100 books like Nervous Conditions

I love this book because it amply illustrates the ways global geopolitics damage far less powerful countries, such as Eritrea. Wrong shows how stronger countries’ national desires deeply limited the opportunities of those in a small country. The Italians were Eritrea’s first occupiers. They were defeated by the British and the tens of thousands of Ethiopian and Eritrean soldiers who fought alongside them.

The book’s title comes from a legend of an old woman thanking the British for their release from Fascist rule. He told her he “didn’t do it for” her. And indeed, the British did not. After their victory, they stripped and destroyed a great deal of the well-built Italian infrastructure. The Italians were followed by Ethiopia, who claimed historical rights backed by key global players, leading to a long civil war.

Wrong’s tale is a haunting one for many reasons. One is that the wrongdoers seem to… show more.

Okay, he was my dissertation advisor. Sorry! But Thompson’s is a concise, perceptive, and readable one-volume history of the great country, a splendid introduction. Born and raised in South Africa, the late Thompson was a Rhodes Scholar before seeing extensive service in World War II. Like so many talented South Africans from many fields, he went into exile around 1960 when the apartheid regime moved toward a no-holds-barred stranglehold on all opposition. This was his last book, and in it he distills a lifetime of research, teaching and experience. The fourth edition has an update and new preface by Lynn Berat.

I admire Mandela’s strong character in overcoming what must’ve been his pursuit of a seemingly impossible goal. At the time, his fight was against the overwhelming strength of the people in power, who had no hesitation about using extreme force and imprisonment to prevent him from achieving his goals. 

This type of book taught me much about my own country, Zambia. It starts with the story of David Livingstone’s “discovery” of Victoria Falls, and many characters, including a choir of mosquitos, took me for a wild ride through colonial history, the struggle for independence, modern-day Zambia, and then into the future.

I had learned about some of the historical events in school, but many were revelations unearthed by Serpell’s meticulous research. I found the characters riveting, and the storytelling complex, creative, and exciting. Reading this incredible book has also made me richer in my knowledge of my home country. 

Move Your Shadow is a masterpiece of reportage. Lelyveld, a former executive editor of the New York Times, spent considerable periods in apartheid South Africa in both the 1960s and the 1980s. The sixties was the period of “baaskap”—“bosshood” apartheid, when the perverse racist cruelties of the system were imposed with a sledgehammer. I would call the eighties the era of “facelift” apartheid—why, the word was hardly used by the regime anymore. 

To paraphrase Gramsci, the old world was dying, a new one struggled to be born. Monsters abounded. Nobody captured the period better than Lelyveld. The chapter on Philip Kgosana, the idealist who led Cape Town demonstrations in 1960—at age 19—was betrayed by the state, and wound up in exile in Sri Lanka—is worth the price of the book.

I loved this book because it clearly demonstrates not only how Western Kenyans (in this case, the Luo) think about their economy but also its resilience despite more than 100 years of Western imposition. Shipton shows that Luo acts within relationships and thinks of economics in terms of giving and receiving. Thus, it is better to always be indebted to a number of people (including the dead and land) in the sense that you “owe” them something. This is what Shipton calls entrustment. It is an obligation but also strategic.

Such a way of life creates a more stable and resilient future for small-scale farmers and herders. Rather than seeking a more holistic economy in the West, we need only learn from our global neighbors about their centuries-long systems that have served them well.

I loved Rist’s book because it totally changed the way I thought about the idea of development. It made it more complicated and far more sinister than I had been led to believe. His definition alone is provocative: development destroys social and environmental systems. But there is much more here to get one thinking.

He starts by saying that development is a plastic word with so many different meanings that it can apply to almost anything. He traces its use in the West and then its application as a universal ideal through foreign policy and international institutions (like the United Nations and World Bank). The result is global disparity. Development somewhere requires poverty (or less development) elsewhere on a finite planet.

I love Ferguson’s book because it seeks to be useful rather than academic. He uses the category of “Africa” to understand large-scale dynamics that have perpetually underestimated or misunderstood the agency of Africans.

For example, globalization is not passing over Africa; it is deeply implicated there but in isolated ways that perpetuate inequalities rather than erase them, as globalization proponents promote. Or that global capital can thrive in a failed state without peace, property law, or many other attributes of the modern state.

Again, like in all my book picks, Ferguson is eager to show how Africa’s role in global society is not in the shadows but in full sun, illuminating aspects of our world order that many would rather not look at straight on.

The novel is a portrait of the harsh realities of post-colonial life and a reflection on the complexities of African culture and history. I find that I can relate to the book's exploration of identity and the struggle between tradition and modernity.

Okri's protagonist, Azaro, navigates the physical and spiritual realms in a way that lines up with the Nigerian superstitions which shaped my life from a young age. His journey is believable and familiar in a unique blend of the fantastical with the real.

The lyrical prose and vivid imagery take me home, back to a world where the supernatural is a natural part of life and a cornerstone of the spirituality inherent in Nigerian culture.

This is at heart a coming-of-age novel, unshrinkingly autobiographical in its depiction of what is clearly the author’s own family and background: the privileged upbringing on a prosperous farm in the centre of South Africa, the elite schools she and her beloved brother, Paul, attend, the tensions between her stern father and the rebellious brother. All recounted in a deadpan faux-naïve voice, which is often hilarious but also needle-sharp in its puncturing of the posturings and pretensions of upper-middle-class white South Africans. But at the centre of the largely satirical account is the tragic story of the decline and fall of the beautiful, talented, hyper-sensitive Paul and his early death from a drug overdose. A masterpiece of controlled perspective and flexible tone.