While writing a paper about Douglass in graduate school in the 1990s, I learned that he had to overcome two obstacles to establishing an authentic voice in his own book.

First, abolitionists argued against slavery by claiming it dehumanized the slave. While that could be true, this theory could not account for charismatic Black writers like Douglass who were anything but dehumanized. Second, slave narratives in the antebellum era often followed a certain formula that limited the narrator’s originality.

In one striking passage in the Narrative, Douglass overcomes both restrictions by evoking an image of his body that offers visual testimony to creatively push back on these limiting conventions: “My feet have been so cracked with the frost [felt during cold nights during enslavement], that the pen with which I am writing might be laid in the gashes.”

Scholars Lewis and Ardizzone write a deeply researched but popularly written non-fiction account of a major 1924 scandal: the marriage of a wealthy white scion of a prominent New York Family to a “colored” woman, who works as a servant.

The trial of the title is one in which the new husband, prodded by his father, sues his wife for annulment, charging that she deceived him about her racial identity.

It is clear she didn’t, but will his money and position dictate the trial’s results? The book probes deeply into racial identity, how it’s defined, and what it means to be Black, white—or ambiguously both.

A page-turner I read in a day and a half.

"Passing Strange" is the true story of Clarence King, a nineteenth-century American explorer and surveyor and his Black common-law wife, Ada Copeland, who knew him as James Todd. King persuaded Copeland that he was a Black man who passed as white, when in fact the reverse was true, and lived a double life until telling her the truth on his deathbed when he passed in 1901. Copeland outlived King for more than 62 years, dying at age 103 in 1964. Though Copeland left few records behind of her thoughts during her long life and the betrayal that shaped it, Sandweiss used archival materials to draw a convincing picture of how a Black woman in Copeland's situation might have felt and perceived her situation. Sandweiss's extensive research and sense of narrative drama keeps the reader engaged in the story and King and Copeland in their memory, long after finishing the book.

Thavolia Glymph analyzes the many ways that women—white and Black, enslaved and free, North and South—sought to promote or constrain the radical transformations promised by the Civil War. She interweaves well-known stories of white nurses and teachers and northern white feminists who labored to expand their claims on the nation with the lesser-known efforts of free, fugitive, and self-emancipated Black women and poor and working-class white women to ensure that the war led to greater liberty. Even some plantation mistresses became more politically active in efforts to impede Union military campaigns. This powerful book expands our concept of activism, forcing us to rethink its many meanings, sites, and goals in times of crisis. 

Bell Hooks is a force! I was introduced to her work through women’s studies classes and loved how she saw the world and presented cultural critiques. This book really helped me look outside the lens of male Eurocentric art history. A series of essays, each one covering an artist, topic, or theory.

It’s been a while since I’ve reread any of them, but I remember that this is the book that helped me dive deeper into Carrie Mae Weems's photography–which I admire greatly. It had me contemplating the point of surrounding ourselves with beauty–and how people who have been told to abandon cultural objects of beauty can seek to find objects that truly heal and sustain our lives.

Perhaps the most influential essay to me was the one that outlined how male creatives were given the luxury of time and space to find and develop their practices and that women… show more.

It is hard to think of any book of comparable size that packs a more powerful punch. In less than 150 pages, Camp reveals how in the antebellum South enslaved women resisted their oppression in ways that were both visible and invisible. By challenging slave owners’ control and conception of space, they carved out a “rival geography” where they, along with their friends and families, enjoyed a modicum of freedom despite longstanding and widespread oppression. Camp’s description of late-night plantation frolics, stolen dresses, and the interior walls of slave cabins redefines slave resistance in a way that highlights the efforts of enslaved women to improve the lives of themselves and their loved ones in the face of almost insurmountable odds. 

In Black Political Activism and the Cuban Republic, Melina Pappademos studies the participation in and contributions to Cuban politics by Cubans of African descent, particularly those of relatively elite status, during the entire period of the Cuban Republic (1902–1958). This work is not primarily about popular politics in the manner of Whitney or Farber; rather, it examines the impressive ingenuity of the tiny Black elite at working the patronage system embedded in formal politics in Cuba to gain advantages for itself (and sometimes causing gains to trickle down to the Black masses in the form of vote-buying). Although she does not focus on broader areas of Black popular mobilization, Pappademos acknowledges the importance to this end of mass organizations such as labor unions and the Cuban Communist Party and discusses challenges to the Black elite by non-elite Black voices. 

I loved this historical work about the real-life story of Ellen Craft, a young slave with a light complexion who escapes from the South with her partner, William, a slave of a darker complexion. The difficult voyage on a boat going north in which Ellen, who is impersonating a young white master traveling with his male slave, must converse with the white men on board as though she were one of them kept me in a state of high anxiety.

I prayed that she would succeed, agonizing over every difficult moment that could have aroused suspicions, internalizing the heroine’s terror and resolve. I loved the gripping prose and psychological insight of this author who has restored the voice of a remarkable woman who played an important role in the abolitionist movement. 

Healthcare is delivered by people who are sometimes subject to biases or prejudices, and this book is a vivid and extraordinarily researched account of how horrible it is when these biases and prejudices go unchecked.

However, what really hit hard for me was that this book is only half about medical history. The last part of this book discusses research practices and biases that are in effect today.

As a physician, this book was imperative to better understand the historical and contemporary issues involving race and medicine.