Check the Chart! Changing Course for 2026

Setting sail into our third year

By this point in time you might be wondering how many different plans for 2026 I am going to send out. Take it as a good sign that I am an actual person and not some AI bot with a grand literary plan to overthrow the world. I am just either really indecisive or really open to feedback. Maybe a bit of both. Bear with me as I explain myself.

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Last week, I traveled from my home in Tennessee to visit family in several parts of Missouri and Kansas. I spent a couple of days in St. Louis with my sister and her family as we celebrated the baptism of her youngest child. I don’t get to see them often and it was a privilege to spend time with my nieces and nephews.

After that brief stop, I traveled on to the family farm. My parents have lived on this farm in northeastern Missouri for the past thirty years; it is the epicenter of our family’s life. It is the place I feel most grounded, and when my inner life is chaotic, I always feel called to go home to the quiet farmlands of my childhood. Dad and I spent lots of time together talking, doing chores, and often just sitting in each other’s presence. I also had the chance to visit my only living grandparent, Grandma Pat, for several hours. In her 90s, she still drives herself around town and fixes the best biscuits and gravy a boy could ask for.

The tail end of the trip was visiting my brothers and their families in Kansas City. My two brothers have been great friends throughout my life, and while we don’t get to visit often, we always seem to pick up where we left off. On this trip, we went on an aerial tour of the Kansas City metropolitan area to view much of the surrounding countryside and enjoy some amazing Kansas City BBQ.

Between the time spent on the farm and the 15+ hours I spent driving, I had a lot of time to think and reflect on my life. As introverted as I am, I spend a lot of time in my head, but not all of that time is productive. I need quiet space where my thoughts aren’t interrupted and I can process all the information running amok through my neural pathways. I spent much of the time thinking about the future of Beyond the Bookshelf.

In September and October, I published a few articles discussing the way forward as Beyond the Bookshelf enters its third year of publication. I strategically laid out my plans for what I would write, when I would publish, changes to my fee structure, etc… I am glad I wrote those articles and sent them out to all of you. First, because it helped me think through things. Second, it provided an opportunity for feedback.

Many of you reached out to me over the past couple of months to share your thoughts on my ideas. I appreciate that because it helped me recognize what you value about this publication. Some of my ideas you loved (leaning into the nautical theme) and some of them you didn’t love (paywalls). Much of my time driving home from Missouri was spent thinking about where the things I love about writing intersect with the things you love about this publication.

The time to think and process was good for me. I have a tendency to make many grand plans without thinking through the second- and third-order effects. There is a part of me that dreams of making Beyond the Bookshelf into a huge publication and being able to make a living from this work. There is that desire to be seen and heard. That part of me often gets into arguments with my introverted nature, which wants to hide in a cabin in the woods, talking with birds and rabbits all day while raising a garden and a yard full of chickens. What can I say, I am a complicated man.

I thought about deleting those previous articles and just writing something completely new after my many hours of thinking while driving. But I think it’s a good exercise in humility to recognize when we haven’t got it all completely right. Not to say that any of my plans were wrong but maybe just not the course I should be taking. One of the many things I learned in the Navy, especially as Officer of the Deck, was to continually check the chart. Does the planned course make sense? Why are we choosing this specific course? Has something happened along the way that requires us to deviate from the plan?

In that spirit, I am sending out today’s missive to all of you. Below you will find my plans for the coming year. This pulls together relevant information from several articles and combines it into one place, updated after feedback and reflection. Call it a slight course correction if you will.

A little over two years ago, I had a crazy idea—what if I 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 beautiful: a vibrant community of thoughtful readers who have transformed Beyond the Bookshelf from a newsletter into a genuine conversation.

We've wandered through literary landscapes and wrestled with complex ideas. 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 essay 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.

“I am tomorrow, or some future day, what I establish today. I am today what I established yesterday or some previous day.” — James Joyce

Navigating the Passages Between Books and Being

The tagline at the top of every essay has changed a bit over the past two years, but its essence has remained the same.

How do the books we read shape the lives we live?

This is about something deeper than simple book reviews or literary rankings. It’s about understanding how stories become part of our inner landscape, how literature informs the way we see ourselves and navigate the world, and how the written word serves as both mirror and lamp, reflecting who we are while illuminating who we might become.

The past two years have seen a lot of experimentation on my part as I explored what does and doesn’t work as part of this publication. I'm excited to introduce a more sustainable approach to Beyond the Bookshelf—one that prioritizes quality and depth over rigid scheduling.

Going forward, I want to sharpen my focus around what has always been the heart of this publication: navigating the passages between books and being. I am 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?

Instead of committing to a specific routine, publication day each week, or a certain number of posts each month, I intend to focus on quality writing. My naval career taught me that proactive, quality communication is an integral part of any team dynamic. As the captain of this particular ship, my role is to navigate us through literary waters while exploring how the things we read influence who we are.

Some things you are likely to see in the new year include:

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.

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 Celine Nguyen 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." 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.

Interviews — One of my favorite activities is talking with readers and writers about their lives and their craft. The Interview Series has proven to be one of the most popular sections of this publication and I intend to continue offering these close looks into the lives of creative people.

Deep Reads Book Club — This will no longer be a weekly essay but a monthly reflection. Here, we will focus on the Roots and Wings Literary Journey I announced earlier this week.

Roots and Wings

A Framework for Literary Reflection

During my years at sea, successful navigation required more than just knowing my destination. I needed to understand my starting position, read the currents and conditions around the ship, chart a course that accounted for planned routes and unexpected discoveries, and ultimately assess not just whether we arrived, but what the journey revealed about the waters we had traveled and my capabilities as a navigator.

This process, I’ve realized, mirrors how I want to approach literature.

Too often, literary discourse gets trapped between two extremes. One side is the reductive world of star ratings and quick recommendations—systems that compress complex reading experiences into simple metrics. On the other hand, academic criticism that, while intellectually rigorous, often feels distant from the lived experience of reading.

What I’m proposing instead is a middle path: reflections that take books and readers seriously, examining how literature works without losing sight of why it matters. This is about creating a flexible approach that honors each book’s uniqueness while maintaining the kind of intellectual honesty our community deserves. I’ve structured my approach to book reflections around four key phases, each serving a distinct purpose in literary navigation.

First, I begin with an honest acknowledgment of where I am when I encounter a book. What drew me to it? What were my expectations before reading? Why this book at this time? What is going on in my life at this moment? This is about understanding the context and conditions that shape the reading experience. A navigator must know their starting position before charting a course. Likewise, I need to understand my perspective before I can meaningfully assess what a book accomplishes.

Secondly, I want to acknowledge that no reading happens in isolation as I explore how this book connects to my other readings, my life experiences, and my ongoing questions and concerns. What unexpected connections emerge? How does it challenge or confirm what I thought I knew? I want to understand the truth that literature informs me and changes me.

Next comes the careful work of examining how a book functions as craft and as communication. I will explore the author’s technical choices, the themes they wrestle with, and the cultural conversations they’re joining. This is where I do the intellectual work of understanding what a book says, how it says it, and why those choices matter. This is an analysis grounded in genuine curiosity about how literature creates its effects.

Finally, I will bring all these elements together to assess what the book ultimately accomplishes and why that matters. Not whether it’s “good” or “bad,” but what it contributes to ongoing conversations and what kind of reader would value that contribution. It’s here that I will connect my reading experience to broader questions about literature, culture, and human understanding.

This framework serves several goals that I believe will strengthen this publication and deepen our community engagement with the written word. I aim to offer intellectual honesty without intimidation. My reflections will take ideas seriously while remaining accessible to all readers. I intend to engage with complex themes and sophisticated craft without resorting to academic jargon or cultural gatekeeping. The goal is illumination, not intimidation.

I believe engagement with other readers should transcend personal preference. By focusing on what books accomplish, I can have more honest and useful conversations with you about the books we read. Some of the most important books challenge me in uncomfortable ways. Others might not align with my tastes, but still achieve something remarkable. In this same light, rather than positioning myself as the final arbiter of literary worth, I want these reflections to serve our broader conversation. The questions I raise, the connections I draw, and the assessments I offer are invitations for further discussion, not definitive judgments.

I also believe that books should be examined in their cultural context without resorting to cultural snobbery. Literature doesn’t exist in isolation from the world that produces and receives it. My reflections will attempt to engage with broader cultural conversations while remaining grounded in the actual reading experience. The goal is understanding, not displaying erudition for its own sake.

What this means practically is that you can expect book reflections that dig deeper than quick recommendations while remaining more accessible than academic analysis. You’ll encounter discussions of craft and technique, explorations of thematic complexity, and honest assessment of cultural significance—all filtered through the lens of genuine reading experience.

Some reflections will focus more on technical achievement, others on thematic resonance, still others on cultural positioning. The framework provides structure, not formula. Each book deserves to be met on its own terms, and my approach should adapt accordingly.

Most importantly, these reflections will continue to serve our community’s central mission: exploring how literature connects to the broader questions of how we live, what we value, and who we’re becoming. The framework simply ensures that exploration happens with the kind of intellectual rigor and emotional honesty that both literature and readers deserve.

As someone who spent decades reading charts, monitoring instruments, and adjusting course based on changing conditions, I know that the best navigation combines reliable methods with responsiveness to actual circumstances. This framework provides the reliable method; the books themselves, and our community’s ongoing conversation about them, will determine how we adapt and adjust along the way.

The goal isn’t to arrive at predetermined destinations but to navigate literary waters with greater skill, awareness, and appreciation for what we discover along the way. Together, we’ll continue exploring the vast ocean of literature, equipped now with better tools for understanding both where we’ve been and where these remarkable books might take us next.

As always, your voice in this conversation matters deeply. The reflections I write are starting points for the discussions that make this community what it is. I look forward to hearing how these deeper explorations resonate with your own reading experiences and to discovering together what we might find in these deeper waters.

Over these first two years, I have loved meeting new people and the conversations we have had about books. Beyond the Bookshelf has always been about more than just my thoughts on books—it's about building relationships 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 engagement in the comment sections so that it isn’t just me speaking into a void. I dream of readers discussing the ideas we explore, sharing book recommendations, connecting personal experiences to the literature we're examining, and diving deep into the questions that matter most. These conversations are as valuable as the essays themselves.

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.

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

I feel that paywalls go against something fundamental about writing and community. Literature has always been about connection for me—between writer and reader, between readers and ideas, between all of us trying to make sense of this beautiful, complex world through stories. And I don’t want to put barriers between us.

I want a teenager discovering their love of literature to stumble upon these essays without hitting a wall. I want someone going through a difficult time to find solace in our conversations without worrying about subscription fees. I want our community to remain as open and welcoming as the best bookshops and libraries—places where anyone can wander in and discover something that might change their life.

So Beyond the Bookshelf will remain completely free and open. Every essay, every reflection, every conversation we share will be available to anyone who wants to be part of this journey.

But here’s where I need to be honest with you: this work still requires time, energy, and yes, financial sustainability. October marked two years of Beyond the Bookshelf—two years of building this incredible community together. If my writing has meant something to you—if it’s made you think differently about a book, introduced you to a new author, or simply been good company during your reading life—I hope you’ll consider supporting this work in whatever way feels right for you, perhaps as a way to mark this milestone we’ve reached together.

You might choose a paid subscription (which helps me dedicate the time this community deserves), pick something from my book wishlist (because what writer doesn’t need more books?), or leave a tip in the jar when a particular piece resonates with you. But please, do this only when you’re able, and only from the generosity of your heart. Your presence here, your comments, your engagement with these ideas—that’s the real currency of this community.

I believe the best things in life—like the best conversations about books—happen when we remove the barriers and trust in each other’s goodwill. That’s the community we’ve built over these past two years, and that’s the community I want to nurture going forward.

Thank you for being part of this journey, however you choose to support it.

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.

Here’s to the books that take us beyond the shelf and into deeper waters,

Matthew Long is a writer and retired sailor living in rural western Tennessee.

Beyond the Bookshelf is a reader-supported voyage. If these literary explorations have enriched your journey, I’d be grateful for any support you can offer. Whether it’s the price of a coffee or a book, your contribution keeps wind in our sails and ensures these navigations through literature remain free for all readers. Thank you for being part of this crew.

Affiliate links: You can click on the title of any book mentioned in this article to purchase your own copy. These are affiliate links from Bookshop.org, earning me a very small commission for any purchase you make.