Interview With a Bibliophile

Joshua Moore

It’s Monday, and time once again for “Interview With a Bibliophile” in which I invite some lovely bibliophiles I know to answer some questions about literary tastes, reading habits, and recommendations. This is to pique some interest among friends and family about new book finds, to stir up some thought provoking ideas, and to simply share our mutual love of the written word. If you love books, I hope you will join us and take a look!

Today, I have the distinct pleasure of interviewing Josh Moore. I met Josh during a very enjoyable theatrical tech week where I fortuitously landed among a lively assortment of new, and not so new, college graduates putting on a play. I saw him act, which was lovely. But it was the evenings at the actors’ Air B&B that revealed him to be just the sort of person I like. He talked about things. All sorts of things. I kept nodding in agreement and he kept talking and it was quite the sympatico experience. Later, when my son Ben told my other son Reuben that “Mom finally met Josh Moore,” they both nodded their heads and said, “We knew you’d like him!” And, dear reader, I did!

In a series of twists and turns, Josh grew up Baptist/non-denominational, and then converted to Orthodoxy in its lesser known Western rite. He then transitioned into the Eastern tradition while still Orthodox, fell in love with Catholicism via the Roman Mass, then re-entered communion with Rome via the Byzantine ritual tradition of Catholicism. The two labels he most enjoys applying to himself are Weastern and Orthodox in Communion with Rome.

Josh was home schooled all the way through high school, after which he found his way to Thomas Aquinas College. This is where he met my sons. But more importantly, this is where he met his future wife, Zoe, whom he describes as ‘the loveliest wife in the world’. So lovely, in fact, that he could not wait to marry her! He left Thomas Aquinas College in mid stream and the two moved back to the secluded hills of North Carolina. They now dwell in a log home in the woods, a place where I received the most wonderful hospitality and an amazing tour of their fabulously laden bookshelves and their cherished icon collections. Together they have “produced the cutest baby in the world” whom Josh says, “might be rivaled only by the second baby on the way”. Josh loves to play jazz piano and occasionally the musical muse visits him and he sits down to compose. He reports that he has gone back to finish his degree and finds his life at Belmont Abbey College a lovely way to complete his educational experience. He will have his Bachelor’s degree in hand in May of 2026.

And so, without further ado, let us begin our interview!

As a Baptist who has converted to the Byzantine Catholic Church, did you read any books that helped in this decision? If so, how did they affect you? Can you recommend any books by or about Byzantine Saints to someone who is interested?

My path to conversion was formed less by what I read and more by what I tasted and saw. I read all sorts of books as I transitioned into the Byzantine tradition, but only after I had become convinced of the validity of the Byzantine tradition. My conviction arose first and foremost as a result of experiencing the liturgy, speaking with my priest, and being allowed to ponder in the stillness of my heart.

That being said, I recall that, as a protestant coming into the ancient faith, the book Becoming Orthodox by Peter Gillquist helped me find articulation for the questions I did not know I had; (it should here be noted that for several years between being Baptist and becoming a Byzantine Catholic, I was Eastern Orthodox). I cannot recall what sentiment Gillquist takes towards the Catholic Church—it is often the case that Protestant-to-Orthodox conversion stories are marked with a fervent desire for the ancient faith combined with a strong resistance to becoming Catholic. So my recommendation of that book is tentative.

The book Beginning to Pray by Anthony Bloom was greatly formative for me. My journey into Orthodoxy and ultimately into Catholicism has been marked first and foremost by—Socrates would be proud of me—a fervent and continued admission of my ignorance and inexperience. Beginning to Pray articulates, from the Eastern Christian perspective, what must be the starting point of all prayer, regardless of denomination or ritual tradition. That starting point is found in the Prayer of the Publican (Luke 18:13), God be merciful to me a sinner! This simple prayer later developed in the Eastern tradition into the Jesus Prayer, Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. This humble posture by which one recognizes oneself as fallen and in constant and recurring need (i.e. not once-saved-always-saved) of the salvific grace of Christ is the foundation for all prayer. Thus in the Byzantine tradition we strive to include the words of the Jesus Prayer in every breath, as an unceasing call for Christ’s presence in our hearts.

As for books by or about Byzantine saints, I would encourage my Catholic brethren to read about those recent persons whom the Orthodox deem saints. There are a great number of saints canonized by the Orthodox in the last millennia which, but for the schism, would be venerated by the Catholic Church as well. Read about Saint Porphyrios (Wounded by Love) or Elder Thaddeus (Our Thoughts Determine Our Lives) or Saint Paisios (Spiritual Counsels), or Saint Nektarios (The Saint of Our Century). Read the Prologue or the Philokalia (compilations of writings from Church fathers mostly pre-schism and therefore mutually recognized by Orthodox and Catholics alike). Read Father Arseny, a collection of stories about a priest imprisoned in the Soviet gulags; or Everyday Saints, that treasure trove of stories of lesser known Russian Orthodox holy men and women in and around the Pskov Caves Monastery. These stories will draw you deeper into the heart of the One God who manifests himself in many forms to the East and West alike.

What is your favorite genre of book? Bio, fiction, poetry, plays, fantasy?

Whatever it is that is common across the Space Trilogy, Piranesi, A Wrinkle in Time, Man Who Was Thursday, Lost in the Cosmos. I like to be totally uncertain what I am reading, to step into a story unprepared and be constantly confounded by its developments, to have my preconceptions of where it will go dashed at every turn. I like speculative fiction that keeps itself rooted in man’s psychological/spiritual experience. I like stories about language and the human mind. I like space travel/planetary symbolism as a mythic representation of spiritual/psychological realities—in terms of movies, my taste gravitates towards Arrival and Ad Astra. I don't know what label to give that combination of elements; let's call it Psycho-Lingual Sci-Faerie.

What genre of book is the most challenging for you? Is there a book or author out there that you want to attempt to read, though it is out of your present comfort zone?

I confess I struggle to enjoy reading an actual honest-to-god fairy tale or myth. For as highly as I value mythic storytelling (and fervently desire—and intend—its continued resurgence), I find I have little motivation to sit and read stories of Cupid and Psyche, or Orpheus and Eurydice, or the Death of Baldur, or Little Red Riding Hood, or even King Arthur. Sometimes the appetite hits me and I am insatiably fascinated with these stories. But usually, I prefer to consider them in the abstract rather than actually read them; that, or I prefer novel takes on the original stories—e.g. Till We Have Faces, or Hadestown. I offer this thought by way of confession—I fear it is a deficiency in myself. But I mean exactly what you have asked: that this category of literature is challenging for me, not at all that I dislike it. It is far easier for me to experience a book like Perelandra which puts an innovative twist on the Garden of Eden story than to read Paradise Lost which seems merely to tell the Garden of Eden story as it is (or as Milton conceived it anyway). I suppose I should not draw too firm a line between “mere” mythic storytelling and “innovative” mythic storytelling. For myth is perhaps precisely that sort of story which is constantly undergoing innovation while constantly remaining itself.

At present, I am attempting to get myself to read The Faerie Queen. My dearly beloved Lewis gives high praise to the book (primarily in An Allegory of Love). I love the man too much not to try and love what he loves. But when I tried to read The Faerie Queen in college, I couldn't get drawn into it. I'm hopeful for this second attempt, as I understand more of what Lewis saw in the work—what he means when he uses the often-misinterpreted word “allegory”. I'm also increasingly fascinated with Middle English; it feels so oddly familiar and unfamiliar at once. My edition of The Faerie Queen is in a sort of Middle English adapted to be intelligible to the uninitiated, yet still evocative of the archaic forms. Mayhaps enduring through its strict medieval allegory and semi-legible heigh stile will be good for my soul.

Do you have a life changing book? One that you could not put down and that made it difficult to return to the "real world"?

One way I can answer this question is to consider books that have profoundly formed my intentions and techniques as an author. On occasion I encounter a book which confounds my expectations of how a book can be written and leaves me hoping to write something similar myself. Along these lines are Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday and Walker Percy’s Lost in the Cosmos. Both books are, in a sense, radically different in subject. But I list them together because of what they revealed to me about the manner in which a book can be written. These books are hilarious; I can think of no other book which so frequently caused me to laugh out loud. Yet the subject matter treated in these books is deadly serious. Somehow, the authors manage to be raucously funny and profoundly insightful all at once. While I have not yet found the road by which I can integrate this sincere-comedic ethos into my own writing, I strive every minute to manifest it in my speech. It is because of books like Man Who Was Thursday and Lost in the Cosmos that I know this effort is for good reason. There is great beauty to be found in sincere comedy.

Another way to answer this question is to consider a narrative that gripped me and wouldn’t let me go, that I blitzed through from cover to cover, that haunted me then and haunts me now. Without doubt, Piranesi by Susanna Clarke is such a book. I had no idea something so beautiful could be written only a few years ago. Piranesi is a story about mythic symbol and its place in man’s perception of his world; it is about the dual nature of human personality; it is about the infinite beyond on the periphery of the perceived cosmos; it is about naivete, abuse, trauma, and redemption within suffering; it is about the exploration and discovery of that elusive concept called the Self. In addition to all of these things, it is a thrill-ride on par with any great detective novel. Every page poses a new question to which the reader begs an immediate answer. Every page reveals a new piece of information which dramatically recontextualizes everything that came before. The story also plays with concepts familiar to Lewis’ The Magician’s Nephew and develops upon themes suggested by Owen Barfield, especially in Poetic Diction. Therefore any Inklings fan must read this book.

Yet another way to answer the question is to consider books that have struck my soul, cried out to me personally, and awakened me to myself, to others, and to the world around me. Three books come to mind which had terribly similar effects on my heart: St. Augustine’s Confessions, Pascal’s Pensees, and C.S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed. These works are carefully crafted and profoundly personal articulations of human weakness. More particularly, these works are nearly exhaustive articulations of my own weaknesses. When I read these texts, I am simultaneously encouraged and disheartened: encouraged because there are other men—and great men—who, just as I do, face self-doubt, over-analysis, warring passions, and a deep hunger to know oneself and make oneself known through language; disheartened because my struggles are not as unique as I like to imagine; yet again encouraged because these men largely achieved victory over these struggles; yet again disheartened because this means I have a responsibility to do the same. These pages do not feel to me like books as much as windows into the souls of my fathers—and therefore windows into my own soul. I always walk away from these books repentant, renewed, encouraged, terrified, and full of hope.

What five books/authors would you recommend to a twenty something with a poetic bent of mind? This can be fantasy, poetry, or other.

To someone who feels the first rumblings of an enchantment with poetry, but does not know how to foster it, my fervent recommendation is to chase what excites you. While I will always echo my classical forbears who call us to turn our attention to the ancient and timeless, I am all for finding your way backwards via the recent and new. If you struggle to get into the Iliad or tales of King Arthur or the works of Shakespeare, you don’t have to force it; you’ll learn to love these things one day. I listened to Aaron Copland before I could enjoy Beethoven, and I listened to Duke Ellington before I could enjoy Copland. In this spirit, I heartily recommend the following (six) books which are beautiful in their own right and which—for me—produce a yearning to discover the literary roots from which these authors sprung.

Piranesi (And presumably all else Susanna Clarke has written)

This book was the most thrilling read I have ever experienced. It is short (six hours on audiobook), yet it draws you into a world that seems to go on for ages. It unfolds a staggering mystery to you one careful revelation at a time until only at the very end do you realize what you’ve been reading, and you are struck with its beauty. I simply cannot recommend this story highly enough.

Till We Have Faces, and Perelandra - C.S. Lewis

I cannot pick a single work of Lewis’ to recommend, so I turn to him for his own recommendation. He cites these two books as those which he believed to be the most beautiful. These works (as with nearly all of his fiction) accomplish what I long to accomplish in my own writing: to make you, the reader, feel overwhelmed with how much God loves you. In addition, these books are thrilling, compelling, mysterious, and challenging. Lewis is a master of enchanting the reader with beautiful imagery as well as of depicting the authentic nuances of human thought. These works are perhaps the greatest examples of his two great artistic strengths.

The Man Who Was Thursday - G.K. Chesterton

This book may be the funniest thing I've ever read. It pulls the rug out from under you at the end of every chapter; your jaw falls to the floor for the eighteenth time and you wonder how you couldn't have seen it coming. It's outrageous, insightful, and downright fun. In addition, Chesterton’s use of alliterative language is sure to lavish a latent literary lover with with the poetic consonance of recurring consonants.

Lost in the Cosmos - Walker Percy

This book is without doubt the most unexpected delight I've ever read—emphasis on unexpected. It is styled as a satirical parody of the self-help genre, and is therefore primarily non-fiction. Yet on occasion the author launches into illustrative “examples” which are captivating short stories in their own right. I find the work on the whole unclassifiable—I certainly do not know another book like it, though Anthony Esolen’s Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child perhaps accomplishes something similar in its satire.

I recommend this book to those “with a poetic bent” because I find Percy’s brand of humor—outrageous, cutting, and profane as it can be—awakens and enlivens me. He shocks me out of the cynical stupor of modern drudgery. He gets me to laugh my way out of darkness; I walk away feeling the unexpected beginnings of hope.

The Tale of Despereaux - Kate DiCamillo

I second my former professor Dr. Andrew Seeley, who said in his Bibliophilic Interview, “don’t look down on reading classic children’s stories”. It was late into my teens that I developed the will to read serious books; even then I was mostly interested in non-fiction: philosophy, theology, history. Only recently in my mid-twenties have I maintained a habit of reading great works of fiction. This habit began with children’s stories. I lacked the discipline or interest to push my way through an epic novel, but I could read Winnie-the-Pooh; and I could genuinely enjoy it. Better that I should read two decades behind my level than read nothing at all.

The Tale of Despereaux is a lovely story, written I suppose for children ages seven or eight or ten. It worked wonders on my heart. The protagonist, an exquisite small mouse with a sewing needle for a sword, is a lover of beauty—for this he is despised, feared, and exiled. The story manages, in its own childlike way, to present affectionate love of the aesthetically beautiful as the primary power capable of combatting the forces of malevolence, abuse, and deceit. I was in love through every page.

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The classicist in me anguishes over the fact that my recommendations only extend as far back as 1908. Lewis would have me recapitulate that “it is a good rule, after reading a new book, never to allow yourself another new one till you have read an old one in between”. Therefore I feel bound to point out those great works of classic literature which I personally find easiest to enjoy:

The Story of King Arthur and His Knights - Howard Pyle

Though I have said I struggle to sit and read myths and legends, this particular text somehow did the trick for me.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (Tolkien’s translation)

I recommend this for similar reasons as the above mentioned. I am also a sucker for alliteration, and this poem (especially Tolkien’s translation) has it in spades.

Homer’s Odyssey

I have yet to catch the Iliad bug, but the Odyssey did not have to work to win my heart. I love this story through and through.

St. Ephraim’s Hymns on Paradise

Keeping in the earlier theme of Eastern Saints, this poetic meditation on the Garden of Eden is so rich with meaning and beauty, you will be struck with something new and wonderful no matter how many times you read it. It needn’t be worked through quickly, you can read a chapter (a few pages) every few days and let it percolate.

Shakespeare Plays *read aloud

If you love poetry—or want to love poetry—go to the best your language has to offer. Enjoy the experience of saying the words out loud with your own mouth; it is beautiful even when you don’t understand it. Invite three or four friends to your home, assign roles, and read to one another. Some of my favorite memories are doing this with my own friends reading Winter’s Tale, Love’s Labour’s Lost, Othello, King Lear, and Julius Caesar.

What are your reading habits? What advice would you give to someone who wants to be a better reader?

Negatively phrased: don’t be perfectionistic; positively phrased: go where you feel momentum; negatively and positively phrased: do what you can, and nothing less. Read children’s stories if you can’t read anything more complex. Read fiction if you can’t read non-fiction, or vice versa. Don’t read what merely entertains you, but also don’t read what does not intrigue you. Listen to the part of your self that feels curiosity and wonder—if it wants you to pull that book off the shelf and read a hundred pages right here and now, by golly do it.

Audiobooks are lovely, you should listen to them. Language is first and foremost auditory and only secondarily visual; stories are meant to be spoken. Let some of the greatest voices of our generation fill your ears with beautiful words. I drive a lot for work and have a lot of menial tasks at home; this alone provides me with as much as two or three hours a day for audiobooks. If not for Audible, I would not read nearly as much as I do at present.

Note, however, that reading a physical book with your eyes does not require stopping your whole life for an hour and cozying up in a perfectly arranged nook with a freshly brewed pot of tea. This idyllic scene is enviable—but idyllic. Realistically, my windows for physical reading are in short spurts, sometimes three minutes at a time. Very well, I accept this. Consider all of life’s liminal moments: waiting for your spouse to finish getting ready, engaging in the secondary function of a lavatory, awaiting the indiscernible result of a Windows update. If three minutes will get you through a page, you might just finish a book a month.

Let the momentum build. Always be reading something. If you are like me, a fervent commitment to finish the book you are presently reading may cripple you. I read what I am interested in, even if it means leaving one bookmark halfway buried and starting page one of something new. At any given moment, I am “actively” reading as many as ten books. Disastrous as it can sometimes be, this freedom has enabled me to finish dozens of books a year, all while continuing college, working several jobs, and raising an infant.

What are you reading now? And what books are on the TBR pile?

As promised, I am presently reading a whole pile of books at once and intend many more to replace them, if not when I have finished the former, then when I can no longer stand to wait cracking open the latter. Although there are dozens of books I have presently embedded a bookmark in, I feel confident saying I am “actively” reading these five:

Laurus - Eugene Vodolazkin

A Wrinkle in Time - Madeleine l’Engle

Patriot Games - Tom Clancy

The Intellectual Life - A.G. Sertillanges

The Fellowship: The Literary Lives of the Inklings - Carol Zaleski and Philip Zaleski

While the To Be Read pile remains endless and ever-increasing, I currently intend to read these five with a fervency that suggests it will actually happen soon:

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke

Phantastes - George MacDonald

The Red Book - Carl Jung

Book of Hours - Rainer Maria Rilke

Desiring the Beautiful: The Erotic-Aesthetic Dimension of Deification in Dionysius the Areopagite and Maximus the Confessor - Filip Ivanovic

Ahhhh, this has been the loveliest of interviews, Josh. After talking with you, my book list has quickly gotten more out of control than it usually is! I love your thoughts on simply reading bits at a time. It is amazing how much you can learn while reading a chapter as you are waiting for a bus, a doctor, a haircut, anything! Oh, and thank you for introducing me to Susanna Clarke. She is, as you promised, one of us!

You can find out more about what Josh is thinking at his substack: Josh Moore and also at a writing collaborative called Celestial Saplings

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I do not feel inclined at this time to have a paid substack. But if we were together in a cafe discussing all these thoughts, I would not be opposed to you buying me a cup of coffee - with cream, of course. In that spirit, if any of my posts resonate with you and you feel so inclined, you can donate here: buymeacoffee.com/denise_trull