The only effect I ardently long to produce by my writings, is that those who read them should be better able to imagine and to feel the pains and the joys of those who differ from them in everything but the broad fact of being struggling, erring human creatures. —George Eliot
Last week was rough, dear reader. And that’s saying something in the midst of a very rough year. Is 2020 over yet? This year has been heavy on shouting and light on listening. Cue last night’s debate. Things are at a fever pitch and I’ve got the family email, laced in all-caps and chock-fulla venom, to prove it. While it made me ache for a gentle brother gone too soon and a father who wore his compassion in his eyes, I didn’t take the personal attack personally. I recognized it as just another symptom of a far greater problem: an alarming lack of tolerance and empathy.
I’m not a hopeless person, but lately those silver-linings I’m good at spotting are proving harder to find. 2020 seems to be the perfect storm. Quarantine led to isolation which led to more people spending more time on social media. Which is rarely, if ever, a good thing. Don’t believe me? Watch The Social Dilemma on Netflix and then we’ll chat. That got me thinking: could the answer be as simple as getting everyone to read more? Not more editorials or conspiracy theories. Not more books selling an agenda or the latest tell-all. I’m talking stories here. The kind that let us see the world from another’s point of view by climbing in their skin and walking around a while. When in doubt, channel Atticus.
Here’s a roundup of recent reads that have helped me tune out the noise from both sides and focus on what really matters: people and their stories. Please know this isn’t a list of books to persuade readers to one side or the other of the political spectrum, it’s simply a hope of putting human faces to the issues that polarize us. In the words of Brené Brown, “people are hard to hate close up.”
Racism
I lost sleep over this book. And still, if I wake in the night and think of it, my heart breaks all over again and sleep eludes me as I lie there thinking of the children navigating the unforgiving streets of their neighborhood, who don't know what it's like to grow up not fearing for their lives. I hear this line from Coates and weep for the mothers and grandmothers every time: “Black people love their children with a kind of obsession. You are all we have, and you come to us endangered.” If you're ever inclined to say we don't have a racism problem in America, please read this book first.
Immigration
Tray reviewed this important read back in April and asked me to weigh in on the controversy surrounding it. So 5 months later (which is par for the course these days), I’ll say this: From what I’ve read of the controversy, the main complaint was the author, not being hispanic herself, Americanized her characters too much in order to make them more relatable to her readers. I’m in no position to argue that point, but I will say that when a book is able to humanize the plight of a people caught in the political crossfires, it’s well worth the read. American Dirt not only does just that, it does it beautifully. For more, read Tray’s review here.
One thing that should bring solace to those who decried Cummins’s merits in speaking to their experiences: her book led me to search out more on the subject. I recently listened to “The Out Crowd,” the Pulitzer-Winning audio broadcast from This American Life. It’s the first audio broadcast to win the Pulitzer and, like Between the World and Me, it’s kept me up at night. Everyone needs to hear this—regardless of your opinions on immigration. You can find the broadcast here. I also just started Once I was You: A Memoir of Love and Hate in a Torn America by Maria Hinjosa. I’ll keep you posted!
A Forgotten People
I read this book in an attempt to deconstruct the 2016 election and the role played by working-class whites in electing Trump. It ended up being my favorite and most important read of 2017. I wrote then: Vance offers an unflinching look at his family and a culture in crisis and "what a social, regional, and class decline feels like when you were born with it hung around your neck." Because it's told from the inside, it never feels patronizing or heavy-handed. As Vance reminds us, "there are no villains in this story. There’s just a ragtag band of hillbillies struggling to find their way—both for their sake and, by the grace of God, for mine.” Read the rest of my review here.
This book inspired me to recently pick up Tightrope: Americans Reaching for Hope. That, and this review by the author of Educated, Tara Westover: “A deft and uniquely credible exploration of rural America, and other left-behind pockets of our country. One of the most important books I’ve read on the state of our disunion.”
Racial Injustice
I can’t recommend this book loudly enough. Don’t be fooled into thinking if you’ve seen the movie, there’s no need to read the book. First of all, is that ever true? I would submit no but in the case of this book, it’s a resounding no. The movie only scratches the surface of Bryan Stevenson’s amazing work. He’s the real-life Atticus. No joke. Here’s a snippet from my earlier review: A good non-fiction is hard to find. Even harder? One that permeates our sheltered lives and upends our worldview. If there was a required reading list for life, Just Mercy would be on it. Stevenson shines an unadulterated light on the destructive effects of mass incarceration, a broken judicial system, and the devastating consequences when we reduce the worth of a human soul to "the worst thing [they've] ever done." This book feels like a clarion call—one that pleads, as Maya Angelou once said, "when you know better, do better."
You can read the rest of my review here.
Slavery and the Destruction of the Black American Family
Perhaps one of the most far-reaching tragedies of slavery is the calculated decimation of the black American family by slave owners. Those consequences run deep and last for generations. This is clearly something that haunts Coates as evidenced by his original work: Between the World and Me. A heart-wrenchingly beautiful tale of an illegitimate son of a slave owner who is forced to watch his mother, the man who loved her, and all his siblings sold off one by one to places unknown. Never to be seen or heard of again. Let that sink in. No family history. No stories passed down through the generations other than one of deep longing and sorrow for what might have been.
“I felt a great rage, not simply because I knew they had been taken but because I knew how they had been taken, how they had been parted from each other, how I was born and made by this great parting. Better than before, I understood the whole dimensions of this crime, the entirety of the theft, the small moments, the tenderness, the quarrels and corrections, all stolen, so that men such as my father might live as gods.”