As is his style, Richard Grant inserted himself squarely in the midst of Natchez, Mississippi in order to tell the stories of the eccentric town. Tucked away from major thoroughfares and with a long history, Natchez is quintessentially Mississippian in some ways and entirely unique in others. Alternating between present day and the late 1700s, Grant offers epitomizing narratives of a place plagued with a racist history that continues to have a lasting affect on social interactions throughout the town that is torn between tradition and progress. Via stories about the annual Tableaux (a low-budget musical put on by the whole town depicting a very whitewashed history of the area), the Deacons for Defense of Justice during the civil rights era, and lbrahim (West African royalty who was sold into slavery and ended up in Natchez), the book gives you a window into this absurd, resilient little town. Ultimately, there is a tension between preserving what makes Natchez charming (a la “Keep Austin Weird”) while also reckoning with its past and addressing growing racial animosity. Like many towns in this era, they are taking steps in both directions. ⁣
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Had I not read Grant’s previous memoir (Dispatches from Pluto), I may have actually had a hard time with this one because the stories feel just so utterly absurd. But having that grounding gave me confidence in Grant’s reporting and allowed me to lean into the stories in all of the wild peculiarity. I enjoyed learning more about Natchez, but, as Grant admits at the end, would never want to live there. 

“The work of telling is essential. And it is not enough. There is always the danger that the energy of the injustice will exhaust itself in the revelation. That we will be horrified, but remain unchanged.”⁣⁣
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In this powerful memoir, Lacy Crawford recounts her experiences with sexual assault while attending St. Paul’s School in New Hampshire in the early 90s. With clarity and bravery, she shares the relevant stories of her three years at the school and the dramatic lengths the administration went to in order to silence her. ⁣⁣
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I was particularly moved by her writing style and reflectiveness. Crawford is honest about what happened, her mental state, and her self-doubt. Occasionally she even points out that this is all happening in a world of extreme privilege and how she struggled to allow herself to acknowledge the the depth of her pain because she knew that her situation was one of wealth and status which somehow made it feel less important. ⁣⁣
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What she experiences is both atrocious and so normal: the prioritization of protecting men, the unethical leveraging of authority, the slander that followed her for years. I saw a review that said something like “This will be shocking to no woman and hopefully moving to men everywhere.” I deeply agree. ⁣⁣

I listened to an audiobook version. Lacy Crawford narrates it herself and it adds even more to the story to hear her inflections. Thank you to Libro.fm and Little, Brown for the ALC.

A historical fiction novel at the crossroads of two points of interest — the Pack Horse Librarian Project and the blue-skinned people of rural Kentucky — that follows Cussy Mary, the last of her kind and an intrepid deliverer of books to the remote residents of Troublesome Creek. ⁣
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I really wanted to like this one but... just didn’t. The research that went into the book is obvious and I don’t want to discount that. I learned quite about this particular time and place. I also appreciated Cussy Mary’s determination and thoughtfulness. However, I found the dialogue tiring and a bit overworked. Further, while I really enjoyed learning about the Pack Horse Librarians, the simultaneous story of the town’s discrimination was more muddling than additive. I felt like librarian bit was more of a backdrop than a central storyline which perhaps would not have bothered me as much if the title had been different. Finally, I found the characters to be largely one-dimensional which was disappointing. Overall, I felt let down by this read.

In this book, Gallagher lays out the history of America’s postal service and its central role in the country’s formation, from westward expansion, to the development of the press and transportation industries, to trust in the concept of representative government. Well-researched and approachable, Gallagher shares a compelling case for the importance of the postal service as a creator and supporter of American culture. ⁣
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There was a lots of information about the postal service that floored me, like the fact that it existed prior to the Declaration of Independence, subsidized newspapers from the get-go, used to be represented in the president’s cabinet (where the Postmaster General sat until the 1970s), and essentially single-handedly ushered in the age of aviation in the U.S. Also, there were memorable stories of the wild postmasters who sorted mail on moving trains, rode horses over mountain passes in snowstorms, and flew in fabric planes to deliver letters. ⁣
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My only criticism for this book is around Gallagher’s lack of acknowledgement of the murder and displacement of indigenous people and the resulting power imbalance as the U.S. expanded westward. Early post offices and settlements were often attack by encroached-upon tribes but the way she presented those clashes lacked some nuance for me. ⁣
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Ultimately, I was convinced my Gallagher’s thesis that the post office played an enormous role in the creation of America and its culture. Unfortunately, in transitioning from the Post Office Department to the USPS in the 70s, it took on an odd structure as a government-owned business rather than a service, which, in my opinion, was a grave mistake and antithetical to the post’s founding values. Time will tell what that impact will be long term and if a course correction can rescue the mail.⁣
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This book was published in 2016, but is more relevant today than ever. Given the way that the USPS is being intentionally sabotaged as we speak, I think it’s particularly important to recognize its vital history as a staple of U.S. culture, commerce, and democracy. ⁣

Thank you to Simon & Schuster for the gifted copy of this book! ⁣
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In this memoir-manifesto, Rita Colwell covers the span of her experience as a scientist in the United States, tracing back to her childhood in the 1940s. She is a microbiologist with a powerful patchwork of other expertise and education that empowered her to be a creative, interdisciplinary researcher. She was the first female director of the National Science Foundation after decades of dedicated scholarship and coordinated affronts to the daily sexism in her industry. ⁣
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I thoroughly enjoyed this book, as much as the blatant sexism made me furious. Even today, the fight is far from over, but thanks to Dr. Colwell and others, strides have been made. I was particularly enthralled by Dr. Colwell’s diplomacy, shrewdness, and organizing skill when talking women to make changes within the scientific world, particularly at academic institutions and in journals. ⁣
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One part I did not expect but was glad to read about was Dr. Colwell’s direct impact on the study of cholera as well as sequencing the anthrax from the mail scare after 9/11. The latter in particular was a great addition, as it was an example of effective and unbiased collaboration — a refreshing example!⁣
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My only criticism has to do with her final chapter which consists of advice and ideas for additional growth (so very scientific of her — opportunities for future study!). Some of her thoughts around education rely on privilege and flexibility, e.g. picking an elementary school based on how they approach teaching science, starting computer science at or before high school, etc. I was hoping for some system-level suggestions around making exposure to lab-type science a more universal secondary school experience

A gritty, masterful book that blends personal anecdotes and interviews to reflect the complex humanity of undocumented Americans. Villavicencio’s writing style is honest and raw -- sometimes to the point of discomfort, which I think is actually sort of the idea. She has a way of making you feel multiple emotions within one sentence, and captures the messiness of being a human in a way that I’ve encountered with few other authors. The stories that she shares, both her own and from others, are heartbreaking and angry-making. From working on cleanup crews after 9/11 to the mental strain on children of undocumented immigrants to the experience of aging out of the manual labor pool, Villavicencio covers a range of experiences in a way that I will not soon forget. This is one of the most urgent things I’ve ever read, and I hope that it grabs our attention.⁣

A fable-like novel with gorgeous prose, Augustown is about a Jamaican community and the ramifications of one teacher’s impulsive actions. In a way, it reminded me of Beartown, in that even small, everyday actions can build a communal response that pulls together the individual and collective hurts of their pasts. The emotion of Augustown built steadily though the book, delivered via powerful, observant writing. ⁣It also gave me such a deeper understanding of Rastafarian culture and Jamaican Patois. ⁣

I was unfamiliar with Megan Marshman prior to reading this book. I was drawn in by the subtitle and hopeful for what I could learn from her work. 

Meant for Good is structured around the verses Jeremiah 29:11-14, ostensibly covering ways in which this scripture unlocks God's plans for us. The book has nuggets of wisdom: Jesus's tendency to respond to questions with questions in order get others to be active participants in their learning; emphasizing that God's grace is not dependent on our worthiness; the centrality of trust in faith and how God works from a place of abundance; how to be more receptive and attentive to God's nudges in discernment. 

However, I have two main critiques of the book. First, the structure of Jeremiah 29:11-14 was compelling and powerful, but I felt the execution fell flat (aside from a specific section or two, namely Chapter 5, "Who Before What") and relied on anecdotes and disjointed tidbits of theology rather than a robust case for her argument. Secondly, the tone of the book didn't work for me. I imagine Mrs. Marshman is a phenomenal and engaging speaker, but I don't know that the style translated well to text. 

Disclaimer: I received an advanced copy of this book. This review reflects my honest thoughts.

Ibram X. Kendi took on the daunting task of chronicling and making accessible the deep, twisted, long history of racist ideas. The book is structured around five “tour guides,” or people along the way who in some way embody a piece of the trajectory, starting in the fifteenth century and stretching to Obama’s election in 2008.⁣⁣
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I was floored by just how packed this book is with information. Nearly every sentence taught me something. Two of my major takeaways were that the antiracist struggle faces down two types of racists (segregationists and assimilationists), and that media has a huge role to play in public perception and socially acceptable ideas (see: Tarzan, King Kong, The Cosby Show, etc). What Kendi achieved with this book is remarkable. Everyone should read it, particularly Americans.⁣⁣
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My two criticisms are that I wish the subtitle had used “anti-Black” instead of “racist” because while Kendi does an incredibly thorough job talking about anti-Black racism (which, I acknowledge, is the root of other variants), he does not talk much about other branches of racism outside a cursory mention. Relatedly, I wish more attention had been paid to the Native American experiences that coincided with slavery and the experiences of women throughout. That said, it’s already a hefty and dense 500 pages, so maybe that just wasn’t feasible.⁣