87 Books Like Things to See in Arizona

A biography that summarily destroys the myth of one of the great outlaws of western cinema. As it turns out, Johnny Ringo was a very minor outlaw and not a particularly good one at that. He was a depressive, an alcoholic, a poor shot, shunned by his friends, rejected by his family, and pretty much a ne’er-do-well. Finally, after an extended binge, he found a comfortable spot beside Turkey Creek in Cochise County and put a bullet through his head (there are a number of authors who have invented elaborate conspiracy theories on how Ringo really came to his death which are only worth reading for their absurd entertainment value). After considering all the facts, Burrows concludes the only reason John Ringo is remembered today is because he had a wonderfully mellifluous name).

This was the book that inspired me to look at Arizona histories with a more critical eye,… show more.

Everything about this book steals my heart, from Chloe's tenderness with horses to the Diné (Navajo) children who don't have enough books at their school.

But let me back up and tell you that Chloe is pregnant with Hank's child. She shouldn't be riding horses at all, but the call is too strong. Hank's a good guy who can't find professor work in Arizona, ends up teaching the Diné children, and finds he loves them more than working at a university.

It should be a happy ending between Hank and Chloe and the upcoming baby, except the horse belongs to an artist named Junior Whitebear, who returns to town and forms an instant, overpowering connection with Chloe. Mapson writes so well that she makes me ache.

We take our sunsets seriously in Arizona, enough that we put a variation of one on our state flag. But Bruce Berger's book made me rethink how I look at the smeared colors in the evening sky.

Look not west, he says, but to the mountains in the east: the “decreasing wavelengths and cooling colors–vermillion to salmon to plum” on the slopes that provide a lightbox to the garish display at your back.

This is only the start. In finely wrought prose befitting the author’s other career as a pianist, he renders the harsh beauty of the Southwest in a set of twenty essays that draw a portrait of landscape and memory.

Most meticulously researched book on the worst blood feud in U. S. History, but, being Mr. Dedera was a news journalist and columnist with The Arizona Republican, it is very readable. Prior to the publication of this manuscript, books about the feud between the Tewksbury and Graham families tended to be biased, sympathizing with the latter while condemning the former (in part because the Tewksburys were half Native American). Dedera was one who discovered the document which proved it conclusively was the Graham who had turned on the Tewksburys. Still, Dedera does not take sides, and he does not pull his punches. He lays out the facts before the reader, and when he does draw conclusions, they are based on the evidence presented. Highly recommended.

The Arizona territory was an intersection for people from many different cultures, and they sometimes did horrible things to one another. This is the story of the brutal Camp Grant Massacre of 1871, one of the pivotal events in the war on the aboriginal tribes in the Arizona Territory. This is a difficult book to read as it lays bare the inherent racism of the so-called settlers of the territory, and uncompromisingly addresses their genocidal inclinations. Worse, it shows how the policies of the U.S. Government encouraged such acts of mass murder. Though one hundred of the participants, including a number of upstanding citizens from Pima County, were indicted for 108 counts of murders, and tried, not one was found guilty. A shameful, but important history.

This book is Eleanor Davis’s gorgeous travel documentary of her 2016 cross-country bike tour. Her lines are so vivid and alive, and her day-by-day recounting of the details of her body, her bike, and the country changing around her is both simple and intricate. All of her work is amazing, but this one is definitely a standout. 

Brian Jabas Smith lived a hard life on society’s margins and developed the ability to see people–the forgotten, the filthy, the addicted, and unattractive–that most of us simply look through on our way to someplace else.

In this wonderful book, Smith writes portraits of the invisible people of Tucson, Arizona, most of them down and out, and all of them with stories to tell. But he never slips into mawkishness and doesn’t expect the reader to “do anything” about society’s problems except pay attention to the human beings who take the worst of it.

His graceful and empathetic prose style makes that easy to ride along, and what’s left is a curious glow of hope. Smith is probably the best working journalist in the Southwest today, finding stories where others would never think to look.

This book, for me, is something of a guiding star. It is profound, scientific, powerful, and directly applicable to contemporary debates about policy, governance, and justice. Archaeology isn’t just about collecting objects; instead, most archaeologists I know are deeply invested in how archaeology can help inform the decisions we make in the present. MacArthur “genius” award winner Jason de Leon shows the full potential of this in this book, where he combines archaeological, ethnographic, and forensic methods to reveal the impact of immigration policy on real human bodies and families.

Maybe it’s cheating to include this book on this list; it isn’t just how archaeology works—it has set a new standard for archaeologists to make contributions that are relevant and resonant enough to make a change in the world.

An indispensable resource for serious students of Arizona history. Includes biographical information on anyone and everyone who served during this era from the governors to the school superintendents. Goof was meticulous in his research of the lives of these people and condensed them down into concise character sketches. Though the stories of these people’s lives are interesting, this is probably not a collection one would sit down and read through for entertainment. However, if one is in the business of writing Arizona territorial history it is a “must-have” series. I keep it on my shelf near my desk for easy access.

The ‘crime’ in Animal Dreams is a legal technicality, and this is a literary contemporary novel rather than a crime one, but its narrative drive comes from the same need to untangle the past to set the characters free (or as free as they can be) in the present.

The writing is glorious – rich, deep, surprising, layered – reaching levels of technical mastery that few other writers even glimpse. There are several point-of-view characters and, unlike most books with this structure, Kingsolver wrings every last drop of drama and interest from the nuances this offers.

Instead of longing to get back to a preferred perspective, the reader revels in how vivid, how real, each character feels in turn. If you love LP Hartley’s The Go-Between, you’ll probably adore this.