Books like Captain Swing

I loved this book because it made a distant historical episode feel extraordinarily human.

I found myself fascinated by the small group of impoverished craftsmen who, in 1820, convinced themselves that they could bring down the British government. What stayed with me was not simply what they tried to do, but who they were, what motivated them, and how they came to believe that revolution was possible.

I am also full of admiration for the historical detective work behind the book. It reconstructs these lives from tiny fragments of surviving evidence, yet never feels dry or academic. I found it a genuine page-turner.

I loved Making Waves because it changed the way I think about democratization.

I was particularly struck by the story of the Danish king in 1848, watching revolution spread from France through the German states and deciding that the safest response was to concede power and introduce representative democracy.

Weyland’s many examples from Europe and Latin America made me see much more clearly how political ideas, institutional blueprints, and fears of revolution travel across borders. I found the argument both persuasive and memorable.

More than most books on democracy, it convinced me that I cannot understand political change by looking at countries in isolation.

I loved this book for the sheer breadth of its perspective.

I found it exhilarating to see democratic ideas and practices placed in a history stretching back thousands of years and ranging across China, the Americas, Europe, and beyond. For me, it was a genuine eye-opener.

It reminded me how easy it is to treat the rise and fall of democratic institutions in Western Europe since the French Revolution as the central story, when in fact it is only one small part of a much larger global history.

I came away from the book thinking about democracy in a completely different way.

I admire this book partly because I disagree with its central hypothesis.

Congleton argues that democracy emerged through a sequence of consensual constitutional bargains between kings and their parliamentary opponents, with the threat of violence playing little role. I find that claim provocative rather than convincing, and that is precisely what makes the book so rewarding.

I especially like the way it combines a clear theoretical framework with detailed historical case studies that put real institutional flesh on the theoretical bones. The cases are illuminating, deeply researched, and written by an author with an exceptional command of constitutional history.

It is a book I keep returning to, even when I want to argue with it.

I love the nuanced descriptions of how the four main characters and their families adapt to the changing seasonal availability of food within their households in Western Kenya.

Having worked and observed farm families in a similar environment just across the border in Uganda, I find the author’s description of the “hungry” season when the crops are in the ground but not yet ready for harvest, spot on.

I find his discussion of the importance of seed and fertilizer availability and distribution policy-relevant, and the work of the NGO involved in making it happen is inspiring.   

Perhaps not a page-turner, but a deeply engrossing study of how English people grew and foraged for the food that sustained them in the first millennium AD. The great value added here is the reliance on the very latest archaeobotanical data, in other words, on the fossil remains of plants, their seeds, glumes, bits of stems, and their pollens, which archaeologists have begun to salvage from digs and cores, to analyze in labs, and now thanks to McKerracher also to historicize.

The excellent British system of preservation, cataloguing, and online dissemination of archaeobotanical information bears fruit in a book that shows us how complex and sophisticated early medieval farming practices were.

With unmatched research and brilliant analytical thought, Nicholas Lambert upends long-accepted explanations of a military disaster—the Gallipoli Campaign—that not only rocked Britain in World War I but reverberates in international relations to this very day. His forensic examination of the British government’s symbiotic political, diplomatic, economic, and military decision-making should be required reading for all students of those disciplines. His approach dismantles accepted histories derived from the political assignment of blame and instead gives the reader an understanding of policy decisions tortured by a wide array of then-pertinent circumstances ranging from the price of a loaf of bread to the power of a Russian Tsar. We can hear the echoes of Lambert’s analysis in today’s cable news reports regarding globalization, disruption to wheat markets, and the political impact of inflation. A timeless work indeed. 

I like this one because it reveals what is wrong with modern meat production, not only within the broad context of industrial agriculture but also the governmental policies and corporate control of what we eat.

It ranges widely from corporate control of plant and animal genetics to who raises what we eat and dictates where and how it is grown, to the chemicals that go onto our fruits and vegetables and into our bodies, to government oversight and regulation of food safety and animal welfare; to corporate concentration at every link in the food chain.

But what I appreciate most of all is Hauter’s extensive and thoughtful analysis of what can be done to break up the foodopolies and rebuild a healthy and just food system.

This short (190-page) book shows how the global food system is intrinsically connected to world region’s diverse developmental trajectories, covering the colonial era to the green revolution to the contemporary corporate-dominated food system.

Historically, agriculture has been subordinated ever more tightly to capitalist imperatives of profit – based upon increased, faster, and cheaper production. Agriculture has been transformed from a ‘closed loop system’, where soil fertility was renewed based upon locally-available resources (such as animal manure), to a through-flow system dependent upon external inputs.

This shift raised yields for a while, but at the cost of soil exhaustion and the accumulation of power and resources in the hands of agrochemical companies at the expense of the small farmer sector.

Weis suggests that we need to consider new ways of producing our food, which would also establish new forms of world development. 

While several books have been written about the horrors of industrial livestock production, none have moved me more than Blanchette’s Porkopolis.

With unforgettable stories and startling photographs, Blanchette details how workers perform all manner of intimate tasks to make industrial pigs reproduce and stay alive. I also love how he flips common-sense ideas of efficiency on their heads, showing how industrial meat production is anything but wasteful. Every bit of those pigs is used somewhere to the extent you wish they weren’t.

I have taught this book three times in my politics of food classes, and it never fails to blow my students away.