100 Books Like The Common Pot

This book helped me release shame after a colleague of mine told me my work wasn’t “science.”

Here’s the truth: to create a healing platform, I needed to tap into ways of thinking that academia sees as “woo woo” and “savage.” I looked to the stars. I meditated. I did rituals and read myths.

Dr. Kimmerer, trained as a traditional botanist, realized that the Indigenous myths and stories she was told as a child contained scientific knowledge passed down for generations by her tribe.

She realized there were scientific truths her community knew for millennia that traditional scientists only discovered within the last 100 years. This is the power of Ancestral Intelligence, disregarded by the same science that ultimately created AI.

What stories, fables, and myths have taught you valuable lessons about the world?

We highly recommend this capacious “counter-archive” of Native writing because it definitively lays to rest the myth of the “vanishing Indian.” Covering more than four centuries, it includes work from ten tribal nations from Maine to Connecticut in the form of early political petitions and land deeds to contemporary poetry and blogs. We love that its editor, a non-Native scholar, drew on the expertise of eleven Native editors from tribal communities for its diverse content, sourced from oral narratives, manuscripts stored in garages, and passed-around bootlegged copies. We also love that the book inspired a website for the extra material and for new work being produced now. In this sense, the website is a living document that illuminates the long history and vibrant presence of Indigenous writing.

Though we are thankful for the current movements to decolonize archives and museums, from at least 1750, Native writers have been doing this important survival work of asserting Native ways of knowing. This revelation is the subject of Wisecup’s ground-breaking study. It shows how early Native writers assembled lists, collages, and literary texts that, through juxtaposition and recontextualization, resisted the way colonial archives defined their bodies, belongings, and words as ethnographic evidence of vanishing peoples. Wisecup offers revealing ways to read the Indigenous compilations of key figures like Mohegan Samson Occom’s medicinal recipes, Ojibwe Charlotte Johnston’s poetry scrapbooks, and Abenaki leader Joseph Laurent’s vocabulary lists. We also deeply appreciate how Wisecup ends each chapter by connecting the early writer it focuses on to contemporary Indigenous culture.

We greatly admire this born-digital “scalar book” for its attempt to build a decolonizing “counter-archive” out of one of the most in/famous western archives of Indigenous materials. Edward S. Curtis was an early 20th-century photographer, whose major collection, The North American Indian, defined the stereotypic image of the vanishing Native. It succeeded in capturing and “othering” Natives as somehow heroic and stoic, but also primitive and gone. In consultation with many Native tribes, this digital book reveals how Curtis’s work “performs,” or does that work of western archives. By juxtaposing his compelling images with short essays that contextualize and thus humanize his photographic subjects, this project allows us to acknowledge and repair the injustices of the past in the present.

This book of essays by the Seneca scholar and activist, John Mohawk, is vital because its title pinpoints what the center of my life and work is: focusing on Indigenous ways of thinking about the world as a vital and necessary alternative way of understanding the world to Western thought, which has brought us to the brink of climate collapse and has failed to solve, indeed has only increased, social and economic inequality.

I value the book, then, because it reminds me of the way to achieve real democracy.

Anita is a brilliant teacher of inclusion and diversity, and a fellow member of the Transformational Leadership Council. I couldn’t put her book down as she took me on her journey to claiming her personal power. The world needs this book now! Anita’s understanding of these four gifts and how important they currently are to our planet will deeply inspire you.  

You’re probably seeing a theme by now: Addressing eco-anxiety is a much deeper, more complex, and nuanced approach than simply learning how to calm our nervous systems with mindful breathing (although that is a really helpful tool!). I appreciate the clear, grounded voice that Mitchell brings to the conversation, sharing some of the “original instructions” and Indigenous cultural values for being in a harmonious balance with the living world. She was born and raised on the Penobscot Indian Reservation, is an attorney, and promotes heart-based activism. She is perhaps the most articulate writer I have come across in describing the characteristics and impacts of a colonized mindset, with compassionate guidance for shifting to a more Earth-attuned way of life.

I love the simple elegance of the Haudenosaunee (Six Nations) Thanksgiving address because it considers nature a gift. The address, on which this book is based, is spoken before every ceremonial or governmental gathering of the Six Nations (Mohawk, Oneida, Cayuga, Onondaga, Seneca, and Tuscarora). Children greet the world with the address each morning. They thank the people, the waters, the grasses, the plants, the animals, the winds, the rain, the Sun, the Moon, and the stars of the night sky. What a perfect way to stay connected to Nature!

Perfect for kids ages 5-11.

I originally read the adult version of this book and quite honestly, it’s a book I’ll never forget. It changed the way I think about the relationship between human beings and the earth. I absolutely loved it. And I was so excited when this young adult version came out, because it’s now so accessible to younger readers and I could share it with my teenage daughter. I love to read books alongside my kids and find ways to broaden and deepen our conversations about the natural world… and this one is top of my list for doing just that.

I was amazed and inspired by the places that Elissa Washuta went with this book. Not only is it about living in a potentially haunted home and the magic that the author engages with, but also, somehow, about historical markers, The Oregon Trail, and indigeneity.

I felt like I was traveling along with Elissa Washuta’s brilliant mind as she made her way through all these seemingly disparate but ultimately very connected topics.