Gasoline Books Newsletter #3
Books to Celebrate Black History Month
Let me tell you about the book that changed my worldview. An avid reader of The Atlantic, I’ve long admired the writers whose work appeared in the pages. Back in 2015, I was intrigued by what was taking the literary world by storm: a skinny, non-fiction work by one of The Atlantic’s finest, Ta-Nehisi Coates. It was called “Between the World and Me” and about growing up in Baltimore. I grew up in Baltimore. I wondered if we had traveled in the same private school circles or if he had funny John Waters encounters to share. I bought the book and hunkered down for a fresh take on crab cakes, crime, and Mid-Atlantic curmudgeonry. L O L. Y’all, I couldn’t have been more wrong if I had substituted sugar for salt fixing dinner.
By estimation, Coates grew up some 10 miles, and yes, a world away from me. The title grew in relevance as I read the first passage, then the next. And the one after that. In case you haven’t had the opportunity to read this powerhouse of a book, Coates addresses his then 15-year-old son on the heels of the Eric Garner murder.
He details his personal experience growing up in west Baltimore (yeah yeah, like “The Wire”) and the road he traveled to arrive on my — and many others’ — bookshelf. It’s a story of heroism, dedication, and luck. It’s a story of the fabric of a community on which many of Baltimore City’s children are reliant, if they’re fortunate enough to cross paths with such angels. And so much more.
For me, what changed everything, was the details. Of what it meant to live systemic injustice. The fear that crept up a student’s spine as they walked to school. The distraction of finding the next meal from one’s studies. These were not problems I had, nor had ever confronted. This was 10 minutes away from me on I-95. This was not my Baltimore and yet, the Baltimore of so many.
None of this was addressed in my whitewashed education or schools. Baltimore City was a place you went for a nice meal, for prom, to see a concert before promptly returning to the safety of the suburbs. Downtown, you stuck to the main streets and drove carefully through the dimmer intersections. But you never knew — nor did you seek out — what was around the corner.
Even as I got older and ventured to punk shows off the main stretch, I barely saw how everyday folks got by. What life looked like when the odds were purposefully stacked against you. Reading “Between the World and Me” was the first book that opened my eyes and the start of my real education.
The talent of a good journalist — or any skilled artist, really — is to humanize an issue. Coates accomplishes this and then some. He forced me to choke on the silver spoon that’d been resting under my tongue for the thirty years of living I’d racked up at that point. I’m ashamed to admit that it took me that long. But that book shook me from my privileged slumber. I woke the fuck up.
It’s important to clarify that I didn’t reach some final destination. I didn’t climb some ladder to enlightenment or empathy or systemic change, all from one book. But it made me hungry for more. And, the more I learn, the more I realize how much left there is to learn. It’s a constant and crucial process of self-reflection and scrutiny.
Now, I live another world and a whisper over 200 miles away from Memphis, where more injustice is soaking the ground. I don’t have any answers, but I know where to start. Listen. Learn. Action. Repeat.
This and more below.
Book of the Month
Everyone has a weak spot. For me, it tends to really show off with generational tales of strong women. I picked up a copy of Tara M. Stringfellow’s “Memphis” at the Southern Festival of Books here in Nashville over the fall and have been eyeing that baby for the better part of three months before asking it out to dance.
I crumble at the feet of authors who are capable of carrying not one, not two, but THREE (plus some appetizers and sides) storylines, all that intersect, no less. Despite this being her debut novel, Stringfellow ushers in each timeline with ease and precision. Her characters are so firmly drawn, I half expected to encounter them on my front porch when I left the house. Stringfellow is the latest in a line of authors celebrating the beauty, resilience and strength that Black women have embodied for ages — we need more of these stories.
Enough navel gazing. “Memphis” follows the North women through decades and generations as they confront sweeping injustices and quiet outrages. We watch them — young Joan, Miriam, her mother, and Joan’s vibrant aunt, August — as they navigate life’s cruel and uneasy (and unjust) truths. What’s perhaps Stringfellow’s superpower, though, is her ability to make these characters relatable, no matter how foreign their experiences may be.
Most refreshingly, however, this story isn’t all drama and devastation. It is about everyday joy and triumph over the hard stuff. It pays homage to the nourishment provided by a shared meal, a familiar tune playing on a belabored jukebox, a late-night kitchen-table talk. It depicts a full life — not just the highs or the lows. Snuggle into your grandma’s quilt and read this one.
Read If: Your family group chat is out of control, in the best way possible.
Monthly Reading List
As mentioned, this is not an exhaustive list of work by Black writers. There’s so much more to read, to learn from, and to enjoy. But, this is a start.
“The Love Songs of W.E.B. Dubois” - Honorée Fanonne Jeffers
“Harlem Shuffle” - Colson Whitehead
“I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings” - Maya Angelou
“The Bluest Eye” - Toni Morrison
“How the Word Is Passed: A Reckoning With the History of Slavery Across America” - Clint Smith
“Men We Reaped” - Jessamyn Stanley
“In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens: Womanist Prose” - Alice Walker
“Real Life” - Brandon Taylor
“Black Country Music: Listening for Revolutions” - Francesca T. Royster
“My Soul Looks Back” - Jessica B. Harris
“Homie” - Danez Smith
“The Other Black Girl” - Zakiya Dalila Harris
“Go Tell It on the Mountain” - James Baldwin
“Black Buck” - Mateo Askaripour
“Wow, No Thank You” - Samantha Irby