100 Books Like Blake; Or, The Huts of America

What about writers more like me? In this book, an Ohio small-town banker turned Union volunteer describes race relations not as Delaney thought they should be but as they were in Union armies commanded by officers who were often anti-Black as well as anti-slavery. It made me feel I was there.

Beatty was a sort of good Union man—no politics at the start of the war, but Radical (Republican) politics at the end of it.

For conditions after the War, this book describes parts of the South that had been the wealthiest (and most exploitative). Easton was a Quaker and, thus, a pacifist. I felt I was there and being forgiven for what I had done or failed to do. Again and again, Easton is in the room with Klansmen, Army officers, and Black and White and poor and rich public officials.

American civil violence is his salient theme. To give three later examples of this theme: Don’t argue with Trump—shoot him. Don’t argue with JFK—shoot him. And most of all, don’t argue with Lincoln, a bigger leader—shoot him and make a theatrical event of it.  

The English General Fuller may be said to have taken Alexander’s program and imagined applying it to World War II. Had Hitler cooperated with Stalin’s unhappy subjects, he might have won the war in Russia. The same reasoning applied to Hitler’s opponent, England.

Had England given freedom to India before the war started, the Japanese would have found Asia far harder to conquer. Churchill and Chamberlain agreed that India must remain part of the Empire. Alexander knew better. He made the top Indian kings his allies, not his subjects.

Mary Renault’s partly fictional biography of Alexander reminds us that the King had more trouble with his courtiers than with his subjects or enemies.

She tells the story of how they poisoned him. That tendency of ours—to shoot the religious messenger bringing strange news—to think that that the strange news is freakish or threatening—is one to remember.  

This book is a profound meditation on human resilience that never fails to move me. I'm constantly in awe of Hemingway's ability to weave so much meaning into such a deceptively simple tale. The way Santiago's unwavering determination shines through, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, resonates deeply with me.

I find myself returning to this book time and time again, drawing inspiration from the old man's quiet strength and dignity. The vivid portrayal of man's relationship with nature—both its beauty and its harsh realities—leaves me breathless. What I love most is how Hemingway captures the essence of the human spirit in Santiago's struggle, reminding me that true victory lies not in the outcome but in the perseverance of the journey.

One of the most interesting stories involving Texas during the Civil War is the blockade runners that operated out of Galveston and other Texas ports. As other Confederate ports were captured by the Union, Texas gradually emerged as the last important route for Southern goods to be exported and weapons and other war materials to be imported. Andy Hall is the acknowledged expert on this subject and this book is essential for anyone wanting to explore this interesting and important subject. One of the best features of this book is that it includes many photographs, maps, and illustrations that are not available anywhere else.

A novel that reads like a memoir. After a childhood in Miami, the narrator explores her links to her Cuban past—and what Cuban exile has not done the same? But here are intimate, stimulating scenes that tie us to the Revolution, and in particular to Che Guevara. As Menendez writes, “Every trip to Havana is a dance between wanting to believe in the good of people and protecting oneself from the desperation that poisons every interaction.”

This novel is both sexy and chilling. It is the journey of a young woman, about her lovers, the intimacy of friendship, and her alluring social life in Havana, Cuba. With each page you sip the intensity of youth and political drama on the island. After traveling to Cuba to protest the US embargo in the 1990s and living for so many years in Miami with friends in the Cuban diaspora, Cuban's transnational socio-cultural complex frames how I think about islands. I relish how Portela writes, she is the friend who coaxes you out, keeps you up all night, with the promises of thrill, excitement, and a bit of danger. 

The history of rum is, in so many ways, the history of Cuba. Bacardi shows this about as good as any book I’ve seen. I’m a first-generation Cuban-American (my parents left Cuba in the early ‘60s as teens and resettled to Miami).

So, it was particularly moving to follow the generational story of the Bacardis, the family from Santiago de Cuba who not only created what became the world’s best-known rum but whose patriarchs participated in or funded every coup, uprising, or political lurch in Cuba stretching back to the Spanish-American War.

I loved how Gjelten shepherds the reader from the horrors of the 19th-century war to the Cuban exodus following Fidel Castro’s ascent to power. It transported me to Cuba’s past and, more importantly, deepened my understanding of my own roots.  

José Martí was a poet and writer who became the leader of Cuba’s final independence movement from Spain. He died in battle in 1895 and is the island’s best-known hero – images and statues of him can be found in almost every town in Cuba. He spent much of his life in exile, including in the United States. He was a prolific journalist, and his essay ‘Nuestra América’ (Our America, 1881) is one of his most-cited works. His observations about the US and the rest of the Americas were astute, and his work continues to offer insights that are applicable to the present day.