The most recommended books about colonization

In this humane call to action, Anishnaabe author Patty Krawec combines an accessible introduction to the European invasion of the Americas with practical suggestions for grappling with these histories and their legacy.

Weaving the stories of her ancestors with personal accounts and historical context, Krawec makes a case for how Christian and Indigenous worldviews can become compatible, and makes suggestions for how we can all become better kin to each other. I devoured this book and have been recommending it to everyone ever since.

This brilliant book summarizes the history of Indigenous people in this country. It was written by a person with Indigenous heritage who participated in global Indigenous movements for over four decades.

I wish I had had this book accessible when I studied Native American history long ago with Western Cherokee Professor Dr. David Edmunds. 

This award-winning book provides a new way to understand Native people and why they have struggled so tenaciously for their human rights, even in a country that promotes itself as the world’s beacon of democracy. I recommend it unequivocally to everyone.

Michael Robinson took me on a wild, disturbing ride in this astonishing book. Starting with the African explorer Henry Morton Stanley’s strange claim that a “lost white tribe” resided in the deepest, darkest Africa, Robinson shows that Europeans were obsessed with the idea that their ancestors had spread to the distant corners of the earth.

Far from an obscure theory, it shaped Nazi racial doctrine and much more, including recent speculation about the origins of Kennewik Man. Robinson left me in awe of his ability to draw these unexpected connections and demonstrate their enduring influence.    

Harms catches you up in the grand sweep of African history with two convergent tours d’horizon, both the better known European exploration of the African west coast (and early European incursions into the continent from there), and the eastern, Arabian incursions, with a good discussion of where the twain did meet.

Africa as a Living Laboratory is a far-reaching study of the thorny relationship between imperialism and the role of scientific expertise—environmental, medical, racial, and anthropological—in the colonization of British Africa. A key source for Helen Tilley’s analysis is the African Research Survey, a project undertaken in the 1930s to explore how modern science was being applied to African problems. This project both embraced and recommended an interdisciplinary approach to research on Africa that, Tilley argues, underscored the heterogeneity of African environments and the interrelations among the problems being studied. While the aim of British colonialists was unquestionably to transform and modernize Africa, their efforts, Tilley contends, were often unexpectedly subverted by scientific concerns with the local and vernacular to the understanding of imperial history, colonial development, and the role science played in both.

This book is part of a new genre of global history and provides enough of a historical sweep to acquaint the non-historian with a view that is not dominated by the nation state as its unit of analysis and Europe as the apex of world historical change. 

It’s an accessible work that fills in a lot of gaps in world historical knowledge that often exist because our myths of historical change (like modernization or development) keep us focused on ‘the west’ and ‘the state’.

From my point of view, it’s no longer politically acceptable to be ignorant of history in India, Africa, or the Middle East, by way of example, before European colonization. Viewed through the lens of empire, world history looks very different, and this book shows how doing so is a myth-busting exercise.

Of all the histories, journals, diaries, novels, and memoirs I read while doing research for ITKOM, Ahmed Abodehman’s slim book has lodged itself deepest in my heart. Sometimes referred to as a memoir and at other times as an autobiographical novel, The Belt is less about the changes brought on by the petroleum industry in particular than it is about the dislocation brought on by modernization (much of it driven by the quest for control of the vast oil reserves). The story begins with a tribal elder “examining young Ahmed's knife to determine the boy's masculinity.” With the coming of a government school to the village, such ancient tribal customs are challenged by more urban ideologies and orthodox Islam as the speaker struggles to retain the tribal songs he carries inside himself “like an inexhaustive fire.” With a poet’s sense of image and language, Ahmed Abodehman weaves a gorgeous coming-of-age… show more.

I’m a sucker for a sapphic historical romance! I love all the secret glances and tortured moments that play such a part of stories set in times long before now.

This one, while a relatively short novel, packs a mighty punch. Kallmaker’s two main characters are so very different, yet so obviously right for each other from the moment it becomes a possibility. Set against the backdrop of the colonization of the West in America, there’s realistic yet not too heavy brutality, acerbic observations on the vast gulf between the sexes at that time, and authentic settings and action.

This is the first book I’ve read about an Indigenous woman seeking to work with Indigenous women in other countries. I love the vivid, brutal honesty of the author, a Northwest Karuk tribe member named Ursula Pike, who reflects on her trying experiences as a young Peace Corps worker in Bolivia.

She is open about her sexuality, her anxieties, her failures, and her hopelessly naïve belief that because she is of indigenous heritage, she will have a special connection with the native people of Bolivia. She must come to recognize that she has privilege within the poor village where she is placed, and her life and perspectives are vastly different from the Bolivians.

I could not put the book down as I learned in every chapter how Pike willingly interrogates herself, the Peace Corps, and the larger subject of cultural privilege. I am grateful to have learned from her struggles.

This new book realizes much of my wish to see histories of the Caribbean take seriously its importance as a site of diverse groups and unexpected exchanges. The Creole Archipelago focuses on five little-studied islands—Dominica, Grenada, St. Lucia, St. Vincent, and Tobago. Tessa Murphy reveals an interconnected maritime world, shaped by the use of canoes that allowed mobility free of the prevailing winds. Alongside consideration of the space itself and movement within it, Murphy explores the region’s diversity, its indigenous peoples, African, and Europeans of various stripes. She gives special attention to the indigenous peoples whose traditions, presence, and legacy determined much about these islands. In this watery borderland—a region within the larger Caribbean—interisland, intercolonial, and interimperial interactions were everyday occurrences.