10 Books Every (Informed) American Should Read
Author Isaac Asimov once said, "There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there has always been.
The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge." In 2019, the equivalency of knowledge and power is not just an adage, but a warning. However, an American public that stays defiantly informed can also turn knowledge into hope.
Here are 10 books every (informed) American should read:
Travels with Charley: In Search of America by John Steinbeck
If you don't read the Steinbeck classics, The Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men, you're doing yourself a disservice. But, if there's only one Steinbeck book you do make time for, make sure it's his autobiographical travel memoir of taking his lumbering RV and charismatic dog across America. He makes due with whatever conversation and company he finds, not driven by any great American ambition other than finding moments of connection in a diverse landscape.
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
One of America's most loved authors, Heller's humor and biting observations capture the precarity of individualism in the face of war. The foundations of American cynicism and anti-war sentiment are encapsulated in the eponymous bureaucratic rule of Catch-22: "a man is considered insane if he willingly continues to fly dangerous combat missions, but if he makes a formal request to be removed from duty, he is proven sane and therefore ineligible to be relieved."
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
As much as the movie adaptations of Frankenstein's monster are icons in America cinema, the philosophical depths of the novel are sadly lost. Individuality and personal responsibility are two major burdens that neither creator nor creation are capable of managing well. There's also something to be said about the element of spectatorship that Shelley frames the novel with, as the story unfolds through a series of letters and switches narration like a mind-bending Black Mirror episode.
Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates
Coates manages to capture both the history and enduring tension of race relations in modern America in what Toni Morrison calls "required reading." Written as a letter to his son, Coates' writing is an alchemy of memoir, oral history, and calls to action. He aims to explore how "Americans have built an empire on the idea of 'Rae,' a falsehood that damages us all but falls most heavily on the bodies of black women and men...What is it like to inhabit a black body and find a way to live in it?"
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams
This classic fantasy adventure isn't a political science essay or a philosophical treatise, but the payoff is just as strong–if not stronger. Alienation, otherness, nihilism, and, above all, personal resilience take Arthur Dent through the galaxy after his home (along with the rest of earth) is destroyed one casual morning.
Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card
In the same vein, this sci-fi novel is like Machiavelli's The Prince retold as a dystopian space saga. The value of individual innocence in the face of the greater good is challenged. The series explores the moral boundaries of powerful men using innocents as weapons in a war they can't understand.
Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay
Gray's book of essays explores the contradictions inherent in what we understand modern "feminism" to mean. Mixing humor with sharp observation, Gay targets issues as banal as choosing pink as her favorite color as well as timelessly complex matters such as domestic abuse and abortion.
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
This one also gets named on every list of "books you need to read" because of its plain and eerie predictions of how dependent society will become on media for its opinions and worldview, as well as entertainment.
The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
If you can't read the entire canons of solipsism, emotional psychology, and the art of satire, you can absorb the whimsical explorations of The Little Prince. Put simply, a boy prince journeys from planet to planet, each populated by a single adult. His conversations with each one create "a heartfelt exposition of sadness and solitude." Originally written in French, it's universally poetic.
1984 by George Orwell
Knowing the references isn't enough with this classic; again, you have to read it for yourself in order to see dystopian America in your mind's eye. From the cognitive dissonance of war crimes to the contradictions of government propaganda, you need to come to your own conclusions about what an Orwellian future looks like.
Oh yeah....I AM Black
I was 24 when Trayvon's young life was taken from him. I didn't grasp the magnitude of the situation when it happened. Not because I didn't have sympathy for a life being lost, but because I didn't understand why so much emphasis was put on race. To me, Zimmerman was just another trigger happy hick with emotional issues. Plus, I had grown weary of my people automatically dubbing something as racist when the offender wasn't a minority. I wasn't that naive that I believed racism didn't still exist. I also didn't think that it would still be so obvious in 2012. I, too, rocked gently to sleep by the lullaby "Yes, We Can!" As more and more cases like Trayvon dominated the media, I started to run out of excuses as to why these killings weren't an offshoot of racist behavior.
I could understand one or two every few years, but it was almost everyday I was hearing that a brother without any weapon was killed by a cop. I couldn't say that it was specific to one area either. These killings were happening in different parts of the country. Now at 30, I'm more aware that the scales of justice rarely tip in the favor of people who share the same skin color as myself. That coded language used to describe people of color is no longer encrypted. I find this sort of tension in my body whenever I'm in the presence of law enforcement even though I'm not doing anything illegal. I think about my contrasting mind state from the time when Trayvon was killed compared to now, and I ask myself "Why was I so disconnected from my blackness?"
At a certain age, I felt that being thought of as a Black person first and foremost was very limiting. The fact that I was black was obvious, but I did not feel it needed to be my primary identity. In my mind, I felt being connected to my blackness meant that I went around introducing myself like "Hi, I'm Dwayne! I'm Black! A pleasure to meet you!" My family is Black and we lived in a Black neighborhood. I enjoyed "Black" things like Hip-Hop music, soul food, and basketball. I had Black teachers all the way up until high school. In elementary school, they made us read poems by Langston Hughes and books by Lorraine Hansberry. During Black History Month, the students put on performances for the whole school. My "Black Card" had been validated a long time ago in mine eyes.
Fast Forward to Cardinal Spellman High School and suddenly I'm exposed to different cultures on a broader level. I'd been around black people my whole life, so I became fascinated with the idea of interacting with students from other ethnicities. I developed friendships and relationships with people from other races that I've maintained to this day. I still managed to fit in with the black students to an extent because I was the designated rapper, but not as much as I would've liked. Our common interests weren't in abundance. They were into the latest Jordans, 106 & Park, and going to the movies at Bay Plaza. I was into The Simpsons, Linkin Park, and perfecting the concept of being the Emo kid from the hood. I wasn't a jock, a troublemaker, class clown, or a Straight-A student. I was just Dwayne, an individual, not just another Black kid.
Unbeknown to me, I've experienced racism and racial profiling as an adult on various occasions. I say "unbeknown" because at the time I didn't think of it as such. I've been stopped by a police officer, frisked, and asked if I was on probation or parole. I remember visiting a friend who lived in a predominantly white neighborhood. I was stopped by a patrol car because according to them, one of the residents said there was a man in a hoodie that looked "suspicious" (There goes that word, again). I would visit my white friends and have dinner with their families. They were warm, inviting, and treated me like one of their children. Later, I would discover that they would use racial slurs towards Black people in casual conversation among each other. These slurs weren't directed towards me in particular, but the "bad ones." I was one of the "good ones."
I didn't get what made me so "different" in their eyes. Was it because I had gone to parochial school for a great portion of my upbringing? Was it because I was great at articulating myself? Was it the fact that I could speak Italian? I felt I was privileged being able to be in places that a lot of black people weren't. To me, I felt I had transcended race and I was being judged by the content of my character not the color of my skin. I was Dr. King's dream personified. I had encountered people who loved Black culture, but for some reason didn't love Black people the same way. I went from feeling like a king to a jester.
There will never be a time in this country when race and color won't be a factor. It's a sad reality that we don't want to embrace, but an honest one nonetheless. As a youth, I held firmly to this concept of being an individual first and a skin color second. I was conditioned to think that the darkness of your skin was not a restriction on your ability to succeed. Though that may not have been one hundred percent the case for me, it does not mean that it hasn't the case for others. Trayvon Martin would've turned 23 February third of this year. Racial profiling and devilish acts are reasons why he wasn't here to celebrate it. His story is another reminder of America's continuous misunderstanding and mistreatment of its people of color.
I no longer feel that being recognized as an African American man first is an attempt at marginalization. I cherish my blackness more than I've ever had before. I'm still an individual, but I am an individual that shares the plight of others who look just like me. We are far removed from slavery and Jim Crow in regards to time. However, the lingering effects are hovering over our nation like one big divisive black cloud. My experiences have led me to a sobering revelation. That revelation is that you may forget what you undoubtedly are, but there will be people and situations for better or worse that will remind you.
