100 books like The Visionaries

This book challenged so much of what I thought I knew about American slavery. Harriet Jacobs was born enslaved in North Carolina. She dared to ask why she should not have the same freedom as her enslavers; ultimately, she escaped to the North and fought for her children’s freedom from there. I loved the way she challenged her readers to face their complicity in the system that enslaved her.

I especially admired the powerful rhetoric that allowed her to be accommodating to her readers while also demanding that they confront slavery’s evil and change their lives accordingly. I felt like it explained so much to me about why the US is the way it is, and it inspired me to work for my country’s ideals. 

This book is a mind-blowing, paradigm-shifting biographical reflection that asks why we see beauty and disability the way we do.

Jones is herself a philosopher and is disabled. Through anecdotes of ways she has been treated (also by philosophers), stories of her own birth and her unexpected pregnancy, and accounts of her travels (including going to see a Beyoncé concert!), she upended my ideas about beauty and about being able-bodied.

She helps us ask why we think of ability the way we do and why expanding our openness to beauty could help build a more beautiful world. I finished it feeling both humbled and exhilarated.

This book is simultaneously so exhilarating and creepy that it had me yelling at my car’s sound system as I listened to it! O’Gieblyn uses biography, history, and current events to ask why humans are pursuing artificial intelligence and what it means for the value of being human.

She weaves her life story, including losing her fundamentalist faith and spiraling into addiction, into a riveting analysis of artificial intelligence with all its promise and peril. I loved that she gave historical background about our search for artificial intelligence while also explaining what is at stake as AI infiltrates our very understanding of what it is to be human.

I finished the book feeling better informed about AI and better grounded in why being human is valuable, no matter what technology does next.

I loved the searing honesty and historical drama of this book. Clarren bravely examines her family’s settler past, telling the story of how her great-great-grandparents fled antisemitism in Russia and settled in South Dakota. Then she tells the story of the Lakota indigenous people they displaced. I was so inspired by the moral integrity she shows as she interviews descendants of both sides of this conflict.

She asks hard questions about what happened in settler colonialism, why we know so little about it, and what we should do about it now. She includes resources to examine our own histories. A brilliant and motivating book!  

Though I am not religious, I have been aesthetically moved and spiritually stirred by these deeply personal, profoundly philosophical, and poetically enigmatic essays, which I find myself returning to when faced with the most fundamental questions about our spiritual lives.

Written by a French Jewish convert to Christianity whose own suffering is exquisitely attuned to the suffering of others, these essays have continued to inspire readers from across a broad spectrum of religious and philosophical orientations—including the most secular among us.

My final choice is a scintillating work of scholarship by Lyndsey Stonebridge, Professor of Humanities and Human Rights at the University of Birmingham. Entitled Placeless People: Writing, Rights, and Refugees, it draws upon a range of reportage, political theory, poetry, and other texts to ask challenging questions about the stance that modern states and citizens in Western societies adopt towards refugees who are sometimes described as distant strangers. By engaging with authors who are relatively well known, such as George Orwell, W.H. Auden, Simone Weil, Samuel Beckett, and the political philosopher Hannah Arendt, and with those who may be less familiar, such as the American journalist Dorothy Thompson (1893-1961) and the contemporary Palestinian Lebanese-born poet Yousif M. Qasmiyeh, Stonebridge insists that it is essential to portray refugees as deserving and demanding something other than charity or humanitarian concern no matter how well-intentioned. Instead, the appropriate response is to demand… show more.

This remarkable book is authored by Francis Su, the past president of the Mathematical Association of America. The author describes human flourishing as follows: “a wholeness of being and doing, of realizing one’s potential and helping others do the same, of acting with honour and treating others with dignity.” He explains how human beings, of all ages and ability levels, can experience flourishing through the doing of mathematics.

In each of the final twelve chapters, the author explores a trait of mathematics, how it relates to our journey as humans, and how the development of each trait enables us to flourish: Exploration, Meaning, Play, Beauty, Permanence, Truth, Struggle, Power, Justice, Freedom, Community, Love. As a mathematical researcher and educator, I have experienced these traits first-hand, and recommend this book to anyone and everyone.

Even though I never felt badly treated for growing up as a girl in a patriarchal world as Camille Laurens did, I loved her book. The first part, which starts with the sentence “It’s a girl,” recounts her childhood in a provincial French town in the sixties, where sexism still reigns. The distressing second part describes the loss of her son at birth. The third part is about her relationship with her daughter — born after the lost son — who, in spite of her mother's best efforts, grew up as a tomboy. The novel cleverly ends when the daughter, 16, tells her mom who asks whether her date is a nice boy: “It’s a girl.” This novel is also the most fascinating book about genre. 

Whenever I’m reading Ruskin, I feel like I’m overhearing a crusty old man’s rant. Some rants I love—when he talks about honesty in materials, or his in-depth thoughts on nature and light; some I question—demonizing cast iron facades; and others I disagree with—the necessity for obedience to God as an architect. And some of his ideas are so outdated, they’ve almost come back full circle. But the reason I included this older volume, is simply because Ruskin’s seven principles on architecture have withstood the test of time.

This is Andalusia at its most picturesque, with its castles and craggy mountains and a story with all the colour and brio of a medieval costume drama. It’s actually seriously researched history but written in the style of a romantic novel.

It was written in the mid-nineteenth century out of a fascination, which I share, for the story of the demise of the last Muslim kingdom in medieval Iberia. It’s full of heroic deeds, foolhardy escapades, chivalric episodes, and emotional scenes, all based on documentary evidence.

But what I especially like is the ironic stance the author achieves on the bigotry and intolerance characteristic of the victors in the conflict through the conceit of pretending his tale is written by a Spanish monk. It made me think about how history is written, who writes it, and how often we take for granted narratives that first emerged from political propaganda.