This book is clearly a labor of love, as are all the books in this series. The task of summarizing all of American history down to fewer than 300 pages is, in itself, a phenomenal accomplishment. Berry and Gross manage it by pinning each chapter to a specific Black woman’s life and experiences. Those experiences then serve as a jumping-off point for a more detailed examination of a given period in American history. Notably, the women who give their names to each chapter aren’t famous. Though some of them achieved fame in their lifetimes, they aren’t household names, and it’s clear this is a deliberate choice by the authors. These women typified, in some way, the lives that Black American women lived in the era under consideration, and the authors are lifting up their names as a reminder of the central role that Black women have always played in our country’s history, culture, and imagination.

Nor do the authors limit themselves to straight, cis, able-bodied women. Part of the project of this book is exploring the multiplicity of intersecting identities fall under the umbrella of Black womanhood. One chapter begins with the story of Millie and Christine McKoy, conjoined Black twins born to enslaved parents in 1851. Though the McKoy twins were duly emancipated in 1865, they spent years of their lives under the control and influence of various showmen, or were offered up for examination by pruriently inquisitive doctors. (The authors use the term “differently abled” in this section, a term which many disabled activists dislike.) Another chapter details the story of Frances Thompson, a trans or intersex Black woman who fought for her personhood in the aftermath of the Memphis Riots.

I in fact got quite emotional about the fact that every chapter bears the name of an unfamous Black woman. The central philosophy of this book is to say the names of the Black women whose lives typified America’s development as a nation. I was particularly struck by the story of the enslaved woman, Maria, who was captured by Francis Drake’s crew. She was raped or gang-raped and abandoned on an island, pregnant, along with two other Black men. After that, she disappears from history. A Black Women’s History is at heart a reclamation project, a reminder that while history chose not to value these women, their names are remembered.

All of this has sounded quite sad, so let me say that another thing that inspired and amazed me about this genuinely excellent book is the way the authors keep focus not just on Black women’s struggles but on their successes. Black joy matters as much, in their telling, as Black suffering. Like, I loved this anecdote:

In addition to self-liberation, Black women found ways to express themselves and experience pleasure. In Northern communities like upstate New York, they participated in Pinkster Festivals, where they mocked their enslavers, dressed like Europeans, gave political speeches, told stories, and participated in festivities involving dance, music, and food.

The focus on Black women’s achievements is a central theme of the book. They tell the story of Mary Bowser, an enslaved woman with an eidetic memory who worked in Jefferson Davis’s home and passed on his secrets to Ulysses S. Grant; of Edmonia Lewis, a sculptor who received international acclaim; of Alice Coachman, the first Black woman to win an Olympic gold medal. Black women have faced so many challenges throughout American history that this book might have felt like a slog, but it felt instead like a celebration. I loved it.

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Dunbar-Ortiz and Gilio-Whitaker (my stars they have a lot of name between them) tackle issues ranging from terminology (Indian? Native American? Indigenous?) to broken treaties (too many to count) to casino earnings to indigenous tax breaks. Each section (well, nearly each, but I’ll get into that) lays out the origins of the myth, cites some examples of its function in historical or contemporary discourse, and then explores the reality behind it.

While the structure of the book — each “myth” receives five to ten pages — precludes the authors from going into depth about any one issue, they pack a lot of information into this slim book. The notes section also provides plenty of avenues for further reading, both foundational works by scholars like Vine Deloria Jr. (who even I have heard of) and recent peer-reviewed research. For instance, in the chapter about tribes getting rich from casinos (they mostly don’t), the authors lay out the hard numbers of casino earnings and their impact on average tribe members (on and off reservations).

Occasionally there’s a disconnect between the “myth” as described in the the chapter heading, and the actual content of the chapter. The chapter “Indians Are Anti-Science” touches on indigenous knowledge and scientific racism but devotes the bulk of its time to technological advances made by Indian groups in history. Which is awesome! Yay for agricultural innovation and such! But like — doesn’t really address the question, particularly? I closed out the chapter not sure who was saying Indians were anti-science or on what basis or why it was wrong.

However, even in chapters where that’s the case, All the Real Indians Died Off has tons of good information for readers who are seeking a basic grounding in Indian history, discourse, and activism. Recommended!

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The Golden Mean, Annabel Lyon

I checked this out on Gavin’s recommendation and because I love Alexander the Great. Your claims that he was a psychotic alcoholic have no effect on me because in my mind he is exactly the way Mary Renault writes him in Fire from Heaven and The Persian Boy. The Golden Mean is about Aristotle when he comes to Macedon to tutor young Alexander. Though Lyon was clearly influenced by Mary Renault’s books, she gives a more nuanced picture of Alexander, showing a brilliant but disturbed young man who provides real heads for plays and mutilates the bodies of soldiers he has killed. Lyon uses modern language, with much swearing, and although that could have come across as stilted, it, er, it doesn’t. Hooray. Also, check out Ms. Lyon’s list of ten very good books about the ancient world.

The Magicians and Mrs. Quent, Galen Beckett

Advertised as Jane Austen with magic, The Magicians and Mrs. Quent completely failed to satisfy me. Other reviewers have noted that the book’s three sections are dramatically different in tone, the first being quite Jane Austen and the second quite Turn of the Screwy, and the third more straight fantasy. This bugged me, and I didn’t care for the characters anyway, and the world-building felt lazy. So, not a success. This was for the RIP Challenge.

The Fall of Rome, Martha Southgate

Big yes to this one. I have been wanting to read it for ages, on Eva’s recommendation, and it didn’t disappoint me. Latin teacher Jerome Washington has been the only black faculty member at a Connecticut boarding school for boys throughout most of his career. His ideas about decorum and racial equality are sharply challenged with the arrival of Jana Hensen, a longtime teacher in the Cleveland inner city, and Rashid Bryson, a young black student trying to get away from a family tragedy. Beautiful, complicated racial and family dynamics and lovely writing, multiple narrators, Latin, and a boarding school setting. I wish Martha Southgate had written fifteen more books besides this one, instead of only two. Behold this quotation, which I think is great:

“Racial integration?” He nodded. “What about it?”

“Well, I’m not against it, obviously, or I wouldn’t be here, right? But there’s some problems with it that I just want to talk to people about. How this place isn’t really integrated enough. We – I mean people like me – are just here to round out somebody else’s experience. That’s what it feels like, anyway.”

American Furies: Crime, Punishment, and the American Prison System, Sasha Abramsky

The American prison system is awful. It’s just awful in every way, what with the insanely punitive mandatory minimum sentences, and the poorly-trained guards, and the lack of care for the mentally ill, and the shortage of educational programs, and the–look, just everything. It’s awful. Sasha Abramsky is a careful, clear writer, and I defy you to read this book and not feel furious at the end of it.

Watchmen, Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons

Alan Moore is just not for me. When I read his books, I think of how much in sympathy I am with his views, and how important a writer of graphic novels he is, but I do not think, Wow, this is an enjoyable read. I more think, Wow, this is rather a slog. Wish I could be reading something more awesome. Now and then an image or a plot element will catch my eye and please me greatly, but these never last long enough to make my reading truly enjoyable. I also found the conclusion deeply unsatisfying: just a big info-dump of cackling villainy. I was fascinated, as I always am, with the way the 1980s seem to have been predicated on the assumption that nuclear war with Russia was imminent. And then the Berlin Wall came down! Miraculous! This was for the Graphic Novels Challenge, which I have already been awesome at this year but I cannot stop being awesome at it because graphic novels are worthwhile! Even when they are not my particular cup of tea.

Glimpses, Lynn Flewelling

Glimpses is a collection of Nightrunner short stories, with lots of fan art. It was sent to me as an e-book by Reece Notley of Three Crow Press, for which much thanks. These are stories that fill in the gaps in Seregil’s and Alec’s history: how Seregil came to be Nysander’s student, a small glimpse of Alec’s life with his father, and like that. If you are a fan of the Nightrunner series, and do not mind lots of graphic sex (I admit I can be slightly squeamish this way), you should check this out. To me, the nosy girl who wants to know exactly how everything went down, this short story collection is an excellent addition to the Nightrunner world. Lynn Flewelling has a light, amusing way of writing, and I always enjoy spending time with her characters. But if you are a stranger to the series, do yourself a favor and read Luck in the Shadows and Stalking Darkness first.

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