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Nnedi Okorafor is truly gifted at creating immersive, surreal, and believable worlds—[b:Who Fears Death|7767021|Who Fears Death (Who Fears Death, #1)|Nnedi Okorafor|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348469489l/7767021._SX50_.jpg|7036603] is no exception. If reading about societal trauma is challenging for you, I must note that Okorafor took inspiration from the very real weaponization of rape in the Darfur conflict. She allows for this reality to be imagined through the magical and powerful Onyesonwu, a name that translates to “who fears death.” This young girl endures challenges that would crush even the strongest adults, and her tale is one worth reading.
If you have a burning desire to read a narrative that covers the written courtship between two time-traveling agents from opposing sides of a brutal time-war that takes place across all of time and space, then might I recommend [b:This Is How You Lose the Time War|43352954|This Is How You Lose the Time War|Amal El-Mohtar|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1545755487l/43352954._SX50_.jpg|58237743]. These two fighters go by Red and Blue, two names that depict how unimportant the factions they fight for ultimately are in the grand scheme of things. That said, what starts as a series of taunting notes, blossoms into a hilarious love story for the ages. Jane Austen is shook, I’m sure.
Rating: 3.5 stars
Rating: 3.5 stars
If you are searching for a good source on the life of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and the push for women’s suffrage and civil rights at Seneca Falls, New York—then this volume by Judith Wellman is pretty solid. Stylistically, I cannot say I am a fan of the dramatization of Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s life in the early chapters. However, once Wellman moves onto the history of the early women’s voting rights movement(s), the historical narrative proves to be quite informative. At the very least, this book was most certainly created as a work of passion.
I cannot believe that I have gone this long without reading a single N. K. Jemisin book, but [b:The Fifth Season|19161852|The Fifth Season (The Broken Earth, #1)|N.K. Jemisin|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1386803701l/19161852._SY75_.jpg|26115977] was a brilliant introduction, and a slam-dunk of a novel if I ever did read one. Truly, she deserves all of the Hugo Awards.
The world is literally fractured and ending—this is the beginning of the story. The narrative then unravels from the perspectives of three women—Essun, Damaya, and Seyenite. Through their eyes, Jemisin masterfully reveals vital backstory of how the world came to be such a nightmare, interlaced with and mirroring character exposition that moves the plot along with masterful pacing. Perhaps an unfair comparison, but I have not been this absorbed by an author’s prose since Octavia Butler (which for me I intend only as the highest praise).
Each of these women endure unique hardships that leave scars that do not fade throughout their lifespans. While their trials are different, they prove to be more similar than different. What unites this narrative though, is the undercurrent of rage flowing from years (centuries even) of injustice. I am not always great at tapping into my own inner anger, but Jemisin lit the fire for me and it has yet to fizzle out.
“Tell them they can be great someday, like us. Tell them they belong among us, no matter how we treat them. Tell them they must earn the respect which everyone else receives by default. Them them there is a standard for acceptance; that standard is simply perfection. Kill those who scoff at those contradictions, and tell the rest that the dead deserved annihilation for their weakness and doubt. Then they'll break themselves trying for what they'll never achieve.”
I finished this book right before entering self-isolation due to the spread of COVID-19 earlier this month. Jemisin made the end of the world seem like a new beginning filled with possibilities and catharsis, which right now seems like nothing short of a miracle. It’s books like these that make turbulent times feel bearable, I honestly could not recommend this one more.
The world is literally fractured and ending—this is the beginning of the story. The narrative then unravels from the perspectives of three women—Essun, Damaya, and Seyenite. Through their eyes, Jemisin masterfully reveals vital backstory of how the world came to be such a nightmare, interlaced with and mirroring character exposition that moves the plot along with masterful pacing. Perhaps an unfair comparison, but I have not been this absorbed by an author’s prose since Octavia Butler (which for me I intend only as the highest praise).
Each of these women endure unique hardships that leave scars that do not fade throughout their lifespans. While their trials are different, they prove to be more similar than different. What unites this narrative though, is the undercurrent of rage flowing from years (centuries even) of injustice. I am not always great at tapping into my own inner anger, but Jemisin lit the fire for me and it has yet to fizzle out.
“Tell them they can be great someday, like us. Tell them they belong among us, no matter how we treat them. Tell them they must earn the respect which everyone else receives by default. Them them there is a standard for acceptance; that standard is simply perfection. Kill those who scoff at those contradictions, and tell the rest that the dead deserved annihilation for their weakness and doubt. Then they'll break themselves trying for what they'll never achieve.”
I finished this book right before entering self-isolation due to the spread of COVID-19 earlier this month. Jemisin made the end of the world seem like a new beginning filled with possibilities and catharsis, which right now seems like nothing short of a miracle. It’s books like these that make turbulent times feel bearable, I honestly could not recommend this one more.
Well, this review is long overdue. For a book that people seem to decry as boring, [b:Moby-Dick or, the Whale|153747|Moby-Dick or, the Whale|Herman Melville|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1327940656l/153747._SY75_.jpg|2409320] is actually superbly entertaining. Herman Melville is amazing at dry humor, sarcasm, and absurdist writing in general—so if you too like these elements in your classics then I most definitely recommend this book.
First and foremost, I will concede that for a book that takes place at sea, the narrative does really lean into the "dry" of dry humor. That said, in this sense the book is essentially Star Trek, except instead of the future it’s the 1850’s, and instead of space it’s the vast ocean. The similarities between these two properties do not end with mere tone—they are both episodic voyages, both feature a motley crew of folks from all walks of life, and they have really niche fanbases.
I do not know if this is the analogy that will convince the masses to read the book, but it is the most accurate one I can think of so far. It makes more sense to me than Ernest Hemingway’s [b:The Old Man and the Sea|2165|The Old Man and the Sea|Ernest Hemingway|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1329189714l/2165._SY75_.jpg|69741], which also takes place at sea, but stylistically could not be more different. Whereas Hemingway has a very direct and pragmatic approach to storytelling, Melville unfolds his narrative in a thoughtful yet meandering stream of consciousness. I find both to be of equal merit, but they ultimately have more differences than similarities.
Secondly, Melville’s prose is truly beautiful and breathtaking. While his segments on the biological anatomy of whales and sea life do not stand the test of time, his musings on humanity certainly do. After all, it really never was about the whale. Within the vastness at sea, Melville is able to access truth in the void of the human soul with remarkable acumen. Every person contains within them an ocean of being that ebbs and flows, that is both calm and unpredictable, endless and finite.
“Oh, grassy glades! oh, ever vernal endless landscapes in the soul; in ye,—though long parched by the dead drought of the earthly life,—in ye, men yet may roll, like young horses in new morning clover; and for some few fleeting moments, feel the cool dew of the life immortal on them. Would to God these blessed calms would last. But the mingled, mingling threads of life are woven by wrap and woof; calms crossed by storms, a storm for every calm. There is no steady unretracing progress in this life; we do not advance through fixed gradations, and at the last one pause:—through infancy’s unconscious spell, boyhood’s thoughtless faith, adolescence’ doubt (the common doom), then skepticism, then disbelief, resting at last in manhood’s pondering repose of If.” (504)
In all honesty, I chose to tackle this whale of a tale as a part of BBC Radio 4’s "The ten books we rarely get around to reading" challenge. And by challenge, I mean I read this list and realized I would probably never finish any of these books without the motivation of a self-inflicted challenge. That said, I’m super glad I did; Moby Dick is worth reading on any terms.
First and foremost, I will concede that for a book that takes place at sea, the narrative does really lean into the "dry" of dry humor. That said, in this sense the book is essentially Star Trek, except instead of the future it’s the 1850’s, and instead of space it’s the vast ocean. The similarities between these two properties do not end with mere tone—they are both episodic voyages, both feature a motley crew of folks from all walks of life, and they have really niche fanbases.
I do not know if this is the analogy that will convince the masses to read the book, but it is the most accurate one I can think of so far. It makes more sense to me than Ernest Hemingway’s [b:The Old Man and the Sea|2165|The Old Man and the Sea|Ernest Hemingway|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1329189714l/2165._SY75_.jpg|69741], which also takes place at sea, but stylistically could not be more different. Whereas Hemingway has a very direct and pragmatic approach to storytelling, Melville unfolds his narrative in a thoughtful yet meandering stream of consciousness. I find both to be of equal merit, but they ultimately have more differences than similarities.
Secondly, Melville’s prose is truly beautiful and breathtaking. While his segments on the biological anatomy of whales and sea life do not stand the test of time, his musings on humanity certainly do. After all, it really never was about the whale. Within the vastness at sea, Melville is able to access truth in the void of the human soul with remarkable acumen. Every person contains within them an ocean of being that ebbs and flows, that is both calm and unpredictable, endless and finite.
“Oh, grassy glades! oh, ever vernal endless landscapes in the soul; in ye,—though long parched by the dead drought of the earthly life,—in ye, men yet may roll, like young horses in new morning clover; and for some few fleeting moments, feel the cool dew of the life immortal on them. Would to God these blessed calms would last. But the mingled, mingling threads of life are woven by wrap and woof; calms crossed by storms, a storm for every calm. There is no steady unretracing progress in this life; we do not advance through fixed gradations, and at the last one pause:—through infancy’s unconscious spell, boyhood’s thoughtless faith, adolescence’ doubt (the common doom), then skepticism, then disbelief, resting at last in manhood’s pondering repose of If.” (504)
In all honesty, I chose to tackle this whale of a tale as a part of BBC Radio 4’s "The ten books we rarely get around to reading" challenge. And by challenge, I mean I read this list and realized I would probably never finish any of these books without the motivation of a self-inflicted challenge. That said, I’m super glad I did; Moby Dick is worth reading on any terms.
How I have gone this long without reading The House of the Spirits is beyond me. Isabel Allende is undoubtedly an author who definitely deserves her buzz and cultural praise.
Following three generations of women—Clara, Blanca, and Alba—this story explores not just individual lives, but people as they are within their greater familial networks. While individualism is the norm in the United States, for most people with Latin American heritage it is near impossible to understand a person without also understanding that person’s family. Being Peruvian American, to this day if someone asks me to explain my background, I can’t not at least “briefly” mention my parents and grandparents.
Allende’s narrative takes place in Chile and is a truly accurate reflection of the country’s shifting politics. While never explicitly named, the dread of Augusto Pinochet’s brutal dictatorship builds with powerful inevitability as seen with the actions of the family’s conservative patriarch Esteban Trueba. Just as Trueba interferes with his daughter’s affair with a prominent working-class hero, so too does Pinochet’s conservative totalitarian regime overthrow Chile’s democratically elected socialist government. In this novel what transpires at the personal level, is a direct reflection of what is happening at national scale.
It would be impossible to review this book without comparing it to Gabriel García Márquez One Hundred Years of Solitude. Both novels are famous tales that follow families across generations and are fueled by magical realism. While Márquez’s style is more refined, I found Allende’s focus on interpersonal messiness to be both more effective and affective for channeling the chaos of the time. This also fed into well-rounded character development, as Allende’s character of Clara is essentially a more fully fleshed-out version of Márquez’s Remedios the Beauty. So if you enjoy stories about weird, magical women then this story will most definitely fit the bill.
Overall, The House of the Spirits is pretty amazing. My only critique would lie with how even though power shifts among different players, its brutality is more-or-less written off as a primordial occurrence and never truly challenged as a concept. That said, there is still a great deal of layered nuance interwoven in this tale, and I absolutely recommend it.
Rating: 4.5 stars
Following three generations of women—Clara, Blanca, and Alba—this story explores not just individual lives, but people as they are within their greater familial networks. While individualism is the norm in the United States, for most people with Latin American heritage it is near impossible to understand a person without also understanding that person’s family. Being Peruvian American, to this day if someone asks me to explain my background, I can’t not at least “briefly” mention my parents and grandparents.
Allende’s narrative takes place in Chile and is a truly accurate reflection of the country’s shifting politics. While never explicitly named, the dread of Augusto Pinochet’s brutal dictatorship builds with powerful inevitability as seen with the actions of the family’s conservative patriarch Esteban Trueba. Just as Trueba interferes with his daughter’s affair with a prominent working-class hero, so too does Pinochet’s conservative totalitarian regime overthrow Chile’s democratically elected socialist government. In this novel what transpires at the personal level, is a direct reflection of what is happening at national scale.
It would be impossible to review this book without comparing it to Gabriel García Márquez One Hundred Years of Solitude. Both novels are famous tales that follow families across generations and are fueled by magical realism. While Márquez’s style is more refined, I found Allende’s focus on interpersonal messiness to be both more effective and affective for channeling the chaos of the time. This also fed into well-rounded character development, as Allende’s character of Clara is essentially a more fully fleshed-out version of Márquez’s Remedios the Beauty. So if you enjoy stories about weird, magical women then this story will most definitely fit the bill.
Overall, The House of the Spirits is pretty amazing. My only critique would lie with how even though power shifts among different players, its brutality is more-or-less written off as a primordial occurrence and never truly challenged as a concept. That said, there is still a great deal of layered nuance interwoven in this tale, and I absolutely recommend it.
Rating: 4.5 stars
“For as long as I could remember, I have struggled to prove myself into existence. I, the modern-day scrivener, working five times as hard as others and still I saw my hand dissolve, then my arm… My confidence was impoverished from a lifelong diet of conditional love and a society who thinks I’m as interchangeable as lint.” (9)
Right off the bat, I can attest that there is nothing minor about Cathy Park Hong’s personal and intellectual honesty in [b:Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning|52845775|Minor Feelings An Asian American Reckoning|Cathy Park Hong|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1580788273l/52845775._SX50_SY75_.jpg|72657866]. Writing this review from 2020 in the U.S. where we have seen a dramatic spike in Asian American hate crimes due to conservative insistence on labeling COVID-19 as the “Chinese virus,” I can say that Hong is 100% valid in her scathing critiques of American society.
Specifically, she writes about the building blocks that can ultimately lead to violence—what she describes as minor feelings. She defines this term as, “…the racialized range of emotions that are negative, dysphoric, and therefore untelegenic, built from the sediments of everyday racial experience and the irritant of having one’s perception of reality constantly questioned or dismissed.” (55) Essentially, it’s a type of societal gaslighting that belittles the realities of microaggressions, which then become challenging to verbalize precisely due to standardized societal silence.
I think what makes Hong’s work so impactful, is that she not only critique’s society’s lack of empathy, but she also self-evaluates her own blind spots and biases. People who are oppressed can themselves inadvertently become oppressors of lesser protected people, and by voicing these elements of humanity that can be present in anyone (including herself), Hong is all the more able to authentically bolster her arguments and assessments.
Overall, I really enjoyed this book, and definitely recommend it. Work like this is so vital and important, especially during tumultuous times like these.
Right off the bat, I can attest that there is nothing minor about Cathy Park Hong’s personal and intellectual honesty in [b:Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning|52845775|Minor Feelings An Asian American Reckoning|Cathy Park Hong|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1580788273l/52845775._SX50_SY75_.jpg|72657866]. Writing this review from 2020 in the U.S. where we have seen a dramatic spike in Asian American hate crimes due to conservative insistence on labeling COVID-19 as the “Chinese virus,” I can say that Hong is 100% valid in her scathing critiques of American society.
Specifically, she writes about the building blocks that can ultimately lead to violence—what she describes as minor feelings. She defines this term as, “…the racialized range of emotions that are negative, dysphoric, and therefore untelegenic, built from the sediments of everyday racial experience and the irritant of having one’s perception of reality constantly questioned or dismissed.” (55) Essentially, it’s a type of societal gaslighting that belittles the realities of microaggressions, which then become challenging to verbalize precisely due to standardized societal silence.
I think what makes Hong’s work so impactful, is that she not only critique’s society’s lack of empathy, but she also self-evaluates her own blind spots and biases. People who are oppressed can themselves inadvertently become oppressors of lesser protected people, and by voicing these elements of humanity that can be present in anyone (including herself), Hong is all the more able to authentically bolster her arguments and assessments.
Overall, I really enjoyed this book, and definitely recommend it. Work like this is so vital and important, especially during tumultuous times like these.
If you are looking for a series of primary sources detailing the women’s suffrage movement from before the creation of the United States, to the ratification of the 19th Amendment in 1920, then this is a pretty solid reference book.
Roesch is good at detailing the ebb and flow of the movement(s), including the internal skirmishes between the NWSA and AWSA, and later on the NAWSA and abolitionist groups. Perhaps most fascinating was how differences in approach and goals rising between notable figures like Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Frederick Douglass also led to conflict (and drama).
That said, before and after giving this timeline, Roesch was good about detailing how women of ethnic minorities groups had (and have) struggles that extended beyond the experiences of suffrage movement’s leading white figures. She is also good at detailing how black women (and men) were included and excluded at varying moments throughout this timeline.
Where I feel she could have done better is to emphasize the challenges Native American women faced (as their battles involved fighting for human and citizenship recognition), as well as the struggles of immigrant women throughout this time period. For me at least, if a book titled [b:The Women's Suffrage Movement|40265076|The Women's Suffrage Movement|Sally Roesch Wagner|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1531192087l/40265076._SY75_.jpg|62547083] wants to be inclusive, it aught at least extend its timeline to the Civil Rights Act (1964) and the Voting Rights Act (1965)—because for most women the 19th Amendment alone was an empty promise.
Rating: 3.5 stars
Roesch is good at detailing the ebb and flow of the movement(s), including the internal skirmishes between the NWSA and AWSA, and later on the NAWSA and abolitionist groups. Perhaps most fascinating was how differences in approach and goals rising between notable figures like Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Frederick Douglass also led to conflict (and drama).
That said, before and after giving this timeline, Roesch was good about detailing how women of ethnic minorities groups had (and have) struggles that extended beyond the experiences of suffrage movement’s leading white figures. She is also good at detailing how black women (and men) were included and excluded at varying moments throughout this timeline.
Where I feel she could have done better is to emphasize the challenges Native American women faced (as their battles involved fighting for human and citizenship recognition), as well as the struggles of immigrant women throughout this time period. For me at least, if a book titled [b:The Women's Suffrage Movement|40265076|The Women's Suffrage Movement|Sally Roesch Wagner|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1531192087l/40265076._SY75_.jpg|62547083] wants to be inclusive, it aught at least extend its timeline to the Civil Rights Act (1964) and the Voting Rights Act (1965)—because for most women the 19th Amendment alone was an empty promise.
Rating: 3.5 stars
If you or someone you know lives with trauma, if you want to understand the effects of trauma, or even have questions/confusion related to the complex nature of PTSD, then I HIGHLY recommend Dr. Bessel van der Kolk’s [b:The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma|18693771|The Body Keeps the Score Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma|Bessel A. van der Kolk|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1397425897l/18693771._SY75_.jpg|26542319].
Dr. van der Kolk’s work covers a wide range of trauma that can occur for people including the effects of childhood trauma, sexual assault, incest, veteran's war-time trauma, and so many other realities that can be shameful for survivors to discuss or even think about. Never comparing pain, he details how each of these forms of trauma, and resultant PTSD, for a multitude of patients he’s treated throughout the years impact different elements of their livelihoods—he makes good on explaining the book’s titular premise of how, “the body keeps the score.”
Most notably, are the emotional and even physical effects that trauma can have on different individuals, and how these realities can differ from societal expectations. Trauma and PTSD are often depicted in the media as past tragedies that just need to be remembered and vocalized and BAM—you’re cured! That may work in a televised drama, but in reality, the past is ever present in the present. Vocalizing past victimization does not inherently result in catharsis—for many it can actually result in further isolation.
“Talking about painful events does not necessarily establish community—often quite the contrary. Families or organizations may reject members who air their dirty laundry; friends and family can lose patience with people who get stuck in their grief or hurt. This is one reason why trauma victims often withdraw and their stories become rote narratives, edited into a form least likely to provoke rejection.” (246)
I think this insight is why it’s so important not to push people to deal with their issues before they are ready, as well as in a setting where their stories can be safely received. There is nothing neat about trauma, and there is certainly no quick, magical fix. Even the ways in which people cope can further reinforce trauma. Dr. van der Kolk is especially good at detailing how this works in cases of childhood trauma:
“Coping takes its toll. For many children it is safer to hate themselves than to risk their relationship with their caregivers by expressing anger or by running away. As a result, abused children are likely to grow up believing that they are fundamentally unlovable; that was the only way their young minds could explain why they were treated so badly. They survive by denying, ignoring, and splitting off large chunks of reality: They forget the abuse; they suppress their rage or despair; they numb their physical sensations. If you were abused as a child, you are likely to have a childlike heart living inside you that is frozen in time, still holding fast to this kind of self-loathing and denial.” (281)
It’s rare for me to cry when reading works of non-fiction, but the very real stories and testimonies of Dr. van der Kolk’s patients are genuinely heartbreaking. Especially given how people carry this trauma in their bodies throughout their lives, never truly feeling safe. “Safety and terror are incompatible.” That said, this work is also incredibly hopeful. Dr. van der Kolk discusses different methods of treatment, and avenues to healing. Hope is ever present.
Overall, this book is really great and definitely has my recommendation.
Dr. van der Kolk’s work covers a wide range of trauma that can occur for people including the effects of childhood trauma, sexual assault, incest, veteran's war-time trauma, and so many other realities that can be shameful for survivors to discuss or even think about. Never comparing pain, he details how each of these forms of trauma, and resultant PTSD, for a multitude of patients he’s treated throughout the years impact different elements of their livelihoods—he makes good on explaining the book’s titular premise of how, “the body keeps the score.”
Most notably, are the emotional and even physical effects that trauma can have on different individuals, and how these realities can differ from societal expectations. Trauma and PTSD are often depicted in the media as past tragedies that just need to be remembered and vocalized and BAM—you’re cured! That may work in a televised drama, but in reality, the past is ever present in the present. Vocalizing past victimization does not inherently result in catharsis—for many it can actually result in further isolation.
“Talking about painful events does not necessarily establish community—often quite the contrary. Families or organizations may reject members who air their dirty laundry; friends and family can lose patience with people who get stuck in their grief or hurt. This is one reason why trauma victims often withdraw and their stories become rote narratives, edited into a form least likely to provoke rejection.” (246)
I think this insight is why it’s so important not to push people to deal with their issues before they are ready, as well as in a setting where their stories can be safely received. There is nothing neat about trauma, and there is certainly no quick, magical fix. Even the ways in which people cope can further reinforce trauma. Dr. van der Kolk is especially good at detailing how this works in cases of childhood trauma:
“Coping takes its toll. For many children it is safer to hate themselves than to risk their relationship with their caregivers by expressing anger or by running away. As a result, abused children are likely to grow up believing that they are fundamentally unlovable; that was the only way their young minds could explain why they were treated so badly. They survive by denying, ignoring, and splitting off large chunks of reality: They forget the abuse; they suppress their rage or despair; they numb their physical sensations. If you were abused as a child, you are likely to have a childlike heart living inside you that is frozen in time, still holding fast to this kind of self-loathing and denial.” (281)
It’s rare for me to cry when reading works of non-fiction, but the very real stories and testimonies of Dr. van der Kolk’s patients are genuinely heartbreaking. Especially given how people carry this trauma in their bodies throughout their lives, never truly feeling safe. “Safety and terror are incompatible.” That said, this work is also incredibly hopeful. Dr. van der Kolk discusses different methods of treatment, and avenues to healing. Hope is ever present.
Overall, this book is really great and definitely has my recommendation.
If you are looking for a resource detailing LGBTQ history(ies) in America, the interpretation of LGBTQ history at U.S. sites, or even different approaches to understanding LGBTQ heritage—then you will be hard-pressed to find a more comprehensive body of work than [b:LGBTQ America: A Theme Study of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer History|35649803|LGBTQ America A Theme Study of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer History|Megan E. Springate|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1502069364l/35649803._SY75_.jpg|57099941].
Published by the National Park Foundation for the National Park Service, this collection is publicly available online as a National Park Service Reference. While NPS tends to be place-based in educational approach, there is a great deal of general intersectional history represented in this volume. Accessible in nature, this collection is sorted by Preservation, Inclusive Stories, LGBTQ Themes, Places, and Legacy. If you have a question, this resource likely has an answer, or better yet, a different question.
Where this volume really shines, is its emphasis and delivery of multiple perspectives surrounding identity. Depending on the location, ethnic background, gender presentation, occupation, and numerous other variables—the LGBTQ experience was (and is) inherently varied. Additionally, the authors’ explorations of complex and contested histories frequently emphasized that modern LGBTQ identities cannot necessarily be imposed on past stories—different contexts warrant different understandings of identity.
Overall, this volume definitely has my recommendation. I’m a queer person with two degrees in Anthropology/Heritage Studies, and there was still just so much I did not know (or even knew to look up) until I read this collection.
Published by the National Park Foundation for the National Park Service, this collection is publicly available online as a National Park Service Reference. While NPS tends to be place-based in educational approach, there is a great deal of general intersectional history represented in this volume. Accessible in nature, this collection is sorted by Preservation, Inclusive Stories, LGBTQ Themes, Places, and Legacy. If you have a question, this resource likely has an answer, or better yet, a different question.
Where this volume really shines, is its emphasis and delivery of multiple perspectives surrounding identity. Depending on the location, ethnic background, gender presentation, occupation, and numerous other variables—the LGBTQ experience was (and is) inherently varied. Additionally, the authors’ explorations of complex and contested histories frequently emphasized that modern LGBTQ identities cannot necessarily be imposed on past stories—different contexts warrant different understandings of identity.
Overall, this volume definitely has my recommendation. I’m a queer person with two degrees in Anthropology/Heritage Studies, and there was still just so much I did not know (or even knew to look up) until I read this collection.