The New Jim Crow

In the wake of George Floyd's death, it seems every Instagram story was a list of books the rest of us need to read to understand the undercurrent that drove the calls for social justice. It seems The New Jim Crow was on every one one of those lists. It came up from the library just in time, though this is a heavy book that some may find even too heavy for this moment in history.

When I say "too heavy" I don't mean we should turn away. Not at all. Now's the exact time to be looking inward at ourselves and out at the institutions driving systemic racism in our country. But, if what you need in the age of COVID-related stress is a book that helps you escape, you may want to put this one on hold.

This book lays out like a text book the issues that have driven our country to a racially-uneven criminal justice system. Black men, in particular, are the victims of centuries of laws designed to keep them enslaved. The system of incarceration and probation locks minorities in an endless cycle that generations can not escape. From stop and frisk to the incentivized seizing of property in criminal cases, I don't believe any reasonable person could read this book and say, "Nah, what we have is good. Let's keep it this way."

This could easily be interpreted as me being anti-law enforcement. That couldn't be further from the truth. But, we give these systems incredible power - the power to take away lives and freedom - and, we absolutely should call them into question and hold them accountable.

What hits home the most is that the explosion in the prison population in this country has not driven down our crime rates. That mandatory sentences tie the hands of judges that should have some discretion in handing down punishments. Also, that while evidence shows White people use and sell drugs just as much as Black people, the Black people are the ones who are arrested and punished.

It got to the point in reading this book that I found myself skimming. It wasn't that the topics weren't interesting, it's just that the evidence was made so clear in the first chapters. I'd call this a must-read for those committed to bettering the systems that so largely define our country. But, be prepared that this isn't escapist reading - it also requires action.

Godshot

A young girl, being raised by a sinner single mom in a drought-stricken community where a religious zealot baptises the flock in cheap supermarket soda.

That's how Godshot gets started and it takes off like a rocket after that.

This is a book about what we'll give up in the most desperate times. 14-year old Lacey May lives in poverty with a mom who chooses freedom from her responsibilities, no matter the cost. When she's banished, she leaves Lacey May God-foresaken Peaches, California in the care of her grandmother and at the mercy of a man in shiny robes who promises to save them all.

The cult nearly swallows Lacey May, but the great joy of this novel is watching her figure it all out and choose to live on her own terms.

The men in Peaches have all the power, but are so easily exposed by girls like Lacey May.

Make no mistake, there is joy to be found in this book. But, there's triggering horror as well. Lacey May and the other girls are at the mercy of this God-fearing men who use that fear to exploit and exclude. There is redemption, though, in watching the "broken" women bring them down.

Lacey May is an unforgettable hero. Godshot is a hell of a read.

The Topeka School

The cover of this book hints that it might be more exciting than it actually is. Is it the tornado? The Best Books of the Year sticker? Maybe it's both. But, this book, while well-written and somewhat interesting, didn't make me feel like chasing a storm.

I just read a review that said this book was about white male rage. The tornado blew that completely over my head. It must have been subtle, though I kind of see it now - only after someone else pointed it out to me. I saw this book as a narrative about families and the small moments that one day lead up to the big ones, despite the best (or mediocre) intentions of everyone involved.

The book switches perspectives often, reiterating the rather common plot technique that shows how much we write our own stories. The experiences from the mother's perspective were most relatable to me, of course. The experiences told from the male perspectives felt vaguer, yet somehow the more mundane appeared to affect them more. Thus the white male rage, I realize now.

A man is upset that his wife's successful book comes to overshadow him. But, her female friend is jealous of that, too. A teenage boy who has been shunned for years is jokingly welcomed back into the fold, only to predictably act out violently in the end.

The book is well written and constructed. But - no offense to Barack Obama, who named it one of his favorite books of last year - I found it boring.

Maybe I just didn't get it. Maybe I need the tornado.

Silence of the Girls

"And I do what countless women before me have been forced to do. I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers."

Of course you don't understand, Briseis tells us. You've never been a slave.

This book. This beautiful, feminist book. It reminded me what I've learned from reading Circe and Song of Achilles in recent years: I don't want to read Greek mythology, but I will devour the stories retold in modern times.

As if you couldn't tell from the quote above, life is rough for the women of Troy, captured as the spoils of the Trojan war. Briseis lives in luxury until Achilles and his men destroy their city. She becomes Achilles' slave and has to share a bed with him, even after watching him murder her husband and brothers. That tortured existence and her yearning for home defines this novel. Why didn't she run? Why didn't she escape when she had the chance?

Probably for the third time, she'll remind you: you don't understand because you've never been a slave.

Life for these women is not that much different than it has been for women for centuries and longer. We are, at our best, defined by men; our stories are intricately intertwined with theirs. The stories of the women in this book are told in The Odyssey and The Iliad, but they are afterthoughts. They are background music. They are window dressing. Here in Pat Barker's pages, they get to finally tell their story to the world.

I loved this book. I love the way it's written and I love the Briseis getting her chance to tell her tale. It's not a happy ending, but it never was for these women, was it? But, in just the telling of it from her perspective, at least an ounce of power is granted.

The Only Plane in the Sky

"Where were you on 9/11?"

It's a question that defines my generation and so many others. We remember where we were (Kennewick, Washington), how we heard (from radio DJ Rick Dees, of all people) and what we did next (went to work as a TV journalist and chronicled the local stories as the world changed before our eyes.)

I remember how I felt that day. I remember the people I interviewed. I remember lines from stories I wrote. We don't forget defining days and moments. This book is a testament to that.

The book is made up of hundreds of accounts of what happened on that defining day. From people inside the World Trade Center to people on the ground in Shanksville, you read short snippets of their stories that, woven together, walk you through those 24 hours. Most of the book is focused on the day itself; the epilogue winds down the story and includes the death of Osama bin Laden. 

It's harrowing at times to read the stories of the women who didn't yet know they would be widows by day's end. You read and feel the compulsion to help, as told by the first responders who ran into buildings while everyone else ran away. You get a glimpse into the uncertainty of what was happening on Air Force One, as President Bush pushed to go home and the Secret Service overruled him.

Not to discount any of those stories, but there's little here you probably didn't know if you were an adult on 9/11. There was nothing that shocked or surprised me; the narratives merely told the story.

I don't know that you need to run out and read this book if you remember the day with any sort of clarity. I applaud the effort of compiling the histories, which should be preserved to honor the memory of the dead.

Pines

This book reminds me of when I go out for a run.

Starts strong. Full of promise and enthusiasm. Possibilities are endless. By the end, I'm just kind of wheezing along, just waiting for things to be over. When it's finally over, I feel decent about where I came from. But, the whole thing is a little hazy.

This book really did start out strong. A Secret Service agent wakes up in a fog in a remote and mountainous Idaho town. He's been in an accident and, initially, can't even remember his own name. He makes his way to a hospital and quickly realizes something about this town and its people are off.

He's there to investigate the disappearance of two other Secret Service agents, one of which he had an affair at some point. But, when he finds one of them dead, his urgency to get back to his life and family grows even more. Soon, he couldn't get out of this town if he tried and he can't get a hold of anyone who can help him.

What follows is the explanation for how the town of Wayward Pines, Idaho came to exist and the secret the people living there have learned to accept.

This book had my heart racing at times. I could not guess what would happen next and could not imagine where things were going. Once the climax began to reveal itself, my interest started to wane. While I did finish understanding how we got from point A to point B, I didn't actually care that much in the end.

Like those runs, I'm glad I completed it, but I don't feel like it's necessary to repeat.

Barracoon

What a journey. What a story. What a life.

I wrote in my last review that I don't remember the last time it took so long to read a book. Then, I devoured this one in a single Sunday morning.

In recent weeks, race and systemic racism have been part of nearly every conversation. It's as if with the death of a Black man in 2020, a nation's eyes opened to the sins of hundreds of years. 

I saw so many people sharing lists of books that white people should read to understand the plight of people of color in our communities. I wonder, how many people actually bought and read those books? For how many people is this more than something novel to post on social media, then move back into our privilege?

But, buried in one of those lists, this man's eyes caught my breath. I had never heard of this book or this story. On the day our local library opened back up for pickup, Barracoon was ready on my list.

The man with the shining eyes was born Oluale Kossola in West Africa. Along with many in his village, he was captured and sold into slavery in America. At the time he told this story in 1928, he was the last living person to have been brought as a slave to America. 

By the time he was telling his story, a free man for decades the community he and other freed slaves built in Alabama, Kossola was living by the name Cudjo Lewis. He had lived several more lifetimes by then; as a slave, then a free man, then a husband, then a father. The book tells his stories in his dialect and you can feel the pain and glory through his words.

His story isn't just about slavery, but about life in Africa before he was captured. It also reveals history not often told, of African kings raiding villages to kidnap people to sell into slavery. 

Kossola spent his life yearning for Africa, even after building his life in AfricaTown. There are times as he's recalling the stories of his life that he is so consumed and transformed by the memories of the raid that altered his life forever, that the author leaves him be. 

There is some triumph here, too, when you read about the work these freed slaves did to build their own homes and lives and community. But, Kossola's story is proof that the wounds of slavery and loss are far too deep for most of us to ever imagine. This man endured so much loss, even long after he lost his freedom.

This is a remarkable read and a story nearly lost to history. For reasons explained in the afterword, the manuscript sat for 80+ years before being published. 

As the author met with Kossola for the last time, she asked to take his picture. He put on a suit jacket and left his feet bare, saying he wanted it to resemble Africa, where after all these years, he still wishes he could be.

This is a powerful, compelling, haunting and important read. Now, of course, given the conversations. But, always.