Books like Mothers of the South

Sara Brooks was one of seventeen children raised by landowning African American farmers in Alabama. Hers is a lively and evocative account of growing up on the land in a loving family and a harsh coming of age at the hands of an abusive man. Like many southern black women of the era, Brooks is able to escape the bleak conditions of her life by moving first to Mobile and then to Cleveland where she worked as a domestic, eventually acquiring her own home and reuniting with the children she had been forced to leave behind. Hers is a hopeful and richly textured story of resistance and resilience.

I moved to Tuscaloosa, Alabama for graduate school in 1986, eleven years after this book was published, thirteen years after Nate Shaw’s death.

Reading the life of a man whose parents had been enslaved, a cotton farmer and sharecropper who bravely joined a union and stood up for other Black farmers, opened my eyes to the reality of life in the twentieth century for Black farmers in the state I now called home.

Told in expert storyteller Nate Shaw’s (a pseudonym for Ned Cobb) voice, based on interview transcripts, the book introduced me to a person and a way of life unlike anything I had encountered growing up in the city of Little Rock, Arkansas.

I almost chose a fifth book by an author more readers will likely have heard of (Octavia Butler, Parable of the Sower), but I’m going with a second autobiography, Anne Moody’s, Coming of Age in Mississippi.

Between ages 13 and 16, I read my blue paperback cover of this book more times than I can remember. It’s about Anne Moody’s growing up amid poverty and Jim Crow, beset by sexism and danger from within and outside her community due to her gender and race.

It chronicles her childhood in Mississippi to her evolution into a Civil Rights Activist as a teen and college student. It’s so unforgivingly honest, detailed, and visually rich on the page - it humanizes the history like an Eyes on the Prize documentary but way more personalized.

I think it taught me further about the value of writing very visually, the power of our individual… show more.

Separate Pasts is McLaurin’s account of his 1950s boyhood in the tiny hamlet of Wade, North Carolina, years when the Jim Crow system still reigned. He describes the complex, interconnected lives of the town’s white and black families, and his own confusion as he tried to make sense of the contradictions he observed in his world. A painfully honest account of a white boy’s reckoning with the legacies of segregation and oppression, McLaurin reveals how his own relationships with black neighbors undermined the racist beliefs he was taught.

Southern sass and situational humor anchor Susan Sands’ novels.

Her first series set in fictional Ministry, Alabama, and her second in fictional Cypress Bayou, Louisiana, allow readers to meet a large cast of characters, some of which are sure to become favorites. Any book in her series can be an entry point as a stand-alone, but starting with Again, Alabama is an entertaining first step. 

This was a pioneering book from an earlier age.

In a world populated by official reports and officers’ memoirs, Babits and Howard dug into an untapped resource, the pension applications from the thousands of ordinary soldiers who had fought the battles.

In a flash, gone were the dry ponderings of commanders, lucky and unlucky, looking to resurrect or burnish their reputations. The soldiers fought the do-or-die moments on the front lines and told their stories just as they remembered them.

This book carries all the dash, the heroism, and the slug-in-the-gut terror of the men in the trenches. The authors are true wordsmiths of the old school.

I have read it a dozen times and still marvel at their storytelling. 

I love this book for many reasons—its rural Southern setting, its lawyer/judge protagonist Deborah Knott, its twisty mystery. But I was particularly intrigued when author Margaret Maron told me that the spark for the book was a real unsolved murder near her North Carolina home. I wrote about the real case when it was finally solved in Triangle True Crime, but Margaret’s version of what might have happened is so much more interesting.

This book crawled under my skin and stayed there.

It starts off ordinary, familiar, even as the unease builds slowly. The fear isn’t loud or in-your-face; it’s quiet, creeping, and emotional. 

I found myself questioning what was real, what was imagined, and whether it even mattered once the darkness started closing in. What really got me was the sense of something just out of sight, something you can’t quite explain, but you know it’s coming.

Grief and fear twist together in a way that feels inescapable. You try to run, to reason, to fight, but in this story, none of that may be enough. It’s the kind of horror that doesn’t scream. It whispers, and somehow, that’s so much worse.

As a leader in autobiographical fiction, Wolfe writes of a large family dominated by an alcoholic, authoritarian father who is highly dramatic in words and behavior.

His wife’s determination to survive by running a boarding house and investing in real estate leaves little time for parental attention to the needs of their children.

While most grow to repeat the dysfunctional family habits that hinder healthy development, the youngest child, with the help of his teachers, struggles enough to finally take steps away from the pain, and out of the cycle, as I did with my own life.

I have bought this book so many times because I must always have it in the house, and I keep giving away my copies. This is the hot chocolate of books. It goes down sweet and easy.

Two sisters, a strong-minded apple tree, a catering company that’s just a little bit magical… It’s a modern-day fairytale. And, like a fairytale, little lessons are hidden in its page that will help you re-see the wonder of the world. It might feel light and frothy, but it feeds the soul.