This is the very best book on nursing during the First World War. Packed with first-hand accounts of the ‘roses’ and their heroic efforts to nurse the wounded during and after that ghastly war that killed so many and destroyed the lives of many more who survived. Expertly contextualized, the author included the memories of the soldiers who were nursed and comforted by these extraordinary women who rose to the Government’s plea to ‘do their bit’. It is a profoundly moving book that should be read by anyone interested in the First World War and its painful aftermath.

I knew nothing of the history of Seneca Falls, or the 1848 convention, or really the struggle for women’s rights. When I first proposed the simple idea of “a new park about women’s history,” I had never heard of Elizabeth Cady Stanton, a forceful leader in the struggle for women’s rights for decades.

Judy Wellman was researching her book when I opened the Women’s Rights National Historical Park in 1982. I hired Judy as the park historian in the opening year and was graced with her wisdom as we developed the first exhibits and programs. I and the park benefitted greatly from her research through my six years as the founding superintendent of the park.

I knew about the history of enslaved people and the institution of slavery in the Americas. Still, until I read Jones’ book, I did not appreciate how slavery affected African-American women’s lives in so many different ways, even after the institution itself formally ended. 

I also gained a new understanding of their bravery, ingenuity, persistence, and contributions to their communities and American society more generally.  Jones tells their stories with empathy and great wisdom, shattering stereotypes and insisting that we pay attention to these women and their lives.

I love this book and so wish it had been available to me, park planners, and the public in 1982. But it was published in 2011. I received it as a gift and did not immediately realize it was intended for young adults. But how significant is it to reach girls and boys while still young and unbiased so they could better understand their lives as they unfolded?

I loved that it was accessible in its words, and very much in its design. Lots of space, largish print, clearly written, all make it also very appropriate for women, and men, of my age, which is 82. Weakened eyesight, shorter attention spans, no base of information to build on, this book is perfect also for seniors who probably had no formal education in women’s history and women’s rights.

On one level, this is a book about housework in the pre-Civil War northern United States. Much more profoundly, it shatters ideas about unpaid labor in early industrial capitalism. It completely changed my—and many readers’—ideas of what constitutes “work,” what it means to contribute to a household economy, and how ideas about wages (and, especially, work done by men outside the home) obscured early capitalists’ dependence on women’s unwaged work. After reading this, you’ll never refer to “women who worked” and “women who didn’t” again.  It should be essential reading not only for women’s historians, but for anyone interested in ideologies of labor, capitalism, and the history of work.

[Full disclosure: I met Jeanne Boydston on my second day of graduate school and we collaborated closely on our dissertations (later books). She was my best friend and best teacher until her much-too-early death in 2008.]

I quoted Mary Beard in the conclusion of my book, where I spoke of the position of women in the informal power structures of diplomacy.

The call for a redefinition of power in her manifesto Women & Power hit home for me. Beard points out how subjective our perception of power is, urging us to reflect on what power is for and how we measure it. Rather than just lamenting women’s lack of power through history, Beard adds another dimension by suggesting that it is not women we need to change, but rather our skewed definition of power. 

Her analysis of the relationship between women and power in the Western tradition provides a historical background of misogyny that is not only to the point but also a literary delight. Read it.

In 1973, this book broke daring new ground, inspiring me to become a feminist historian. Effortlessly, Sheila introduced readers to an extraordinary range of feminists—from C17th Mary Astell to Stella Browne, the C20th birth control campaigner.

No worries if you’ve not heard of these women: by the end, you’ll be as entranced as I was!

This book is the OG of academic Spiritualism books. Braude was groundbreaking when she linked Spiritualism and the early women’s rights movement. At a time when women were barred, for the most part, from speaking in public or in the church, Spiritualism offered them a means to channel their spirit and speak in front of large audiences.

This paved the way for more women’s rights advocates to demand more space and attention in the realm of political rights. I’ve read this book so many times I’ve lost count. One, because it’s awesome. Two, because I learn something new every time I open it up. 

Last, but certainly not least, Queens, Concubines, and Dowagers was a book that helped formed the field of queenship studies, now a booming industry. Stafford teaches us how to think about the meaning of queenship, the sources and limits of the queen’s power, and the evolution of her office; she tells the stories of a number of remarkable early medieval women along the way in what is now England, France, and Germany. Deeply influential for me as I sought ways to think about queenship in later periods, this book remains widely available, accessible, and influential.

I was awe-struck with Polly Kaufman traveling the country and interviewing women in the Park Service, including myself. Her book dramatically documented the resistance to women’s history, women rangers, and women in leadership, affirming my frustrations throughout my 28-year career in the Service.

Polly began by researching the early history of the Park Service, a time when women were forbidden to be hired as rangers. She traced the drawn-out saga of decades of struggle women faced to become “real rangers” and earn the right to wear the official hat and uniform.

Polly also describes the histories of early women who rose to become park superintendents and other leaders in the Service. Additionally, she includes the astounding visit of Elizabeth Cady Stanton to Yosemite Valley in 1871.