Before delving into the business and culture of college radio, I had to think through the complicated relationships between universities and their surrounding communities. Davarian Baldwin helped me do just that.

The FM signals emanating from inside the walls of the ivory tower occupied the public’s airwaves, and so surrounding residents not affiliated with institutions had legitimate claims to these signals, which usually operated on licensed signals requiring public service and educational functions. While these signals often did provide valuable culture and information for wide and diverse communities, they sometimes replicated the more complicated politics of these institutions and the destructive role they played in communities.

Baldwin’s engaging and enraging exploration of town and gown provides a critical lens to use when thinking through the relationship between universities, nearby music scenes, cultural service, and radio.

I reread this book this past year because (unfortunately) it remains relevant.

Our campuses have become hyper-politicized, ideologically monolithic places of oppression and cancellation rather than places where diverse individuals with diverse perspectives come together to figure out their way to the truth.

Johnston absolutely nails the campus scene in this satire, capturing the sheer craziness of the ideologues (both students and faculty) who run the show, generating plenty of laughs—painful laughs, but laughs—along the way. One reads this book and, while laughing, wants to weep about the state of today’s campuses.

When I received tenure in 1990, I bought this book for myself as a gift.

I thought that now that my university, at the time Ohio State, had agreed to invest in me, I should think more seriously about the idea of a university. I enjoyed it tremendously. It is lively, colorful, and witty. Written by the former dean of arts and sciences at Harvard, the book offers a wide-ranging overview of the American university.

Even if some of the statistics are dated, this book remains one of the most appealing introductions to, and overviews of, the American research university.

In 2004, sociologists Elizabeth Armstrong and Laura Hamilton set up camp in a dorm at Indiana University with the aim of writing an ethnography of the girls on the floor. They tracked the girls for five years, documenting their education, social lives, and post-college outcomes. As the product of a flagship state university myself, this book floored me. Armstrong and Hamilton document a process whereby administrators attract wealthy full-tuition students by subsidizing Greek life and creating legitimate-sounding but low-value majors. Far from being an equalizer, the rich leave university employed and debt-free, while the poor leave with staggering debt and few job prospects. For those of us in higher ed, this book articulates the discomfort many of us have felt in recent decades as universities have become increasingly consumer-oriented.

I am pretty sure every woman writer of a certain age in Canada is a writer because of this book. I know it’s what motivated me. Morag, the heroine, is so open and vulnerable and intelligent and naïve, but Laurence has her grow and become formidable in front of us.

If you want to really understand the ways in which power dynamics work in a relationship (and why professors shouldn’t date their students), you read it here first. In my mind, this is the great Canadian novel. Forever and always.

The narrator of We Are Okay was like a siren for me. Jorjeana Marie’s voice holds the pain of the main character Marin like a tiny secret clutched in her fist and hidden from view. You want to see it so badly, but you only get glimpses as she unfolds one finger at a time.

I love the delicate unraveling of this tragic story and how Marin’s loneliness gets under your skin, so you really feel it and feel for her. Like in What to Say Next, a death is a catalyst, but how the death is used in the two stories is entirely different. As an author, I enjoy studying these plot points to see how each author uses them to mold their style and voice. 

This was one of the first books I read at university. I admired Marie Munkara’s gruff voice and the way she delicately balanced satirical humour and dark truths.

Juxtaposing the voices of colonial guards and officers with 16-year-old Aboriginal mother, Sugar, lends this novel a messy complexity which is always compelling.

At the beginning, I found it easy to mock and deride the white colonial officers: the overtly racist Drew, the well-meaning but exploitative Ralphie, the bumbling, inadequate Hump with his mistaken ambitions of grandeur. I thought I’d figured it all out, that I’d grasped all of Munkara’s meaning. 

But as Sugar’s fate is revealed, and more significantly, she recognises the inevitability of her downfall, I was humbled. Munkara’s book taught me to look beyond the seemingly obvious characters and literary devices to the nuance within. 

Winterer provides the classic discussion of the place of Rome (and then Greece) in early American education and intellectual life. The book is about how American classicists sought to shape a relationship to the classical past that persists to this day, creating a canon of ancient texts as a reaction against and refuge from modernity. The real payoff of this book for me lies in showing how the past is never just the past but a continuing aspect of our own identity-formation.

One of the most important works on Scottish intellectual history and not as well known by the reading public as it should be. It was seminal in my own appreciation of Scottish culture and of the necessity to fight to continue the traditions described in the book—the broad-based education, the social egalitarianism, and recogniton of the importance of the vernacular Scots contribution to the unique culture we have. This democratic intellectualism went on to influence universities in America such as Princeton and colleges across Africa where Scots Presbyterian missionaries held sway.

This well-researched non-fiction book by powerhouse investigative reporter Nicole LaPorte of Fast Company provides a fascinating look at some of the behind-the-scenes, real-world parenting dynamics that set the stage for Operation Varsity Blues. In addition to all the juicy details LaPorte reveals about Los Angeles’ elite private school ecosystem, we particularly love the way she traces the origins of college admissions mania all the way back to kindergarten. If you’ve ever wondered how community group-think can lead to lawlessness and a total abandonment of ethics and values, Guilty Admissions takes readers on a tantalizing journey into the competitive-parenting abyss, LA-style.