100 books like All of Us

Hirshfield’s craft of language in this book knocks me off my feet. My head rings in the resonance of her poignant and pointed images.

The way she fuses intimate, personal experience with the immensity of nature and the fearless way she takes on the loss and peril of climate change makes me want to be a better writer and a better human. When I read the poems in this masterful collection, I am at once moved to sadness and awe and inspired to take action.

My experience of reading this book is wooly, smokey, visceral, and consuming. His poetry takes a microscope to the guts, the excrement, the feel underfoot of the natural world. Just as he takes me into the detailed realm of the beech tree or lizard, he swoops me into the emotional feel-scape of loss, grief, belonging, and isolation.

Gander’s use of language is relatable and also stark, new, and encyclopedic. This book is perhaps his most famous work, having earned him a Pulitzer. It is condensed and distilled as rare bitters; open the bottle and let its pungent spirit subsume you.

The poems in this book are intimate conversations between the living, the dead, and the soul. I love these poems because they are at once piercingly direct and also delicate and loving. As my parents enter the final years of their lives, I find myself both celebrating my time left with them and also pre-grieving their loss.

Clifton courses this transom, above and below the ground, with a surety of craft that I can only aspire to in my own work. This collection includes a daily poem journal covering the seven days starting with 9/11. I am struck by this sequence of poems in their ability to cover the nation’s fear and grief, the commonality of the global experience, and the minutely personal, all in a few short lines.

I love poetry that employs new takes on old forms. The sonnet is once again brought alive by Hayes in a collection that feels poignant, playful, and urgent. I personally struggle with writing in the form and am blown away by the range and inventiveness of the nearly 80 sonnets in this action-packed collection.

My experience in reading these sonnets is one of joy: the pointed wit that paints Sylvia Plath as a drama queen and Trumpet (thinly veiled) as sexually tormented, the clear-eyed social and political criticism, the warm, broken, self-knowing heart. This collection rings true to me as a full and authentic ledger of the American experience.

After Gary’s death, reading became unexpectedly painful. We had both loved books and reading together. The loss of that connection, combined with the brain fog that often accompanies grief, made reading difficult for a good while.

Poetry, though, was different. It wasn’t that it was easier than prose; I was still capable of losing my way mid-sentence. But poetry’s spaciousness—its distilled economy of words surrounded by large and quiet margins—helped the pages feel less overwhelming.

I love this collection by Tess Gallagher, written after the death of her husband, the short story writer and poet Raymond Carver. It is luminous. These poems do what poetry does best: speak what seems unspeakable, and make room for us to breathe as it speaks.

Simon Finger’s book, The Contagious City, is a wonderful, concise introduction to the politics of public health in early America. By focusing on Philadelphia, a city literally designed by William Penn to be healthier than European cities, Finger shows how a distinctly American view of public health developed even after that original plan failed to achieve its desired results. Finger describes the growth of the medical community in Philadelphia, its trials during the Revolution, and its failures during the 1793 yellow fever epidemic.

Torn between the Hardy Boys novels and Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer mysteries, I’ve reluctantly gone with the Hardy Boys.

Both authors (although there were many pseudonymous writers of the Hardy Boys series) taught a fledging writer invaluable lessons about keeping the story moving forward while leaving the reader hanging from the edge of a cliff at the end of each chapter.

What I adored about Joe and Frank Hardy was the freedom they had as teenagers. They never seemed to have to go to high school, they drove their own car, they were never short of money, and they solved mysteries that their detective father never could.

My kind of guys!

This book takes the idea of “badass” to another level of meaning and measure.

Here, Hattie is a mother of twelve children of various stories and in some ways, a stand-in for all mothers who made the migration north from the deep south of the United States. She’s tough but loving and endures the kind of struggles that would knock many people down.

It’s a book that keeps you turning the pages. 

This is one of the first books on prisons I ever read and it’s the one that got me hooked. It’s not just about prisons, though. Laboratories of Virtue is about the period during and after the American Revolution when the US moved away from colonial-era punishments into the beginnings of what we have today. It was a moment when we could have gone in a lot of different directions, but Meranze shows how we ended up with long-term incarceration as our go-to punishment for serious (and some not-so-serious) crimes.

He brings in developments in society generally, explaining how anxieties about theatre and crowds contributed to middle-class and elite reformers’ growing distaste for capital punishment and a preference for privately meting out punishment. This book is a great introduction to how punishment and penal trends are the products of changes in society and perceptions of crime, rather than a direct… show more.

Washington, our first president…Mr. American Freedom himself—was not just a slave owner but a slave hunter. What was his problem, I wondered, as I read about how he and his wife positively obsessed over re-capturing Ona Judge, a woman who escaped from their bondage.

They spent years, money, and some political clout tracking her down and trying to drag her back. They had plenty of other enslaved people! They weren’t short of money! As I read this wild tale of courage and cruelty, I got the message…the Washingtons knew that if a slave could flee the President of the United States, it would demonstrate the hypocrisy of trying to found a nation on liberty that, uh,…..held men, women and children in bondage.

My spoiler for you: They failed. Judge never returned to the Washingtons and lived to tell her own tale about the ugly history of American freedoms. Dunbar’s book… show more.