Books like Unrooted

While there has been some controversy about the science in Simard’s book, there’s no doubt that it’s a great read that juxtaposes Simard’s personal life with her scientific life.

I was drawn to her personal story, which takes place in both government and academic spheres. I cried with her when her brother passed away, and I was proud with her when her daughter said she might want to study forestry at university.

The mix of science and memoir works well in this book, showing how the two are inextricably entwined. I was impressed by how hard Simard worked to keep her family together, particularly when she was a professor at UBC in Vancouver, and they were living in Nelson.  

I liked that Jahren told the unvarnished truth of her experience in academia; like Zimmerman, she also shares how academia treats pregnant people. 

She talks about training the next generation of scientists, which is one of the main goals of the scientific enterprise.

Though I wasn’t impressed with the hazing ritual she and her lab manager had for new students in the lab, I did appreciate the excellent writing and well-paced narrative. Jahren is a stunning writer, and her book is neatly separated into sections about a tree, followed by a chapter about life mimicking that tree. 

I enjoyed the arc of Elkins-Tanton’s life because it wasn’t all spent in science. She showed how her few years in business and teaching math at a college after her MSc gave her skills helpful for doing her PhD.

I particularly liked the insights she provided into being a woman in an executive position and the ways in which she had to learn to serve her research community. It is rare for a woman to reach these administrative levels, so it’s highly valuable to get the inside scoop about it.

I was also struck by her innovative techniques in teaching and research in planetary science—we have much to learn from her approach. 

I found that the length of Colwell’s career has given her a depth of experience that shines a light on just how bad science was for women even in the 1950s and 60s.

We sometimes forget that women have been discriminated against for decades, even as they’ve fought hard-won battles to be treated fairly. I appreciated Colwell’s detailed narrative of her science, too, and how the challenge of finding a solution to a scientific problem led to much celebration when that solution was found.

I also liked that she told stories of other women in science, like Nancy Hopkins at MIT, who worked tirelessly for equality for women at her institution. 

I loved this book. The second nine months is the true story of Vicki Glembocki's journey into those first few months after childbirth. Although the story is a memoir, Glembocki writes it so well that it reads like a novel—a novel you won't put down until you are finished. From beginning to end, Glembocki bravely bares her soul for the new mom's benefit and cleverly manages to hit all the "new mom" topics through her personal experience. From breastfeeding, to newborn crying, to changes in relationships, to new mom bonding, to finding other new mom friends, to back to work issues, Glembocki manages to cover them all with wit and candor. I found her new mom tale "spot on accurate." It is so exciting that truth is finally coming out. Take advantage of the gift this author has created, New Moms, and read about her experience. Moms will find that… show more.

I loved this book when I initially read it, and return to it time and again. Adrienne Rich is, quite simply, the mother of motherhood studies. 

This book strongly resonates with me and my experiences as a mother, particularly how Rich defines mothering and motherhood as two distinct states of being: Motherhood–the patriarchal institution (this is where we get all the do’s and don’ts of what society expects of us as mothers)–and mothering–the actual affective labor of bringing up children. 

One section in particular–where Rich compares the freedom of the summer break with the return to restrictions of term time and the ‘rule of the father’–is as true now as it was then. This is a personal take on motherhood infused with passion and intelligence. I highly recommend it.

Slavery was brutal in eighteenth-century Jamaica, mostly due to how hard enslaved people were worked as sugar workers. That hard work had massive consequences for enslaved women’s fertility. Early abolitionists used the inability of enslaved populations to naturally reproduce as an indictment of the plantation system. Planters, belatedly, tried to institute policies that helped pregnant women but their desire for profit usually overwhelmed their concern for maternal comfort. It meant that enslaved women themselves took the lead in forcing planters and officials to do something to make pregnancy endurable and infant mortality less extreme than before abolitionism began.

Motherhood features in diverse literary traditions, from antiquity to the present, as perhaps the most prominent aspect of female power.

Already in the womb and shortly after, during the formative stage of the child's upbringing, the mother occupied a unique, almost exclusive, position vis-à-vis its offspring, imbuing it with character and ideals. It is for this reason that maternal power and roles have been treated so extensively in diverse literary traditions and genres, constituting an object of religiously-charged imageries.

In Conceiving Identity, Keuny masters a rich Islamic literary corpus in order to show how literary images constituted a means for women to negotiate their patriarchal-designated office and imbue their office with their own set of ideals.

The Part That Burns is not a linear narrative but a memoir in fragments. Each essay or chapter is different, interesting, engaging like scattered pieces of a puzzle that the writer—and reader—are trying to put together.

It's about a childhood wrought with abuse and rejection, about trauma and epigenetics, home and roots. It's about a girl who grows up to become a teenager who becomes a young woman who becomes a wife and a mother and every step of the way, she yearns for what we all yearn for: acceptance and love.

My memoir is as slim and sparse as Ouellette’s and some might consider my chronological story as fragmented because of its tiny chapters and missing connective tissue from one chapter to the next.  

This book broke my heart—in the best possible way.

Imagine a biopic about Scheherazade, but in this version, it’s a coming-of-age story of a Palestinian American woman who grew up between Kuwait, Beirut, Abu Dhabi, Dallas, and Oklahoma City, and is now a 30-something poet living in Brooklyn.

And instead of compulsively telling stories to keep a murderous king enthralled, she compulsively tells stories to hold her marriage together while struggling with addiction and infertility. And her dreams are the backbone holding it all together.