Starting back in the 1800s with Ada Loveless and working up to (nearly) present day, Broad Band covers various women who have contributed to the computing & the internet, from its earliest development to cyber culture-making. There was the war effort, with women like Grace Hopper and the ENIAC Six contributing to programming and debugging. Then came the secretaries who were tasked with bringing organization nascent networks, ultimately contributing to protocols and standards we rely on to this day. Add in the women who were the first community moderators and influencers before the web as we know it even existed. Ultimately, Broad Band is an excellent supplement to the male-dominated history of computing and connectivity. 

I loved this book. I majored in information science and have worked in tech spaces, and yet a huge amount of the content was new to me. It is also written very well, with approachable descriptions of technical concepts as well as a very narrative-esque tone (as opposed to academic). Broad Band serves as a history of the internet with an intentionally subversive focus on the women who often played backbone (yet highly under-recognized) roles in advancing the field. Seriously, so much of what we take for granted about our heavily-deviced world was made possible the tenacity and brilliance of countless women, technical and otherwise. It was a treat to learn more about them! 

Like most “untold stories,” there are a number of parts that made me rage in frustration over the erasure and treatment of women (and honestly about how so much remains familiar/relatable). A particularly egregious example was the intentional “professionalization” of computer programming into “engineering” so that credentials would be required, thereby ousting the very women who pioneered the field. There’s another story about a woman named Radia who presented an entire technical solution only for a man at the end of the meeting to outline the exact same problem and and call for a solution. He ENTIRELY ignored her! 

I’d highly recommend this book to just about anyone, especially if you are a fan of nonfiction accounts. It’s remarkably relevant due to the internet’s massive influence on society and culture. 

Miss Benson’s Beetle follows Margery Benson, a middle-aged domestic science teacher in post-war Britain. After a mental break loses her her job in one dramatic day, she decides to throw caution to the wind and go on an expedition to New Caledonia in search of a beetle she has been infatuated with her whole life. She puts a call out for an assistant, and ends up with a hot mess of a woman, Enid Pretty, accompanying her on her adventure.

Y’all, I wanted to love this book. It seemed charming and fun and has a totally-up-my-alley premise. But on the whole, I was pretty disappointed. 

First of all, this book has a lot more heavy themes than I expected given the synopsis and the various endorsements (words like “charming,” “brilliant,” and “marvelous”). I’ll put some content warnings at the bottom. Secondly, the character development felt spasmodic and inconsistent. Finally, there is a character called Mundic who I felt was an awkward, possibly even offensive, attempt at incorporating post-war PTSD into the narrative. Most of the chapters from his perspective left me unsettled and a little confused. 

Admittedly, I liked the second half better than the first. The two women found a bit more of a rhythm and their relationship took on a more believable tenor. That said, I cannot say I found it to be a satisfying to read. 

To Sleep in a Sea of Stars follows Kira Navárez, a xenobiologist who works studying the flora and fauna of to-be-colonized planets around the galaxy. At the end of a mission, she makes a discovery that sends reverberating impacts throughout settled space and sets the trajectory for the rest of the 800+ page story.

Let me start by saying that Jennifer Hale was a downright phenomenal narrator (I listened via LibroFM). Her performance brought the characters to life and helped me keep track of the story. I was a particular fan of her portrayal of Grigorovich. 

First, what I liked: Paolini clearly spent tons of time building out the world for this book. I don’t read a ton of sci-fi, but it reminded me a bit of Ender’s Game with the robust, thoroughly imagined setting. Secondly, (and this is a minor spoiler, so skip to the next paragraph if you like), I thought the alien encounter was incredibly unique. Kira’s fuel experience as a xenobiologist and host was an inspired choice by Paolini. Finally, the crew of the Wallfish was one of the best parts of the book for me. They were dynamic and human and funny. 

Now, what didn’t work for me: As is a risk whenever someone writes a main character who is a different gender than their own, there were some cringe-y moments with Kira’s internal dialogue. Especially during romantic scenes. Secondly, I found the main source of conflict to be poorly explained. It wasn’t until nearly the end that I understood the Maw and the Nightmares, and even then, their backstory felt like the least developed part of the book. Finally, the end got trippy. I won’t get into it because I try to avoid spoilers in my reviews, but it had some horcruxes-meet-Captain-Marvel vibes I was not expecting. 

Ultimately, I’m glad I listened to it. It was enjoyable and distinctive. I heard it is being made into a film, and I could see it adapting well to screen.

In this impressively thorough book, historian Martha Jones covers the role Black women have played and continue to play in the pursuit of equality for all people. Covering American history from the 1700s to present, this book brings to light the oft-overlooked (and often actively silenced) women behind anti-slavery, suffrage, and human rights efforts over the decades. 

On the whole a commanding recounting of history, Vanguard makes space to tell the stories of a large number of activist women and their individual contributions to a collective commitment to human flourishing. A couple themes were particularly intriguing to me: 
• Lots of Black women who fought for equality, especially in the late 1800s/early 1900s, started their advocacy in churches, speaking up for gender equality within spiritual leadership. They often won these fights (even if it took decades) and it laid the groundwork for additional activism. 
• Quite a few women profiled took it upon themselves to make their own records, either by having portraits painted or by writing their autobiographies. Without these stories, much of these Black women’s work would have been lost to history. That forethought impressed me! 

I found the stories and histories powerful, both of their own accord and as a corrective counterbalance to white-centric, male-dominated history that we are largely steeped in through traditional schooling. That said, the book can be quite dense at points and a bit hard to follow with the sheer volume of names to track. Pick it up with a fairly academic expectation. 

This affecting novel follows Gifty, an Alabaman daughter of Ghanaian immigrants, who is pursuing a PhD in neuroscience. Her passion stems in part from her brother's death as a teenager due to an overdose. 

The story is slow-moving, reflective, and tenderly poignant. Gifty spends much of her time attempting to find a bearable balance of her faith and her profession. She struggles with the questions that plague her — first as a girl in youth group, implacable by platitudes but desperately eager to be good, then as a scientist, guarded yet drawn to the beautiful, comforting mystery of belief. 

Part of what makes this book so good is that it is simultaneously simple and extraordinarily perceptive. There is no major driving plot. You know most of what will happen before it does. And yet, ultimately, Gyasi found a way to engrossingly bring us along on the introspective journey of an earnest, thoughtful, brilliant woman sorting through her pain and grasping at hope. 

The endorsement on the cover calls it “atmospheric and searching” and I cannot imagine two better words for this book. 

Becky Cooper heard a bit of Harvard folklore one day when she was an undergrad: an anthropology PhD student had been murdered in her off-campus apartment in the ‘60s by a professor with whom she’d had an affair. The case was never solved. The story was passed among students in hushed tones for the fifty intervening years. Something about the tale struck a chord with Cooper, and she ended up sucked into an attempt to find answers about the murder of Jane Britton for the next ten years of her life. 

In this book, she investigates the myths and suspicions and gossip. She interviews nearly everyone connected to the case who was still alive. She even goes on an dig in Eastern Europe so she can experience a bit of Jane’s world. She lays out the lore behind each major suspect and simultaneously probes on her own hunches. 

Throughout, Cooper is interrogating her own biases as well as our cultural obsession with compelling narratives. The reflective nature of the book is remarkable and, in my opinion, an important step away from academic “objectivity” (hi, not a thing) and an acknowledgment of our positionality in relation to our research. Cooper also calls out the irony of the anthropology department being so reticent to pursue answers, claiming it was “too far in the past.” 

WE KEEP THE DEAD CLOSE, while engrossing, is not a page turner. It’s deliberate and encompassing, inviting the reader along Cooper’s circuitous, haunted search for some semblance of truth. It’s both a truth crime read and a deeply personal and affecting account of our entanglement with truth, justice, storytelling, and culture-making. 

“Esther serves as an example for how to bravely deal with political powers, judicial leaders, government officials, college administrators, CEOs, and denominational hierarchy as we pursue reconciliation and equity for all people.”

In this thoughtful and equipping book, Dr. McNeil uses Esther’s story as a guiding example of individual engagement with injustice. She mixes in personal anecdotes, current events, and theological reflections to talk about the urgency of racial reconciliation (in the church and in broader American society) and how we would be remiss to not heed that call. At one point, when examining Esther’s famous line (“If I perish, I perish,” verse 4:16), Dr. McNeil observes: “She decided to join in God’s reparative work in the world, knowing full well that there were no promises that everything would turn out okay. And that’s exactly what we’re being asked to do.” 

Growing up, Esther was by far my favorite Bible story. I did not realize going in that Becoming Brave was written with Esther as the backbone, and I was thrilled to get to revisit and re-examine this personally formative story. Dr. McNeil added so much nuance and context to the narrative that I am even more moved by it now. Part of me attributes my bent towards justice work to Esther’s presence as a staple in my childhood. 

I’m so glad I read this book. I came away feeling both stretched and encouraged. 

Usually, I write reviews within twelve hours or so of finishing a book, but I had to sit with this one and really simmer on my thoughts. I know this a polarizing book, and after reflection, you can place me in the thumbs up camp. 

The cover of Leave the World Behind evokes the Barb scene in the first season of Stranger Things. The protagonists remind me of the wealthy family in Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite. The vibe felt a lot to me like the early episodes of The Walking Dead, when Rick wakes up in the hospital and the world is different but we aren’t totally sure how. Mix those references together for an idea of what this book was like as an experience. 

I don’t really read thrillers. And it certainly wasn’t what I was expecting as I dove in. But this book is *deeply* unsettling in such a quiet, prescient way. The writing is piercing and smart. The exploration classism and racism in the midst of an unnerving social unraveling is pretty brilliant. 

I can see why some people don’t like it. Some have said it isn’t thriller “enough.” Others have taken umbrage with the ending. And depending on your tastes or preferences both are valid. But I think those takes diminishes the novel’s point. 

My only significant criticism is that the introduction of the “conflict” felt odd to me. When Ruth and G.H. arrive, the thing they are fleeing is too nebulous. As someone who lives in NYC, a power outage did not evoke for me the level of concern they seemed to telegraph. I wanted a bit more about the eeriness of the city right before they decided to drive out to Long Island. 

On the whole, LTWB was a book that I think begs for discussion and analysis, like something that would fit well into an advanced literature course. I certainly think it’s worth the read, even if at points it gave me serious chills. 

Ijeoma Olou's latest work explores the way that our cultural elevation of white male mediocrity has informed and shaped the way our world works. She covers the history of various institutions from Wild West stories to the NFL and how they were built around a defense of white male supremacy. 

Olou writes with sharpness and clarity. Her research is thorough and sound, presenting an insidious history of white male control that benefits virtually no one in the long run. I was struck in particular by the way so much of it felt ordinary, like describing a green lawn or blue sky, so steeped are we as a culture in the world shaped by and for white men. While parts of the book covered history I already knew, other parts took me surprise: did you know that American women in WWII were wooed to the workforce with things like healthy work environments and on-site daycare only to have those things taken away when the soldiers returned and the women didn't want to give up their jobs? 

Ultimately, what I most appreciated about Mediocre was Olou's commitment to humanity. As she says in the conclusion, she doesn't want anyone to be trapped in the current paradigm, *including* the white men that have been deluded into believing the status quo is what's best. Dismantling toxic masculinity and white supremacy opens up a world of possibilities for ALL people. Our freedom is truly bound up with each other's freedom. 

WASTE shares the author’s story of activism from a young age, culminating in her current work as an environmental justice champion with a focus on rural Alabama. 

Catherine Coleman Flowers is a truly remarkable woman with a lifetime of stories and then some. Born to community leaders and activists in Lowndes County, Alabama, Flowers took on the injustices around her, beginning with educational inequalities. Over time and through engagement in a variety of public actions, she built up her network and became an international voice for change on behalf of neglected rural communities. In the book, she talks about coordinating the study that exposed the existence of hookworm in Alabama. She uses her passion and connections (some seriously big names like Cory Booker, Rev. Barber, and Jane Fonda) to shed light on the devastating, persistent issue of wastewater injustice that she has now witnessed across the country. Many poor, rural homes do not have functioning septic systems and are prevented from installing them due to soil challenges and prohibitive cost. Flowers rightly calls this out as an environmental justice issue that entrenches poverty and will only worsen with climate change. 

While Flowers’s story was moving and her fight is exceptionally important, I have two criticisms of the book. Primarily, I think it was mis-marketed. The first half is dedicated to Mrs. Flowers’s background in activism and would be better named a memoir rather than an “exposure” as the subtitle suggests. In and of itself, the story of her life is worthy of telling! Second, I thought the writing was a bit lackluster and had a bit of an “and then and then and then” quality, verging on plodding. I would have enjoyed some variation and a bit more depth.