100 Books Like Art in the Time of Unbearable Crisis

More than a century before Oprah, emancipated African Americans organized their own book clubs. They studied mainly the Western classics but also emerging black writers.

While Booker T. Washington emphasized vocational training, more militant black leaders demanded the right to read the same authors taught in elite white academies: One of their syllabuses included Milton, Spenser, Homer, Aeschylus, Longfellow, Dryden, Pope, Browning, Pindar and Sappho. Those poets, said one reader, inspired the "hope [that] the great American epic of the joys and sorrows of our blood and kindred, of those who have gone before us[,] would one day be written."

And that's exactly what happened. A young Ralph Ellison read everything in the segregated branch of the Oklahoma City library; Malcolm X was profoundly affected by Paradise Lost; and Toni Morrison minored in classics at Howard University.

This book opened a familiar world for me and transformed it into one I scarcely recognized. I learned so much I didn’t know about the iconic Jewish neighborhood of New York through the eyes of many photographers who were drawn to its crowded and dirty streets.

Some were Jewish photographers, some were not, but all of them contended with the challenge of picturing a neighborhood whose reputation set it apart from the rest of the city. I liked how Blair takes readers back into the 19th century and then travels up into the 21st century, letting us see both images and their afterlife. 

There’s no feeling I like better than the feeling that you are becoming smarter with each page turning of the book in your hand. Professor Elaine Showalter made history in 1977 with a big thick book called A Literature of Their Own: British Women Novelists from Brontë to Lessing which essentially put the Wikipedia of British Women Novelists, known and unknown, between two covers, with every entry written by someone who knew their stuff cold and was overjoyed to share it with you. 

This is the American writers version and even with writers we all have heard of in school or just by spending time in bookstores and libraries, every page Prof. Showalter has something you didn’t know about Maya Angelou even if you figured, as I did, you’ve read every word ever written by and about Maya Angelou. 

Reading this book, I felt like I was best friends with… show more.

In Latin America, the long shadow of Iberian imperialism and the racist caste system it left behind continue to dampen or mute expressions of indigeneity in our communities.

Speculative Fiction for Dreamers is a welcome countermeasure against this suppression of indigenous languages, myths, and traditions in Latin American storytelling. The contributors weave a tapestry of more-than-indigenous futurity, that is chimeric and cyborgian, a meshwork of continents and cosmovisions that blueprint futures and alternate presents in communion with ancestral pasts.

From Samy Figaredo’s Taíno-inspired play, to Ernest Hogan’s short story set in new Aztlán, the stories, comics, and poems in this anthology provide a Latin American perspective on indigenous speculative fiction.

This book showed me how engaging, intellectual history can be written. It’s never enough to present information. If you respect your readers, as Delbanco does, keep them entertained. These twelve essays mix the personal, literary, and social in a lively and often surprising, frothy brew. I also like the way Delbanco makes the distant past relevant for today’s world.

Individual sentences are a delight. You’ll leave the book knowing much more about the life, times, and work of writers like Harriet Beecher Stowe, Edith Wharton, and Richard Wright.

What made this book so interesting was Nesbitt’s investigation into the way rum has been used as a literary device. References to rum in novels, short stories, music, and other forms of popular culture allow Nesbitt to expose the way rum has shaped historical constructs of colonialism, racism, and patriarchy in the Caribbean.

For example, Nesbitt juxtaposes characters from Hunter S. Thompson’s The Rum Diaries (1998) with characters in V.S. Naipaul’s Miguel Street (1959) to expose the way sexism and masculine drinking practices reinforce colonialist and imperialist tropes of the Caribbean as a dangerous place stuck in an unchanging cycle of alcoholic malaise. In Jean Rhys’s Wide Sargasso Sea (1966), references to rum reveal insights into colonial expectations of feminine respectability.

As a literary device, rum makes the Caribbean exotic, which has been used to demonize and eroticize Caribbean peoples. Rum was born in the coercive and dangerous environment of… show more.

James Alan McPherson, a writer I’d long admired and my teacher at the University of Iowa, introduced me to The Hero and the Blues. Murray and Ralph Ellison were friends and intellectual sparring partners who worked out their ideas in conversation, and in letters to one another, so it’s not surprising that many of the same ideas occur in their work.

Here, Murray argues that the hallmark of great artists, Shakespeare, Duke Ellington, and Thomas Mann, is their ability to improvise; that is, to take what they’ve learned through formal study and come up with something new. More than that, Murray writes convincingly, the blues has been essential in affirming the humanity of black Americans despite challenges complicated by the particularities of our situation.

As with Ellison, I keep coming back to Murray, again and again, for inspiration and affirmation.

I love the grit and heroism of this story about the history of the humble Armed Services Editions. My own university holds one of the largest collections of these small wartime reprints that were sized to fit into the pocket of a GI’s uniform.

So, I initially reached for this book out of duty but then relished it for its compelling historical facts and vividly bookish humanity.

I never thought of the Old West the same again after reading this book, which shows how the myth of the Old West was made by powerful men who created the West in their own image.

I used to think of Western vigilantism as part and parcel of the “Wild West,” necessary to keep the piece in the absence of “civilization.” Little did I know that the ones behind Western vigilante violence were powerful men using terrorist tactics to preserve their control over the land and its resources.

Bold’s meticulous research is as undeniable as it is thought-provoking and utterly absorbing. 

Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick was one of those rare academic authors who comes across as incredibly likable in her writing. I never met her, but her text just exudes warmth, humour, and relatability, in addition to (or perhaps even in spite of) being erudite and insightful.

In this collection of essays, she attends to questions of pedagogy—how we know and learn things—but examines sites of pedagogy beyond formal education or training. She reveals to the reader that the cat who brings her owner small prey is actually trying to teach the former how to hunt, and shares how studying Buddhism rearranged for her the landscape of how to think about death.

I love this book dearly because it made me think about questions of pedagogy in a completely novel theoretical register, and because it made me both laugh and cry in doing so.