Category: True Story

In Good Talk, Mira Jacob describes how her son asked her why his Jewish paternal grandparents would vote for Trump, a man who hated immigrants like Mira and her parents. This question launches her into even more questions that she’s not quite sure how to answer. She works through these conversations in Good Talk, illustrating them on the page and giving readers a fuller picture. I read this graphic memoir while waiting for a delayed flight at the airport. I felt consumed and barely even noticed spending the extra four hours surrounded by disgruntled passengers.

Roz Chast’s parents have lived in the same apartment for decades. As her parents age, she begins to think through how she will care for them when they get older and how she wants to spend as much time with them as possible. But her parents want to have nothing to do with any of these conversations. With her classic sense of humor, Chast captures the ridiculous moments of a very difficult time in her life. This graphic memoir is so good; no wonder it was a finalist for the National Book Award.

I had never read Annie Dillard before, so I thought this short book of essays would be a great place to start. Dillard possesses the ability to capture ideas in such beautiful ways. She’ll start talking about forming sentences and how long she feels that it takes, and I find myself completely engrossed with how she spent her afternoon. She has a lot to say about the craft of writing, how much of it is all about mindset, setting aside time for writing, and coming to writing for the long haul. If you love books about writers and writing, then you will absolutely love this book.

When Julia Lee was in high school, she witnessed the riots in L.A. Her parents owned a business in the predominantly Black neighborhood. After the white police officers were acquitted of the beating of Rodney King, Lee realized that even though she wasn’t white, she still possessed a type of racial privilege. This experience informs her interest in examining race in literature. Her parents are also working-class immigrants, and Lee didn’t grow up with much, but she ends up attending an Ivy League school, where her working-class background has never been more apparent to her. Biting the Hand is an intersectional look at Lee’s experience growing up and living as an Asian American woman in the United States. Each essay takes on the topic from a different angle as Lee examines her experience as a multi-marginalized person who, at the same time, holds a lot of privilege in different areas of her life.

Black Folk Could Fly is a posthumous collection of nonfiction works from throughout Randall Kenan’s career. In it, he writes about his childhood in rural North Carolina, his move to New York City to work on his writing career, and his travels around the country to interview Black people about their experiences. Kenan was always pondering, “What does it mean to be Black in America today?” Through his writing, we can see the progression of his thought process as he mulls over this question and reads other Black writers on the topic.

We are now in a golden age of myth retellings. Everyone and their mother’s brother has been trying their hands at these myth-inspired tales, but few authors are as good as Natalie Haynes. While Haynes is more known for her fiction, Divine Might is nonfiction, with each chapter examining different goddesses and their stories. Haynes’ holistic way of viewing these goddesses invites readers to reexamine their own assumptions about these divine figures.

Year of the Tiger was, hands down, one of my favorite books of 2022. In the disability community, Alice Wong is a legend. She’s such a strong advocate for disability justice, and her memoir is a gift. She shares stories from her life, excerpts from articles she’s written for various publications, and transcripts of interviews she conducted in the last several years. I really appreciated her multimedia approach to her memoir, which gives it a unique feel, like snapshots from her life.

Disability advocate and technology professor Ashley Shew examines the idea of “technoableism,” which is “the belief in the power of technology that considers the elimination of disability a good thing, something we should strive for.” As a disabled person myself, I really appreciated Shew’s frank discussion of the ways that society often forces technology on disabled people in order to “cure” us, whether we like it or not. Shew discusses the way amputees are encouraged to get prosthetics, even if they aren’t the best fit for that person’s situation. She describes how autistic and other kinds of neurodivergent people are pushed to try to behave as “normal” as possible. And she highlights how technology can actually be incredibly helpful for disabled people when they are directing their own futures.

Stacy Jane Grover grew up in Southeastern Ohio, not really viewing herself as Appalachian. But as she moved through the world —transitioning as a teen, falling in and out of love, and trying to find a career— she slowly began engaging with the idea. Grover illustrates a way of being that we don’t often read in literature. Much of trans history focuses on urban centers, but Grover tells a different story of growing up with her family having a different understanding of who she was. Her grandfather just called her “shy,” which in her region of Appalachia just meant a sort of difference that was accepted, if not understood.

Lamya H figured out she was gay as a teenager in a Muslim school while living in a country in the Middle East. When she moved to America for university, she began to slowly come to terms with her sexuality and what that might mean for her life as a Muslim person. However, she constantly ran into non-Muslim people who told her she couldn’t be Muslim AND queer. That’s not how it worked. Lamya disagreed, finding her own way of being as a queer Muslim. Lamya structures her memoir around different figures from the Qur’an, weaving together figures from her faith with her own story.

Winner of the IACP 2019 First Book Award presented by The Julia Child Foundation, Bottom of the Pot celebrates Persian cooking, highlighting the incredible wealth of flavors of this cuisine. Naz Deravian is a home cook based in L.A., and she shares recipes from her childhood and her takes on Persian classics. When she was just a girl, Deravian and her family fled Iran during the height of the revolution. Food has been a way that Deravian and her family have stayed connected to their culture. I loved these recipes, photos, and little snippets that Deravian shares about her past, connecting moments in her life with her recipes.

Victuals, winner of a James Beard Award, is one of my newest cookbook acquisitions, and I fell in love with it from the moment I saw it. In the last several years, Southern Appalachian cooking has been making its mark on the literary world. Ronni Lundy looks at traditional, heritage recipes from Appalachia, celebrating simple ingredients like beans and greens. The photos by Johnny Autry are gorgeous, taking me back to summers watching my grandparents eat salted tomato slices while relaxing on the back porch of their cabin.

Earlier this year, I listened to the audio edition of Imani Perry’s essay, A Dangerously High Threshold for Pain. You may know Perry from her National Book Award-winning book South to America, which was my favorite book of the year when it came out. In this essay, Perry writes about her experiences living with chronic illness and the pressure she feels to be excellent in all things. But the truth is, she can’t do everything. Eventually, Imani is diagnosed with Lupus and Graves Disease, and her doctor warns her that her dangerously high threshold for pain often results in her ignoring her body’s need for rest. Perry narrates the audio version, and her performance has stayed with me since I first heard it.

Sometimes, the very concept of a book catches my eye, and I have to read it ASAP. That’s what happened with Wolfish, a book where Erica Berry delves into societal ideas around wolves. What do wolves symbolize to human civilization? How has that perception impacted society today? These are just a couple of the big questions that Berry examines. Lessa Lamb deftly performs the audio edition, making the listening experience fly by, even in sections that I imagine might be a little dry to read in print. I loved every second of Lamb’s performance.

Opinions collects the work of Roxane Gay, and includes celebrity profiles, advice columns, cultural criticism, and opinion pieces. I have enjoyed Gay’s writing since I first read her essay collection Bad Feminist. But it can be hard to keep up with all of her pieces that have been published in different outlets over a decade. But now, the best of her published writing from across the internet is all in one place! She interviews artists like Janelle Monáe, and writes about the legacy of Chadwick Boseman’s portrayal of Black Panther. She strikes a beautiful balance of vulnerability and relatability, writing essays that have just the right amount of personal touch. This collection is perfect for stolen moments at holiday parties or family dinners.

Somehow, The Creative Act was never on my radar until Read Spotted Newt bookstore owner Mandi Fugate Sheffel told me that it was one of her favorite books of 2023. (You can listen to her other picks on the latest episode of Read Appalachia.) She explained how, as someone who is working on her own memoir (due out of University Press of Kentucky in ‘25), Rubin’s book made her rethink how she viewed creativity and what it looks like in people’s lives. Of course, I immediately went and bought a copy. It’s a beautiful meditation on the creative life, and the chapters are divided in a way that makes it perfect for readers to sit and muse over in those quiet moments between holiday activities.

Raechel Anne Jolie grew up as a working-class kid on the outskirts of Cleveland. When she was just a girl, her father was hit by a drunk driver, which ended their way of life forever. From there, her childhood was spent moving from home to home, never seeming to stay for long. She finds the alt scene downtown and begins to discover a whole new world that she feels irrevocably drawn to. This tiny memoir is a shining testament to a love of working-class people, the Midwest, and queer culture.

Brian Broome couldn’t wait to leave northeast Ohio. He spent his childhood as a queer, Black kid, never fitting in. But no matter where he moved, he still faced racism and homophobia. He describes how he coped with sex and drugs, always trying to forget the trauma he’s experienced while searching for belonging. Broome’s prose is incredible; every word is there for a reason. His memoir is full of heart and a deep sense of longing.

Michelle Obama is back with a second book. The Light We Carry is a collection of essays that each expands on her ideas around standing her ground and going high when they go low. She also shares about her family’s experience weathering the pandemic. Her essays are kind, supportive, and encouraging while firmly making her points. I highly recommend listening to the audiobook, which Obama reads herself. Listening to the audiobook feels like you’re sitting down with her for a cup of coffee while she shares encouraging anecdotes from her own life. So, if you’ve had a rough year (haven’t we all), then this is a perfect holiday gift for yourself.

Hands down, Hannah Gadsby’s Ten Steps to Nanette is one of my favorite memoirs. In it, Gadsby shares what it was like to grow up as a queer, autistic kid in Tasmania, Australia. Gadsby is well-known for her comedy special Nanette, which you can still watch on Netflix. Her memoir expands on the ideas in Nanette and gives us a closer look into how Gadbsy’s life led to her creating this incredible one-woman show. The audiobook is out of this world. It’s hilarious and heartbreaking all in one book.