100 Books Like South to America

As a transplant to Atlanta from Los Angeles, I’ve been fascinated by the regional cuisines and culinary traditions of the south. But after being caught up in the romance of pimento cheese, mint juleps, and fried chicken, I knew there was so much more to the story that I was missing.

This book tells that untold story, showing us the immeasurable debt southern food owes to Africa and enslaved peoples brought to America. What I love about this book is not just the history being told but how Twitty tells it, combining a mix of genres, from narrative nonfiction to genealogical documentation, historical account to personal memoir.

Just as cooking is a highly creative act that fuses together diverse flavors and ingredients, writing about food needs to be equally creative and equally diverse.

It’s hard to know quite where to begin with this book–there is so much to love.

This book tells the story of the Great Migration of African American people out of the South across the United States to Chicago, New York, California, and beyond; it transforms and fills in a crucial part of American history that every American should know to understand our present day. But for me, what I love most starts with the way Isabel Wilkerson cares for people’s stories. 

Wilkerson tells this decades-long, sweeping, under-told story through individual stories that are so detailed and compelling, so thoroughly contextualized with historical research, that I was completely enmeshed in these people’s lives, their struggles, their loves, and their feelings. I cared. In the years since I read it, stories from the book often come to my mind, teaching and guiding me like the words of a beloved relative. 

Jill Lepore is a Swiss-Army-Knife historian, capable of tackling any topic in American history with verve. Here she offers a biography of Jane Franklin Mecom, best known as Benjamin Franklin's younger sister. Jane's life gives us a wonderful foil for "Benny," who arose from obscurity in Boston to the center of the American stage. Lepore keeps the dual narratives moving briskly along while also opening a window on how biographies are assembled.

Along the way, the reader finds recipes for making soap, an assortment of maxims from Poor Richard and Silence Dogood, family gossip and tragedies, Jane's reactions to rising Revolutionary violence, her fear of dementia in old age, and the idiosyncrasies of Benjamin Franklin's earliest biographers. The chatter between the siblings, on matters large and small, is captivating. Lepore has to fill in many gaps in the source material to complete the life of Jane Mecom, but the pleasure… show more.

A desperate mother gives her child all she can before they are separated: a cotton sack with a handful of nuts, a tattered dress, and a braid of hair. Little Ashley was sold away from her mother but somehow held onto and cherished that bag. Later, her granddaughter embroidered that story of a mother’s love onto the bag.

I never knew where this story would take me because it’s not a history book or a family story like any other. The author takes this one sad and beautiful object and asks us to think about motherhood, Black hair, women’s art, nuts, and the history of food for enslaved Americans. She even asks us to think about girlhood itself.

Could I ever see that much in one object? Could you? This is a gorgeous and inspiring reminder of how history works for different people and in different ways if we look… show more.

Weaving in her own ancestral history, Kelley knits an extraordinary journey of the Black working class from slavery to our contemporary world—from Georgia to Philadelphia, Florida to Chicago, Texas to Oakland, we engage generations of mostly unheralded workers whose radical genius shaped our labor history and forged nourishing and joyful lives out-of-view of most white accounts of the working class.

Kelley’s prose celebrates and brings to the surface the hidden lives that improved our contemporary world. 

Can I “love” a book when it is so painful to read? I do, though, in the way of admiration for the compelling writing on one of the most depraved outcomes of racism: lynchings. Even worse, Branan’s own ancestors turned out to be involved. This 1912 lynching was of four Black people, including one woman, all of whom were involved in trying to protect a young Black girl against predation by a white man, another of the author’s relatives.

All this occurred in a rough moonshine-making area of Georgia. Growing up in Birmingham, I never knew there were places in the South where white men used their power to openly keep Black women and the children they had together in second homes. That didn’t mean, of course, that the men weren’t racist.

I no longer remember how, around 2018, I discovered this remarkable 1850 travelogue and presentation of observations on slavery by the man most people know as a landscape architect. Before his landscaping, Olmstead was hired by the now New York Times to travel the South interviewing and recording all he could from whites, whether rich or poor, slave owners or not, and enslaved Blacks. An added treasure: I loved reading about his travel experiences by boat, horse, train, and stagecoach, as well as the challenges of finding places to overnight. 

The horrors of slavery come through without any preaching. I still think about this book a lot and what I learned from it–aspects of Southern life in the 1850s presented by someone trying to be fair and observant without a special agenda. 

This book has a lot of genealogy and spinoffs, which demonstrate all the reasons I love genealogy and, hence, love this book. Newton digs into her past and uncovers secrets and more, which leads to her knowing herself better as well as her family.

I really liked that she delved into associated topics such as kin and why they matter, epigenetics, a critique of DNA websites, spiritual practices, and connecting with and honoring one’s ancestors. I agree with what she writes, “We can see more clearly where we need to go, how we may best live if we know precisely in our bones, who and where we came from.” Since this is also my theme, of course, I enjoyed reading her exploration and take on all this.

This autobiography of white Civil Rights activist Lillian Smith unpacks the society that shaped her as she struggled against her childhood lessons about how to interact with Whites and Blacks in the South. Smith deftly immerses you into her world with anecdotes, leading the reader through the interactions that shaped her and other white children across the South, including her experiences with racial violence and racism. Despite being written more than half a century ago, connections remain to our world. My recommendation is to read the 1994 version with an updated introduction placing the work into context.

This slim volume packs a mean punch. Following the secession of the seven Deep Southern states in 1860-61, commissioners were sent out to the remaining uncommitted slaveholding states to convince their leaders of the necessity of joining the new Confederate States of America. While the arguments of these secession commissioners included constitutional arguments in favor of secession, they relied even more so on emotional pleas that framed the election of the nation’s first Republican president as a direct threat to the institution of slavery and white supremacy. Their speeches were laced with horrific images of emancipation and a region plunged into racial violence. Charles Dew offers a compelling argument that highlights the importance of slavery and race in the outbreak of war.