Books like The Limits of Racial Domination — picked by fans

This book by Barbara Mundy, an art historian, challenges the idea that the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan was instantly transformed into Spanish Mexico City following the conquest in 1521. Using indigenous and Spanish maps, Nahua codices, and archaeological evidence, Mundy shows that many aspects of urban life remained in indigenous hands for nearly a century after the Spanish and their indigenous allies toppled Montezuma and his empire. The book is beautifully illustrated, and Mundy’s writing brings the spaces and rhythms of the sixteenth-century city to life.

Frances “Fanny” Calderón de la Barca offers a rare first-person account of mid-nineteenth-century Mexico through a series of letters she wrote between 1839 and 1842. Calderón was an upper-class Scottish woman who was married to Spain’s ambassador to Mexico, and her views of Mexico’s people and customs certainly reflect her privilege. She was also a splendid writer with an attention to detail that few other English-language sources from this era offer. While she is often cited for her commentary on Mexico’s turbulent politics in the mid-nineteenth century, the book is equally fascinating for her descriptions of the sights, sounds, and foods that she encountered in and around Mexico City. 

Few scholars have done more to demystify the nature of crime in Mexico than Pablo Piccato. His book City of Suspects is a nuanced history that reveals that the very meaning of crime was contested in early twentieth-century Mexico City. While Mexican elites tried to define criminals as a social class, the urban poor, who experienced crime as a part of their everyday lives, saw crime as an individual phenomenon. This book, like the others on this list, is also a story about the ways people used and thought about public space. At a time when Mexico’s government sought to transform the capital into a modern metropolis along the lines of Paris or New York, the poor resisted efforts to exclude them from that future.

Juan Villoro’s memoir takes readers on a tour of contemporary Mexico City that is also a meditation on chilangos’ (Mexico City residents) relationship with the past. The book bounces between the author’s childhood in the neighborhoods of Mixcoac and Del Valle and the present day, traversing the sprawling metropolis and giving readers a sense of its scale and complexity. Through Villoro, we meet the sewer cleaners and tire repairmen who keep the city humming. We visit monuments like the Angel of Independence and Chapultepec Castle and the bustling spaces of Santo Domingo Plaza and Tepito—places that seem to hover between past and present and myth and reality. At once spry and erudite, the book is an immensely satisfying rumination on the city and its people. 

An illustrated book of long-form nonfiction that examines poor Black, Indigenous, White, and Migrant communities in the United States, and how they have all been broken by extractive capitalism and racist public policy. Hedges’ writing is intentionally polemical, designed to shatter any illusions about the welfare of our fellow citizens living in communities ruined by racism and industrial-scale environmental degradation. Sacco’s long-form graphic illustrations are equally haunting. I’ve taught this book continually for many years.

I lived on the Lower East Side of NYC for decades before moving to the UK. It’s a fairly small area, but at one point was filled beyond capacity with new immigrants to the U.S. who worked hard and mostly lived in squalor.

Through his photos and writing, Jacob Riis humanized their experience and exposed the reality of their pursuit of the American dream, which was often brutal. As a photographer, I was inspired by him to help shine a light on the voices of underrepresented groups. I used to carry this book around with me to locate the buildings in it—photographed 150 years ago—in the modern day.

It’s a love story to—and in defense of—the immigrants who’ve shaped America.

Atkinson died in January 2017. His life’s academic work focused on the causes of inequality and poverty. He had a particular interest in policy in these areas which is reflected in this book which offers a rationale for and a detailed account of how household income can be made more equal.

He is concerned with inequality in developed countries, so his focus is on the US, UK, and European countries. He first sets out how it is that income inequality has so greatly increased covering some of the same ground as Milanovic. He then, in chapters on progressive taxation and social security, sets out detailed proposals which he argues would considerably reduce inequality and promote social justice.

His proposals on progressive taxation would, it can be safely asserted, reduce Tory MPs to apoplexy.

This book is a thrilling mystery wrapped in vivid detail. The readers’ hearts go out to Cora as she struggles to make sense of what her village leaders have always taught about their god, the Winter King. I admire how she never stops seeking to learn the truth the religious leaders are hiding from their people despite insurmountable odds. It is a powerful warning about trusting only what a small group of people say about God versus examining the scriptures yourself. No doubt Cohen was inspired by times in church history before the Reformation.

The author’s account of grinding, unrelentless poverty and neglect, set against her eventual, miraculous escape to a different life made me cheer.

Bravely, Kerry Hudson returns to the scenes of many crimes committed against her to really understand why the past refuses to let her go and whether anything has changed for deprived families in those rundown British towns she grew up in.

In an early chapter the author recalls being pushed between two adults across a table. She thought it was a game, but her parents were in fact arguing over who should keep her. Neither was willing.

This is an important and shameful piece of British social history and an unflinching examination of a dysfunctional family with different recollections of the past. 

While Farmer is a physician and anthropologist rather than a historian and these collected essays are not historical in a strict sense, Farmer's account of structural violence is clear, readable, and evocative. An understanding of structural violence is a prerequisite for understanding the phenomenon of violence in any context, present or past.