The most recommended books about Arizona

Although I loved the city of New York more than ever after 9/11, it was sometimes hard to feel optimism and hope about the bigger picture and humanity as a whole in the first several years of the new millennium. This book was one of several things that helped restore my faith, since Moehringer so lovingly portrays the community where he grew up in Long Island—an area profoundly impacted by the attack on the World Trade Center. While I was fact-checking the title, et cetera, I discovered there’s a movie version coming out in early 2022. Obviously I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m really looking forward to it.  

I really enjoyed this book firstly because of the complete plausibility of the scenario, an extraterrestrial pathogen that comes to earth about which we are powerless to do anything.

Crichton’s medical background is on solid display here, and it is intriguing to experience the author’s very first fiction effort, knowing, as we do, the many great stories to come in the ensuing years (Jurassic Park, etc.). I also very much enjoyed the idea of a group of talented people from a wide range of disciplines working together to tackle a challenge of immense importance. 

Nathaniel Farrell Brodie’s Steel on Stone takes readers into Grand Canyon National Park. Here, Brodie worked on trails for eight seasons during brutal summer heat and cold winters. Brodie explores not just the national park in its beauty and danger but also the park’s history, tales from the park, and other adventures. In the end, Steel on Stone beautifully ruminates on home and on Brodie’s love of this landscape.

We take our sunsets seriously in Arizona, enough that we put a variation of one on our state flag. But Bruce Berger's book made me rethink how I look at the smeared colors in the evening sky.

Look not west, he says, but to the mountains in the east: the “decreasing wavelengths and cooling colors–vermillion to salmon to plum” on the slopes that provide a lightbox to the garish display at your back.

This is only the start. In finely wrought prose befitting the author’s other career as a pianist, he renders the harsh beauty of the Southwest in a set of twenty essays that draw a portrait of landscape and memory.

Contemporary with Mesa Verde’s cliff-dwellings and Chaco’s Great Houses, the Hohokam of southern Arizona too often fly under the radar. Their extensive settlements were constructed of mud and thatch – materials of the desert – and consequently Hohokam sites are mostly flat fields littered with potsherds. Ansel Adams never photographed a Hohokam site. There are exceptions: towering berms delimit oval ball courts (a local version of the Mesoamerican ball game) and vast canal systems which moved water many miles to the farm fields that underwrote the civilization. Hohokam was centered in Phoenix, but the civilization stretched from Gila Bend, Arizona on the west to Safford, Arizona on the east, and from Flagstaff on the north to Tucson on the south – the latter, the setting for my brief Hohokam fieldwork in the late 1980s. That fieldwork and my studies of Hohokam collections in museums, opened my eyes: I had no… show more.

My partner and I read the first few books in the Iron Druid series aloud together while I was pregnant and couldn’t get out much, and they brought a laugh to my lips every time… partly because of our atrocious pronunciation of the Irish words in the story.

Hearne brings a wonderful balance of action and humor to his writing, which makes this story a joy to read. From a telepathic dog with attitude to the druid grabbing a drink with Jesus and pissing off the old gods, the characters really carry this book. Every time I see it on my shelf, it makes me smile.

Okay, not everyone can hike the steep trails in Grand Canyon. However, you can do the next best thing and learn geology too by reading this wonderfully crafted book. Crisp and engaging writing makes the blisters fade away. The geologic descriptions reflect the most current theories. Nearly all Grand Canyon trails are covered allowing the authors to cover all aspects of the canyon’s geology.

All of Johnson’s books are swoony and awesome, but I love that Jill works in the family business—just like Dakota and Leo do—fixing cars in her family’s auto shop. It’s not something you see a lot of girls doing in YA books, but it makes so much sense in her bigger struggle of being a “fixer” in her everyday life. I have no mechanical skills, but boy, do I relate to trying to fix things that were never really my problem to solve in the first place. Teens with complicated family dynamics will appreciate seeing themselves portrayed in an authentic, nuanced way. Johnson leaves the reader with a powerful but gentle message that when faced with impossible situations, sometimes you need to fix yourself first.      

Women are often left out of tales of exploration and adventure. Melissa Sevigny sets things straight by telling the story of Elzada Clover and Lois Jotter’s scientific expedition to the Grand Canyon in 1938.

Clover and Jotter were serious botanists with a plan to document the species at the bottom of the world-famous chasm. I found it hard to believe the obstacles placed in their way, from the reluctance to sponsor a women’s expedition on such a dangerous river to the incredulous newspapermen who would show up at resupply points doubting they were still alive. Clover and Jotter triumphed over all the obstacles. I didn’t just enjoy the science and the politics; I enjoyed that Sevigny laid down a marker for women and girls everywhere.

There aren’t very many books by union organizers because union organizers tend to be busy organizing unions rather than writing books. Daisy Pitkin is the rare person who can do both.

In this book, she recounts her own experience as an organizer on a bitter, five-year campaign to unionize an industrial laundry in Arizona. If you’ve never been through a union campaign yourself, this is the next best thing.