Fictional Philosophical Books Novels & Stories

There is a book I used to read. The title: Sofie's World, by Jostein Gaarder. About philosophy and really good. Even it is about philosophy, the delivery is light and easy to understand. This book has been translated into Indonesian, but this one is in English. This is better. Sometimes the translation changes the capture, even if slightly. I want to read it again, for brain stormings that have been frozen for a long time due to daily matters. "Do you like reading a book?!"

Peaceful. Vespera Hale walked along the mahogany shelves, trailing her fingers over the spines of the books. Philosophy. Strategy. History. She stopped. On a shelf at eye level, nestled between The Art of War and a first edition of The Count of Monte Cristo, was a book she didn't recognize. It had no dust jacket. The binding was matte black, textured like volcanic rock. The lettering on the spine was silver, sharp and angular. SAVAGE REBORN.

I can’t explain it, but I don’t have to, either, if I don’t bring it up, and I’m not one to ever start conversations. I sniff the paperback—old, musty paper, glue, and Justus—and set it on the pallet. The next book in the pile, Peter Kropotkin’s The Conquest of Bread, has a picture of two men chopping down a tree on the cover. It smells the same. All the books are dog-eared paperbacks with yellowed pages—Walden by Henry David Thoreau, Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler, Critique of Practical Reason by Immanuel Kant, several each by Ursula K. Le Guin and N. K. Jemison, and a massive hardback of Plato’s collected works. The Plato is the only one that looks like it hasn’t been read a hundre

“I do. Although, on many nights, I simply like to read with only the lamp on, and the moonlight shimmering overhead. It’s utterly enchanting and so peaceful.” She could picture him like that, reclining on the day bed, a book in hand, the moonlight filtering on him. So sexy. She shook her head to clear her mind from those tantalizing images of him. “What sort of books do you like to read?” she asked. “I read a lot of philosophy—Dostoevsky, Plato, Socrates, Kant...” “That’s…deep,” she said, still skimming over the shelves. “I also read thrillers. Dan Brown, Lee Child, and Matthew Reilly.”

The title interested Anthony, he nodded at Yugo in appreciation as he received the book that was handed to him. ‘Rogue, Not Rough.’ It read. “Trust me when I say, it took me many years of research to know these things. If you want to know, you would have to embrace the reality of what you are. You are not fiction. Stop reading those fictious story that tells you that you are what you aren’t. They are just figment of the human mind but you,” Yugo pointed at him then tapped his own chest, “We have seen it happen. We have felt it. So, what do you think about reading books from people who have felt it too? I think…”

Ariella sighed and closed the book, putting it on the table that was already stacked with similar books she'd discarded. "I have my ideas. Here, what about this book?" Ariella took the offered book and read the title. "Science and Alchemy in the Modern Age. This book is anything but modern," she thumbed the faded hard cover. "It was for its time. And written by a highly reputable philosopher. My dad has a whole collection of her stuff. She was a dreamer, like you. But I doubt she just had dreams. Don't you know that Francis wrote predictions that have come to pass?"

It’s the first real smell in the entire place. And books. Hundreds of them. Not decorator books arranged by color. Real books. Worn spines. Dog-eared pages. I run my fingers along the shelves. Financial theory. Biographies of Carnegie and Rockefeller. Philosophy. History. And fiction. I pull out a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. The spine creaks. Pages are yellowed, soft as cloth. I flip through and stop at the margin notes inked in neat, sharp handwriting. "Revenge consumes the avenger," written next to a passage about Edmond Dantès.

"Oh, yes. What a great place...." James too is smiling slightly. "Mind if I look at what you've bought?" The smile turns whimsical as he works his way through her purchases, raising brows at some of her choices. "'Modern Cosmology and Philosophy', 'The Chronicles of Narnia', 'The Mythology of the Ancient Greeks'...." Michael leans across to look, shaking his head slightly but also smiling.

The man was stunned and looked excited. "Okay okay, what's that?" They left the bookstore and walked to the mall at the same time. Victor took the book out of his bag. "This one, philosophical poetry about hmm... I won't say first." He promised and handed over the book. "Why don't you say?" The woman even looked at the book. "The Alchemist by Paolo Coelho? Wait, he's the writer of Veronika Decides to Die, isn't he? This is my brother's favorite author," voice from Maria.

Seth whispered to himself, determined. Elsewhere, Jasmine was engrossed in her book, sitting in a small bookstore recommended by Fiona. The bookstore wasn't large, but it was filled with unique and interesting book collections. Many old books caught Jasmine's attention, and now she had already selected two books to buy. Jasmine's steps halted when her eyes fell on a book titled **"The Philosophy of Love and Betrayal"**. A wistful smile formed on her face. The title resonated deeply with her current state of mind, but Jasmine didn't want to read it. She was determined to keep her mind away from painful things for now.