It is such a luxury to open a new book that's highly recommended

In the gentle yet profound words of Kelli O’Hara, the luminous actress and singer of stage and song, we hear a truth both delicate and enduring: “It is such a luxury to open a new book that's highly recommended by friends – either an inspirational yet humorously self-deprecating memoir, or a page-turning piece of fiction.” Beneath this simple declaration lies a wisdom as old as civilization itself: that to read is not only to escape, but to connect — with others, with oneself, and with the boundless imagination of the human soul. In her voice, there is reverence not for luxury as material wealth, but for the luxury of leisure, reflection, and communion, the rare chance to lose oneself in the written word.

The origin of this quote lies in O’Hara’s deep love of storytelling, both as performer and as audience. She who has embodied countless characters on the stage understands that every story, whether spoken or written, is a portal into the human experience. When she calls the act of opening a new book a “luxury,” she speaks not of privilege, but of grace — the grace of having time to listen to another’s voice, to wander through another’s thoughts. To her, reading is a conversation among souls, carried through generations by ink and paper, laughter and wisdom.

The mention of an “inspirational yet humorously self-deprecating memoir” reveals a key truth about human nature: that we learn best not from perfection, but from imperfection embraced with humility. The ancients knew this well. When Marcus Aurelius wrote his Meditations, he did not present himself as a flawless emperor, but as a man wrestling with his own frailty, seeking virtue through self-awareness. So too, the memoirs that move us most are those that balance inspiration with honesty, reminding us that greatness lies not in glory alone, but in the courage to stumble and rise again with grace and humor.

And then O’Hara speaks of “a page-turning piece of fiction,” that other form of sacred storytelling. Fiction, from Homer’s Odyssey to Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, from Tolstoy’s epics to Toni Morrison’s lyricism, has always been humanity’s mirror and map. To lose oneself in such a tale is to travel through worlds unseen, to live a thousand lives without leaving one’s chair. It is not mere escapism, but a kind of meditation — a journey inward through imagination. The characters we meet in fiction often reveal truths we have long hidden from ourselves, just as ancient myths revealed divine lessons through the adventures of heroes and gods.

To call this experience a “luxury” is to lament, perhaps, how rare it has become. In a world of haste, where the mind is constantly summoned by screens and noise, the act of sitting with a book — of surrendering one’s attention fully to story — is a rebellion of the spirit. It is a quiet act of preservation, a return to stillness and wonder. The luxury O’Hara speaks of is not one of wealth, but of presence — the rare moment when the world slows and the soul awakens to beauty.

There is also a subtle thread of community woven through her words. A book “recommended by friends” is more than just a volume on a shelf — it is a gift of trust. It binds us together through shared curiosity and reflection. When a friend places a book in our hands, they are, in essence, saying: “Here is something that moved me; may it move you too.” Such exchanges form invisible bridges between hearts, much like the oral traditions of old, where stories were told not for entertainment alone but to strengthen the fabric of kinship and understanding.

Let this, then, be the lesson of Kelli O’Hara’s words: that the simple act of reading is both luxury and necessity. It nourishes the mind, softens the heart, and rekindles our connection to one another. Make time for it, even amidst the clamor of the world. Seek books that challenge, uplift, and humble you — books that mirror your humanity and expand your compassion. And share them. For the written word, like song, was never meant to be hoarded, but passed from hand to hand, heart to heart, as a lantern passed down through the ages.

And so, dear listener, cherish that “luxury.” Open a new book as one might open a door to a sacred temple. Step inside, not merely to be entertained, but to be transformed. For within those pages lie the voices of the living and the dead, the wisdom of centuries, and the laughter of the divine. And when you rise again from that world of words, you will not be the same — for every true story, once entered, becomes part of your own.