The most recommended books about Arkansas

I’m not usually a fan of memoir, but Knighton’s book about his visits to each of the nation’s 63 national parks in the wake of a cancelled wedding has it all: history, environmental science, and witty takes. In each chapter, he brings several parks together in a consideration of a single theme: “Water” (Arkansas Hot Springs, Biscayne), for example, and “Mystery” (Crater Lake, Congaree). It’s an effective structure that highlights how national parks can surprise you with the meanings they embody, and the connections they have to one another. This is a book for readers who want to get a look at all of America’s national parks, through a modern lens. 

Having grown up as one of few Asians in my high school, I didn’t really prioritize defining my identity as a Japanese-American. All I really cared about was blending in. But after reading this wonderful book, I realized being connected to my ethnicity and culture was both important and natural.

Olivia, the Japanese-American protagonist, spends her days with her family, traveling from Oregon to Arkansas in search of work. The “floating world” is one of temporariness and fleeting observations, like listening to a neighbor playing records or noting the color of a waitress’s painted nails. Olivia deals with tensions within her family as well as the racism they encounter on the road.

For me, this book helped me realize that I could honor the specificities of who I am against a general backdrop of the community within which I existed.

Most memoirs written by entrepreneurs are highly filtered stories about why they are so great. Sam Walton’s memoir is the most realistic, honest, and useful description of what it takes to succeed as an entrepreneur, a family man, and somebody who cares about their employees and community. You cannot go wrong using Sam Walton as your role model.

Harington was one of the great unheralded—or at least under heralded—novelists of the last fifty years, bursting with stories and whole populations of flawlessly captured human voices, and With was one of his highest achievements. It follows the fortunes of a kidnapped girl in the Arkansas Ozarks who befriends the woods’ menagerie of animals, as well as the ghost (or, as Harington would style it, the “in-habit”) of a twelve-year-old boy whose body did not die but moved away and abandoned him. Recommended if you like your ghosts warm-hearted and aching for home.

One of nine Black students to integrate the high school in Little Rock, Arkansas in 1957, Beals faces threats to her life as well as constant cruelty not only from white people but also from members of her own community, who disapprove of her decision. Her book gives us an unflinching account of what it feels like to be inside the maelstrom. Education seems almost beside the point when she needs protection from the National Guard. Most resonant to me, Beals admits that being a warrior for social change is exhausting. “Sometimes,” she writes in her diary, “I just need to be a girl.”

Bass Reeves, a real individual, was a slave in Texas and, as personal attendant and crack shot, accompanied his owner, an officer in the 11th Texas Cavalry Regiment, into battle during the Civil War.

The lyrical and colorful narrative closely resembles Bass Reeves’s speech and thoughts, so that one flows into the other. That’s fine writing. Thompson reveals in meticulous detail behavioral traditions between owner and slave and between the slaves themselves that reflect the injustice rife at that time.

This is the first novel in a trilogy, and I’m eagerly awaiting the next two books.

I love books with creepy houses, complicated friendships, grown-ups returning to their hometowns, dual timelines, and mysterious books that characters must decode.

The Wonder State has all these things. And not just one creepy house, but many! From the outside it might seem like your standard wayward-teens-get-into-trouble story, but it is so much more. It’s magical. It’s heartfelt. It’s clever. It’s atmospheric.

The houses in this book are more than homes. They are works of art, they are portals to the past, they are hideouts, they are solace, and they are terrible dangers, all at once.

I love a mystery or thriller, a number of which climbed to the top of my pile this year. What they all have in common is rich characters in communities dense with secrets.

The ultimate example for me was The Hunt, in which a colorful cast of damaged working-class people are swept up into a thriller that revolves around the threat of a string of murders spanning twenty years in Arkansas.

Growing up poor in rural Maine, my landscape was different, but I recognize the hardscrabble lives and the insular nature of small-town life so well depicted in Ford’s novel.

The setting, the flawed queer protagonist and those who love her, and the thicket of possible suspects all combine for a fresh spin on the genre and a satisfyingly twisty story arc. 

Once upon a time, I was the founder and president of a book club, Literary Ladies Alliance. Many moons ago, LLA chose Sugar as our monthly reading selection. I was absolutely floored by this unlikely, unconventional heroine of the same name as the novel set in a small southern town that wasn’t ready for this seductive storm, i.e. Sugar. I found her shockingly bold and beautifully unapologetic despite her disreputable past and “questionable morals.” She hungered for love, endured dangerous risks and scandal; and yet for me, Sugar moved with an air of voluptuous freedom that captivated my church girl imagination and respect. While Dianne McKinney Whetstone is my favorite author, Sugar is undoubtedly my favorite novel! I’ve read the book twice and would readily devour it again for its captivating journey back in time and its uncharacteristic, boldly unforgettable heroine. 

How do rural areas fail young women? Monica Potts relentlessly pursues this question in The Forgotten Girls because, while she escaped this particular kind of failure, her best friend did not.

This is an uncompromising look at the challenges of growing up in Clinton, AR, a typical small southern town that soaks its young people in a particular and complex bath of religiosity and rural politics with a generous handful of toxic sexism thrown in. I felt like Pott's burning questions had become my own. How did we get here? How do we stop this and enable young women to pursue their goals and dreams? Why does this happen and what can we do about it? It didn't hurt that I have lived about 39 miles south of Clinton—I have met and taught these women. I know what they're up against.

Even though anyone who reads the reviews knows how… show more.