The Emma LaRocque Reader: On Being Human. Elaine Coburn (ed.). University of Toronto Press. 2026.

To justify their political existence, all nations tell origin stories. The founding myths of the world’s most powerful states, including Australia, Canada, New Zealand and the United States, tell of heroic Europeans discovering lands that were empty but for primitive peoples, the “Indians” or “Aboriginals”.  Colonial oppressors characterised Indigenous peoples as savages who deserved to be wiped out, unworthy of a future, or doomed to disappear, given their primitive “race” or culture unsuited to modernity.

The myth of manifest destiny

Tomorrow was reserved for European peoples, who brought civilisation to a wild land. The oppression and massacre of Indigenous peoples was justified as part of the inevitable “march of progress”, known in America as manifest destiny; “the right”, as the Representative of Massachusetts claimed in 1846, “to spread over this whole continent.” These founding myths uphold capitalist relations, redefine the land as private property to be bought and sold, justify colonial power structures, and overwrite Indigenous peoples’ governance practices. Today, Donald Trump’s efforts to “restore truth and sanity to American history” by removing exhibits from the Smithsonian museums that are critical of white supremacy exemplify the dangers of the authoritarian control of historical narratives.

But myths are not reality. Indigenous peoples did not die out, and they are reclaiming their histories, their voices, their lands. Vine Deloria Jr, Brendan Hokowhitu, Aileen Moreton-Robinson, and Audra Simpson, and many more scholars and intellectuals are speaking back to empire. Among the most striking contemporary contributions to this demythologising literature is the writing of a Cree-Métis intellectual and poet, now gathered together for the first time in The Emma LaRocque Reader: On Being Human. Born in 1950 in Lac La Biche, in northeastern Alberta, Canada, LaRocque grew up Métis in a “Cree oral literature language and worldview” that together made up a “richly woven cultural life” (145). From the vantage point of her own culture and the experience of “colonialism lived” (251), she mobilises her powers as a scholar and poet to challenge foundational myths of the most powerful nations in the world.

The myth of terra nullius

The first myth she debunks is that the lands were empty, or at least empty of any meaningful civilisation, before the Europeans arrived. LaRocque gives testament to the many original peoples in the Americas who had their own histories, traditions and attachment to the land. For her part, she grew up with a rich cultural life, in a log cabin built by her resourceful father. In characteristically vivid prose, LaRocque recalls her childhood:

I was born into a world of people whose roots of pride, independence, industriousness and skills go back to the Red River Métis, back to the Cree. I was born into a world of magic, where seeing and hearing ghosts was a routine occurrence, where the angry Pehehsoo (thunder-bird) could be appeased by a four-directional pipe chant, where the spirits danced in the sky on clear nights and where tents shook for people to heal (48).

.With particular intensity from the late 19^th century onwards, colonisers deliberately disrupted the lifeworlds of Indigenous peoples, including LaRocque’s Métis people, through violent repression but also through forced religious instruction, residential and public schooling

Colonising Europeans interrupted self-determining Indigenous civilisations for their own gain. With particular intensity from the late 19^th century onwards, colonisers deliberately disrupted the lifeworlds of Indigenous peoples, including LaRocque’s Métis people, through violent repression but also through forced religious instruction, residential and public schooling (c.1890 to 1996), and adopting Indigenous children into White families. Despite efforts at erasure, Indigenous peoples have persisted, remembering their histories on lands filled with the stories of their ancestors.

The myth of the prehistoric “Indian”

Indigenous peoples are often considered purely historical, consigned to the past. Against this myth, change is part of every living culture, LaRocque emphasises, including Indigenous civilisations. The Métis practiced adaptable economies, rooted in land-based and wage labour, and their participation has been central to the development of contemporary nations like Canada and the United States:

Métis have been the labouring backbone of this country, serving first as portaging and fur packing coureur de bois, defining the buffalo industry with their organization and technologies, then on to building railroad lines and roads, clearing fields for farmers or fighting fire for forestry (98).

Today, LaRocque emphasises that artists, writers, poets and political and social commentators are revitalising and renewing Indigenous lifeways and knowledges.

Despite tendencies to imagine Indigenous peoples as consigned to a “primitive past” (131), their cultures have been fluid and changing. If forced change is oppression, some change is chosen. “Like the rest of humanity” LaRocque writes, Indigenous peoples are “facing and adapting to change” (xxxi, italics in original), participating in a world in movement.

The myth of the “Vanishing Race”

As LaRocque documents, Indigenous peoples, including Cree-speaking Métis like her own family, were deemed incapable of “civilisation,” hence doomed to vanish as too savage for the present or future. This myth was popularised by the 19^th and early 20^th century photographer Edward Curtis, who stripped his Indigenous subjects of any sign of modernity and then labelled them, “The Vanishing Race”. Too primitive and too pure to survive the wicked world, they were destined to disappear in the face of the “progress” brought by European colonisers. This myth lives on in contemporary re-tellings, from The Last of the Mohicans to coffee-house artbooks, like Jimmy Nelson’s infamous Before They Pass Away. In reality, “the Métis were systematically coerced from their land” (8) by civil servants, priests, police, surveyors and settlers. European settler success, never total, was a contingent fact of struggle, rather than a result of the necessary march of history. Today, LaRocque emphasises that artists, writers, poets and political and social commentators are revitalising and renewing Indigenous lifeways and knowledges (269).

The myth of the savage

Colonial oppressors created dehumanising stereotypes about Indigenous peoples to justify their oppression, which linger today. One frames them as ignoble savages, “grunting and bloodthirsty” (32), hence deserving of elimination by a more civilised European colonial culture. Recalling the first cowboy and Indian movie she watched, LaRocque writes:

I was riveted, revolted, and terrified. I was perhaps eight years old. I do not remember the name of the movie; I only remember “the Indians”: grotesque, wild-eyed, lurking creatures with painted bodies and hideous faces, tomahawks on hand, howling and whooping, crouching like animals across the screen, preying on beautiful white people on their way west to bring law and order (122).

LaRocque urges us to relate to each other as more than the “sum of our colonial parts” (xxiv); this is key to challenging oppression.

Alternatively, “Indians” are figured as noble savages, wise, kind and close to nature. LaRocque laments that the noble savage trope, for instance, the ecologically attuned Indigenous person, acts as a “prop for the conscience of a morally lethargic corporate world” (133). The noble savage is a normative ideal, not a fully realised person. Rejecting these fictions, LaRocque reminds us that Indigenous peoples are, simply, human: “People who can laugh, cry, hate and love” (xxxi). The response to demands for the “authentic Indian” (130), whether in the ignoble or noble variant, must be an insistence on Indigenous humanity. This requires the direct, honest appraisal of “the good, the bad and the ugly” (xxxvi).

Beyond myths to the human

In her scholarship and poetry spanning a half a century, LaRocque has appealed to our “will for justice” (133) to writings remind us of the imperative to dismantle dangerous, obfuscating political mythologies, and that recognising each other’s humanity:

I am ethically committed to the vocation of humanization, that is, both to the ending of injustice and oppression, whether social or intellectual, and at the same time, to the reconstruction of Indigenous humanity. And ultimately, all humanity (227).

LaRocque urges us to relate to each other as more than the “sum of our colonial parts” (xxiv); this is key to challenging oppression. We can begin by telling the truth about the lands that we are on and the original peoples who have lived here, not as ciphers representing good or evil, but as human beings filled with hopes and dreams, foibles and failures, strengths and weakness. In an era where truth is a casualty of national mythmaking this is a special challenge; but only then can we begin to build right relations for a future together.

Note: This essay gives the views of the author and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, nor of the London School of Economics and Political Science.

Main image: Bing Wen on Shutterstock.

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Dichotomies in Media and Communication Theory. Bart Cammaerts. Routledge. 2026.

How the internet fostered subcultures

The internet has been described as a revolutionary, disruptive technology that has created a global networked information society and paradigmatic shifts in all walks of life. Such techno-optimist discourses are often deemed overly technologically deterministic, but they are highly prevalent and salient in business-oriented literature, in macro-economics, as well as in sociology, political science, and media and communication studies. One of the most defining characteristics of the contemporary new media and communication environment shaped by the internet is the “convergence of specific technologies into a highly integrated system” according to Castells. This has a material side to it, but also a cultural dimension, which is encapsulated in what American media scholar Henry Jenkins termed “convergence culture”. Convergence culture has, however, disrupted and complicated the distinction between mainstream and alternative media.

The many affordances of the internet – to publish freely and cheaply, to enable the transnational exchange of information, to connect groups and individuals, its horizontal architecture, and the strength of weak ties – stimulated innovation within subcultural movements.

The internet originated from a productive collaboration between military power and academic interests, but clearly pertaining to a mainstream agenda. Subsequently, the internet was enthusiastically embraced and further developed by various countercultures that we could denote as “alternative”. The techno-hippies and -punks of the 1970s and 1980s, fuelled by a hacker and cracker subculture, embraced and subsequently popularised cyber-anarcho idioms and values such as: “Information Wants to be Free”, “Mistrust Authority”, “Promote Decentralization”, “Do It Yourself”, “Fight the Power”, “Feed the Noise Back into the System”, and “Surf the Edges”, as posted on the San Franscisco-bay area Bulletin Board System (BBS) called the “Whole Earth ‘Lectronic Link” or WELL. These slogans expressed an alternative digital imaginary and libertarian counterculture which played a constitutive role in the shaping the internet.

Soon enough the many affordances of the internet – to publish freely and cheaply, to enable the transnational exchange of information, to connect groups and individuals with each other in communities of interest and action, its horizontal architecture, and the strength of weak ties – stimulated innovation within subcultural movements. They also enhanced these movements’ ability to organise, communicate, mobilise, attack, and circumvent.

The very idea of a ‘free’ internet, as advocated by the alternative cyberpunks and lodged into the popular imagination, has paradoxically fuelled a mainstream business model based on the commodification of users’ sociality and their digital footprint

This stimulated what the Feminist American philosopher Nancy Fraser called “subaltern counterpublics” and the American sociologist Todd Gitlin “public sphericules”, which arguably became much easier to establish online than offline, removing geographical and temporal barriers. BBSs exemplified this capability, facilitating connection, debate and the exchange of information between individuals with similar interests, and relating to various subcultures. Today we still see remnants of this in sites such 4Chan or Reddit. The alternative DIY print-culture phenomenon of the Fanzines became eZines and Web 2.0 also gave rise to the phenomenon of weblogs or blogs, as well as an explosion of bottom-up “citizen” journalism. Also noteworthy in the alternative sphere is the development of a Free and Open-Source Software (FOSS) movement, partially undermining proprietary software development.

When capitalist interests took over

However, just as the American sociologist Daniel Bell predicted in his book on the post-industrial society, dominant interests and capitalist power would eventually – with some help from the US government and the EU – fully appropriate the internet and commodify the information society, bringing it firmly in line with capitalist interests and wealth creation. In stark contrast to the myth of the internet being a level-playing field of equal opportunities, the commercialisation of the internet led to an extreme and global oligopolisation accelerated by network effects characterised by a “winner-takes-all” logic. This was achieved through two old models of media monetisation, namely subscription advertising, often combined. Subscription models are platforms designed to counter the illegal downloading of media content such as Netflix and Spotify, but also the ways in which alternative platforms encourage donations by their audiences. The advertising model is more prevalent, however, because of the free culture ideology that accompanied the emergence of the internet.

In the age of social media and big data, the advertising model has become both more sophisticated and more insidious. The privileging of data extraction models and the commodification of our sociality and everything this reveals about us, led to an era of “surveillance capitalism”, whose “mechanisms and economic imperatives have become the default model for most internet-based businesses”. The very idea of a “free” internet, as advocated by the alternative cyberpunks and lodged into the popular imagination, has paradoxically fuelled a mainstream business model based on the commodification of users’ sociality and their digital footprint. As a result, capitalism today does not only feed off our collective labour, but “every aspect of every human’s experience”.

Mainstream or alternative media?

This symbiotic dynamic between mainstream and alternative in the convergent internet era opens a range of profound questions around the continued usefulness of the categories of alternative and mainstream today. Do we consider social media platforms to be alternative channels of distribution for alternative voices and content, or are they quintessential mainstream, corporate controlled platforms? Or both? While self-management, autonomy, and independence from State and market were deemed quintessential characteristics for alternative offline media, this has been seriously undermined – and near impossible to achieve – on the internet. Atton already asked in the early 2000s whether it even “makes sense to talk of alternative media in cyberspace?”.

It is increasingly difficult to ascertain what constitutes mainstream media and what alternative. Does it refer to the nature of the content, the way it is presented, or the platform/publication it is distributed through?

When it comes to mainstream media, the emergence of social media platforms and online podcasts has also had a destabilising impact for the category of “mainstream”. What we considered mainstream media – newspapers, radio, television – is increasingly called “legacy” media to differentiate between “old” and “new” forms. Ultimately, social media platforms are also mainstream corporate spaces. At the same time, all newspapers and broadcasters are also active online, and mainstream celebrities, pundits, and journalists are increasingly setting up their own podcast operations. Furthermore, commercial tensions have emerged between social media companies and legacy media corporations, mainly because the former have eaten up a large portion of the advertising revenue of the latter. Additionally, social media also thrive on and capitalise the circulation of content produced by legacy media. Tied to this, consumption patterns and practices of news and information have also changed considerably.

In this fluid context, it is increasingly difficult to ascertain what constitutes mainstream media and what alternative. Does it refer to the nature of the content, the way it is presented, or the platform/publication it is distributed through? And what remains of the strong democratic origins of alternative media being truly independent, bottom-up, horizontal, and implicated in human rights struggles?

This is an edited extract (pp. 141-144) from Dichotomies in Media and Communication Theory
by Bart Cammaerts, published by Routledge, 2026 © reprinted here by permission.

Bart Cammaerts will speak about the book at a public LSE event from 6.30pm to 8pm on Tuesday 31 March 2026. Find details and register to end.

Note: This extract gives the views of the author and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, nor of the London School of Economics and Political Science.

Main image: Tomas Martinez on Unsplash.

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A traipse through Toronto’s snowy flurries can simultaneously be a stroll in the warming footsteps of literary greats. John Irving, that verbose titan of storytelling, lives in the city, using it as a backdrop to his 1989 book A Prayer for Owen Meany. Margaret Atwood, visionary dystopian, studied here and perhaps glimpsed Gilead between Downtown’s sparkling high-rises. Rohinton Mistry emigrated here in the 1970s, studied at the university, and wrote the monumental A Fine Balance (1995) while looking back across the oceans at India. Then there’s Michael Ondaatje, Miriam Toews, Anne Michaels. So many footsteps, so many tales. 

Bakka-Phoenix Books – 84 Harbord Street 

And where might those intriguing footsteps take us? Our first stop is the Bakka-Phoenix sci-fi emporium in Harbord Village, clutching the fringes of the University of Toronto’s august campus. Once sharing a building with Glad Day (see below) and claiming to be the most ancient of sci-fi booksellers, Bakka-Phoenix has more spicy Frank Herberts, more Clarkean odysseys, and more cheerless Tchaikovskys than you can shake a lightsabre at. The atmosphere is rarified, the clientele cerebral, the collection significant.  

A requested recommendation for a local visionary led me, via William Neuromancer Gibson (a Vancouver resident transplanted from America) and Margaret Atwood, to A E Van Vogt, a Canadian contemporary of Isaac Asimov. Giddy, exhilarating, troubling and obtuse, his stories feature horrifying extra-terrestrials and hair-pin twists that left me confused and amused. 

And where might those intriguing footsteps take us? Our first stop is the Bakka-Phoenix sci-fi emporium in Harbord Village, clutching the fringes of the University of Toronto’s august campus. Once sharing a building with Glad Day (see below) and claiming to be the most ancient of sci-fi booksellers, Bakka-Phoenix has more spicy Frank Herberts, more Clarkean odysseys, and more cheerless Tchaikovskys than you can shake a lightsabre at. The atmosphere is rarified, the clientele cerebral, the collection significant.  

A requested recommendation for a local visionary led me, via William Neuromancer Gibson (a Vancouver resident transplanted from America) and Margaret Atwood, to A E Van Vogt, a Canadian contemporary of Isaac Asimov. Giddy, exhilarating, troubling and obtuse, his stories feature horrifying extraterrestrials and hair-pin twists that left me confused and amused. 

BMV Books – 471 Bloor Street West 

Just two blocks north, on pullulating Bloor Street West, is the cavernous BMV Books. A daunting den of literature old and new, used and pristine, it’s a place to dive in and embrace the seemingly chaotic collection. Academic architectural studies rub spines with ribald graphic novels and well-thumbed thrillers – this is a place to lose yourself and discover the Turkish historical fantasy romance you never knew you were looking for. Fair warning, all three Toronto BMVs are time black holes, and a whole afternoon can easily disappear, along with a fair few Canadian dollars. You won’t regret it though.

A Different Booklist – 779 Bathurst Street 

Out we go, briefly into the snow and round the corner to the resolutely political and progressive A Different Booklist, which stocks “the rich literature of the African and Caribbean diaspora and Global South” as well as a multitude of talented Indigenous writers. A perusing of its groaning shelves will take in sports biographies, historical analyses, impassioned political treatise, and some eye-opening novels. There’s room for anti-establishment blockbusters like The Hunger Games and – inevitably – The Handmaid’s Tale here, but I picked up In the Upper Country (2024) by Kai Thomas, which reveals the harsh realities of Canada’s place at the end of the Underground Railroad, and the bravery and sacrifice that sustained growing communities there.

Little Ghosts – 930 Dundas Street West

Back on the treacherously icy sidewalks again, we head south through the soul-warming miasma of Little Italy to the quirky horror repository of Little Ghosts. A resolutely independent and friendly little store, its shelves are of course haunted by (Stephen) King and (Dean) Koontz, (Shirley) Jackson and (M.R.) James. They also display a fine line in homegrown, eerie classics. Half an hour of perusing the shelves with the well-informed clerk saw me taking home novels by Nick Cutter (The Troop, 2014), Regan McDonnell (Black Chuck, 2018) and Ian Reid (I’m Thinking of Ending Things, 2017). An offer to take home a second copy of David Cronenberg’s dense and worrying Consumed (2015) was deftly side-stepped.

And if you uncover a local novelist who you fall in love / fear with, there’s a fair chance they’ll appear at one of Little Ghosts’ regular, well-attended community events, where the curious and the convinced gather to share their passion for the supernatural. For the ghosthunters in your life, there are spooky cards and gifts. 

Back on the treacherously icy sidewalks again, we head south through the soul-warming miasma of Little Italy to the quirky horror repository of Little Ghosts. A resolutely independent and friendly little store, its shelves are of course haunted by (Stephen) King and (Dean) Koontz, (Shirley) Jackson and (M.R.) James. They also display a fine line in homegrown, eerie classics. Half an hour of perusing the shelves with the well-informed clerk saw me taking home novels by Nick Cutter (The Troop, 2014), Regan McDonnell (Black Chuck, 2018) and Ian Reid (I’m Thinking of Ending Things, 2017). An offer to take home a second copy of David Cronenberg’s dense and worrying Consumed (2015) was deftly side-stepped.

And if you uncover a local novelist who you fall in love / fear with, there’s a fair chance they’ll appear at one of Little Ghosts’ regular, well-attended community events, where the curious and the convinced gather to share their passion for the supernatural. For the ghosthunters in your life, there are spooky cards and gifts. 

Glad Day Bookshop – 32 Lisgar Street 

Once more into the chilly air, and a bracing walk south through the idyllic Trinity Bellwoods Park, the final shop where I stomped snow off my shoes is the oldest LGBTQ+ bookstore in the world – Glad Day Bookshop. Once the heart of the cacophonous Church and Wellesley gay district, and now settled into its new home in artsy West Queen West, Glad Day is a chimera formed from community needs – so much more than a repository of literature. For over 50 years it has been a place for physical (and intellectual) nourishment, a political epicentre, and even a great spot to find a date and make new friends. It has survived movements physical and social, and even prosecution, and its copious collection covers a spectrum of queer experience in Canada, and far beyond. 

On friendly and insightful advice, I picked up David Kingston Yeh’s Ontario-set YA novel The Boy at the Edge of the World (2017), a dizzying coming-of-age tale that skips and jumps joyously through Toronto’s gay community. One might happily browse the curated-with-pride collection of local authors’ work, or dive into one of the regular drop-ins for – and with – neighbourhood writers and join a thriving, ribald and ambitious literary scene. 

And now we’re done for the day. This colourful meander between some of Toronto’s many friendly, inspiring bookstores can fill an afternoon, though it could just as easily take up a full day, with time set aside for coffee, poutine and maybe a little bit of reading too. And the next day, those footsteps are there for you to follow all over again.

Note: This bookshop guide gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science.

Main image credit: Elena Berd on Shutterstock.

Additional uncredited photos by Greg Taylor.

Do you know a place with great bookshops? As part of a regular feature on LSE Review of Books, we’re asking academics and students to recommend their favourite bookshops in a particular city or town to share with our book-loving community of readers the world over.

Bookshops could be academic, alternative, multilingual, hobby-based, secret or underground institutions, second-hand outlets or connected to a university. We’d like to cover all world regions too and are particularly keen to feature cities outside of Europe and North America.

If something comes to mind, we’re looking for a brief introduction about the city, a selection of three or four bookshops with around 150 words per bookshop, detailing why each one is a must-see. Our editorial team can then find suitable photos and links to accompany the piece, though you’re welcome to supply these too.

Email us if you’d like to contribute: lsereviewofbooks@lse.ac.uk

The post The best bookshops in Toronto, Canada first appeared on LSE Review of Books.

Convenience Store Woman. Sayaka Murata. Translated from Japanese into English by Ginny Tapley Takemori. Granta. 2019.

This story is about an autistic woman in Japan, who finds her safe place working in a convenience store. While the outside world is chaotic, unpredictable and confusing, the social norms, interactions, and daily routines of the convenience store provides the infrastructure that Keiko, the protagonist, understands. It is clear through the narrative that Keiko is autistic, although this is never explicitly addressed by her family or her colleagues. She understands that she is different, she struggles to understand social interactions, and she regularly masks in social settings, drawing on a range of pre-learned social cues to survive in the world. The book deals with the pressures of modern life, including societal pressures to conform, such as by marrying and having children. The book also questions how we find purpose and meaning in the work that we perform, and how the world has been shaped to accommodate a-typical and not neurodiverse people. It’s a powerful and tender narrative that challenges assumptions about autistic people and asks us to reflect on what we can do to accommodate neurodiversity in the workplace.

Recommended by Kay O’ Neill, Communications and Events Manager, Department of Government

Empire of Normality: Neurodiversity and Capitalism. Robert Chapman. Pluto Press. 2023.

As someone with ADHD and working as a disability and mental health practitioner, I enjoyed Empire of Normality because it articulates really powerfully how society constructs “normality’” – giving language and context to many of the challenges I see both personally and professionally.

Recommended by Lucy Mu, Staff Disability and Mental Health Adviser, HR Division

eff-able: a spicy anthology of queer crip poetry. George Parker and JP Seabright (editors). Fourteen Publishing. 2025.

eff-able: a spicy anthology of queer crip poetry is an anthology by authors who often face multiple forms of marginalisation due to being both queer and disabled. The anthology examines forms of intimacy, desire, and sensuality which are often missed or actively erased during discourse on disability. Poems range from hilarious to devastatingly sad, to poignant and incredibly tender.

Recommended by Andrew Crane, Receptionist and Administrative Assistant, Estates Division

Strong Female Character. Fern Brady. Brazen. 2023.

Fern’s description of life as a young autistic woman growing up undiagnosed is written with incredible wit and honesty and reflects her experience of being neurodivergent which many will be able to relate to. She writes just as she talks, with a thinly veiled rage against the misunderstandings and mistreatment she had to deal with as well as being laugh-out-loud funny, which is quite a balance! I couldn’t put it down.

Recommended by Kirsty Mackenzie, Deputy Head of Disability and Mental Health Service

The Scottish comedian describes her experience of late-diagnosed autism and the challenge women and girls face in getting diagnosed. It won the Nero Book Award for non-fiction in 2023 and is very funny! I loved it.

Recommended by Stef Hackney, Head of LSE Disability and Mental Health Service

This book is full of humour, but it also has a raw frankness in describing her frequent meltdowns and difficulties associated with living as a neurodiverse person in a world designed for the neurotypical. It really shows the value of offering support services for children to enable early detection.

Recommended by Heather Dawson, Librarian, LSE Library

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. Carson McCullers. Penguin Classics (2008); originally published 1940.

I’d like to recommend The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. This powerful novel explores themes of isolation, communication, and the human condition through the lens of its central character, John Singer, a deaf-mute man navigating life in a Southern town in the USA. McCullers’ sensitive portrayal of disability and difference invites reflection on how society engages with those who experience the world differently.

Recommended by Jacqueline Mujico Executive Assistant, International Inequalities Institute

Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Alan Brinkley. Oxford University Press. 2010.

When I was growing up, disability was almost always depicted as a hindrance of some kind – as a condition of life which the individual could only hope to manage as best they could. What depictions of disability in my childhood didn’t show was how disability could be not just part of, but could actually determine, lives of immense consequence.

A 2022 survey of presidential historians ranked Franklin D Roosevelt (FDR) as the greatest President in US history – he is certainly the most important President of the 20th Century. In 1921, FDR was left permanently paralysed from the waist down following a bout of sickness (the cause of which is still disputed). This presented a significant practical challenge for a young politician – given both the campaigning expectations of the age and contemporary attitudes towards disability – but FDR later served as Governor of New York and in 1932 was elected President of the United States. FDR entered office in 1933, in the wake of the 1929 Wall Street Crash. His economic, social and political reforms – popularly known as the “New Deal” – were critical to addressing lack of confidence in the financial system, chronic job shortages and the resulting poverty which had swept the nation. It’s thought that FDR’s own experience of being disabled made him more sympathetic to the plight of the vulnerable in society – the elderly, workers and the poor – than he might otherwise have been given his exceptionally privileged upbringing.

FDR went on to become the only US President to serve more than two terms, dying in office in April 1945 after overseeing the most effective democratic coalition in modern history which would bring the Second World War to an end a few months later. For all his human faults, he was a remarkable person and his own experience of disability fundamentally shaped that remarkable life. I would recommend reading about him to anyone.

Recommended by Kieran Darling, Senior Human Resources (HR) Policy Adviser, HR Division

The Anti-Ableist Manifesto: How to Build a Disability-Inclusive World. Tiffany Yu. Profile Books. 2025.

Why I’d recommend it: This nonfiction book is approachable for disabled and non-disabled readers and can be read in small chunks. It also has great reflection questions at the end of each chapter. A must-read!

Recommended by Bex Manlove, Assistant Learning Technologist, LSE Eden Centre

As someone with ADHD who works in disability support, I loved The Anti-Ableist Manifesto because it felt uplifting and practical – it put into words the kind of inclusive world I’m always trying to help build.

Recommended by Lucy Mu, Staff Disability and Mental Health Adviser, HR Division

Greek Lessons. Penguin. 2024. Han Kang. Translated from Korean into English by Deborah Smith and e. yaewon. 2023.

Han Kang’s Greek Lessons centres on a woman, living in Seoul, who has lost her ability to speak after the trauma of losing custody of her son in a bitter dispute with her ex-husband. She is learning Ancient Greek in her spare time, and forms a relationship with her teacher, a German immigrant to Korea who is going blind and feels increasingly isolated in his life. It’s a haunting meditation on the loneliness that is part of the human condition and feelings of isolation connected to disability. But it’s also a hopeful, tender story about two people in pain finding comfort in one another, written in poetic, ruminative prose by this Nobel-Prize winner.

Recommended by Anna D’Alton, Managing Editor, LSE Review of Books, Communications Division

LSE Review of Books thanks all the members of the LSE community who contributed to this reading list with their book recommendations.

Note: This post gives the views of the author and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, nor of the London School of Economics and Political Science.

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The post Eight books to read for UK Disability History Month first appeared on LSE Review of Books.

Dhaka is a city suffused with a romance, alive with the tinkle of rickshaw bells, a melange of aromas and the sweet hum of Bangla, a proud and rich language. This version of Dhaka is less familiar internationally than a city, teeming with people, pollution and traffic. There are perhaps two Dhakas, then, which defy simple explanations and require poetry to unpick.  

The city has existed since the 7^th century and rose to prominence in the 17^th century, serving as a hub for textile trade under the Mughal empire. Under British colonialism, Dhaka was surpassed by Kolkata, which became the administrative centre of Bengal. In 1971, after Bangladesh achieved independence from Pakistan, Dhaka became the capital of the newly formed nation. 

The city is home to important literary institutions like the famous University of Dhaka, the Bangla Academy and a litany of tea stalls, where people of all ages, classes and backgrounds engage in adda, a uniquely Bengali word for hangouts characterised by wide-ranging discussions.

Bengal is a land of literature, poetry and song, and Dhaka plays an important part in that history. The city is home to important literary institutions like the famous University of Dhaka (known affectionately as “The Oxford of the East”) the Bangla Academy and a litany of tea stalls, where people of all ages, classes and backgrounds engage in adda, a uniquely Bengali word for hangouts characterised by wide-ranging discussions. It was through adda I was first introduced to Dhaka’s intellectual and literary worlds. 

Bengal Boi, Dhanmondi 

Set slightly off from the loud main road in Dhanmondi, a historic and affluent neighbourhood in the heart of Dhaka, Bengal Boi is an oasis. Its large gate opens into a calming yard where you are greeted with sloping vines and leafy trees that create a cool space with a café where you can sit and have refreshments. Beyond this sits the bookshop, Bengal Boi, (“Bengal book”). It sits on the first floor of a modernist building and holds a diverse selection of Bengali and English books, covering topics like academic social science, poetry, literature, graphic novels and the most recent internationally acclaimed novels. The books are well presented in a carefully designed space which exudes a calm and quiet devotion to literature Despite its name, the space is not limited to books alone. Upstairs there is a gallery space boasting a rotation of beautifully curated cultural exhibitions giving a taste of the local art scene. The bookshop also hosts diverse events, from poetry recitals to live music, earning its place as a cultural hub in the heart of Dhaka. 

Nilkhet Book Market 

Not far from the curated calm of Bengal Boi is the delightful chaos of Nilkhet book market. A short walk from the University of Dhaka and opposite the well-known New Market, Nilket is a book market that takes up an entire city block. Small stalls with unwieldy towers of books extend down alleyways for as far as you can see. Book sellers call out from among floor to ceiling piles of books, competing for custom. While many shops sell rather dry textbooks, others have a dizzying array of Bangla and English literature. Do not be intimidated by the towers of books; instead talk to the shopkeepers who bring order to the chaos, finding books instantaneously among the unordered piles that would make a librarian weep and removing them with a dexterity that challenges the boundaries of physics.

The Bookworm, Gulshan 

In North Dhaka’s Gulshan neighbourhood sits Justice Shahabuddin Ahmed Park, overlooking a lake. It’s a spot where young lovers meet away from the prying eyes of their family, and affluent Gulshanites take their daily exercise. Within this small park sits The Bookworm, a bookshop that sits somewhere in the middle of the chaotic stimulation of Nilket and the calming curation of Bengal Boi. Serenely nestled under trees on the southern corner of the park, The Bookworm draws you in with floor-to-ceiling displays of books in every category you could want, in both English and Bangla. The Bookworm often hosts book launches, so it is worth checking their Facebook page for upcoming events.

Note: This bookshop guide gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science.

Main image credit: Lumenite on Shutterstock.

Do you know a place with great bookshops? As part of a regular feature on LSE Review of Books, we’re asking academics and students to recommend their favourite bookshops in a particular city or town to share with our book-loving community of readers the world over.

Bookshops could be academic, alternative, multilingual, hobby-based, secret or underground institutions, second-hand outlets or connected to a university. We’d like to cover all world regions too and are particularly keen to feature cities outside of Europe and North America.

If something comes to mind, we’re looking for a brief introduction about the city, a selection of three or four bookshops with around 150 words per bookshop, detailing why each one is a must-see. Our editorial team can then find suitable photos and links to accompany the piece, though you’re welcome to supply these too.

Email us if you’d like to contribute: lsereviewofbooks@lse.ac.uk

The post The best bookshops in Dhaka, Bangladesh first appeared on LSE Review of Books.

1. The Catch. Yrsa Daley-Ward. Merky Books. 2025.

Shortlisted for the Goldsmiths Prize 2025, this mesmerising book is the first novel from poet and writer Yrsa Daley-Ward. It concerns twin sisters, Clara and Dempsey, somewhat estranged following the disappearance of their mother, Serene. One day, Clara believes she sees their mother, but with a crucial ‘‘catch’’ – this Serene has not aged and she has no children.

As the twins grapple with whether Serene truly can be their mother returned, this novel engages with mother-daughter and sibling relationships, the question of what it means to live your life with and for another, and what it means to assert the right to live for yourself. Most movingly for me, this book captures the uncanniness of grief – how we can so deeply feel the absence of a loved one and yet (re-)encounter their presence in strange, new and unfamiliar ways. As Daley-Ward writes of those we have lost: ‘‘they remain. Inside and around us, they keep coming back.’’

Recommended by Rosemary Deller, Research Engagement Manager, Communications Division

2. The Fire Next Time. James Baldwin. Penguin Classics. 1963.

The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin consists of two essays discussing personal experiences and thoughts on race and racism. The essays were intended as a testimonial in times of segregation in the US but (unfortunately) have remained as global and relevant as ever. I could go into great detail about why everyone should read this book at least once in their life, but I will let this quote, taken from “A Letter to My Nephew” speak for itself: “You know and I know that the country is celebrating one hundred years of freedom one hundred years too early. We cannot be free until they are free.”

Recommended by Isabel Lacurie, Marketing and Communications Manager, Department of Philosophy, Logic and Scientific Method & Centre for Philosophy of Natural and Social Science

3. The Trees. Percival Everett. Influx Press. 2022

The Trees is set in a rural, primarily white and overtly racist US town. Using the backdrop of a detective-led investigation, the author sheds light on America’s past by tackling lynchings, stereotypes and collective memory. Situational humour and historical horror blend seamlessly in this excellent page-turner.

Recommended by Andreea Gavrila Senior Research & Innovation Engagement Manager, Research & Innovation Division

4. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. Rebecca Skloot. Picador. 2024.

Henrietta Lacks was a Black woman whose cancer cells, taken without her knowledge in 1951, became one of the most important tools in medicine. Known as HeLa cells, they were vital in developing the polio vaccine, cloning, gene mapping, and more. The book is not just a scientific biography; it’s a profoundly human story that exposes the racial and ethical injustices embedded in medical research. Henrietta’s story is framed within a broader history of medical exploitation and makes for a powerful critique of systemic racism in healthcare, much of which persists to this day. I read this book over a decade ago now and it is one that really stuck with me. It is an incredibly important, deeply emotive, and undeniably formidable read.

Recommended by Amanda M. Gaddes Department Manager, Department of Health Policy

5. The Fraud. Zadie Smith. Penguin. 2024.

The ostensible focus of The Fraud is a semi-fictionalised account of the life of Eliza Touchet, the housekeeper of the (now largely forgotten) Victorian novelist William Ainsworth. However, like the Victorian literature the book draws on, The Fraud contains a multitude of narratives, focusing on London literary society, the cause célèbre of the Tichbourne claimant and the life story of Andrew Bogle a former slave and key witness in the trial. In this way The Fraud creates a composite picture of Victorian society that speaks to contemporary issues of identity, “post-truth” and populism. While pulling no punches in its depiction of the authors of the time (especially Dickens), The Fraud draws on their earnest moral clarity, to fill a silence in these writings with regards to the UK’s (continuing) entanglement with empire, colonialism and slavery.

Recommended by Michael Taster, Managing Editor, LSE Impact Blog, Communications Division

6. Windrush: 75 Years of Modern Britain. Trevor Phillips and Mike Phillips. Harper Collins. 2023.

I’m suggesting this book as I believe the efforts of the Windrush generation are often overlooked when discussing race relations and the ethnic minority experience today. This book helped me to understand their unique experiences during this period and how it has shaped the UK today.

Recommended by Joe Faulkner, Communications, EDI & Student Experience Officer, Department of Mathematics

7. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. Junot Diaz. Faber & Faber. 2008.

This Pulitzer-Prize-winning book traces the history of a family in the Dominican Republic who lived under the dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo and later moved to the United States. It’s whimsical, funny, Spanish language-infused, and delivers a reading experience like no other, as it’s full of lengthy tangential foot notes and pop culture quips. I’d recommend having the annotated webpage open nearby to guide you through them.

The book skilfully explores the traumas experienced by a family during dictatorship and how this inherited trauma plays out in the present day. It also highlights the sexualisation of women and gives unflinching accounts of sexual violence and harassment against women. This aspect of the book sits uncomfortably with the fact that Díaz has himself been accused of sexual misconduct and misogynistic behaviour. It makes the book an interesting example of whether we can or should separate the work from the writer.

Recommended by Kay O’ Neill, Communications and Events Manager, Department of Government

8. Why We Kneel, How We Rise. Michael Holding. Simon & Schuster. 2021.

Why We Kneel is powerful, interesting book outlining the experiences of racism from one of the all-time great cricketers, Michael Holding, along with a whole litany of instances where the achievements of black people have been erased from the history books.

Recommended by Andrew Young, Chief Operating Officer, Executive Office

9. Rivers of London (series). Ben Aaronovitch. Gollancz. 2011 to present.

I love the Rivers of London series, and its protagonist, Peter Grant, a Met Detective who joins the super-natural arm of the police force, The Folly. Peter’s mom is from Sierra Leone, and the books are filled with a tapestry of not just historical insights to London, but its cultural diversity.

Why I have also suggested these books is that it made me realise that when I read, my imagination creates images of characters that are like me – white, English speaking. And I remember my surprise (coupled with shame) when I had to re-calibrate the picture in my head which had Peter as a liberal, white, English detective. An excellent example of how deep, our subconscious-bias is.

Recommended by Kerryn Krige, Senior Lecturer in Practice, Marshall Institute

10. Natives: Race and Class in the Ruins of Empire. Akala. Two Roads. 2018.

Natives is honestly one of the most eye-opening books I’ve read. Akala doesn’t just talk about race and class in Britain, he lives it, and that personal perspective makes all the difference. He shares what it was like growing up mixed-race in Camden, and connects that to the bigger picture of Britain’s colonial past and how it still shapes our society today. What really struck me is how clearly he shows the everyday impact of systemic racism in schools, in the media, in the way people are treated. It’s part memoir, part history, and part reality check. I’m recommending it for Black History Month because it doesn’t just help us understand the past, it pushes us to face the present.

Recommended by Yvonne Olusoga, Project Development Officer. LSE Library & LSE Library Cochair EmbRace Staff Network

11. Calling Una Marson: The Extraordinary Life of a Forgotten Icon. June Sarpong and Jennifer Obidike. Akan Books. 2025.

“I am glad I am black / There is something about me that has a dash in it.”

When i first heard these lines from the poem “Black is Fancy” on a BBC 2 documentary, I was astounded that the writer Una Marson is now largely unknown to British audiences. Yet her achievements as a writer and the first Black woman broadcaster and producer at the BBC were astonishing  at a time when race equality legislation did not exist and women were not expected to have independent careers.

This biography traces her life from her birth in rural Jamaica in 1905, describing how she worked her way up from a stenographer to a published poet, newspaper editor and founder of the literary journal Cosmopolitan. It provides an absorbing account of how her move to the UK led her to join The League of Coloured Peoples and become editor of its journal, The Keys,  campaigning  for Black civil rights. Then in 1938, she became the first Black woman to be employed by the BBC, developing the Calling the West Indies and Caribbean Voices series to showcase West Indian perspectives and talent. Yet the book does not shy away from describing the levels of overt racism which she suffered and her own battles with mental health. From my perspective, this makes her overall achievements all the more remarkable, and inexcusable that she has become so easily forgotten – situation which I hope this biography may remedy.

Recommended by Heather Dawson, Librarian, LSE Library

12. Augustown. Kei Miller. Weidenfeld & Nicholson. 2016.

Set in a fictionalised version of a deprived neighbourhood of Kingston, Jamaica, Augustown revolves around the story of the “Flying Preacherman”, Alexander Bedward, which Ma Taffy tells her grandson, Kaia. Though the “official” history dismisses it as a myth about a madman, she maintains she witnessed him fly, and claims it as an act of Black resistance against white oppression in 1920s Jamaica. The narrative links this event to the book’s present, 1982, when Kaia suffers a cruel punishment by a teacher, sparking an uprising and clash with police that has catastrophic consequences.

It’s simultaneously a gripping tale of a small community’s resistance, an exploration of slavery’s legacies, and a powerful interrogation of which stories are privileged or buried in the telling of history. The narrative moves between different time periods and perspectives, embodying the various ways that the past interrupts and acts on the present. Miller is a poet as well as a novelist, and this comes through in the beauty and vividness of Augustown’s language.

Recommended by Anna D’Alton, Managing Editor, LSE Review of Books, Communications Division

13. You Are Your Best Thing: Vulnerability, Shame Resilience, and the Black Experience. Brene Brown and Tarana Burke (editors). Vermillion. 2021.

I first read this book three years ago, and it had a lasting impact on me, so much so that I often find myself revisiting it. It thoughtfully and powerfully explores themes of vulnerability, shame, and resilience through the lens of the Black experience. These are subjects that are often avoided, which makes the book all the more powerful and necessary.

Recommended by Ann-Marie Majekodunmi, Wellbeing Adviser, Student Wellbeing Services

14. Dream Count. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Fourth Estate. 2025.

This year, I wanted to recommend a book that not only reflects the richness of Black womanhood but also speaks to the quiet, everyday strength so many of us carry. Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie does exactly that. It’s a beautifully written, emotionally layered novel that follows four African women – Chiamaka, Zikora, Omelogor, and Kadiatou, whose lives unfold across Nigeria and the U.S. during the COVID-19 pandemic. The book captures the internal worlds of these women, their longings, regrets, and resilience with such honesty and grace.

A quote from the book asks: “Why do we remember what we remember? Which reels from our past assert their vivid selves and which remain dim, just out of reach?” That line stayed with me. It reminded me how memory, identity, and belonging are often shaped by forces beyond our control, but also how we reclaim them through storytelling. This book is a quiet revelation. It’s not just about the pandemic, it’s about the emotional truths we carry, the choices we make, and the ways we find ourselves through connection and reflection. I hope it sparks meaningful conversations during this Black History Month at LSE.

Recommended by Yvonne Olusoga, Project Development Officer. LSE Library & LSE Library Cochair EmbRace Staff Network

15. The Memory Librarian: And Other Stories of Dirty Computer. Janelle Monáe. HarperVoyager. 2022.

Janelle Monáe’s debut book expands the world of her Dirty Computer album (the best album of 2018 in my opinion!) into a bold collection of Afrofuturist short stories. Co-written with acclaimed authors, the book explores a dystopian future where memory is controlled to suppress queerness, Blackness, and individuality. Each story is a powerful reflection on identity, resistance, and liberation, blending sci-fi and technology with social justice. The central theme linking these stories is certainly pertinent in today’s world: Whoever controls our memories controls the future. This book is a celebration of imagination and human defiance, and a vibrant tribute to Black queer futures and the power of storytelling.

Recommended by Amanda M. Gaddes Department Manager, Department of Health Policy

16. To Kill a Mockingbird. Harper Lee. Penguin. 1960.

Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird is a timeless classic that I picked up only recently. I loved how it captures humanity and the biased society through the eyes of a child. Set in the racially charged American South, it weaves innocence and injustice into an unforgettable tale about compassion and equality. This beautifully written novel compelled me to reflect on my morality and conscience while feeling like a warm hug. I know it is always going to be one of my top recommendations!

Recommended by Tania Gandhi, Project Coordinator, LSE Consulting Team, Research and Innovation Division

17. The Secret Lives of Baba Segi’s Wives. Rotimi Babatunde. Oberon Books. 2018.

18. Nearly All the Men in Lagos Are Mad. Damilare Kuku. Swift Press. 2022.

19. And So I Roar. Abi Daré. Sceptre. 2024.

I recommend these three Nigerian novels – And So I Roar by Abi Daré (book cover pictured, left), The Secret Lives of Baba Segi’s Wives by Rotimi Babatunde and Nearly All the Men in Lagos Are Mad by Damilare Kuku – because they have shared themes of female empowerment, resistance, gender dynamics, secrets, and survival. They differ in structure and tone, but they reveal how women cope with trauma and reclaim agency. Often with humour and vulnerability.

Recommended by Adeola Akande Pierre-Noël, Centre Manager, Phelan United States Centre

LSE Review of Books thanks all the members of the LSE community who contributed to this reading list with their book recommendations.

Note: This reading list gives the views of the contributors, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, nor of the London School of Economics.

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The post Nineteen must-read books for Black History Month first appeared on LSE Review of Books.

Combining Efforts: 200 Years of Trade Union History is showing at LSE Library from 15 September 2025 to 31 January 2026.

This year marks the 200th anniversary of the passing of the 1825 Combination Act. The Act legalised the formation of trade unions in the UK, but the recognition of workers’ voices and campaigns remained contested. This exhibition traces some of the history of the development of trade unions through years of struggle, triumph, defeat and resilience. 

Alongside historical campaigns, it also shines a spotlight on underrepresented voices within the movement, including those to promote LGBTQ+ rights and the vital contributions of Black trade unionists today.  The exhibition was jointly curated by Indy Bhullar, Chelsea Collison and Jeff Howarth, and features materials from the Trade Union Congress Library, which was founded in 1922 and is housed as part of the Special Collections at London Metropolitan University.

Co-curating this archival exhibition, I was struck by how much feels relevant today. Police violence reported in a student newspaper, a trade union leader’s speech about propaganda and war, or a campaigner demanding representation in union meetings, these seven items may come from the past, but their echoes are hard to miss.

1. Jackie Lewis’s delegate lanyard, NALGO conference, 1983

Ephemera is defined as “minor transient documents of everyday life”, and this delegate name badge (with personal flair) that Jackie Lewis wore at the National and Local Government Officers Association (NALGO) conference in 1983 is the perfect example. Lewis saved this badge  at the time, and it is now preserved for perpetuity in the TUC Library at London Metropolitan University. This is why I love archives: even the smallest object can hold a story, carefully stored until it meets someone curious enough to bring it out.

Lewis was vital in pushing NALGO to set up a national Lesbian and Gay Committee and has campaigned on and helped create policy to address discrimination against and the rights for LGBT+ people in the workplace.

2. Speech by Sir Walter Citrine at Albert Hall Meeting, 3 December 1936

Sir Walter Citrine’s speech calls out the control of information, suppression of dissent and glorification of war. Sound familiar? I’ve chosen this item because his warning still resonates today. Citrine became the leader of the Trades Union Congress during the 1926 General Strike and spent the next twenty years at the forefront of the organised labour movement. As you might guess, he was also heavily involved in Britain’s Anti-Nazi movement. He gave this speech at a meeting to advocate for democracy and to inform the British public of the grave danger the Nazi regime in Germany, Fascists in Italy, Civil War in Spain and Communism posed to international peace and freedom.

3. Article on Grunwick violence in The Beaver, 1977

LSE Students’ Union founded The Beaver in 1949, and it has since reflected both student life and broader political, cultural, and social issues. It’s no surprise to see the violent clash between police and protesting workers at Grunwick make the headlines in this 8 November 1977 issue, but I always find it exciting to see a major event reported by a small local press. I appreciate the reporters’ authenticity and honesty when they state:

“The events were so confusing that it took about fifteen people to compile this story-we think we have produced a fairly accurate picture of what actually happened. We don’t, however, excuse our obvious bias. If you and you had been there, whatever political group you whatever political group you belong to, you too would have been as horrified and incensed by the actions of the police as we were.”

This is followed by a play-by-play of the police violence that took place at the Grunwick protest ending with the question “Is it practical to place one part of society above the rest and expect it to be infallible? If it is not, we would be far better off without a police force.” Thank you, Beaver, for asking the big questions!

4. Matchworkers’ Strike Register, 1888

The significance of this item is in the details. Look closely and you’ll see the name of Sarah Chapman, a member of the Matchgirls’ Strike Committee who was elected as President of their new union, the Union of Women Matchmakers. Her name is, alongside those of 263 workers from the Centre and Top Centre workshops, 186 workers at the Victoria factory and 263 workers at the Wax and Box Stores and Patents. Names of each worker are accompanied by their address, marital status, occupation, last week’s wages and whether they live at home or independently. 

After the strike, the volume was also used as a scrapbook or guardbook with press cuttings, letters and other documents either pasted onto the pages or filed loosely between them. The register was given to the Trades Union Congress in 1977, transferred to the University of North London (now London Metropolitan University) in 1998 and underwent conservation at the University of Dundee in 2000. (Information from TUC History Online.)

5. Black Trade Union Oral History Project, 2022-2023

Not so much an item, but a collection of voices, the recordings of the Coalition of Black Trade Unionists speaking to London Met students enable us to hear from trade union activists of 2022-2023. When I first listened to details of their campaigns and first-person passion for justice, I got goosebumps that the physical archive just can’t produce. Here is a stand-out quote from an interview with Michelle Codrington-Rogers: “I would be in all these meetings saying this needs to be a room for us. Where’s the Black voices? Where are the Black representatives? What is going on with this union?”

6. Newspaper clipping and handwritten notes on artificial flower making, c.1900

There is always so much more to say than the exhibition has space for. This newspaper clipping and handwritten note both come from the archive of Gertrude Tuckwell, a prominent British social reformer, trade unionist, and campaigner for women’s rights. The 40 boxes in the collection (housed in the TUC Library archive) include correspondence, a substantial press cutting collection, pamphlets and reports. Tuckwell herself systematically assembled the items to illuminate key issues and events in women’s struggle for equality and representation. How she found the time to curate her own collection amazes me!  

The newspaper clipping reports on the terrible working conditions of artificial flower makers who earned a “starvation wage” for work about which “it is impossible to exaggerate the tediousness”. At the time, artificial flowers were widely used in millinery (hat-making), home decoration, and fashion accessories. The description of the work lends a new meaning to the phrase “suffer for fashion”.

The anonymous handwritten note describes the conditions of one such flower-making location, a workshop at the address of “Mrs Jones, 9A. Cromer Street”.  The worker describes the workroom as “a completely underground cellar”, notes the hours of work as “hours of work 6am to 18pm or much earlier if there is daylight’ and reports, “eyesight much affected by colours; and close sitting to work”.

7. R.H. Tawney’s diary, 3 May 1926

R. H. Tawney’s diary entry is dated 3 May 1926, the day the TUC called a General Strike, which lasted nine days and is Britain’s only to date. Tawney was a British economic historian, social critic, and influential thinker on labour, education, and social justice. The entry documents how coal miners were being forced into accepting a drasticwage reduction before talks could be held ahead of the strike. One of the core elements of trade unionism is to protect, as well as improve, their members’ pay and conditions, which Tawney’s words bring to life.

Note: This article gives the views of the author and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, nor of the London School of Economics and Political Science.

Image credits: LSE Library from the exhibition Combining Efforts: 200 Years of Trade Union History running from 15 September 2025 to 31 January 2026.

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Resisting the Nuclear: Art and Activism Across the Pacific. Elyssa Faison and Alison Fields (editors). University of Washington Press. 2024.

Resisting the Nuclear: Art and Activism Across the Pacific edited by Elyssa Faison and Alison Fields arrives at a time of increased global nuclear anxiety. An inaugural book from the series Critical Ethnic Studies and Visual Culture (University of Washington Press), the book turns to a paradigm of “resistance” through art and activism to consider responses to nuclear legacies past and present. This is a wide-ranging and ambitious collection which deviates from previous scholarship that focuses largely only on art-objects, and instead expands the nuclear humanities context by drawing from “anthropology, sociology, art history, arts education, environmental management, history, art, and photography” (7). 

Nuclear survivors and anti-nuclear resistance 

The book carefully attends to “originary” nuclear moments (Nagasaki, Hiroshima, Trinity) to situate anti-nuclear imaginaries outside of a solely Cold War framework (8). This is made ever-present by an important introduction early on to a character who emerges throughout the book: the Hibakusha (a Japanese term for survivors of the atom-bomb). This important recurrence of the hibakusha by contributors is part of a broader privileging of the voice of direct sufferers, survivors and indigenous actors. Particularly welcome throughout is an examination of the racialisation and stratification of hibakusha, who still face discrimination, both socially and economically. This focus exemplifies a broader emphasis the editors place on localised experiences, which in turn moves the books criticality away from Euro-American conceptions of universalised/global resistances. Instead, the book carefully exposes the acute limits, antagonisms and difficulties those who were directly impacted face in pursuit of resistance.

This important recurrence of the hibakusha (a Japanese term for survivors of the atom-bomb) by contributors is part of a broader privileging of the voice of direct sufferers, survivors and indigenous actors.

The idea of a “monument” is skilfully deployed throughout the narrative, to tie potentially disparate chapters together – from tourist sites, abandoned bunkers and temples, to exhibitions, art objects and more. Arguably, the book is itself a timely monument to modes of creative response and resistance through its focus on those overlooked and written-off antinuclear histories. Yet, the editors are careful to ensure that, when we consider “monuments”, we do so through a lens of Anti-monumentalism: whether they be art objects, tourist test-sites, commodities, exhibitions, performances, and even humans (who can, as in the case of the hibakusha, become reified as monuments to nuclear disaster). We must be careful, the editors warn, not to present such locales, sites and bodies as homogenous or static, but rather perceived within a criticality that resists “static, fixed, representation” (117). This in turn enables us to push “against dominant narratives of resistance” and privilege a “focus on those who have been relegated to the margins” (6).  

Disability and gender in activist movements 

An incident prevalent in later chapters is the Lucky Dragon incident of 1954: a Japanese fishing boat with 23 onboard which became contaminated by fallout from nuclear testing in the area. Here, the book’s impressive criticality and self-reflection on the potentialities (and limits) of resistance is especially evident. Takenaka’s chapter (207-216) on “Housewives petitioning for World Peace” offers an important reflection on the gendered dynamics of activists’ response to the incident. In particular, she elucidates how female activists “versed in political activism” (209) became characterised as “naive housewives” by those in pursuit of an anti-nuclear petitioning reliant framed within a “grassroots effort by ordinary mothers” (209). As a disabled scholar, I further welcomed Wake’s consideration (237-253) of the struggles faced by “atomic veterans” exposed to radiation during military roles who subsequently became disabled and Wake’s book explores this theme in more depth for those interested in further reading. Alongside scholarly reflections, intimate contemplation and interviews with artists on their personal ethical conundrums clearly sketch out provocations for artists to take forward in their own work and develop. Striking examples include Takeda’s musings on collaborations with hibakusha (970-116) and Diné artist Will Wilson’s work on the Navajo Nation (275-280).   

Resistance through art beyond the visual 

In such a varied and wide-ranging book, motifs around which the chapters coalesce are not immediately obvious. Between monuments, hibakusha, artistic ethics, commodification and tourism, the book dances from topic to topic and across various methodological practices. Though introductory musings and Machida’s opening section (13-48) on WW2 Pacific Art seem to offer a model for future chapters, this art-historical reading of visual nuclear is actually more of an outlier, as the book quickly switches to much broader art-activist strokes. For those interested in a strictly artistic investigation, there are, however, other works which have taken up this task, such as British Art in the Nuclear Age (Routledge, 2012) and Fukushima and the Arts (Routledge, 2017). 

Resisting the Nuclear effectively enables us to grapple with the complicated devastation of the nuclear, and the diverse and resilient forms of resistance that have emerged in its wake against it.

Resisting the Nuclear’s departure from a strict visual context has a clear purpose within the emergent field of nuclear-environmental humanities, wherein prior works focused on either a strict reading of art-objects or art and activism in a few singular locations. Perhaps the closest counterpart to this book is Art and Activism in the Nuclear Age (Routledge: 2023) though this focuses largely on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The generative and unique potential of Resisting the Nuclear is therefore arguably its open-endedness. The chapters which historicise modes of activism and deviate from discussions solely of the visual only serve to expand understanding of the contexts in which art practices, artists and their various interlocutors emerge and the impacts they make in furthering the language of nuclear resistances. 

Imagining anti-nuclear futures 

A quick Google search for the “Atomic Museum” (Nevada, US) tourist gift shop site advertises a top-selling board game called Proliferation, which encourages players to “unleash devastating nuclear force to dominate your rivals”. In a time where the horrific impact of nuclear technologies, destruction and waste have been increasingly normalised, commodified and even trivialised to the point of becoming the theme for a board game, we must arguably return to the sound of the doomsday clock, which, as the book reminds us, ticks ever closer to its midnight toll from which there will be no going back (168). Resisting the Nuclear effectively enables us to grapple with the complicated devastation of the nuclear, and the diverse and resilient forms of resistance that have emerged in its wake against it. This volume will undoubtedly provoke other scholars, activists, artists and more actors to imagine other anti-nuclear futures, and even, perhaps, to bring them about.

Note: This review gives the views of the author and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, nor of the London School of Economics and Political Science.

Main Image Credit: Battered religious figures stand watch on a hill above a tattered valley in Nagasaki, Japan on 24 September 1945, six weeks after the city was destroyed by the world’s second atomic bomb attack. Credit: Cpl. Lynn P. Walker, Jr. (Marine Corps) via Wikimedia Commons.

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The post Monuments to survival – anti-nuclear resistance through art first appeared on LSE Review of Books.

Page and port –discovering Hamburg’s book scene 

Though nestled in northern Germany, miles from the open sea, Hamburg is renowned for its port: the largest in Germany and among Europe’s busiest. The harbour, along with the trade and commerce it fostered, shaped the city’s identity, and continues to define its DNA today. Unlike vibrant boho Berlin, just two hours away by train, Hamburg rarely springs to mind as a literary powerhouse – at least not at first glance. 

Look closer, however, and you’ll discover a thriving cultural scene with reading culture deeply embedded in the city’s fabric. Hamburg boasts multiple (large and small) literature festivals, including Harbour Front, Hamburg liest with changing annual themes, Lange Nacht der Literatur with events spread throughout the city until late into the night and early morning, the Nature Writing Festival in 2025 or Nordische Literaturtage for Scandinavian authors and literature. It’s also home to a prestigious Literaturhaus (a stage in an elegant villa hosting regular readings and author events , various literary prizes, an innovative library system, publishing houses that have stubbornly refused to relocate to Berlin, and passionate independent bookshops scattered throughout every district. Each of these offers carefully curated literary selections and events that venture far beyond the mainstream. 

This guide spotlights a handful of these special places, all centrally located and easily accessible during even a brief city visit. Each maintains a thoughtful selection of English-language books as well. 

Felix Jud – a Hamburg institution

Let’s begin with a true Hamburg institution: Felix Jud established this bookstore in 1923 (originally at a different location, now located at Neuer Wall 13, 20354 Hamburg ), and it has carried his name ever since, remaining devoted to exceptionally curated selections throughout its history. You’ll marvel at how the booksellers manage to stock both contemporary literature and classics across their compact three floors – which also accommodates a section for antiques and art for sale. 

The selection radiates a profound love for the written word and particularly beautiful editions. Even voracious readers will stumble upon books that have never crossed their radar. This browsing experience unfolds amid classic interiors of rich wood and densely packed shelves. The historical ambiance provides a welcome contrast to the ostentation and glitter of the luxury shopping street where the bookshop has courageously held its ground for years, proudly honouring the legacy of its founder – a declared opponent of the Nazi regime who deliberately refused to change his surname. During the Nazi era, he used his shop windows for daring interventions and secretly supplied customers with banned books.

Blattgold – a golden discovery

A personal recent discovery is Buchhandlung Blattgold (Wexstraße 28, 20355 Hamburg), established only in 2018 yet already honoured with the prestigious national Bookshop Prize in 2022, primarily for exceptional service. Don’t be deceived by first impressions: while the selection appears sparse, every single title (novels and socially relevant non-fiction) represents an excellent choice. Blattgold proves invaluable when you lack the energy to excavate overstuffed shelves crammed with books and are in need of some guidance. 

The airy, bright, welcoming spaces give browsers ample room and tranquillity to engage with the selection. The name isn’t merely wordplay –as the bookshop shares its space with a goldsmith, contributing to a pleasant, unhurried atelier atmosphere. (Plus, Public Coffee Roasters right next door serves some of the city’s finest coffee!)

stories! – modern excellence

stories! (Straßenbahnring 17, 20251 Hamburg) is a contemporary bookshop that proves why we don’t need large chains or delivery services: it offers excellent, lightning-fast service, thoughtful curation across all genres, numerous events, and coffee with homemade cookies. While centrally located, it’s somewhat hidden, but a large sign guides visitors from the main street to the laneway between the building rows where it’s located. 

The great strength of stories! lies in its passionate staff (their recommendations never miss!) and its superb selection extending into every niche, as well as popular picks; stories! effortlessly balances displaying bestsellers in their windows while pointing your nose toward “the special.” Particularly ingenious is their “room within a room,” where currently discussed titles are presented alongside reviews. The lovingly stocked children’s book section is especially good. As much as possible is displayed cover-forward, creating the sensation of wandering through an exhibition. 

Dr. Götze Land & Karte – a geographical goldmine

An enormously cherished curiosity is Dr. Götze (located at Alstertor 14, 20095 Hamburg): a bookshop specialising in maps, atlases, globes, and every conceivable type of travel literature. Founded immediately after the war in 1946, it’s now Germany’s largest “geographical specialty shop,” possibly even in all of Europe. They carry the complete selection of travel guides and hiking maps (in appropriate scales) for even the most remote corners of the world, plus historical maps, star atlases and literary travelogues. 

You might think this isn’t your thing, but this boutique shop’s charm is simply overwhelming. Don’t miss consulting their passionate expert team, even for vague or distant travel plans; the staff know their craft and are happy to advise, pursuing their work with the passion of true world explorers. 

Kapitel Drei – a reader’s sanctuary 

While I understand the reverence for books as material objects deep in my soul, I’m primarily a reader. This might be because I’m a librarian who borrows rather than buys most of my books. For me it’s about the stories, about reading itself, and I fear many books are purchased more as proxies for this experience than for actual reading. 

That’s why my final recommendation is my favourite place, one genuinely devoted to reading. Kapitel Drei (Hospitalstraße 69, 22767 Hamburg) is a book café where, no matter when you visit, you’ll see people reading at every table (many on their own) or discussing books. There’s a small selection of new and used books (mainly novels, especially classics and fantasy, plus poetry and non-fiction on feminism and LGBTQ+ topics), but you’re welcome to bring your own reading material. 

There’s something magical about reading surrounded by other readers and I highly recommend incorporating this place into your Hamburg visit to remind yourself what books are truly about. Kapitel 3 was founded in 2023 by two young women who took this bold step in the post-COVID years. You can feel their love and dedication to this very special place in every detail, down to every last crumb of their (vegan) cake. 

Postscript

Finally, if you’re looking to combine your own reading with exploring Hamburg’s special places, you should check out Flexibles Schmökern – a unique concept that invites you to a reading hour in changing locations. 

Note: This bookshop guide gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science.

Main image credit: canadastock on Shutterstock.

Author image credit: Christiane Müller Sabine Vielmo © via The New Institute website.

Do you know a place with great bookshops? As part of a regular feature on LSE Review of Books, we’re asking academics and students to recommend their favourite bookshops in a particular city or town to share with our book-loving community of readers the world over.

Bookshops could be academic, alternative, multilingual, hobby-based, secret or underground institutions, second-hand outlets or connected to a university. We’d like to cover all world regions too and are particularly keen to feature cities outside of Europe and North America.

If something comes to mind, we’re looking for a brief introduction about the city, a selection of three or four bookshops with around 150 words per bookshop, detailing why each one is a must-see. Our editorial team can then find suitable photos and links to accompany the piece, though you’re welcome to supply these too.

Email us if you’d like to contribute: lsereviewofbooks@lse.ac.uk

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Queer Politics in Times of New Authoritarianisms: Popular Culture in South Asia. Somak Biswas, Rohit K Dasgupta and Churnjeet Mahn (eds.). Routledge. 2024.

Beyond Western liberal frameworks

How have queer politics evolved in South Asia over the past several decades? This is the question taken up in a volume edited by Somak Biswas, Rohit K. Dasgupta and Churnjeet Mahn which first appeared in the special volume of South Asian Popular Culture in 2023. It comprises seven chapters dealing with issues pertaining to the burgeoning of queer politics amidst the landscape of new authoritarianism in South Asia. The editors, while introducing the volume, survey the existing scholarship that has looked into the development of queer politics in the region, and argue that unlike the West, queer activism in South Asia does not have a linear relation with liberal democracy. Instead, queer activism in this region has grown out of the enmeshed relationship of contestations and negotiations with neo-liberal states. These inherent contradictions that are embedded in queer movements in South Asia thus provide a fertile gr​​​​ound for enquiry. Like seminal works centred on South Asian popular culture such as Gayatri Gopinath’s Impossible Desires: Queer Diasporas and South Asian Public Culture (2005), this volume also focuses on popular culture, extending its definition to include “zines, web series and public art” changes in “social processes” and “everyday realities” (4).  

Resistance through popular culture

The first chapter by Sarala Emmanuel and Ponni Arasu is a careful reflection on ​​​​Sri Lanka’s sodomy laws of 1883 and how it infringes upon the lives of queer people of the region up to the present day. With their involvement as activists, they highlight the role of international NGOs in ushering in LGBTQI+ ​​​​rights-based discourse and the state’s conditional redressal to the decriminalisation law in lieu of the growing influence of the western market economy. Shermal Wijewardene’s chapter similarly explores the ambiguity inherent to sodomy laws and their equivocation, which render unequal sexual citizenship to queer men. By analysing the anglophone play The One Who Loves You So (2019), revolving around the lives of two queer men from different social backgrounds in contemporary Sri Lanka, he effectively demonstrates the equivocal nature of the law that adjoins the pervasive role of the state in “reproducing the internal stratification of queer citizenship” (37). Both the chapters emphasise the role of new authoritarianism in the gradual transformation of sodomy laws in Sri Lanka that allow conditional interstices for the formation of queer politics, but only by facilitating the growth of majoritarian values that are conceptualised by the state in congruence with the elites. 

The third chapter by Sruthi B. Guptha and Sandhya V offers a critical analysis of the film Udalaazham or Body Deep (2018), through the lens of caste and precarity, which has been largely excluded in the depiction of transgender characters in popular Malayalam cinema. The film revolves around Gulikan, who belongs to the tribal (Paniya) community, as he navigates his sexuality amidst societal hostility due to his tribal caste and gender expressions. The authors, while juxtaposing the film within the context of larger Malayalam cinema, propose the dimensions of “gender-liminality” in understanding Gulikan’s sexuality. Their employment of this term offers a new way of understanding identities complicated by multiple contestations that cannot be defined within the fixed conceptualisation of being transgender. 

Arnapal and D. DasGupta’s framing of trans-indigeneity as a ‘radical breakthrough offering a different kind of on-the-ground alter trans/queer politics’ is a crucial contribution to a growing the queer politics in Northeast India.  

Brain A. Horton’s chapter on queer zines prevalent in Bombay during the 1990s and 2000s such as Bombay Dost, Scripts and Gayzi Zines posits them as an “overlooked archive of queer and trans culture in India” (58). His chapter evokes a sense of excitement as we progress through the salacious “gossips” or “masala” from Bollywood that appear throughout the zines, which in a way speak for the queer readership of the time in Bombay. The concept of “queer sociality” employed here is significant, as it emerges through the pages of the zines and engenders a “commitment to the creative critical work of imagining collective possibilities” (60). 

Intersecting trans, queer and indigenous experience

Maisnam Arnapal and Debanuj DasGupta take into account the representation of Northeast India in popular Hindi cinema that has framed the cultural imagination of the Northeast as the racial “other”. Amidst the appropriation of queer politics in the region by the Hindu nation-state, they posit that there is “futurity” in projects the Chinky Homo Project, a digital queer anthology of North East India and Nupi Maanbi’s activism in Manipur, a trans-indigenous movement. Their framing of trans-indigeneity as a “radical breakthrough offering a different kind of on-the-ground alter trans/queer politics” (84) is a crucial contribution to a growing the queer politics in Northeast India.  

Krystal Nandini Ghisyawan examines the vandalisation of the mural titled “Home is Where We Make it” by Amrisa Niranjan, an Indo-Guyanese artist on 29 April 2022 in New Jersey, US. Including an interview with the artist, she explores the mural’s defacement as a symbolic representation of anti-immigrant sentiments and her approach to queerness alludes to the larger notions of “otherness” and “unbelonging” that is pervasive in the cultural imagination that discursively denies “them a space for existence within the national body” (87). Not being geographically rooted in South Asia, this chapter deviates slightly from the regional cohesiveness of the volume, but is nonetheless significant.  

Analysing the curation of their digital identities on Instagram, Alim notes that such self-representations engender a radical queer futurity for members of trans and hijra communities

The final chapter by Tanvir Alim probes the self-representation of trans and​​ hijra (transgender, intersex, or eunuchs who follow a kinship based system in South Asia) identities on Instagram in Bangladesh. He foregrounds the ​​​​role played by international bodies such as foreign donors and NGOs in the growth of trans rights advocacy, and the neoliberal notions of self-optimisation in the formation of digital identities. While analysing the curation of their digital identities on Instagram, he notes that such self-representations engender a radical queer futurity for members of trans and hijra communities, specifically in “community making and civil rights activism” (101).  

Queer Politics in Times of New Authoritarianism is an essential addition to the scholarship on Queer Studies in South Asia. Despite the chapters being geographically limited to a few countries, which the editors dutifully disclose and justify at the outset, it presents a nuanced analysis of queer politics under new authoritarianism critically reimagined through the lens of popular culture.

Note: This review gives the views of the author and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, nor of the London School of Economics and Political Science.

Image: SolomonAsghar on Wikimedia Commons.

Read an article by Rohit K. Dasgupta, Desi queers: celebrating queer South Asian history in Britain in LSE Research for the World.

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The post Queer activism and popular culture in South Asia first appeared on LSE Review of Books.