my website, but there are three that deserve to be mentioned here. The Hemingses of Monticello, by genius historian Annette Gordon-Reed, explores the generations of the Hemings family held in slavery by Thomas Jefferson. Complicity; How the North Promoted, Prolonged, and Profited from Slavery, written by three journalists from The Hartford Courant, details how businesses and citizens in the North continued to profit from slavery long after it had been banned in their own states. And finally, Patriots of Color; African Americans and Native Americans at Battle Road and Bunker Hill, by George Quintal Jr., which details the lives of the more than one hundred patriots of color who fought in those important early battles of the American Revolution. Groundbreaking primary source research like Quintal’s made all the difference in my writing of Chains, Forge, and Ashes.
When reading for fun these days, I usually turn to the fantastical, books written by authors like Neil Gaiman, N. K. Jamison, and David Mitchell, or mysteries like those written by Louise Penny. Much of the historical fiction I read leaves me frustrated, but that is likely because Jo Baker’s Longbourn, a brilliant retelling of Pride and Prejudice from the servants’ point of view, was such a remarkable story that anything of lesser quality leaves a bad taste in my mouth. If you haven’t read Longbourn yet, stop what you are doing right now and hunt down a copy.
There is one book that I have continued to read every few years since sixth grade: Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott. It’s a wonderful story, of course, but my reasons for loving it go beyond the literary and back to my father. After I read it for the first time, he asked me which of the March sisters I thought that I most resembled. I told him that I wanted to be like Beth, because she was kind and good, but I was afraid that I was most like Jo, the impatient, blundering tomboy who became a writer.
“Jo is my favorite character in the book,” Dad said with a big grin. “And you’re right. You are exactly like her.” And then he hugged me and kissed the top of my head.
Books are not just my friends. Some of them have become family, too.
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