The most recommended books about racism

I can’t sing. I never listen to music. I can’t remember where I heard about this book or why I tried the sample, but once I started reading, I could not stop.

Harmon is a master novelist. She invites us into a new world, wraps us up in the characters’ lives, and doesn’t let go. It’s the 1960s U.S., with mobs running the show, with racism running rampant, with lives in danger in so many ways, especially when a white songwriter and a black singer fall in love and decide to marry. 

I’m usually a fast reader, but this book took me a long time. I had to stop after every two or three chapters to give myself time to fully absorb the story. When I was done, I had a powerful urge to reread it, an urge I put aside with full intent to reread the book at a… show more.

I picked this book up while vacationing on Cape Cod and couldn’t put it down. The author, a historian who taught at West Point, describes how he was imbued with the myth that Southerners, especially Robert E. Lee, acted with noble intentions during (and after) the American Civil War.

Seidule grew up in various Southern towns and eventually went to college at Washington and Lee University, a school where General Lee served as President following the war.

With a historian’s eye, Seidule takes apart this lie piece by piece in a lively, readable narrative. His conclusion is that Lee and other Southern leaders were traitors who were fighting to continue the institution of enslaving Black people.

Robert E. Lee and Me is a timely book that should be required reading for anyone interested in American History and the current American political debate.

This is an amazing, important book that must have taken Jodi a lot of time to research. It touches on many of today’s problems—racism, prejudice, poverty, justice, privilege, etc.

It’s a fast-paced read and, at times, had me on the edge of my seat. In the audio version, several narrators read the chapters of the well-fleshed-out, believable characters.

Because I was leading the book club meeting, I listened to the audio concurrently with the book—both highly recommended!

As a professor, I know that sometimes just getting through four years of college can be its own epic struggle, especially when you’re queer and half-Nigerian, like Sahara.

“The unfortunates” is the name Sahara and her friends use to describe the deaths of too many of their fellow Black students. As if that isn’t enough, Sahara sometimes feels like her only companion is her “Life Partner,” the name she gives to the ugly voice of her depression.

I loved the way The Unfortunates is told as an in-your-face “thesis” to Sahara’s university committee that mixes humor with high-stakes struggles. Follow along as Sahara figures out how to survive in the face of a campus and culture that is not just indifferent, but outright hostile.

I only recently started to read James Baldwin and am blown away by his intensity and poetic language. In this first novel he describes the world of his childhood in Harlem, NY. It is American identity, history, and passion, it´s a portrait of a young man as well of the wounds of slavery hurting in every individual born into the American system. And it’s a beautiful story.

Faces at the Bottom of the Well is the book that created Critical Race Theory. It lays out the central problem of Critical Race Theory: how does racism consistently defeat law? For example, in 1954 Brown v. the Board of Education held that segregated schools are unlawful. Yet, sixty-nine years later, US schools, housing, and employment all remain segregated. This is the book that inspired every other critical race theory scholar.

Crouch (1945-2020) was many things: jazz drummer, poet, philosopher, novelist, biographer, critic. In that last role he was, as the publisher’s notes to this indispensable book of essays on jazz and related matters puts it, “the perennial bull in the china shop of African-American intelligentsia.” Crouch relished controversy — he hated fusion, the popular blend of jazz and rock that came along in the 1970s; he abhorred rap; he even had unkind words to say about Toni Morrison’s Beloved. He was passionately contrarian on racial matters, refusing to hew to any politically correct line. He detested simplistic thinking in any form. Calling Bird, Clint Eastwood’s widely praised 1988 biopic of Charlie Parker “very bad,” Crouch wrote of the “stack of glowing reviews… that reveal the extent to which many who would be sympathetic to Negroes are prone to an unintentional, liberal racism. That racism reduces the complexities of… show more.

These days, the word fascist is pretty quickly pulled out as a handy insult. Orwell warned even back in the 1940s that the term was used so much that it was becoming meaningless. But when I listen to some of the race-obsessed autocratic leaders lurking in today's politics, I’m convinced “fascist” is a tailor-made description rather than an easy epithet.

I love this book because it helped me get past the hesitation with using that word and is, to my mind, the ultimate philosophical dissection of today’s fascism. For philosopher Alberto Toscano and the thinkers he discusses, fascism is a process at the heart of capitalism itself, "a dynamic that [even] precedes its naming."

His book describes the many aspects of fascism from well beyond Europe in the early twentieth century. If we look around, we can see the percolations of this process producing and reproducing "the racial fantasy of… show more.

I remember reading Wilson’s play for the first time as a grad student, not long after I’d been a street musician in Harlem working with a brilliant, irascible old bluesman from Mississippi, and thinking “I know these guys.”

Wilson, the greatest American blues playwright (and one of the greatest American dramatists period), has an uncanny ear for the jibing, jiving, wisdom-declaiming back-and-forth that fills the conversational space between four southern-born musicians who find themselves in a Chicago recording studio one day in 1927, getting ready to back up their boss, Ma Rainey.

Toledo, elder and griot, the keeper of ancestral wisdom, butts heads with Levee, the hotheaded young innovator who bears, and brandishes, deep wounds inflicted by white southern violence. The play’s denouement is hurtful, shattering, unforgettable.  

Shirley Jackson’s debut novel traces the goings-on within Pepper Street, an early- to mid-twentieth-century California suburb.

Consisting mainly of banal domestic interactions among the neighborhood’s inhabitants, the novel deftly identifies psychological attacks coded into propriety. The adult characters impose their attitudes of racism, classism, and paranoia onto their children, fueling the climactic party scene’s inevitable, violent revelation.

The novel is surprisingly slim given the Dickensian size of its ensemble. Every scene crackles with thematic purpose and narrative tension. Though not a horror book in the traditional sense, it still contains all the menace and suspense of Jackson’s later Gothic fiction, showcasing what would become her career-long fixation on human evil.