There’s a powerful and alluring line in Haruki Murakami’s novel Norwegian Wood I’ve always loved: “I don’t want to waste valuable time reading any book that has not had the baptism of time.”

The character meant that in a limited sense; he felt only old books that had endured for generations were worth reading. But I would add that works that acknowledge and explore the deep and often inscrutable influence of the past are also “baptized of time” and make the most moving and inspirational reading. William Faulkner captured that insight perfectly in Requiem for a Nun: “The past is never dead. It’s not even past. All of us labor in webs spun long before we were born, webs of heredity and environment, of desire and consequence, of history and eternity.”

I’ve long believed the healing power of literature rises from its ability to let us see our deep connections to others, the world around us, and the cosmos. Rachel Carson once wrote that “To understand the living present, and the promise of the future, it is necessary to remember the past.”

Growing up around Civil War and American Indian sites, I absorbed a deep appreciation of the past, and that is reflected in the stories I write. My latest is “Making a Ton,” featured in the Minstrels in the Galaxy anthology, The protagonist, a pilot in the Asteroid Belt, reflects on his connections to the trailblazers who led humanity into space:

Ray stepped towards the window. “We got to this moon on the shoulders of giants,” he announced. “Pioneers, heroes, every one of them. Giving up would be an insult to their memory. They were men and women who roared into space in ships powered by chemical fuel that could’ve exploded and turned them to space dust. But they did it anyway. They were people with backbones, muscles, and scars, and courage. That’s what space travel is about, not technology. I feel like I’m with them when I’m piloting.”

Riveting adventures, echoes of lives lived well, and guideposts for discovering what makes us what we are — that’s the goal of all good stories.