Exploring Life through the Written Word
Dear friends,
Two years ago, I had an idea—what if we could create a space where reading wasn't just about consuming books, but about exploring how stories shape us, challenge us, and connect us to one another? What began as a simple invitation to "read intentionally" has grown into something I never could have imagined: a vibrant community of thoughtful readers who have transformed Beyond the Bookshelf from a newsletter into a genuine conversation.
Looking back on these first two years, I'm struck by how much we've discovered together. We've wandered through literary landscapes, wrestled with complex ideas, and shared those quiet moments of recognition when a particular passage speaks directly to our souls. You've trusted me with your own reading journeys, your recommendations, and your reflections—turning what could have been a one-way street into a rich, two-way dialogue that has enriched every post I've written.
To those of you who have been with me since those very first issues, when I was still finding my voice and figuring out exactly what this publication could become—thank you for your patience, your encouragement, and your faith in this vision. Your early support gave me the confidence to keep writing, to keep experimenting, and to keep believing that there was room in this world for the kind of slow, intentional reading community we were building together.
And to those who have chosen to support Beyond the Bookshelf with a paid subscription—your generosity has been transformational. You've not only made this work sustainable, but you've also demonstrated your belief in the value of thoughtful literary conversation. Your support has allowed me to dedicate the time and care this community deserves, and I am deeply grateful for your investment in what we're creating here.
As we turn to chapter three of this journey, I'm excited to share what's ahead—and to hear from you about where you'd like our conversation to go next.
“I am tomorrow, or some future day, what I establish today. I am today what I established yesterday or some previous day.” — James Joyce
A New Rhythm for Our Reading Life
After two years of experimenting and listening to your feedback, I'm excited to introduce a more sustainable approach to Beyond the Bookshelf—one that prioritizes quality and depth over rigid scheduling.
You can expect 2-3 thoughtful pieces each month. This gives me the breathing room to craft content that truly serves our community, whether that means taking extra time for research, allowing space when life gets busy, or simply ensuring that what arrives in your inbox deserves your attention.
Going forward, I want to sharpen our focus around what has always been the heart of this publication: exploring life through the written word. While this has long been my mantra, I'm now honing in on this mission with renewed clarity and purpose. How do books shape us? How do stories inform the way we see ourselves and navigate the world? How does literature become a lens through which we understand what it means to be human?
I believe this exploration happens most powerfully through two complementary approaches that will form the backbone of Beyond the Bookshelf:
Personal Essays — This is where I'll be most vulnerable, sharing stories from my own life, reflections on the writing process, and the personal experiences that shape how I read and think about the world. These pieces will examine the intersection between literature and living—how what we read becomes part of who we are.
Book Reflections — Rather than traditional reviews or star ratings, these will dive deep into how particular books have affected me, what they've taught me, and how they connect to the larger questions we're all wrestling with. But I also want to lean more intentionally into literary criticism—examining the craft, the technique, the artistic choices that make literature work (or sometimes don't). As critic
recently wrote, the best criticism doesn't just tell you what to read; it offers "a particular kind of lifestyle—one that is more alive to ideas, more attentive to beauty."1 That's exactly what I hope to achieve: criticism that deepens your encounter not just with individual books, but with the art of reading itself.A few times throughout the year—perhaps quarterly—I'll continue to offer Commonplace Collections and the Interview Series. These remain valuable parts of our conversation, but they'll be supplementary to the main focus: understanding how what we read connects to how we live.
After much consideration, I've made the difficult decision to discontinue our Deep Reads Book Club once we have finished The Odyssey. While this year's journey through Homer's works has been incredibly rewarding, the weekly essay commitment proved unsustainable alongside the other content I want to create for you. Rather than compromise quality by stretching myself too thin, I'd rather focus that energy on making our Book Reflections as rich and thoughtful as possible.
Your Voice, Our Direction
One of the things I've loved most about these first two years is discovering that the best conversations happen when we're all contributing to them. Beyond the Bookshelf has always been about more than just my thoughts on books—it's about building a community where every reader's perspective adds richness to our shared exploration.
When I first started writing Beyond the Bookshelf, I made it a priority to respond to every comment and direct message. As the publication grew and I found myself stretched thin with twice-weekly publishing, I lost track of that commitment—something I've regretted ever since. It's one of the key reasons I'm scaling back our publishing frequency: to create the space I need to be truly present in our conversations.
I want our comment sections to be vibrant spaces of dialogue. Not just between you and me, but among all of us. I dream of readers discussing the ideas we explore, sharing book recommendations with each other, connecting personal experiences to the literature we're examining, and diving deep into the questions that matter most. These conversations often become as valuable as the essays themselves—sometimes more so.
Whether you're reflecting on how a particular book has shaped your own life, recommending something that's been sitting on your nightstand, or wrestling with the bigger questions about how stories influence the way we see the world, your voice matters here. I read every comment, and I'm committed to engaging thoughtfully with each one.
And please, don't hesitate to reach out directly. Some of the most meaningful exchanges I've had have come through individual conversations with readers. If you want to discuss a topic in more depth, suggest a book you think deserves our attention, or simply share something that's been on your heart, I'd love to hear from you. You can send me a direct message through the Substack app or email me at matthewbeyondthebookshelf@gmail.com.
This community belongs to all of us. Your thoughts, your questions, your recommendations, and your reflections are what make Beyond the Bookshelf more than just another newsletter—they make it a genuine conversation about the books that shape our lives.
A Conversation About Value
This is the part of the letter I've been wrestling with how to write, because it touches on something that feels both deeply personal and entirely practical: the sustainability of this work we're building together.
For two years, I've kept Beyond the Bookshelf completely open, relying on the generosity of readers who chose to support this community. That approach has been a gift—it's allowed us to grow organically, to experiment freely, and to focus entirely on creating meaningful content without barriers. But as we enter year three, I'm facing a reality that many independent writers know well: to continue offering the quality and consistency you deserve, I need to make this work financially sustainable.
Writing Beyond the Bookshelf has become my full-time vocation. Each essay represents hours of reading, thinking, drafting, and refining. The interviews require research, preparation, and careful editing. The book reflections involve re-reading passages, considering different perspectives, and crafting responses that hopefully add something valuable to our conversation. It's work I love deeply, but it's still work that requires dedicated time and energy if it's going to be done well.
So starting January 1, 2026, I'm implementing a gentle paywall structure. You can expect the occasional free essay, and Commonplace Collections will always remain free when I publish them. Everything else will move to paid subscriptions, though I'll always include generous previews so you can get a real sense of each piece before the paywall.
What does being a paid subscriber mean? Practically, it means priority access when I'm responding in the comments, to direct messages, and to emails. But more importantly, it means you have a stake in the game. When I'm sharing the most vulnerable parts of myself in personal essays, or when I've spent weeks researching and crafting a piece of literary criticism, I want to know that my readers truly value that access and those efforts. Your paid subscription tells me that this work matters to you—that the time and vulnerability I invest is worth investing in return.
I want to be transparent about timing and pricing: through the end of this year, you can subscribe at $12 annually—and that rate will stay locked in for as long as you maintain your subscription. Come January, I plan to adjust rates slightly for new subscribers. However, anyone who joins our paid community before then will retain that rate indefinitely.
For readers who feel called to support my work philanthropically, I also offer an Inner Circle tier at $125 annually. In addition to all the regular benefits of a paid subscription, Inner Circle members will receive a physical copy of my Book of the Year selection, complete with a handwritten note from me. It's my way of saying thank you to those who believe most deeply in what we're building together.
This isn't about becoming wealthy from writing (trust me, that's not happening). It's about creating a sustainable foundation that allows me to keep showing up for this work with the care and attention it deserves. It's about valuing the time we spend together in these literary conversations, and asking you to invest in what we're building in a way that makes it possible for me to keep building it.
I also want to acknowledge that everyone has different financial situations, and I don't want cost to be a barrier to accessing this community. If you're interested in experiencing the new content but can't afford a subscription right now, please send me a note—either through the Substack app or at matthewbeyondthebookshelf@gmail.com. I'll comp you a six-month subscription, no questions asked. This work is about building a community of readers, and that means making space for everyone who wants to be part of the conversation.
I hope you'll consider becoming a paid subscriber, but I also understand that not everyone can or wants to make that commitment, and that's completely okay. Whether you're reading the free posts or supporting as a paid member, you're part of this community, and I'm grateful you're here.
Looking Ahead, Together
As I finish writing this letter, I keep thinking about a line from Wendell Berry: "A culture is not a collection of relics or ornaments, but a practical necessity." That's what we've built here over these past two years—not just a newsletter about books, but a living culture of thoughtful readers who understand that literature isn't decoration for our lives, but essential nourishment for how we make sense of the world.
When I started Beyond the Bookshelf, I hoped to find a few kindred spirits who shared my belief that reading could be both slower and deeper, that books deserved more than quick ratings and surface-level takes. What I discovered instead was a whole community of people hungry for exactly this kind of conversation—readers who wanted to linger with ideas, who understood that the best books don't just entertain us but change us, who were willing to be vulnerable about how stories shape their inner lives.
You've taught me as much as I've shared with you. Your comments have sent me back to books with fresh eyes. Your recommendations have expanded my reading in directions I never would have explored alone. Your willingness to engage with difficult ideas, to sit with complexity, and to share your own insights has made every essay I've written better than it would have been in isolation.
The truth is, I can't imagine my reading life without this community anymore. You've become my ideal reading companions—the voices I hear in my head when I encounter a beautiful passage, the fellow travelers I want to share discoveries with, the trusted friends I turn to when a book leaves me wrestling with big questions.
As we step into year three, I'm filled with anticipation for where our conversations will take us. New voices to discover, challenging books to wrestle with, deeper questions to explore, and countless moments of that particular joy that comes when someone else's words help us understand ourselves a little better.
Thank you for reading, for thinking, for sharing, and for believing that this kind of slow, intentional literary community is worth building together. The best chapters are still ahead of us.
With deep gratitude and excitement for what's to come,
Beyond the Bookshelf is a reader-supported publication. If you've found value in my work and it has helped, informed, or entertained you, I'd be grateful if you'd consider leaving a tip. Your support helps me continue creating content and means more than you know. Even small contributions make a real difference and allow me to keep sharing my work with you. Thank you for reading and for any support you're able to offer.
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Great. I’m so glad you’re finding your rhythm, Matthew! Keep up the great work!
This is why many of us write - "I want our comment sections to be vibrant spaces of dialogue. Not just between you and me, but among all of us." It isn't the dollars but the community conversation.