Hannah More, b. 1745. Evangelical philathropist connected with William Wilberforce and the Clapham Sect. In her youth she was also a friend of actor David Garrick, lexicographer Samuel Johnson, and politician and writer Horace Walpole. After her conversion to evangelical Christianity and her retreat from the high society of London, her friends were clergyman and hymn writer John Newton and anti-slavery activist William Wilberforce. She was active in the anti-slavery movement in England, and her character makes an appearance in the movie, Amazing Grace, a movie I highly recommend, by the way.

Here’s a snippet from her poem, Slavery, published in 1788 to coincide with the first parliamentary debate on the slave trade.

. . . the countless host
I mourn, by rapine dragg’d from Afric’s coast.
Perish th’illiberal thought which wou’d debase
The native genius of the sable race!

Perish the proud philosophy, which sought
To rob them of the pow’rs of equal thought!

James Joyce, b. 1882. “Bayard himself confesses to never having finished Ulysses, by James Joyce. Personally, I have a theory that there is a very good chance that Joyce himself didn’t even finish writing the book, since I have never actually met anyone who has read the thing cover to cover.” —Sarah Vine in a review of Comment Parler des Livres que l’on n’a pas Lus (How to Talk About Books that You Haven’t Read) by M. Bayard. Ms. Vine didn’t read Mr. Bayard’s book, either. Has anyone here actually read Ulysses, other than Madame MM-V, that is. I must say I’ve never felt the urge. It’s on my list of “Books That If I Had More Than One Life I Would Certainly Also Read But Unfortunately My Days Are Numbered.” What’s on your list of that name?

Under the Heaventree, an essay by Frederica Matthews-Green on the Christian life and Christian theology in the style of a chapter from James Joyce’s Ulysses. At least Ulysses is good for something.

James Stephens, b. 1882. Irish novelist and poet. He was a friend of James Joyce.

Ayn Rand, b. 1905. The Fountainhead is one of the books on the list for my LOST project, but I’m not about to spend my time on that massive tome either. I think that all I’d get for my time and energy is a very long expostion in fiction of Sawyer’s philosophy, “It’s every man for himself, Freckles.”

Judith Viorst, b. 1931. Author of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Atheneum, 1972. We’ve all had them. Reading about Alexander’s bad day somehow helps me to laugh at my own bad days in a misery-loves-company sort of way.