100 Books Like May '68 and Its Afterlives

How could a bunch of creative, courageous, but also somewhat crazy activists make the authoritarian regime of Poland under communist rule tremble? By bringing a moment of joy and laughter to an otherwise dull and grey world. That is what the Polish Orange Alternative Movement did during the late 1980s.

Lives of the Orange Men tells the story of the group. It’s a book that simply made me laugh a lot. Written as a series of captivating autobiographies—and not every word is to be taken seriously!—it is full of anecdotes of activists playfully mocking authorities. “What are those pills,” police once wondered after searching the backpack of an arrested activist. “Happy pills,” the man replied. One officer was eager to try them; happy pills just sounded too good. They turned out to be mints.

Workers ignoring the authority of foremen, organizing disruptive checker-board strikes—only those whose names started with a certain letter put down tools, but enough to bring work to a halt—forming alliances with rebellious students and battling the police in the streets: that’s the story of Italy around 1968, the place of some of the most radical and imaginative protests in the post-war era.

What workers demanded was as simple as it was radical: we want everything. Nanni Balestrini’s novel by the same title memorializes these struggles. It achieves what few sober historical accounts can: vividly capturing the dull monotony of labor suffocating young workers and the thrill of agitation on the shop floor and rebellion in the streets. 

What fascinates me about the history of protesting isn’t only that ordinary people campaigned for or against political change but also that they started experimenting with different ways of living. This is why Sasha Roseneil’s book made me dream and smile: a deeply human and intimate book based on oral history interviews, telling the story of the women’s protest camp at the Greenham Common Airforce base in England, where American Cruise Missiles equipped with nuclear warheads were stationed.

The women of Greenham Common, as Roseneil’s book wonderfully shows, did more than protest the dangers of nuclear war. In the cold and dirt of the camp, amidst the fear of nuclear annihilation, they built a community of laughter, dancing, hugging, and caring: a “queer space,” as Roseneil puts it, of trying out alternatives to the Cold War world of bureaucracy and rationality.

I hardly imagined the Soviet Union, a place of grey and black, with the only sparks of color being red, to be a place for hippie culture to flourish. Juliane Fürst’s book taught me otherwise. It leads into a world of people like Azazello and Ofelia, who look like “angels, creatures from another world, blots of color on a grey canvas, flowers in a concrete desert.”

The book traces how these hippies, against all odds, found ways to distance themselves from the Soviet System, not through open opposition but through dreaming of and living a different life, communally, spiritually, and often on the road. And Fürst’s book does more than merely portray Soviet hippies in a fundamentally sympathetic way: It also reveals what we can learn about a larger society by studying those at the margins. It is an unusual but highly illuminating perspective on the late Soviet Union.

My favorite American novel is at once the most righteously angry and the most beautifully optimistic book I’ve ever read. 

Historical fiction urgently responding to the present, an intimate family saga that creates an entire community—Chesnutt’s masterpiece is a book I’ve taught almost every year of my career, and I find something new in it each time I read it.

No book reminds me more potently of the worst of our history, and no book inspires me to fight for our best more passionately. 

In one of my very favorite books of the past twenty years, Tim Tyson describes the brutal racist murder of a Black man in small-town North Carolina in 1970. He also goes into the aftermath, which Tim personally observed with the eyes of the ten-year-old son of the town’s Methodist minister. His father tried sincerely, with little success, to bridge the town’s racial divide as militant young Blacks took to the streets, burning warehouses. Tim is a remarkably poignant storyteller, and every page is stamped with his compassion, his wit, his keen eye for human nature. And most especially, with the wisdom that he learned from his father over the years. Some folks have compared it with To Kill a Mockingbird, and I definitely agree. And on a personal note, Tim’s father, Reverend Dr. Vernon Tyson, was a friend of my family for many years.

This is a modern classic – one that provides a slice of a very pivotal time in Black British history.

The 1980s saw a lot of civil unrest in Britain, from workers’ strikes to uprisings fuelled by racial tensions and police brutality. East of Acre Lane is set in Brixton – a neighbourhood in London that saw its fair share of uprisings – amongst the young Black Caribbean community.

It is such an authentic portrait, down to the musicality of the slang and dialects used. It’s immersive, it’s got action, it’s moving, it’s everything!

Ok, when this book debuted, there was some controversy, the cover centers one large crowbar! But when a reader really takes the time to sit with the arguments Osterweil is making, she cannot be denied.

Her book is more than a pitch to loot or even burn it all down, Osterweil wants us to understand why people loot and furthermore, she wants us to be more disturbed by the reasons for looting than the act itself.

If the truth sets us free, then we should all be willing to ask the hard questions. This book does that.

On May 8, 1970, just days after the killing of four college students at Kent State University, construction workers in New York City violently attacked a group that had gathered to protest the Vietnam War.

Kuhn offers a riveting account of the events (dubbed the “Hardhat Riot” by some and “Workers’ Woodstock” by others), but he also situates them into a broader story of how the war and other developments of the 1960s exacerbated divisions within the Democratic Party between white, heavily unionized blue-collar workers in the urban North and an emerging class of college-educated professionals. 

Nixon successfully courted many of the blue-collar workers on the way to his landslide victory in 1972. Kuhn is no apologist for the workers, but he also avoids facile stereotypes about the white working class, some of which persist to this day.  

But can you fight the future? Isn’t it inevitable? This is often how tech companies try to make us think, and that anyone who opposes “progress” is a Luddite. But, as Patrick Sale makes clear in this excellent and heartbreaking historical study, the original Luddites—a protest movement that swept the industrial heartland of 19th Century England—were not anti-technology; they merely thought technology should serve people, not profit. Faced with the destruction of their livelihoods and their traditional way of life, they destroyed machines and burnt factories because that was the only outlet they had for their rage and desperation. And when the “inevitable march of progress” comes to trample you too, you may see that they had a point.