Conan O’Brien’s reading life is a study in depth over breadth, and it is
organised around a single word: craft. His defining literary passion is Robert
Caro. The Power Broker, Caro’s 1,300-page anatomy of how Robert Moses
accumulated and wielded unelected power over New York, and the still-unfinished
Years of Lyndon Johnson are, for Conan, the summit of what patient,
obsessive work can produce. He has called the LBJ books "our Harry Potter" and
spent decades trying to meet Caro — "the white whale writing Ahab a note." What
he takes from them is a working philosophy transferable straight to comedy: God
is in the details, and the only route there is doing the work.
Beneath the Caro obsession runs the older layer of the Harvard literature
student. Flannery O’Connor — the subject of his senior thesis and a writer he
has championed on the record, including in a documentary about her — supplies
the opposite pole from Caro’s exhaustive nonfiction: violent, compressed,
morally uncompromising short fiction where grace arrives through catastrophe.
And Mark Twain closes the circle between the literary and the comic. When Conan
accepted the Mark Twain Prize in 2025, he gave a strikingly literary speech
framing Twain’s hatred of bullies and his moral core as the tradition he
belongs to.
What Conan’s reading reveals that a longer, flashier list could not is
sincerity. There is no strategy here, no self-improvement agenda — just a
comedian who reveres great writing and is unembarrassed to say so. The through
line from Caro to O’Connor to Twain is a belief that the funniest and the most
serious work come from the same place: relentless attention, moral seriousness,
and the willingness to sit with something until it is exactly right. It is the
smallest reading list of the Tier-1 group, and one of the most heartfelt.