does anyone have any books that talk about the history of africa or the americas that explains it in a manner that DOESN’T focus on european history and does so in a way that talks more about the rise and fall of civilizations as opposed to “there were tribes here la dee dah!”
because i need to learn way more about the pre-imperialist africa and the americas and i want to understand it in a lens that doesn’t make them out to be savage and animalistic thank u
I bet you guys have TONS of suggestions!
Someone mentioned 1491. It is pretty good, though the author gets a lot of info from post-contact sources. He does make sure to point that out himself though, and it is still a pretty interesting read.
- When not all the books in the series are the same height.
- When books change covers with editions so they don’t all match unless you buy the series in one go.
- When some books are hardcover and some are softcover and it doesn’t match but you can’t find another copy.
- When some covers are different in certain countries so you don’t get the main one which also happens to look better than all the other varieties.
- Basically just books.
- God damn them.
It either takes me 5 months to read a book or I read five of them in 2 days. There is no inbetween.
Omens Excerpt - Raven Dreams
I promised this yesterday, but ended up spending the day wiping a myriad of small tasks off my to-do list—I seem to have been clobbered with them in the last week! As you may have noticed, both the UK and Canadian covers for Omens feature ravens. Here’s a sample of why. This is a dream sequence. It’s a nightmare Olivia has early on, so possibly some disturbing content.
At last I stepped through the fog to see her crouched in the middle of a mist-shrouded circle of misshapen dead trees.
I looked around. Did I know this place?
Familiar yet unfamiliar.
Same with the girl.
I walked over. She was throwing something onto the ground, like jacks. The mist curled around her face, shrouding it.
When she saw me, she nodded solemnly and moved back, as if to give me room. I walked over and bent down. She picked up what looked like a stubby piece of wood and held it out.
“I don’t know how to play,” I said.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I’m sorry, I—”
“Shhh. Don’t wake them.”
When she said nothing, I looked around, but saw only the gnarled, fog-misted trees. I started to rise. She caught my hand and tried to tug me down.
“They’re resting,” she whispered.
The croak of a raven answered. I looked over my shoulder to see one perched on a branch, pecking at the pale bark. The girl leapt to her feet and waved her arms.
“Shoo! You aren’t supposed to be here.”
The raven fixed her with one beady eye and croaked in protest, but took flight, soaring off over our heads.
The girl sat again and threw her sticks, and I saw that the sticks were bones. Polished white finger bones.
White bones against black rock.
Black rock on the edge of a pit filled with murky water, stinking like a swamp. More rocks piled above it. A waterfall. A dry waterfall.
The raven swooped past. The girl waved her fist at it. “Ewch i ffwrdd, bran!”
She turned to me. “The bran know better,” she said. “They aren’t to disturb the dead. It’s disrespectful.”
She waved at the tree and the mist began to clear, as if swept away, and I saw that the gnarled trunk wasn’t a trunk at all. It was a corpse. Bound to a dead tree, arms spread, naked and bald, empty eye sockets, skin an oddly marbled red and white.
Then the last of the mist cleared and I saw the marble surface wasn’t skin. There was no skin.
I stumbled back and wheeled to see that every tree was the crucifix for a flayed corpse. That’s when I started to scream.