The Best Book I Read This Month: The Story of Jane by Laura Kaplan

I struggled with my choice for best book this month. I read a fantastic dark fairy tale by Eowyn Ivey (Black Woods, Blue Sky) that fit the bill. But I also read a compelling work of nonfiction, and ultimately that is the one I have chosen. Laura Kaplan’s The Story of Jane: The Legendary Underground Feminist Abortion Service does exactly what its title suggests: it tells the story of Chicago’s Jane Collective from its founding in 1969 to its closure in 1973 in the wake of the Roe v. Wade decision.

Because what Jane did was illegal, its organizers made a point of not creating or leaving written records. So Kaplan’s book is based on oral history (interviews) and her own experiences. (Kaplan volunteered with Jane.)

It was a timely read, with reproductive rights being rolled back and the growth of pro-democracy grassroots organizing in the United States. In addition to telling a compelling story about people who were both sympathetic and frustrating, The Story of Jane provides examples and lessons that serve both causes—lessons about leadership, recruitment, and organization, but also about intention, community, and allyship across socioeconomic and racial lines and, most of all, about what success might look like in an underground resistance movement.

The Best Book I Read This Month: Agrippina by Emma Southon

I waffled about my choice for the best book I read this month. I couldn’t decide between the science fiction that made me cry (The Martian Contingency by Mary Robinette Kowal) or the history that ruffled my book club’s feathers (Agrippina by Emma Southon). Ultimately, I chose the latter.

The full title of Southon’s book is Agrippina: The Most Extraordinary Woman of the Roman World. Agrippina was the granddaughter of Rome’s first emperor (Augustus), the sister of an emperor (Caligula), the niece—and wife—of an emperor (Claudius), and the mother of an emperor (Nero). Every member of her immediate family predeceased her. For a time, she ruled the Roman Empire behind the scenes. All of this in a time and place in which women were expected to be invisible—not seen and definitely not heard. The label extraordinary fits.

Southon begins her biography with a historiographical note that won me over very quickly. Southon’s writing has personality. Like other historians of ancient Rome, she addressed the issues of the sources from the time (namely, their unreliability), but she did it with humor. Case in point: she described Suetonius’s writings as an “off-brand badly-cited wiki page.” History with humor? I’m in!

The humor continued through the biography. Southon’s tone had an irreverence to it and an earthiness. My book club was bothered by that. More than one member was bothered by Southon’s use of colorful language and discussion of sex in Rome, calling it vulgar and unnecessary. Clearly, they preferred a more serious approach.

My book club also took issue with the frequency of assumptions and inferences in Southon’s account. I’m not sure they realized or accepted that Southon had to read and work between the lines because of the dearth of sources from the time period. Women were just not written about, unless and until they did something scandalous. That did not bother me, and I appreciated Southon being honest and upfront about when she was assuming or inferring something, as well explaining why she drew the conclusions she did.

As a reader and a history nerd, I found the book enjoyable and satisfying.

The Best Book I Read This Month: How Fascism Works by Jason Stanley

The best book I read this month is the second book that I think is essential for understanding what is happening in the United States right now. (Wild Faith by Talia Lavin is the first.) Jason Stanley’s How Fascism Works explains, in plain language, the ten components of fascism. He cites historical examples and explains how each component manipulates the public to ensure support for, or at least a lack of resistance to, the fascist agenda.

Originally written early in Trump’s first administration, the edition I read was updated to include the COVID pandemic. And it’s all there: everything Trump tried to do the first time around and everything that he and his fellow kleptocrats are doing now to destroy American democracy. Stanley provides clear explanations for the methods and purposes of these actions, as well as their precedents in history. It’s chilling.

It’s no coincidence that Stanley and Timothy Snyder, two American experts in fascism, have left the country. (Both have accepted positions at the University of Toronto.) Their work threatens Trump’s power by exposing his goals and methods—and criticizing them in defense of democracy. Push comes to shove, I may delete this review too at some point. The emperor does not like being told he’s not wearing any clothes.

The Best Book I Read This Month: Wild Faith by Talia Levin

The best book I read this month was perhaps not the best choice to read before this year’s presidential election, as it ramped up my election anxiety exponentially. Having said, that, the book is definitely worth reading. Talia Lavin’s Wild Faith: How the Christian Right Is Taking Over America recounts the rise of Christian nationalism in the United States and the movement’s efforts to reshape the nation, its government, and its society in their image. It is eye-opening and terrifying and enraging.

At this point, I don’t have more words than that. I’m still digesting what I read. But it left me with an even stronger conviction that the Christian right—Christian nationalists, Christian fascists—are the greatest danger this country faces in our lifetime.

But don’t take my word for it. Read Wild Faith. Lavin lays it all out very clearly.

The Best Book I Read This Month: A Fever in the Heartland by Timothy Egan

The best book I read this month was a disturbing account of the Ku Klux Klan in Indiana in the 1920s. A Fever in the Heartland by Timothy Egan charts the rise and spread of the KKK in the early 20th century, focusing on D. C. Stephenson and his control of the KKK and Indiana.

It was a harrowing read. Egan did not sugarcoat the Klan’s hate and violence, or D. C. Stephenson’s. At times, it was hard to stomach. Stephenson had all the markings of a sadist, and in many ways, reminded me of a certain Republican former president/current presidential candidate. (I refuse to use his name.) Both made a practice of not paying their debts. Both had unquenchable thirst for power. Both had a history of sexual violence and sexual assault. Both avoided consequences for their crimes until a woman called them to account.

Egan’s tale is not just about D. C. Stephenson. It’s about those who tried to stop him and the young woman who eventually did: Madge Oberholtzer. Madge was educated, independent, strong—everything we imagine a young woman of the 1920s to be. To her, Stephenson was a path to a career. To Stephenson, she was a conquest waiting to happen. Stephenson ultimately took what he wanted, but unlike his other victims, Oberholtzer fought back in a dramatic and public way.
As difficult as this was to read in places, it also gave me hope. D. C. Stephenson was a monster but his reign of terror finally ended and he finally faced legal consequences (conviction and prison) for his actions. That gives me hope that our current monster will also finally face legal consequences for his actions. As of this writing, he’s been convicted in New York but has not yet been sentenced. He is also awaiting trial in Florida and Georgia. Maybe, maybe, maybe he too will end up behind bars, where he belongs.