, Genghis Khan, and Worldly Wisdom by Baltasar Gracian. These works taught me about thinking strategically, rising from any situation, and seeing patterns where others might see chaos. They reminded me that intellect alone is powerful, but without direction and purpose, it can falter.
Creativity and self-expression flourished as well. Love Is My Savior by Rumi and Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl opened my heart to love, the very force that fuels poetry. They reminded me that the intellect can observe and analyze the human condition, but the heart—love—empowers us to act within it. It is love that transforms insight into creation, observation into expression, and knowledge into art. Through these readings, I felt my poetry gain depth, clarity, and courage.
Looking back, the most persistent lesson across all forty-seven books is the brutal reality of impermanence. Every book, in its own way, confronted me with it. The human condition is heavy. It can paralyze, frighten, overwhelm, and make us painfully sensitive. And yet, this same reality makes life urgent, precious, and beautiful. It demands that we face it fully. Across poetry, history, philosophy, and spirituality, one truth became clear: the intellect can see patterns, systems, and the fragility of existence, but it is the heart—powered by love—that allows us to endure, to act, and to create meaning.
Rumi calls love a savior, and I understood why. Love gives the courage to confront impermanence without collapsing under it. It turns awareness into action, observation into expression, and fragility into strength. Love allows us to engage with the human condition fully, to see its weight, and still say yes to life.
Among the forty-seven books I read, some stood out in ways that continue to resonate with me. For reflections on impermanence and the urgency of life, Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat and Ghalib’s selected poems offered insight into living fully, embracing the moment, and finding meaning even as everything passes. The Anarchy revealed the relentless flow of human history, showing the interplay of destiny, choice, and consequence. For surprise and discovery, Baburnama introduced me to a ruler who was also a poet and chronicler, 1984 revealed the chilling possibilities of society, and The Travels of Ibn Battuta took me on an extraordinary journey across centuries and continents.
Joy and laughter came from Nasreddin Hodja, whose trickster wisdom reminded me that life can be playful, absurd, and insightful all at once. Challenges to my thinking arrived through Tao Te Ching and The Way of Chuang Tzu, teaching me that flow and acceptance can be powerful tools, while Majma al-Bahrain opened my eyes to the richness of comparative religion and spiritual inquiry. Awe and wonder emerged from the stark realism of The Anarchy, the mystical beauty of The Wisdom of the Native Americans, and the philosophical clarity of Seneca’s On the Shortness of Life.
Books that strengthened strategy, clarity, and practical wisdom included The Book of Five Rings, The Warrior Ethos, Genghis Khan, and Worldly Wisdom by Baltasar Gracian. Creativity and self-expression were nurtured by Love Is My Savior and Man’s Search for Meaning, which reminded me that love is the fuel of art and courage. Spiritual insight and guidance came from Rumi, Ghazali, the Dhammapada, the Bhagavad Gita, and the Qur’anic sciences, each offering ways to see the world, the heart, and the soul more deeply. History, philosophy, poetry, and spirituality intertwined, creating a year that was intellectually challenging, emotionally stirring, and profoundly human.
This is the gift of reading deeply in a single year. Each book is not just a story or an argument; each is a companion on the journey, a teacher that meets you where you are, and a mirror reflecting the questions, doubts, and discoveries you carry within yourself. In 2025, I discovered that the human condition is heavy but also radiant. That impermanence is inevitable but can be embraced. That love, expressed fully, gives the courage to face life’s fragility without collapsing under it. Each book, in its own way, contributed to that understanding.
I read forty-seven books in 2025, and each one was a step into impermanence, a step into wonder, and a step into love. And that is the gift I carry with me into 2026: the courage to face life fully, to express myself openly, to love deeply, and to find meaning not in permanence, but in the strength, beauty, and resilience of my own heart.
– Muaad Sucule
Book List:
- Finite & Infinite Games by Carse
- An Essay on Man by Pope
- Meditations by Marcus Aurelius
- Jesus & Buddha: The Parallel Sayings by Borg
- Majma Ul Bahrain by Dara Shikoh
- The Queen of Spades by Pushkin
- The Anarchy by Dalrymple
- Baburnama by Babur
- Gilgamesh
- The Book of Five Rings by Musashi
- The Dhammapada by Fronsdal
- The Forbidden Rumi by Ergin
- Gateway to the Quranic Sciences by Suyuti
- The Way of Chuang Tzu by Merton
- The Warrior Ethos by Pressfield
- Genghis Khan by Weatherford
- The Luzumiyat by Al-Ma’ari
- 1984 by George Orwell
- Ghalib: Selected Poems by Pritchett & Cornwall
- Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu
- The Colours of My Heart by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
- The Sufi Doctrine of Rumi by William C Chittick
- Aristotle for Everybody by Mortimer J Adler
- On the Harmony of Religions & Philosophy by Ibn Rushd
- On The Shortness of Life by Seneca
- The Alchemy of Happiness by Ghazali
- Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam by Edward Fitzgerald
- The Travels of Ibn Battutah by Ibn Battutah
- The Bhagavid Gita
- Thinking Fast & Slow by Kahneman (Summary)
- Worldy Wisdom by Baltasar Gracian
- The Wisdom of The Native Americans by Kent Nerburn
- The Wisdom of Insecurity by Alan Watts
- Twenty Love Poems by Pablo Neruda
- God Exists by Said Nursi
- The Conquest of Happiness By Bertrand Russell
- Sunrise On The Reaping By Suzanne Collins
- The Book of Everything By Sanai
- Trickster Makes This World By Lewis Hyde
- Collected Poems of Imam Shafie
- Eminence: Cardinal Richelieu and the Rise of France By Blanchard
- What is Enlightenment? By Kant
- Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E Frankl
- A Message to Garcia by Elbert Hubbard
- Nasreddin Hodja by Raj Arumugam
- Deliverance from Error by Ghazali
- Love is My Savior: The Arabic Poems of Rumi by Rumi
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