When it gets dark out so early these days, it feels like it’s later than it is. There’s one upside to that: more time to curl up on the couch and read a good book. To help you find books worthy of reading, we’ve asked Tufts faculty and staff to offer their suggestions.

As always, the choices are wide ranging, including sci-fi, historical fiction, magical sagas, mysteries, literary fiction, short stories, and more. In nonfiction, we have an array of suggestions, too: memoirs, science of all sorts, politics, history, food, and art.

Prize-winners are here, too—two Pulitzers and one International Booker—plus a bonus reminder of this year’s Booker Prize winner, Orbital by Samantha Harvey, and Pulitzer Prize for biography winner, Master Slave Husband Wife: An Epic Journey from Slavery to Freedom by Ilyon Woo, both reviewed in the Summer Book Recommendations 2024.

Be sure to also check out the recommendations from a lively group of Tufts authors—faculty and alumni—in our Bookish series, as they chat about their own books, the ones they are reading, and the ones they keep going back to.

Dive in and enjoy. And for faculty, staff, and students, don’t forget that many of these books are available at the Tufts libraries.

If you have book recommendations to add to the list, write to us at now@tufts.edu, and we’ll post an update.

FICTION

 All Systems Red, by Martha Wells. The first book in the seven-book Murderbot series, All Systems Red opens with a scene of an android security guard who, having hacked its governor module, is rescuing its human employers from an alien attack on a strange planet. The book is largely a conventional science fiction adventure involving planetary exploration, spaceships, and corporate rivalry; the hook is that the murderbot has gained free will. If you were a robot with highly developed expertise in violence, what would you want to do? Wells writes from the point of view of the murderbot, complete with inner monologue, so we learn that the murderbot finds the fleshy, squishy character of humans disgusting. Its role is “to keep things from attacking the clients and try to gently discourage the clients from attacking each other.” It would rather switch to standby and watch episodes of a space crime drama called “The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon.” The murderbot’s cynical humor is funny, but it also serves as a fresh critique of humanity, a view that lets us question how our human emotions influence how we behave. I enjoyed the sci-fi story, but the take of a sardonic android is what really stuck with me. —Brandon Stafford, manager, Nolop FAST Facility

Beautyland, by Marie-Helene Bertino. Had I known this novel was about a human-passing alien sent to gather intel for her homeland, I would have selected something else. It would have been my loss. This poignant and peculiar coming of age story follows young Adina as she tries to make sense of the world—primarily Philadelphia and New York, beginning in the late 70s. As she does, Adina is both outsider—she doesn’t quite fit in—and insider: She was born to a human and knows no other home. Her observations, which she transmits to her interstellar supervisors via fax machine, are so perceptive and entertaining that they eventually find a cult following on Twitter. But it is Adina’s openness and desire to be seen that make this unassuming book so memorable. —Sarah Sobieraj, professor of sociology, School of Arts and Sciences

A Delicate Marriage, by Margarita Barresi. After hearing Margarita Barresi speak at an Osher Lunch and Learn talk, I found myself interested in the history of Puerto Rico and its complex relationship with the United States. In my high school history classes, Puerto Rico was only mentioned in passing. I never really understood the nuances of the political and cultural marriage between the island and the States. That all changed when I read A Delicate Marriage. This historical fiction is set in Puerto Rico from 1930 through the 50s. It not only explores the personal dynamics between its two main characters, Isabela and Marco, but also draws a parallel to the evolving, often tense, relationship between Puerto Rico and the United States. Barresi paints a beautiful picture of the island and makes you fall in love with the characters and the setting. In many ways, A Delicate Marriage is a love story and a history lesson rolled into one—highly recommended. —Kathy Scanlon, Program Administrator, Osher Lifelong Learning Institute, University College

The Emperor’s Soul, by Brandon Sanderson. Even though I teach the first-year engineering course Sci-Fi Bioengineering, I find myself drawn to fantasy for cozy, long winter reads. Brandon Sanderson’s Cosmere books are a particular joy. The Cosmere is a shared universe created by Sanderson, encompassing many of his novels and series, each of which is a standalone story with its own characters, world, and plot. However, the more you read, the more you’ll uncover the almost scientific logic behind his magical systems, as well as hidden connections, subplots, and crossover characters that are truly delightful. If you’ve never read Sanderson before, a great starting point is his novella, The Emperor’s Soul. The story follows Shai, a master Forger who can rewrite the history of objects by stamping them with carved magical seals. When she is betrayed and imprisoned, Shai is tasked with an impossible and forbidden challenge: to recreate the Emperor’s soul in just 100 days or face execution. The novella delves into themes of art, storytelling, and identity, showing how reimagining key moments—whether in objects or ourselves—can transform motivations and inspire us to become better versions of ourselves. It’s a perfect read for the reflective mood of the new year. —Nisha Iyer, assistant professor, Department of Biomedical Engineering

The Frozen River, by Ariel Lawhon. This novel transports readers to the harsh winter of 1789 in Hallowell, Maine, where the discovery of a frozen body in the Kennebec River sets a compelling mystery in motion. At the heart of the story is Martha Ballard, a real-life midwife whose detailed diary chronicled the births, deaths, and daily life of her community. When the murder investigation intertwines with allegations of the pastor’s wife’s rape, Martha needs to navigate both her regular duties and a quest for justice. Her position becomes more complicated with the arrival of a Harvard-educated physician who challenges her medical authority, while a respected townsman uses his influence to discredit her investigations. Lawhon crafts a rich portrait of early American life, exploring both the limited status of women and the nascent justice system in a time when the Constitution was newly written and the Bill of Rights not yet ratified. Through details drawn from Martha’s real diary—kept thanks to her husband Ephraim teaching her to read and write—we experience the daily realities of 18th-century Maine, from simple weather updates to the intricate social fabric of a small town. Jane Oppenheimer’s audiobook narration brings warmth and distinction to the characters, while the author’s note reveals just how remarkable the real Martha Ballard was, adding another layer of appreciation to this well-crafted historical novel. —Eileen H. Doherty, E91, AP25, EP27, director of predoctoral student research, associate professor, School of Dental Medicine

The God of the Woods, by Liz Moore. It’s 1975, and thirteen-year-old Barbara Van Laar has disappeared from her bunk at a summer camp in New York’s Adirondack Mountains. This is upsetting enough, but to complicate matters for the staff it is the Van Laars, a prominent family from Albany, New York, that owns Camp Emerson and employs many of the residents of the nearby town. Worse still, this is not the first time a Van Laar child has disappeared from the camp: in 1961, the Van Laar’s first child, a universally beloved eight-year-old boy nicknamed Bear, also disappeared, never to be found. Barbara, in fact, was conceived as his replacement. The disappearance of the two Van Laar children, fourteen years apart, can’t possibly be a coincidence. Or can it? Certainly, it is a mystery. But is it a murder mystery? If so, where are the bodies? Are the two vanishings connected, and if so, how? Could they be the work of serial killer Jacob Sluiter, who lurks nearby in the woods in both1961 and, having just escaped from the penitentiary, in 1975? Perhaps it was a townsperson? Or someone from the Van Laar family, whose cruelty and dysfunction become more and more alarming as the book goes on? In prose as sparkling as an Adirondack pond on a summer day, Framingham native Liz Moore delivers a satisfying resolution to the mystery of the two children’s disappearances. For me, though, the real gift of The God of the Woods is Moore’s insightful portrayal of Adirondack life, with its complicated, often fraught class and gender dynamics, deeply ambivalent relationships between locals and outsiders, and the dense (but often hidden) web of kinship and shared personal histories that shape everyday life in the region. —James Rice, Walter S. Dickson Professor of History, School of Arts and Sciences

The Golem and the Jinni, by Helene Wecker. In Jewish folklore, a golem is a humanoid creature usually created from dirt or clay that is brought to life, most often with the purpose of protecting an individual or a community. The most famous one is the Golem of Prague, who may be familiar to readers of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. More than a few other contemporary authors have also used golems as intriguing characters or plot devices; and I seem to have developed a bit of an interest in good golem stories (Meaning not that the golems themselves are necessarily of sturdy moral fiber, but that the stories are super engaging.)  The first two volumes of a promised trilogy from author Helene Wecker, The Golem and the Jinni and The Hidden Palace revolve around two mythical figures: a golem named Chava, and a jinni—the spirit figure who can take human form, from the Arabic tradition—named Ahmed. They cross paths in Lower Manhattan in 1899 (yes, there is extensive backstory as to how they got there.) What follows is a rich, captivating story about two souls—if you can call them that—confronting very human questions of identity and destiny. Yes, there is a good helping of the supernatural, but these are not fantasy novels, per se: for any fan of historical fiction, they are an absolute delight for the fine detail and period setting, and the lively cast of supporting characters. An entirely different golem shows up in The Golem of Brooklyn, by Adam Mansbach. This 21st-century golem, known as The Golem, is fashioned by a high school art teacher from clay he’s pilfered over the years from a supply closet. The Golem learns English by watching Curb Your Enthusiasm; he is considerably lacking in self-control (and clothes). Not weird enough? OK, then The Golem and two unlikely companions embark on a mission to disrupt a white supremacist rally. Mansbach’s storytelling is mostly hilarious, but beyond the absurdity are some savagely sardonic observations about society, politics, religion, and human nature. —Helene Ragovin, senior content creator/editor, University Communications and Marketing

The House in the Cerulean Sea, by TJ Klune. This comforting and uplifting book is about finding your chosen family in a world that does not support you, and overcoming being othered by state propaganda and regulation. The main character, Linus Baker, works for a government agency charged with ensuring that state orphanages of magical children are run according to standard. At 40 years old, Linus is good at his job, but his life is gray, lonely, and devoid of joy. Things change when he receives an assignment to a special orphanage that is home to six children who are so different from the rest of the population that the assignment is top secret. The book is about belonging, inclusion, humanity, nurturing children, and fighting society’s hate and prejudice. It has a happy ending, although it does include content related to child abuse and neglect. It will bring you hope during challenging times. —Zoya Davis-Hamilton, associate vice provost, research administration, Office of the Vice Provost for Research

Kairos, by Jenny Erpenbeck. Set in East Berlin in the last years of the German Democratic Republic, this novel, which won the 2024 International Booker Prize, is at once a (twisted) love story and a pensive reflection on the fall of communism in Germany. Both aspects are immensely compelling. On a rainy Friday in July 1986, 19-year-old Katharina and 50-something Hans meet by chance on a bus. The attraction is immediate, and a shared coffee leads to a six-year affair. Hans is a prominent writer and public intellectual with a scientist wife (Ingrid), a teenage son, and a lover. Katharina is an aspiring theater arts student. Hans sweeps her up into East Berlin’s elite cultural circles and educates her in classical music, fine food and wine, communism, and edgy sex. While she is completely taken with Hans, Katharina also begins to chart her own course through her theater arts study and her friendships with fellow students. A night of passion with a young man, which Hans perceives as an unforgiveable betrayal, begins a corrosion of their relationship that plays out against the backdrop of the deterioration of the East German government. Hans’ control over Katharina and her capitulation to that control can make for tough reading in places, but the reader begins the book knowing that she eventually builds a new life without him. Erpenbeck’s intricate details, which draw from her childhood in East Berlin, present a nuanced and fascinating picture of the GDR and showcase some of the negative repercussions of the fall of communism. (Hans and Ingrid, the consummate intellectuals, both find themselves without jobs in the new unified Berlin.) With its fresh perspective and captivating prose, this book is hard to put down. —Alisha Rankin, associate professor of history, School of Arts and Sciences  

The Mezzanine, by Nicholson Baker. An office worker returns from his lunch break, carrying a paperback copy of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations and a CVS bag containing a new pair of shoelaces. He takes the escalator up to his office, and by the time he reaches the top, Nicholson Baker’s 135-page novel will be over. Here is a premise that dares the reader to turn away. But that’s also why I love The Mezzanine: the constraints of its plot redirect our attention, liberating the narrator to go on a freewheeling trip of the mind. As his thoughts move beyond the escalator ride, he takes a microscope to everyday life: the touch of a cashier’s hand, the way a pen in a pocket warms against the body, the “let-your-fingers-do-the-walking motions” of a hand leafing through records at a record store. This is a novel that thinks about thinking, describing nostalgia as “violas of lost emotion” and mathematically calculating when child thoughts become adult ones. As the novel progresses, we learn more about our office worker, including his vulnerabilities tucked within the book’s many footnotes. A meandering path is still a path. Maybe it’s the truest one we have when it comes to our relationship with time. First published in 1986, The Mezzanine continues to offer a wondrous way of seeing our world today. —Simon Han, professor of the practice, Department of English, School of Arts and Sciences

Salvage the Bones, by Jesmyn Ward. I’ve read a lot of novels over the past few years. But one I read several years ago pops instantly to mind when asked for a recommendation. In Salvage the Bones, Jesmyn Ward follows various members of a working-class African American family in the fictional town of Bois Sauvage, in the days leading up to Hurricane Katrina. It moves slowly, and closely, pulling you in and tying you to the characters, as well as to the smells and shapes of the lowland around them, as they go about their ordinary business while simultaneously beginning to prepare for a biblical event. Instantly, the book transported me back to my own rural Southern hometown, both growing up there and later seeing it ravaged by a different Category 5 hurricane and (mostly) living to tell the tale. The writing also made me feel like I was reading William Faulkner, or even Gabriel García Márquez or Toni Morrison—three authors I have always loved because they have a real gift for bringing “place” to life.  Most broadly, I think I was taken with this book because Ward has a very special ability to juxtapose the power of extreme violence with that of deep love, while managing to never lose sight of the grand arc of history, nor of the humdrum of our ordinary human existence. —Helen Marrow, professor of sociology, School of Arts and Sciences

Same As It Ever Was, by Claire Lombardo. If, while struggling as either a new parent or a member of a couple (or both), you’ve ever asked yourself “Why does everyone else seem to be able to make this work?”, Same As It Ever Was by Claire Lombardo could be just the novel for you. After barely surviving an emotionally turbulent childhood, Julia, Lombardo’s protagonist, does manage to make it, at age 57, to a seemingly privileged middle-class existence. But her past continues to challenge her in ways that complicate and threaten what she has built—and make her ill-prepared for what she ultimately faces from both her children and her mother. Julia is so realistically drawn by Lombardo that this literary fiction verges on memoir at times. Lombardo is unrelenting in the self-doubt and self-destructive behavior with which she imbues Julia. And Julia’s inability to hold it all together may feel unsettlingly familiar. This carefully crafted family drama is the book all the readers on my list are getting for the holidays this year. I challenge you to make it through the last six pages without crying, but if you manage to, please don’t tell me. —Dave Nuscher, executive director, content and planning, University Communications and Marketing

Season of the Swamp, by Yuri Herrera. In 1853, Benito Juárez, former governor of Oaxaca and future president of Mexico, was exiled by the military dictator Santa Anna, and landed in New Orleans with a few compatriots. Juárez left no record of his time there, so in steps Mexican novelist Yuri Herrera (author of the powerful Signs Preceding the End of the World), imagining his two years there. The narration is elliptical: Benito is the center of the tale, but is always referred to as “he”—we just know it’s him. In this slender novel—138 pages—we deeply feel what it was like to be in steamy antebellum New Orleans. From his first steps on U.S. soil, Benito is confronted with something he’s never seen: human beings treated as property. He is appalled by slavery and makes connections with free Black people as he struggles to make money. As fall comes, it’s the malarial season—“Yellow Jack” is an occupational hazard of living in a swamp. Benito and his fellow exiles lackadaisically conspire to overthrow Santa Anna, and the days and weeks melt together until it’s time to return home, however dangerous that might be. The prose in Season of the Swamp flows smoothly (thanks to Lisa Dillman’s thoughtful and fluid translation), evoking the life of a dark-skinned Mexican exile in New Orleans in the 1850s, and the dangers of thirsting for freedom. This is a powerful and mesmerizing book. Every word counts—and it packs a far greater punch than books three times its length. —Taylor McNeil, senior news and audience engagement editor, University Communications and Marketing

Selected Stories, by Andre Dubus. Because I’ve been writing recently about my mentor and friend, Andre Dubus (1936-1999), I’ve turned again to his Selected Stories. The volume is made up of 23 works, some novella length, and is a powerful introduction to the career of this short-story master. Gritty, real, luminous—reading Dubus is a journey through emotional truth; an old woman, giving a rare glimpse into her soul in a bar one night in the compelling “Rose,” reveals that, long ago, she saved her three children from an abusive father; in “Killings,” made into the celebrated film, In The Bedroom, a father seeks to avenge the murder of his son, only to find that life after vengeance is more complicated and lonely than he could have predicted. The well-known “A Father’s Story” explores the faith of Luke Ripley, a Catholic, older father who is called on to cover up his daughter’s lethal hit-and-run accident. That he hides the accident to save his daughter puts him at odds with everything he believes. “But You never had a daughter,” he tells God, in a final, extraordinary passage, “and, if You had, You could not have borne her passion.” Dubus believed there is an inner strength in us that we are not aware of, and that we discover in moments of crisis. His art consistently illuminates this and other secrets of the human heart. “All art is affirmative,” he used to say, “because it ensures that we can endure being mortal.” —Joseph Hurka, lecturer, Department of English, School of Arts and Sciences

Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein. Since I’m in the Army Reserves, one of my favorite recommended readings on leadership that I tell my junior officers about is Starship Troopers. It is essentially the modern take of the The Art of War. The book basically condemns fascism and military rule. It follows the military career of Johnnie Rico, who fights alien arachnids with an exoskeleton suit, and showcases the ugly glories of fighting. The book talks about the smart use of force to end a war, and also shows the government’s commitment to war by putting soldiers in harm’s way. —Eduardo J. Olegario, assistant professor, Department of Comprehensive Care, School of Dental Medicine

Starter Villain, by John Scalzi. If you like your science fiction to be earth bound, include some absurd humor, and have a lot of cats, then this book is for you.  Scalzi has written so many off-the-wall sci-fi books that I love (Redshirts, Lock In, The Kaiju Preservation Society) and still feel grounded and this is another.  Charlie, whose life is a complete mess and can’t get out of his own way, inherits his long-lost uncle’s supervillain business.  Yes really!  So, why not give it a try?  He is in over his head and has to deal with enemies, having lots of money for the first time, human resources problems, and hyperintelligent talking spy cats.  A nice guy trying to become a bad guy without losing himself to it, Charlie starts succeeding and actually enjoying it.  Filled with moments of absolutely ridiculous scenarios, out loud laughs, and a bit of adventure too it’s a really fun read and I promise different from the other books on your shelf. —Josh Cooper, associate dean of student services, graduate programs, School of Medicine

Sweet Bean Paste, by Durian Sukegawa, translated by Alison Watts. Nothing in life brings us together quite like food. This short yet heartwarming novel describes an unlikely friendship between Sentaro, a formerly incarcerated man; Tokue, an elderly woman; and Wakana, a young student—all thanks to dorayaki, a type of pancake filled with sweet bean paste. When Sentaro first started working at a confectionary shop, he was going through the motions of life, creating poor desserts, and the shop started to lose customers. One day, Tokue stops by to ask for a job. Their conversation leads to Tokue teaching Sentaro to make the best sweet bean paste he has ever tasted. Customers line up all day to try the new dorayaki, including Wakana, who becomes a regular after school and can’t go a day without eating it. Just as this multi-generational friendship begins to blossom, Tokue is forced to leave the shop. As the story continues, it reveals a seemingly forgotten time in Japanese history, as well as the importance of forgiveness, friendship, and acceptance. We are taught that our worth is often dependent on our usefulness to society, but sometimes existing is simply enough. “All experience adds up to a life lived as only you could. I feel sure the day will come when you can say: this is my life.” —Anita Nham, associate director of alumni engagement, The Fletcher School

The Thief of Always, by Clive Barker. I’ve often found that truly great literature for children speaks to readers of all ages. Reading a text as a child offers an experience of wonderment and adventure, whereas an adult can uncover a deeper, and often darker, experience. Such is the case with Clive Barker’s 1992 children’s fable The Thief of Always, which drew me in with its cover’s deep green foliage and bright yellow house—all made horrifying by a monstrous face “inviting” visitors to ascend the staircase beyond. Barker’s protagonist, a housebound child called Harvey Swick, passes the dismal days of winter away, convinced he’ll die if adventure doesn’t find him. Magically, one day it does. Rictus, a visitor from far away, lures him to a place promising freedom from parents and days filled with the holidays of an entire year. Indeed, Mr. Hood’s Holiday House affords Harvey new adventures, friends, and all the Christmases one could handle. He also quickly discovers danger at each turn in Mr. Hood’s kingdom. As the house’s façade begins to crack, darkness slowly enshrouds the house’s inhabitants, leaving Harvey asking questions no one wants to answer. Are Harvey’s new friends as he is, wayward children out for fun, or is something sinister holding them there as mere playthings?  At the heart of Barker’s fable are both children and adults with secrets held deeply within their hearts—secrets Harvey desperately needs to reveal if he’s ever to find his own way back home. —Stephen Andrew Palermo, marketing project manager, University Communications and Marketing

What Happened to Nina?, by Dervla McTiernan. If you enjoy a book that keeps you wondering what will happen next while exploring the complex protective instincts that fuels parents to do the unimaginable, What Happened to Nina? will serve as a good read. Actually, if we ever get enough snow to have a bonified snow day, this would be a perfect book to curl up with and plow through. The title gives the basic focus of the book. It starts with a bit of preliminaries needed to set the stage and then leads one through the labyrinth of events that eventually gets you to the end. —Alice H. Lichtenstein, Distinguish University Professor; senior scientist and leader, Diet & Chronic Disease Prevention Directive, Jean Mayer USDA Human Nutrition Research Center on Aging at Tufts; Gershoff Professor of Nutrition Science and Policy, Friedman School of Nutrition Science and Policy

POETRY

The Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems. Sitting in my 11th-grade IB English class, we were told our next unit would focus on the poet Robert Frost and that we would be assigned readings from this very book, The Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems. Although Robert Frost is the only writer in history to have been awarded four Pulitzer Prizes, I had never heard of him before then. What followed was months of reading beautiful yet complex poems filled with delicately chosen words to describe various seasons in New England (mainly Massachusetts and New Hampshire). I recently started rereading some of Frost’s work and was reminded of why I was so captivated by his work many years ago. If you would like a place to start, I recommend “Fire and Ice,” “The Road Not Taken,” “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” and “Mending Walls.” —Tiffany B. House, senior associate director for inclusive faculty engagement, Office of Vice Provost for Institutional Inclusive Excellence 

NONFICTION

Another Appalachia: Coming Up Queer and Indian in a Mountain Place, by Neema Avashia. Avashia was inspired to write the book, a series of essays about her experience growing up as a first-gen kid in rural West Virginia, after the release of JD Vance’s book Hillbilly Elegy because she wanted to describe the Appalachia that she knew and loves, which exists in stark contrast to that of Vance’s. The stories hold so many relatable experiences: the values we learn from our childhood coaches, the connection we feel when we celebrate family holidays, the awkwardness when we’re different from those closest to us, having to navigate your changing relationship with your parents as you grow up—while beautifully describing a unique experience. The book confronts and breaks down many of the stereotypes we might have about the South, about the immigrant experience, and about being queer in rural places. It’s a quick read but the stories stick with you. I think it would be an incredible experience to read this while at home on winter break and to think about where you came from and where you are going. —Brett Nava Coulter, lecturer, Department of Sociology, School of Arts and Sciences

Breath: The New Science of a Lost Art, by James Nestor. Published in 2021, this book takes us through the history and current science related to breathing. “There is nothing more essential to our health and well-being than breathing: take air in, let it out, repeat 25,000 times a day. Yet, as a species, humans have lost the ability to breathe correctly, with grave consequences,” as the book blurb says. The author takes us around the world and through history to look at patterns of breathing, eating, and spiritual practices to illuminate what has changed, and how it has impacted our health today. I found it to be a fascinating journey that toggled between many different everyday living patterns, multiple spiritual practices, and centrally the many different science fields — for example, pulmonology, psychology, biochemistry, and human physiology —that provide insight and information about this most basic necessary function for life. —Elizabeth Nahar, executive administrative dean, Friedman School of Nutrition Science and Policy 

Determined: A Science of Life Without Free Will, by Robert Sopolsky. When a person with epilepsy has a grand mal seizure, we realize they are not choosing that behavior. What about a violent career criminal—who had a drug-addicted mother, no father, and lousy schools, and grew up in a crime-ridden neighborhood? Exactly how much choice was there for that child who became a man? In Determined, biologist Robert Sapolsky goes to great lengths to try and show that what we all do at any given moment is a result of a huge number of factors, beginning from a second before we act all the way back to millions of years before, as genes are set in place—not to mention all the random chances that affect our lives. In study after study Sapolsky cites, there are such myriad influences for what we do that it seems like we are in some sense living machines, with no designer other than evolution, and no one “in charge.” Sapolsky is at pains to prove that we are not culpable for our bad actions—nor deserving praise for good actions. He argues that those who do harm don’t deserve retributive punishment, despite our innate tendency to want to dole that out. (Quarantine wrongdoers instead, he suggests.) All this said, he acknowledges how utterly alien and difficult this stance is. The argument makes sense as he lays out the biology and the studies that chip away at the notion that we truly make our decisions. But why did I choose to read and review this book? I can delve into the past to see what led to this moment, but that seems utterly disempowering. Or maybe we are like genes: We have the potential for many different actions and paths, but the one taken is not foreordained. This is a thoroughly thought-provoking book, full of paradoxes, like a Zen koan that has no answer. —Taylor McNeil, senior news and audience engagement editor, University Communications and Marketing

Factfulness, by Hans Rosling, Ola Rosling, and Anna Rosling Rönnlund. Hans Rosling, a Swedish statistician, doctor, and public health educator, passed away in 2017. His son and daughter-in-law finished Factfulness and published it in 2018. The book opens with a 13-question quiz about global trends in population, health, and economics. The general public does poorly on the test. Curiously, many highly educated people do particularly poorly—as Rosling says, “not only devastatingly wrong, but systematically wrong.” We have what Rosling calls the “overdramatic worldview.” We think, for example, that the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer; and the number of poor just keeps increasing; and we will soon run out of resources unless we do something drastic. Rosling identifies nine instincts that lead us astray. He uses engaging anecdotes followed by basic examples of how we go wrong and why. For example, he describes what he calls the “gap instinct,” the tendency toward binary thinking, dividing people into groups like “rich” and “poor,” or countries into “developing” and “developed.” In 1965, this grouping of countries into two bins was mostly accurate. Today, it is not. The global poverty rate, described as the percentage of people living on $2/day, has dropped from 50% to 7%. It has also dropped dramatically in absolute numbers, despite population growth. That’s an inspiring achievement for humanity. While Factfulness is filled with this kind of good news, I appreciate that Rosling also understands the role of human emotion in how we think about the world. He writes about seeing a news report with dead children being pulled out of debris that his “intellectual capacity is blocked by fear and sorrow. ... Claiming in that moment that things are getting better would be to trivialize the immense suffering of those victims and their families.” But later, “we must cool our brains and compare the numbers to make sure that our resources are used effectively to stop future suffering.” Factfulness might be good for those feeling discouraged about the trajectory of the world lately. (Alternatively, delete Instagram.) —Brandon Stafford, manager, Nolop FAST Facility

Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise, by Ruth Reichl. As the title suggests, tantalizing culinary delights and gem-toned ensembles abound in this delectable food memoir by chef and writer Ruth Reichl. She begins by recounting the period of her life working happily as the restaurant critic and editor of the Los Angeles Times in the early ’90s. Then one day a call came from the New York Times inviting her to become their head restaurant critic. After much resistance, she finally acquiesced and moved her young family across the country to be thrust into the cutthroat world of the New York City restaurant scene. Almost immediately, she discovered that practically every establishment in town had her picture on display for the staff to recognize her, leading to lavish red-carpet treatments intended to dazzle and curry favor in hopes of 3-star reviews. So she embarked on a mission to discover the true character of the restaurants by donning elaborate disguises, complete with wigs and colorful wardrobes. Once, wearing her deceased mother’s blue silk dress, a string of pearls, and a short wig, she jumped out of her skin with surprise at the resemblance. Many of these personas began to blur the lines in sometimes alarming and juicy ways. Each chapter takes the reader through a different type of cuisine or dining experience. One of my favorites focused on hidden Asian eateries, including Kurumazushi, an old-world sushi bar offering exquisite creations, and Honmura, a hushed, deeply contemplative soba restaurant serving up bowls of earthy, flavorful noodles. Most chapters end with one of her Times reviews, along with a recipe of her own. Her famous write-up of the now shuttered Le Cirque, in which she published side-by-side reviews contrasting the treatment she received in character and as herself, is particularly memorable. —Julia Keith, program coordinator, Tufts International Center

Home Away from Home, by Taysir Batniji. I have included this artist’s book, published in a trade edition, in the syllabus of my studio class since it came out in 2017 because of its hybrid form—part photobook, part sketchbook, and also some condensed but reflective writings about family, home and finding home in a foreign country. It will be especially interesting to anyone familiar with the immigrant experience, and more specifically with the Middle Eastern diaspora. In Home Away from Home, Batniji, a Palestinian-French photographer, travels to the U.S. to photograph his cousins who emigrated and eventually settled here. The book is pre-occupied with displacement and the existence of being in-between cultures. His cousin Ahmed lives in Florida and owns a deli grocery store. Other cousins are in California, some living in gated communities. Batniji saw his relatives in the evenings when they got home from work, but days he was by himself, photographing traces of their shared roots: the carpet in the living room, the Qur’an on a table, but also the quintessential Californian pool in the backyard. The work expands beyond a photobook when Batniji weaves stories from their childhoods, their grandparents’ home in Gaza, and illustrates them with faint watercolors of objects, spaces, and portraits from his memory. We see a palm tree near a broken wall that enabled cousins to go from one yard to another to play together, or “Ahmed in the 1970s,” a portrait of his cousin as he remembers him some 40 years ago. The book is even more poignant now, as Batniji has shared on social media that his sister and her family died during the recent bombings of Gaza. Batniji’s new book Disruptions (2024) was awarded the Photobook of the Year at this year’s Paris Photo. —Chantal Zakari, professor of the practice and chair, Department of Graphic Arts, Photo & Print, School of the Museum of Fine Arts at Tufts

The Light Eaters: How the Unseen World of Plant Intelligence Offers a New Understanding of Life on Earth, by Zoë Schlanger. Of the many forms of life on Earth that have evolved over billions of years, many—maybe most—are mobile, from bacteria to animals. But plant life is pretty much rooted in one spot—it’s got to make the best of its situation. It turns out that some plants—maybe most—have developed astonishing adaptive mechanisms to survive and reproduce, and as science develops more sensitive ways to observe and measure plant life, there is a tentative but distinct movement within botany to view these adaptations as some type of intelligence. These scientists are in a minority, but Schlanger sees them as leading a paradigm shift in plant biology. Maybe most amazing of the plant life she describes is a creeping vine found in a Chilean rain forest that morphs its leaves on the go to mimic the leaves of the plants it is intertwined with, even producing two or three different types of leaves at time, all probably to avoid insect predators. Then there’s the plant that produces growths that seem like female wasps, waiting for male wasps to come and try to mate—which then inadvertently get covered with pollen. The plant even produces chemicals that mimic the female wasps’ pheromones that signal they are in heat. This thought-provoking book also raises the issue of exactly what intelligence is, and certainly left me looking at plants with a new appreciation and curiosity. —Taylor McNeil, senior news and audience engagement editor, University Communications and Marketing

A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance, by Hanif Abdurraqib. I fell in love with swing dancing my first year of grad school. Sweaty hours on the dance floor were a reprieve from days spent in my head. And while I wasn’t wild about the gendered precedent—men traditionally lead and women follow—as an anxious planner, I learned that I loved to follow. Following demands utter presence. Sure, you learn steps in advance, but in the moment, you have to hold on, keep up, and respond. And if you’re present enough, a good lead can teach you steps you didn’t know, right there on the dance floor. Reading Abdurraqib feels like dancing with the best of leads. While he roams widely, from dance marathons to blackface, Josephine Baker to Beyoncé, Aretha Franklin to the “magical negro” to the game of spades, sometimes in the span of a single essay, he’s always in control, steps ahead, swinging back around to where he started just when you thought you’d lost the thread. Weaving history, cultural criticism, and autobiography with the deftness of a poet, Abdurraqib asks you to come along, to keep up, assuming you know the steps, or you’ll learn them. The book is dense with cultural references, and you may find yourself compelled to pause to look up a video of Soul Train or listen to a song by Afropunk band Fuck U Pay Us. At the same time, recurring themes and subjects—love and partnership, Michael Jackson, Black survival, his mother—that shift and deepen on each repetition, stitch coherence across the collection. Reading this book is an exhilarating intellectual workout. As Abdurraqib writes, “It occurs to me now that this was the real joy of dancing: to enter a world unlike the one you find yourself burdened with, and move your body toward nothing but a prayer that time might slow down.” This is a book worth slowing down for. —Emily Strasser, professor of the practice, Department of English, School of Arts and Sciences

The Living City: Why Cities Don’t Need to Be Green to Be Great, by Des Fitzgerald. I was preparing materials for teaching a new class on urban planning and design and stumbled across this new title, written by a sociologist at the University of Cork. How provocative: green is not necessary to be great. I couldn’t wait to dive in and see what the case against greening cities was. I am always looking for ways to challenge my students’ thinking about conventional wisdom, perhaps this was just the right book? The argument was slow to start, but began to crystalize into something quite different from what I expected. I thought Fitzgerald would critique green-washing, the practice of cities overplaying environmental initiatives, or introduce evidence that more trees in cities was actually bad for our air. Instead, he latched onto a nascent movement in architecture, urban planning, and urban design (which I help lead) that argues that the environments we live in ought to reflect our unconscious needs to be surrounded by nature (biophilia) and other forms, colors, and shapes that we evolved with on the African savannah. This “Cognitive Architecture” movement offers a clarion call for cities and towns to focus on how streets, buildings, and public places impact people on a psychological level and to use that empirical evidence to drive design and planning decisions. Fitzgerald doesn’t buy it. But unlike any work I have seen, he offers a thoughtful and comprehensive examination of the merits of this kind of thinking. He goes into the weeds and asks hard questions about what the purpose of place really is and holds on tight to his own romantic notions of urban grit and authenticity. Provocative indeed! —Justin B. Hollander, A96, A25P, professor, Department of Urban and Environmental Policy and Planning, Graduate School of Arts and Sciences

The Lumumba Plot: The Secret History of the CIA and a Cold War Assassination, by Stuart A. Reid. The murder of Patrice Lumumba was a personal human tragedy as much as a larger one for the newly independent Congo. The role of the U.S. in the death of the charismatic yet mercurial leader has long been obscured by the imperatives of the Cold War, overheated agitprop, and veils of secrecy. In vibrant and readable prose, Stuart Reid punches through the lingering fog, and describes something much more than a CIA operation. He reconstructs the dauntingly complex situation after Congo’s independence from a variety of perspectives, including the sympathetic lens of Lumumba’s own life. It is a rich story that also shows that the long-rumored U.S. plans, which Reid reveals were approved by President Dwight Eisenhower, to kill Lumumba, who was struggling mightily (and sometimes ineffectively) with an impossible situation, were very much true—even if Reid does not see the CIA’s hands directly in the actual murder. —David Ekbladh, professor of history, School of Arts and Sciences

On Great Fields: The Life and Unlikely Heroism of Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, by Ronald C. White, Jr. For those of you who have read The Killer Angels, the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel of the American Civil War, you might be familiar with heroism of Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain at Little Round Top during the Battle of Gettysburg. As a Civil War buff, I have always been fascinated by this Bowdoin College professor-turned-soldier, having read his war autobiography and visited many of the fields he fought on, but never really read into his life before and after the tumult of the war. On Great Fields traces the journey of this boy from Maine who was torn between his call to serve his faith and his love of teaching, eventually leading him to a professorship at Bowdoin, which he left to serve the Union cause. Following the war, Chamberlain was governor of Maine and president of Bowdoin, and these stories are just as exciting as the war stories, as he navigates a changing world of higher education (something we are all familiar with today), balancing new curriculum and the need for funds to grow the school, and battling (literally) in the halls of the state house. This book filled me in on the life of a man I already greatly admired. —Stephen Muzrall, senior director of development and alumni engagement, School of Dental Medicine

One Man in His Time: A Memoir, by Nicholas M. Borodin. Originally written and published by my father in 1955 as anti-Soviet propaganda, this book was republished this year by Pushkin Press. The story begins with his childhood in 20th century Russia, and covers the Bolshevik revolution, the rise of communism, and life under Stalin. He narrates through vivid anecdotes of his life experiences and the things he had to do to survive, his matter-of-fact tone underlining the many hardships of day-to-day life. It is easy to draw parallels from his story to the present, such as between the flu epidemic of 1918 and the recent COVID-19 pandemic, or between the expansionist policies of Soviet Russia and Putin’s actions in Ukraine today. Such parallels portray a grim repeat of the past, but despite the hardships, my father overcame the flu epidemic, the great famine of the early 1920s, and the hard winters lacking in basic resources due to Stalin’s collectivization policies. He gained a university education to become a veterinarian and biologist specializing in virology. He navigated the brutal and oppressive communist regime—under which many were accused of being “wreckers and saboteurs” and lost their lives due to Stalin’s purges—to become the director of research scientific institutes in Baku and later in Moscow, where he worked on the production of penicillin during World War II. He created a life for himself amidst the chaos of Soviet Russia. However, the reality of the time was that, despite his success, my father was denied the same basic human rights as all citizens under Stalin’s government, a fact he accepted but never forgot. The dramatic conclusion to this story details his exposure to Western freedoms and ideology for the first time, and the sequence of events that would change his world forever. His choices during this time were the defining moments of his story, and led to him living out the remainder of his life quietly and peacefully with his family. —Zoia L. Monaco, research professor, Department of Biomedical Engineering

Patriot: A Memoir, by Alexei Navalny. This memoir by the Russian opposition leader, who died in prison at age 47 in February this year, is filled with his childhood memories, deep reflections, and calls for action. I found myself contemplating his recollections. Who, I wondered, would be interested in the stories of a schoolboy or in cultural references that now seem dated or irrelevant? But then I thought of others like me, who emigrated from Russia in the ’90s when Gorbachev opened the borders. I thought of my students and colleagues seeking for solutions in responding to social and political changes. The “Works” section of the book is a valuable resource for community organizers, trailblazers, and scholars of civic engagement to explore and experiment. Its entrepreneurial spirit, resourcefulness, and optimism are a lifeline during national downturns, particularly when authoritarian regimes test key freedoms and human rights. Navalny’s observational mastery, insightfulness, and tireless energy reveal his unwavering belief in his mission. His refusal to bow to bullies—whether as a teenager or a seasoned fighter—shines through. His account of prison life is a sobering account of the strategic, minute-by-minute means authoritarian regimes crush the human spirit and strip people of their dignity. It’s a reminder of what modern governments are willing to do to protect their power. That said, in Navalny’s words: “It is very important not to be fearful of people who are seeking the truth, and perhaps even to find ways of supporting them… at least not contributing to the lie…” This resonates deeply in times of heated national debates about diversity, neutrality, and freedoms, and calls for unwavering support for political prisoners worldwide. To my surprise, the book felt enlightening, hopeful, and optimistic. It is full of Russian dark humor, which I love, witty multicultural references, and even culinary delights. Despite the tenacity of autocracies, Navalny’s resilience reminds us of the enduring strength of life itself. His stories leave us with this question: What is not to love, if not life? —Elena N. Naumova, professor of mathematics, Friedman School of Nutrition Science and Policy and Jonathan M. Tisch College of Civic Life

Tribalism Is Dumb, by Andrew Heaton. I was going to write about my best-loved book on the world of yesterday—entitled, as it happens, The World of Yesterday, by Stefan Zweig—only to discover that it has already been recommended, so I’ve moved to one of my favorites about the world of today. Tribalism Is Dumb is a smart, informative, readable book written by a learned and sharp-witted podcast host, Andrew Heaton. It draws on leading works of anthropology, sociology, psychology, and political science to explain, in his words, “what tribalism is, its evolutionary origins, how novel media technology provoke those impulses, and how the absence of healthy communal outlets is substituting toxic partisanship.” That summary is way too dry. The book is a stitch; in fact, I recommend the audiobook version, which the author narrates. With a professional comic’s delivery and political neutrality, Heaton delves into why we are hardwired to seek out the comfort of a tribe; how we compete for status within the tribe; why we fanatically defend it when confronted by outside enemies; why tribes invent enemies to keep themselves cohesive; what traits unite and divide tribes; what confers status within tribes; how tribalism nurtures group think and conformity; why groups form identities in opposition to competing groups; how technological advances and new media amplify tribal impulses; why tribalism has flourished while religion has declined; why “left” and “right” political distinctions are fanciful and destructive; and how we can cope, governmentally and individually, with the recurrent problems that tribalism imposes. Read Heaton’s book for incisive analysis, surprising insights, and thoughtful reform proposals—and to be reminded that in the hands of a gifted presenter, the social sciences are anything but soporific “homework.” —Michael Glennon, professor of constitutional and international law, The Fletcher School 

What's the Matter with Kansas?, by Thomas Frank. While not a recent publication, this book is a must-read for anyone seeking to understand the cultural, political, and economic shifts that have shaped modern America. The title, drawn from an 1880s pamphlet lamenting Kansas’s progressive spirit kindled by the anti-slavery movement pioneers who relocated there from New England. For example, the main streets in downtown Lawernce, Kansas, are all named for Northeast states. In his book, Frank sets the stage for an exploration of the state’s dramatic transformation from a liberal populism to a stronghold of conservative politics. Having lived in Kansas myself in a house with bricks stamped with Somerville, MA on the side, Frank’s insights resonated deeply. He unpacks how the state’s voters began supporting policies that often undermine their economic interests. Through vivid anecdotes and analysis, he reveals how cultural issues became political wedge tools, overshadowing pocketbook concerns. This book opened my eyes to the complexities of American identity, demonstrating that political choices often reflect more than just financial calculations and revealing how some corporate interests steer these decisions for their own gain. At a deeper level, it helped me see this country—as every community is—a tapestry of stories, values, and tensions far richer than any simplification offered by pundits or the press. Frank’s account is about the broader forces that continue to shape our nation, making it an essential read for anyone curious about America. —Andrew Singleton, program administrator, Office of the Provost

You Could Make This Place Beautiful, by Maggie Smith. After listening to poet Maggie Smith on a podcast, I was inspired to read her book, a deeply personal memoir that explores themes of resilience, self-discovery, and reinvention after life’s upheavals. Known for her poetry, Smith delves into prose to recount her experiences following the end of her marriage, using her journey as a lens to examine broader themes of identity, motherhood, and the quest for beauty in difficult times. The title, a line from her famous poem “Good Bones,” speaks to her central message: despite the pain and disillusionment we face, there is always an opportunity to make something beautiful out of life. In the book, Smith blends personal reflections with poetic insights, offering readers glimpses into her inner world while contemplating universal questions about love, loss, and the reconstruction of self. Her writing is both raw and tender, allowing her to confront the reality of heartbreak while simultaneously embracing hope and gratitude. She speaks to the importance of self-worth and the courage required to move forward, making the book a source of inspiration for anyone facing a personal crisis. Memoirs can be an invitation to reimagine one’s life, and You Could Make This Place Beautiful is an invitation to ponder that even in our most challenging moments, we hold the power to shape a beautiful, meaningful existence. —Christina DiBona Pastan, assistant professor of endodontics and director of Mind-Body Wellness, School of Dental Medicine