100 books like The Nutmeg's Curse

The 1918 flu killed millions, including 675,000 in the United States. It rapidly killed young people. The president of the United States never spoke of it.

The United States was at war, and officials claimed speaking of the flu would undermine the war effort. Not speaking of the flu fit well with widespread suppression of speech, which officials also justified by pointing to the war. Civil rights and liberties claims linked to that pandemic as it did in COVID-19.

Mr. Barry’s sprawling story includes many actors. Mr. Barry argues that managing a pandemic requires trust. In the COVID-19 pandemic, trust could still be hard to come by, even as medical care, labor, insurance, schooling, and the place of courts had changed over the intervening one hundred years. 

Salvage the Bones was the first Jesmyn Ward book I read, and I fell for 14-year-old Esch, who loves Greek myths and a boy named Manny. Set in the days before Hurricane Katrina, Esch and her beloved brothers live young lives full of – well, full lives, that’s the point. 

Ward told the Paris Review about living through Hurricane Katrina, “I saw an entire town demolished, people fighting over water, breaking open caskets searching for something that could help them survive. I realized that if I was going to assume the responsibility of writing about my home, I needed narrative ruthlessness. I couldn’t dull the edges and fall in love with my characters and spare them. Life does not spare us.”

Ward is an electrifying writer, and Salvage the Bones is an American classic. 

Giggs is first and foremost a great writer. Her powers of description and analysis pop off the page. The first 100 pages of Fathoms are particularly strong as she zeroes in on disturbing and fascinating topics such as all our garbage showing up in the bellies of stranded whales or scavenger ecosystems created by whale carcasses once they fall to the ocean floor.

In clear, evocative prose, Barnett describes the world of seashells and humans’ relationship to them. Her book was laced with “Who knew?” moments for me. For example, until recently people considered seashells a kind of rock, giving little thought to the creatures that built and inhabited them. Barnett explains the threat that rising carbon dioxide levels present to the formation and very existence of shells, but she never carps; and although she interjects some of her own experiences—and sense of wonder—she never lapses into making this book about her, rather than her subject.

Islands of Abandonment shares extraordinary examples of nature’s ability to reclaim – and restore – land abused by humans.

In startling vignettes, the author visits numerous abandoned sites, uninhabited by humans for different reasons: from Chernobyl to a no man's land on the island of Cyprus, to factories simply rendered obsolete leaving the surrounding neighborhoods blighted, dangerous and often empty.

I found this book to be, if not hopeful, then cautiously optimistic in its affirmation of nature’s resilience, even in the wake of massive destruction. Cal Flyn’s writing is enviably good: keenly observant, capturing intimate details about these landscapes and the non-human beings who inhabit them in vivid detail.

Unforgettable and illuminating. This is nature writing and investigative journalism at its best.

This atlas beautifully demonstrates how geography is crucial to making sense of patterns and relationships in the world. I sat down and read it cover to cover, though it also would work well as a coffee table book. If you dig maps and data, this book is for you. If you’re interested in design, this book is for you. If you want to really visualize how putting interesting data on a map can help you to look at the world in new ways, this book is for you. Heck, if you’re curious about the world, this book is for you. 

Fires in Australia in 2019 and 2020 killed billions of animals in a climate disaster. The numbers are impossible to comprehend.

In this beautiful, elegiac book, Dr. Celermajer grieves the losses by telling of one of her beloved pigs. She moves outward to reflect on how individual stories allow us to remember enormous losses. She refuses to tell this story of a climate catastrophe by telling of a few wrongdoers.

In one powerful reflection, she concludes that it is essential if almost impossible to say ‘it is I, it is I’ when speaking of who brought these losses. 

Sure, people objected to pandemic mitigation measures in other countries. Only in the United States were objections partisan.

This book elegantly relies on public opinion surveys to demonstrate the costs of partisanship in the pandemic. The authors discuss the economy, immigration, and voting. They document the Trump administration’s efforts to make mitigating the pandemic partisan. Masks are not inherently partisan. Our friends in medicine wear them all the time. In parts of Asia, many have used them to limit viruses’ spread.

Even before the pandemic, in the United States, partisanship had become at least as much about personal identity as policy differences. Every personal decision could signal partisanship. By meticulously capturing the pandemic and partisanship, the authors warn of the ongoing difficulties of managing disasters in a divided country.

White Skin, Black Fuel is the most clarifying book I’ve read explaining the rise of the far right and how it made climate change an issue of politics rather than physics, of ideology rather than environment.

It has many light touches and is accessible in style, so the reader is guided through the postwar progression of the far-right as principally an anti-immigration platform that then gained, once they had acquired some electoral credibility, the support and funding of fossil fuel corporations to advance their extractivist business models and scuttle any transition to renewables.

It made connections I’d been grasping at for years. 

This compilation, describing the founding of a new religion that is queer, science-fiction, and climate justice is a mindblowing assemblage of collage artworks by Deborah Kelly, liturgies by author S. J. Norman, poetry and essays.

It features interviews with Kelly and collaborators, photography of the workshops and portraits of followers, regalia, exhibitions, dances, and processions. For those despairing about climate change, this collection is a provocation, an exhortation, and a diversion.

It has been a salve to have by my side as I daily absorb the unfolding climate catastrophe and try and understand and respond to the deepening exclusions and marginalisations and discriminations it entrenches.