100 Books Like Charity and Sylvia

Annette Gordon-Reed’s book introduces readers to the enslaved family of a Founding Father, Thomas Jefferson.

What I love about this book is that it upends the traditional picture of Jefferson while neither vilifying nor excusing him. It’s a full picture of a complicated man and the fascinating people who were part of his life. After all, the historian’s task is not to make heroes or villains but to show the full complexity of human beings.

At the center of the story is Sally Hemings, the half-sister of Jefferson’s wife and the mother of some of Jefferson’s children. The book also shows how a careful historian can interpret and evaluate different kinds of evidence, including documents, oral history, and DNA.

I shouldn't be recommending this book. Its sources are limited. Its psychological approach to its subject is outdated. Worst of all, its author earned degrees in literature, not history! (I'm a history professor.) But I don't care.

I find this book electrifying. It is the work of a dogged gumshoe investigator, a mother in her 20s, who relentlessly dug up the long-concealed secrets of one of America's most extraordinary national stories: the life and death of Joseph Smith, founder of the Latter-Day Saints movement.

This book shows the most thrilling part of being a historian: finding things out. "No man knows my history," Joseph Smith once claimed. The title of this book is a sly rejoinder: Maybe once, no man knew your history, but now, one woman does.

The Artificial River is so well-written, and features so many surprising and illuminating insights about early America, that I have assigned it many times in undergraduate classes. Sheriff speaks trenchantly about the concept of progress that inspired—and continues to inspire—so many of us. Yet by looking at how that concept played out over the course of the building of the Erie Canal, one of the most massive public works projects of the early Republic, she also shows the ways that Americans’ views of the common good were transformed. In a series of brilliantly executed chapters, Sheriff demonstrates the extent to which Americans’ embrace of market capitalism undermined their commitments to the good of all, and their willingness to accept that some of their fellow citizens would live in permanent poverty. It is a book that speaks as much to contemporary ideas about progress and self-determination as to those ideas in… show more.

This was one of the first books I read that showed me how powerful true crime can be as a vehicle for historical narrative. Jewett’s murder in 1830s New York was all but forgotten until Cline recovers that case and the social world of sex workers in that era.

It’s the writer’s eye for narrative details and her contemporary sleuthing into the complexities of Jewett’s life that keeps me coming back to this book again and again. Cline continually reveals her research process, and by doing so, I felt like I was part of the story as she reconstructs the crime and New York in the 1830s. 

We often think of the Age of Revolutions as linked to the Enlightenment, with its emphasis on reason and science. But as Juster demonstrates in this fascinating book, it was also an age of prophecy. If they were sometimes dismissed as crazy, hundreds of male and female prophets found significant followers during the 1790s and early 1800s—followers who saw in those prophetic visions inspired ways to live in and face the challenges of a growing democratic society. Even those of us who knew about some of the ecstatic religious practices of the Second Great Awakening found ourselves marveling at Juster’s recapturing of a world of visionaries during an Age of Reason. Ultimately, she inspires us to connect the emerging democratization of the early nineteenth century to the profusion of charismatic and sometimes unsettling religious leaders. A wonderful piece of scholarship that is also a dream to read.

Benjamin Franklin might be a Founding Father (I know, yawn), but he's also a real weirdo, and in my opinion, he's the only eighteenth-century American whose jokes still hold up.

His life story is full of relatable confessions: he fails at vegetarianism, chastity, and resisting the appeals of traveling fundraisers. He's so intent on convincing me of his honesty that he sometimes makes me suspicious. "Am I getting conned?" I ask myself. "Is this guy actually telling me all this to sell me something?" But I'm having such a good time listening to him that I just decide not to care.

I can’t take my eyes off this collection of gorgeous historical photographs of affectionate queer couples from 1850 to 1950. Nini and Treadwell scoured libraries and personal collections to create this visual testament to gay love. Their painstaking digitization of often fragile originals created a unique archive, one that we can all share on our coffee tables.

I loved the book so much that I obtained permission from Nini and Treadwell to reprint one of their images as the frontispiece of Fierce Desires! We, too, rarely get to see these snapshots of queer affection, but they are beautiful to behold.

Landon Carter was a fearsome Virginia tobacco planter, politician, and patriarch, with hundreds of slaves laboring under the lash on his plantation. As I learned from this book, he was also a total headcase. This book is based on the diaries that Carter wrote compulsively, alone, because he didn't have anyone to confide in. (It's lonely at the top.) 

The diaries reveal Carter as an anxious pessimist, constantly going into tailspins because his slaves, his children, and his fellow Virginia gentlemen constantly defied his authority. The icing on this lousy cake was the outbreak of the American Revolution, which upended Carter's world for good. I don't feel sorry for him, but I learned much about power by reading about his struggles and panics.

New York in the 1830s was a modern city on the make, where you could find Irish immigrant neighborhoods, white-collar workers, fire insurance, social reformers...and the bizarre religious cult of the Prophet Matthias.

I find Matthias reactionary and creepy, but I am fascinated by how he sees modern life through a dark mirror. His loathing of the rising middle-class world was so specific! He hated new-fangled cast-iron stoves, "women who do not keep at home," and "men who wear spectacles." Johnson and Wilentz refuse to spell out all the lessons of this book; instead, they dump you into a strange environment where the most unsettling moments are actually the ones when something suddenly feels familiar.

This extraordinary book reprints passionate letters exchanged by two Black women in the mid-19th century—the only such letters ever discovered in the US. I loved reading Addie Brown’s letters to Rebecca Primus, which reveal the depth of their commitment to each other.

Griffin’s commentary perfectly balances the transcribed letters. She taught me that Rebecca, who was from an educated family, was a trailblazing educator for formerly enslaved people in Maryland, has a school named after her, and left her papers (including Addie’s letters!) for posterity. I felt like I knew and cared about Addie and Rebecca by the book’s end.