100 books like All Our Kin

I did not take to this book right away. Both main characters seemed rigid and selfish in ways that put me off initially. When I came back to the novel some years (decades?) later, I could better see and appreciate the complexity of building a life in racist America of the 1920s. The rigidity that had initially put me off seemed much more understandable as a defense mechanism in a society that was largely hostile to them as women of color.

Giving the book another go, I’ve come to admire the way Larsen uses her characters’ decisions (about whether to pass as white, have children, trust the men they’ve chosen to live with, etc.) to explore complicated ideas surrounding color and race. There are also some scathing indictments of whites, particularly white men that raise some pretty big questions about how race and gender work together, even in our own… show more.

I’m always drawn to books and stories that help me understand communities on their own terms, from the inside out, and this book delivers on that.

Even though this is a book written by scholars, the voices of Buffalo’s mid-twentieth-century lesbian community really guide the book since Kennedy and Davis did hundreds of interviews as a part of their research. I loved hearing from the women themselves, reflecting back on this moment in their lives in this one city, about how they found friends and lovers, negotiated work and family, and navigated the city.  

This 1925 autobiographical novel dropped me into the middle of New York’s Lower East Side Jewish neighborhoods in the early 20th century. The main character has a life of substantial struggle with and against her family, employers, landlords, and an American society that seems intent on erasing her.

While the book has elements of both a classic immigrant story and a coming-of-age tale, I love how it reveals the realities of urban living for a young immigrant woman. The pace and practices of making a home in a too-small space, getting by on minimal resources, scrumming for work, and avoiding harassment fill this book’s chapters. As a social and cultural historian, reading about daily activities–both struggles and joys–in a different time and place helps fire my imagination about not just what happened but how it might have felt to experience it.  

In this book, Lisa See drops us into the lives of three young women of Asian descent who were fighting to make their way in a city and society that saw them as “dolls” rather than people. The friendship at the heart of the novel is compelling, but I am equally impressed by See’s historical research.

She weaves her fictional characters through real events, people, places, and cultures. I often shy away from “historical fiction” as a genre, cringing at the license some authors take with the history side of things, but See is an excellent social historian and storyteller. I loved this opportunity to visit World War II America, the entertainment industry, and, most especially, San Francisco’s Chinatown through the eyes of these women. 

Booth is an extraordinary writer and Tyrell is her signature story. Tyrell is a young man living under incredible pressure with a family that needs him to have both feet on the ground. But he's always on the verge of going the wrong way. Will the need for fast money put him in prison like his father? Booth is in complete command of her characters, story and pacing here. A marvelous book that will make you grateful for your own choices in life.

A timeless, classic treasure and a personal favorite of mine.

Sounder is a fiction novel, that takes you on an unpredictable emotional roller coaster of unpredictable life events, adversity, and one young boy's unmerited love for his dog.

A saga of an African American sharecropping family conquering and overcoming its economic, financial, racial, and societal challenges of the 1960s after they are set out to fend for themselves after a “young boy's” father is imprisoned for theft.

This expressive fable engulfs you in thought and emotion surrounding limitless perseverance, in spite of. I can’t even tell you how many times I read this book over and over as a young adult. No dull c liché plots this book never gets old and is an overall great read.

Of all Dr. King’s books (many of which I helped assemble, edit, and/or find publishing for), his last seems to strike at the heart of what really got him killed: his non-violent fight against poverty (The Poor People’s Campaign).

Such a radical preacher was always considered dangerous to the status quo, but once he fully moved out of the minority interest of Black Americans and started speaking to poor Americans of every color (a vast majority), a line was crossed and his fate was sealed. Still, his vision of a future of fairness and opportunity lingers on in Where Do We Go from Here.

When I moved to London, I started noticing the ‘underground economy’ that happens on the big city’s sidewalks. When I read Venkatesh’s account of exactly this economy of sellers, hustlers, buskers, and people who beg in New York, I was hooked.

Right there, where we walk and shop ourselves, there are people living a parallel life. Sometimes, our lives overlap, but mostly we stay unconnected. This separation, our ‘looking away,’ is where the problems start. 

Drawing on her first-hand experience of living in a shantytown in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, Perlman powerfully upends many existing myths about the urban poor as marginal in this classic work.

This book, which inspired me to look beyond the economic models at how people actually live, shows how shantytown dwellers are integrated into society, but in a way that exploits and oppresses them economically and politically.

They are not socially and culturally marginal, but rather they are stigmatized and excluded from a closed social system that is radically unequal.

They are socially well-organized and cohesive; they aspire to educate their children and improve the quality of their homes; they work hard and take pride in a job well done. They are aware of and involved in those aspects of politics that affect their lives. 

I have always loved Branko Milanović’s way of addressing complex topics in a very accessible and usually highly original way.

In this book, Milanović pays much attention to the rich and the super-rich and devises a way of comparing their wealth across the ages by asking this simple question: how much labour could they command in their own historical period and socio-economic context?

So, for example, Marcus Licinius Crassus, the richest Roman of Caesar’s times, could, with the yearly income from his vast possessions, command the work of 32,000 people. But, as Milanović argues, today’s super-rich are richer than past ones–circa 2010, the richest person in the world was the telecommunications magnate Carlos Slim, who could command the work of 440,000 Mexicans.