Books like Smoke but No Fire — picked by fans

I was volunteering with the Appalachian Prison Book Project when Hugh Ryan’s book came out.

Suddenly, The Women’s House of Detention was everywhere—RuPaul’s Drag Race, Fresh Air, mainstream news—yet Hugh was willing to do a virtual book talk with volunteers in West Virginia who provide books to incarcerated people. The book tells the history of a prison 500 feet from the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village, and the women and transgender individuals who were incarcerated there because of their gender performance and sexual orientation.

Hugh Ryan lays out how women were arrested for going out at night alone, wearing pants, accepting a date from a man, drunkenness, etc., if they were perceived as the “wrong kind of woman.” The prison stood in Greenwich Village from 1929 to 1974, and the experience of women incarcerated there drives home the point that incarceration and punishment of women is not… show more.

Audrey Edmunds, a Wisconsin mother providing home daycare, was convicted of killing an infant in her care after the child died and doctors said the child had been shaken to death—Shaken Baby Syndrome.

Edmunds spent over a decade in prison before being exonerated and proving that the evidence used to convict her was flawed and faulty. Some of my own clients, including Tasha Shelby in Mississippi, were wrongly convicted based on Shaken Baby Syndrome when their child tragically died.

If losing your child isn’t tragedy enough, imagine being blamed and punished for it. Audrey’s memoir traces her wrongful conviction, imprisonment, and her reunion with her children, and is a clear example of an accidental tragedy recast as a homicide through faulty forensic science.

I read Queer (In)justice when it first came out in 2012, and it’s still one of the best, and only, books on how the criminal legal system has historically targeted queer people.

I was a staff attorney at the Mississippi Innocence Project at the time, and I was so taken with the book that I immediately reached out to the lead author about our case with Leigh Stubbs and Tami Vance, two women who were wrongly convicted based on their sexual orientation. On June 27, 2012, Leigh and Tami were exonerated after ten years wrongfully in prison.

Queer (In)Justice will, for me, always be connected with their exonerations. The book provided a framework for understanding how queer people have been falsely labeled as dangerous, deviant, and deceptive, and how the criminal legal system has punished us for our identities. 

Kent Roach, co-founder of the Canadian Registry of Wrongful Convictions, has spent his career as a lawyer and law professor fighting against wrongful convictions in Canada.

Most known for his best-seller Wrongfully Convicted, Kent recently published Justice for Some, an open-access book comparing wrongful convictions and miscarriages of justice internationally, from the U.S. and Canada to China and India. This robust guide (over 650 pages) is one of the first books to explicitly examine the role of gender and stereotypes in wrongful convictions internationally, and to bring attention to the wrongful convictions of Indigenous women.

Kent and I met and bonded over how a legal remedy called “miscarriage of justice” can free innocent women in no-crime cases by asking whether the state can uphold the integrity of the conviction. A miscarriage of justice standard can bring relief where there is false testimony by police, hidden exculpatory evidence by… show more.

What I appreciate most about this book is how grounded and practical it feels.

Mark Godsey understands that wrongful convictions are rarely caused by a single evil actor or one dramatic mistake. Instead, they emerge from a chain of assumptions, pressures, tunnel vision, and institutional habits that slowly push cases in the wrong direction. I found myself nodding along constantly because the stories mirrored so many cases I have personally encountered over the years.

I also admire the book because it avoids sensationalism. It explains complicated legal and psychological concepts in a way that is accessible without losing nuance. That balance is incredibly difficult to achieve, and Godsey pulls it off beautifully.

Academic books about imprisonment proliferate and some have the irritating characteristic of running before the latest intellectual breezes. This book by Norval Morris is an unquestionable stand-alone and is an honest and engaging read.

Morris was one of a small number of authors in this field who had much practical experience of penal management, who shied away from easy answers, and who always wrote engagingly and with humane values. His output was as considerable as it was distinguished.

It remains relevant and, oddly for such a topic, uplifting.     

This is a memoir by a 32-year-old Iranian-American journalist who, in 2009, was accused and sentenced to 8 years in Evin Prison for being an American spy. Paraphrasing my review in The San Francisco Chronicle, Saberi's skillful reconstruction of dialogue leads to a spot-on chronicle of the paranoia and utter buffoonery of the Iranian government and its apparatchiks. I was especially impressed by the way she survives her time in solitary confinement – the resources of her mind that keep her sane. Beyond that, this memoir is a kind of coming-of-age story for those of us in the diaspora who can be a bit naïve about how safe we are as journalists and US citizens in dictatorships. Saberi is freed after 4 months, thanks to international pressures, but she’s haunted by those she met in prison who are left behind. 

I could not stop reading this book once I started, and I stayed up late into the night glued to its pages. Bauer, a journalist, takes us inside the prison where he got a job as a correctional officer. Through engrossing prose that pairs his daily experiences with carefully researched historical context about incarceration in the United States, Bauer shows what prisons represent in real time. 

The Mysteries of Paris was so popular that Alexandre Dumas’ publisher wanted him to write a similar novel. The result was this book (1845), which focuses on Edmond Dantès, who is unjustly imprisoned by his enemies. Upon escaping and finding a great treasure, Dantès disguises himself as the Count of Monte Cristo and begins to exact his revenge.

The novel enters the criminal world of both Marseille and Paris. The count creates mystery by being a master of disguise and manipulating events without his victims knowing his identity or why their lives are crumbling. At the same time, the count is not without compassion and questions the morality of his own actions, thereby raising the novel to the status of true literature.

The American carceral system is notorious for long, senseless solitary confinement sentences. While this is now public knowledge, we have actually heard very little from the people who have undergone such brutality. Hell Is A Very Small Place aims to give a platform to these people. This book is an invaluable collection of first-person accounts, composed by the people who lived this horror, many of them for unconscionably long periods. In their distinct voices, they articulate myriad ways time in solitary leads to the destruction of the human soul.