Lauren Nicole Henley's "Inquisition for Blood"

Lauren Nicole Henley is an assistant professor in the Jepson School of Leadership Studies at the University of Richmond. She earned her PhD in history from the University of Texas at Austin.

Henley applied the "Page 99 Test" to her new book, Inquisition for Blood: The Making of a Black Female Serial Killer in the Jim Crow South, with the following results:

There’s a lot packed into page 99. First is the speculation of serial murder in the rice belt region of the United States. Second is law enforcement’s theory that the crimes were religiously motivated. Third is Black communities’ recognition that the weapon of choice—an ax—linked the killings in brutal ways. Toward the end of the page, I write: “For all intents and purposes, then, that meant any Black family living within a mile of the Southern Pacific Railroad could be axed to death. No one was safe.” Indeed, the terror of living amidst an unknown serial killer for years on end is well captured on this page.

The Page 99 Test does a surprisingly good job of reflecting the intricate tensions of my book, but fails to tease out a key contribution: a young Black woman named Clementine Barnabet confessed to many of the murders. Although Clementine’s name appears on the page, it is in reference to her first confession as opposed to her second. It was this second confession that thrust her into the limelight as speculation of a supposed Black female serial killer traveled across the United States and beyond.

In fact, when Clementine confessed to murdering 17 people in April 1912, it was frontpage news from New York to Los Angeles. Only the sinking of the Titanic a few weeks later supplanted coverage of her crimes. That a Black female serial killer—whether real or imagined—captured America’s attention in the early twentieth century speaks volumes about who can (and cannot) get away with murder.

Learn more about Inquisition for Blood at the LSU Press website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Caroline Sharples's "The Long Death of Adolf Hitler"

Caroline Sharples is senior lecturer in history at the University of Roehampton. She is the author of West Germans and the Nazi Legacy and Postwar Germany and the Holocaust, the latter of which was nominated for the 2017 Yad Vashem International Book Prize for Holocaust Studies.

Sharples applied the “Page 99 Test” to her latest book, The Long Death of Adolf Hitler: An Investigative History, and shared the following:

Page 99 of my book finds us in Chapter 4: ‘Celebrations and Condolences’ which is an exploration of how audiences outside of Germany responded to the breaking news of Adolf Hitler’s death in spring 1945. (German reactions to his demise are explored in a standalone chapter of the book.) Page 99 drops us straight into quirky anecdotes (coal miners downing tools and giving themselves an impromptu day off in jubilation) and various statements from journalists, politicians and the proverbial ‘person on the street’. A range of emotional behaviours are documented here, from cries of relief, through to disappointment that Hitler had not been captured and made to suffer for his crimes.

In some ways, the Page 99 Test works really well because it immediately highlights two distinctive features in my approach to Hitler’s death. First, it reflects my efforts to reposition Hitler’s death story within the realms of cultural and emotional history. It moves away from the conventional, top-down approach of previous literature that has fixated on the military and political collapse of the Third Reich, and/or the resulting intelligence rivalries and Cold War tensions that obfuscated investigations into Hitler’s fate after the war. Instead, as page 99 illustrates, this book puts the thoughts and feelings of ‘ordinary’ civilians centre stage and traces the meanings that Hitler’s demise has held for different audiences. Second, as the stories presented on page 99 traverse public reactions in Australia, the UK, the United States and Nicaragua, they underscore the book’s unique transnational framework. Hitler’s demise was not only newsworthy for Germans, or even Europeans; but resonated around the globe.

In addition, the material presented on page 99 hints at some of the challenges yet to come. The Times newspaper, for instance, treated Hitler’s passing in the same way as it might report on the death of any other head of state, penning a formal, five column obituary. Other newspapers, however, suggested that the Nazi leader had forsaken all right to such a dignified treatment. The question of how to handle Hitler’s death would spill over, just days later, into a sensational controversy over whether neutral nations should follow diplomatic protocol and extend formal condolences to Germany on the death of its leader.

There is no doubt that page 99 captures the central theme of the book: the passionate, public discourse that sprang up around the fate of the Nazi dictator. Yet in giving us a snapshot of opinion in May 1945, the test actually misses the significant chronological scope of my work. Hitler’s death had been anticipated throughout the war years, imagined within visual propaganda, songs, jokes and even military fundraising activities. Then, the years after 1945 witnessed a protracted search for definitive proof of his suicide; various representations of his fate within popular literature, film and museum displays; and enduring questions as to how to prevent the formation of a heroic legend. In these ways, as my book argues, Hitler experienced a peculiarly long death, one that stretched far beyond those excitable scenes of spring 1945.

Learn more about The Long Death of Adolf Hitler at the Yale University Press website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Dale J. Stahl's "Two Rivers Entangled"

Dale J. Stahl is Associate Professor of History at the University of Colorado Denver.

He applied the “Page 99 Test” to his latest book, Two Rivers Entangled: An Ecological History of the Tigris and Euphrates in the Twentieth Century, and reported the following:

On page 99 of Two Rivers Entangled, you will find a map of the dams along the Euphrates River in Syria and Turkey with their opening dates. Only two reservoirs appear, those behind the first big dams: the al-Tabqa Dam in Syria (1973) and the Keban Dam in Turkey (1974). The rest of the river is depicted as a sinuous, free-flowing line making its way southeast off the map toward Iraq and the Persian Gulf.

Page 99 gives a surprisingly good sense of the book. The map visually illustrates the change at the heart of the story: the damming of the Euphrates River and its transformation into a series of reservoirs. By the mid-1990s, “a traveler with exceptionally long legs could step from one dam’s reservoir to another, walking down a set of watery steps…to the plains and deserts” (136). The map shows the beginning of this process in the mid-1970s, while additional notations indicate where future dams would be built.

The map also specifies the dams’ “opening dates” as opposed to completion, which gestures toward a central question of the book: who or what changes our world? Histories of Iraq, Syria, and Turkey have usually focused on human actors—kings, presidents, and high commissioners, or social groups like unions, religious orders, or political parties. Two Rivers Entangled places the ecologies of the Tigris and Euphrates back inside histories of state-building, revolution, economic development, and geopolitics. Focusing on ecological factors—water, salt, and rock—shows the limits of human-centered histories. Keban Dam, for example, wasn’t really finished in 1974: it leaked so badly the project took another ten years to complete. Another dam on the Tigris at Mosul requires regular infusions of concrete to remain standing.

So, page 99 passes the test. It visually represents the book’s subject and hints at its larger meaning: while historical narratives often reassure us that technology will eventually master the natural world, a closer accounting shows the limits of human control, not only over a river but also over the stories we tell about it.

Visit Dale J. Stahl's website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Richard Elwes's "Huge Numbers"

Richard Elwes is an associate professor at University of Leeds, and a Holgate Session Leader for the London Mathematical Society.

He applied the "Page 99 Test" to his new book, Huge Numbers: A Story of Counting Ambitiously, from 4 1/2 to Fish 7, with the following results:

From page 99:

[...on three stelae (stone monuments) in the ancient city of Coba, another archaeological site in modern-day Mexico, we find the largest Mayan number discovered so far. They rewrite day zero as: 13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.13.0.0.0.0

Such inscriptions put the 3114BCE dawn of our world ‘more than 28 octillion years after the true initial base date in the incomprehensible past’, according to Mayan expert David Stuart, in his 2011 book, The Order of Days.]

He argues this date is the basis of a ‘Grand Long Count’, the fullest expression of the Mayan calendar which we usually see only in abbreviated form. The time for this whole grand long count to reset would be a cycle of over 15 nonillion days (1.5 × 10³¹) or 43 octillion years. We will see numbers on this scale in Chapter 7 when we think about the life cycle of the universe from the perspective of modern science. This reset date would take us to a point long beyond the demise not only of the sun but of the Milky Way galaxy itself, whose stars will long since have been snuffed out, and whose freezing remnants will have been consumed by a supermassive black hole or ejected into the cosmic vacuum. So if the Grand Long Count reset is imagined to represent the end of the world, the Maya would appear to have overestimated by some distance.

I think the Page 99 Test works pretty well here! We meet an interesting large number, which is the central thing, and think about it in two contexts: the mythology of an ancient civilisation (in this case the Classical Maya of Central America), and the evolution of the universe according to modern physics.

My book is in three parts, and these two perspectives reasonably well represent the first two parts. In part 1, we discuss different ways people have spoken and written large numbers over the millennia. The classical Maya, for example, were able to write numbers on this scale because they had developed a highly efficient written numeral system (essentially base 20 rather than the base 10 as we are used to). In part two, we consider the largest numbers needed to describe the Universe according to modern scientific understanding. The demise of the Sun, and then of the Milky Way galaxy, are milestones in the predicted life cycle of the cosmos, but the story has much further to run beyond these. The book's third part, not reflected in page 99, is about large numbers in the context of modern mathematics, and specifically mathematical logic, where we find numbers which are enormously bigger than anything ever contemplated previously.

Visit Richard Elwes's website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Benjamin A. Saltzman's "Turning Away"

Benjamin A. Saltzman is associate professor of English at the University of Chicago, where he coedits the journal Modern Philology. Saltzman is the author of Bonds of Secrecy: Law, Spirituality, and the Literature of Concealment in Early Medieval England and the coeditor of Thinking of the Medieval: Midcentury Intellectuals and the Middle Ages.

He applied the “Page 99 Test” to his new book, Turning Away: The Poetics of an Ancient Gesture, and shared the following:

From page 99:

As a turn inward and from others, Augustine’s conversion is also crucially a turn away from corporeal sensation, a turn away from those things outside the soul. In Fra Angelico’s The Conversion, Augustine covers his eyes and holds his hand over his ear. It’s an incomplete disruption of the senses. If conversion is realized as a turn away from the senses, in Augustine’s case it also happens to be initiated through the senses: “Suddenly I heard” (ecce audio) (Conf. 8.12.29). In this sudden and unexpected interjection of sound, memory kicks in: He stops weeping and recalls having heard (audieram) the story of Antony listening to the words of the Gospel (Conf. 8.12.29). And when he returns to the book, Augustine opens it up to the passage upon which his “eyes first set” (Conf. 8.12.29). Sensory experience precipitates conversion to inner sensation.

Augustine experiences darkness: the “dark clouds of doubt” (dubitationis tenebrae) that dissipate upon conversion materialize in Fra Angelico’s use of gesture. As Augustine blocks his eyes, he deploys a gesture that often formally signifies a state of darkness. I will explore this aspect of the gesture more closely in chapter 4, but for now it bears on the relation between Augustine’s separation from the senses and his state of perspectival instability.

These dark clouds emerge from Augustine’s perspectival instability. In Fra Angelico’s The Conversion, as we have seen, perspective is distorted. The buildings and figures are so disunified that distances between objects seem greater or lesser depending on what objects are prioritized in the viewer’s attention. I would like to think that this perspectival play evokes the unreliability of bodily senses, particularly corresponding to the instability of Augustine’s own senses in these moments just prior to his conversion. His senses—hearing and sight—are thrown off. And so are ours. When Augustine reflects on his own fragmentation, a kaleidoscopic ego thus emerges: “It was I who was willing, I who was not willing: I was (ego eram)” (Conf. 8.10.22). The repetition of ego enlarges Augustine in his own words, much as Fra Angelico does by placing him at the center of the painting. But it is a fragmented ego that splits him away from himself and turns him away from the outside world, from Alypius, and from us. We may be dizzy, unsure of where we stand in relation to the scene and to Augustine’s turning self. It requires a different kind of perspective altogether.

One effect of this altered perspective is a ruptured sense of time (insofar as the human experience of temporality is a function of the inner sense, distended in its relation to the past and future). We may take it for granted, but Augustine’s halo signals his status as a saint. As such, it sets the pre-conversion scene of indecision at an already post-conversion moment. Antony’s presence in the cave is similar: According to his vita, he enters the desert only after he has converted and committed to a life of solitude. The distant memory of Antony speaks to Augustine in the instant of the viewer’s present, which is at the same time the instant of Augustine’s decision as he recollects the story of Antony’s own auricular experience. And yet Fra Angelico’s scene already anticipates the resolution of that decision and resolves this temporal distention with the use of gesture. Augustine’s gesture is a turn into memory’s ruptured temporality, creating something akin to what Elina Gertsman recognizes in the “semiotically rich emptiness” of absent images, in which visual voids work as “temporal bridges, between terrestrial and celestial time.”

There are probably more exciting pages in the book—not least, the seventeen carefully sequenced color plate in the middle—but this page does give a sense of the energy of the project. Here we are considering the variety of meanings possibly attributable to Fra Angelico’s depiction of St. Augustine in the Milanese garden where he would find his way toward conversion. And in these meanings, we can see some of the variety of the gesture more generally: from a turn away from corporeal sensation (into spiritual sensation), to atmospheric and emotional darkness, to perspectival instability (turning this way and that), to a ruptured sense of time. In many ways, as I type this, I’m surprised to find that the Page 99 Test actually works! For this is one moment where all of the chapters of the book are brought together in a single iteration: ambivalence, sensation, darkness, retroversion.

Visit Benjamin A. Saltzman's website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Curtis Dozier's "The White Pedestal"

Curtis Dozier is associate professor of Greek and Roman studies at Vassar College. He is the director of the internationally recognized website Pharos: Doing Justice to the Classics, which documents appropriations of Greco-Roman antiquity by hate groups. He lives in Poughkeepsie, NY.

Dozier applied the “Page 99 Test” to his new book, The White Pedestal: How White Nationalists Use Ancient Greece and Rome to Justify Hate, and reported the following:

Even as a person fascinated by the premise of this test, my jaw dropped when I looked at page 99 of The White Pedestal: How White Nationalists Use Ancient Greece and Rome to Justify Hate. I wouldn’t say this page gives readers a complete picture of the book: you would barely know from page 99, for example, that the book examines the intellectual ecosystem of the contemporary phenomenon known to political scientists as “the intellectual radical right,” and you probably wouldn’t catch one of the main theses of the book, which is that “these people know more than you think.” But it does present the piece of ancient evidence that most surprised me when I was researching the book: an ancient treatise attributed to Aristotle that argues, among other things, that black skin is a sign of cowardice and duplicity. The conventional wisdom, among scholars and the educated public, is that because ancient Greece and Rome didn’t develop a theory of racial difference like that of early modern racist pseudoscience, the ancient world shouldn’t lend itself very well to appropriation by white supremacist activists. But there you have it, right there on page 99, an ancient text expressing something very much like the tenets of modern anti-Blackness. That one citation doesn’t tell the whole story of just how congenial the ancient Greco-Roman world (and the ways it has traditionally been interpreted) is to white nationalist thinking — for that you have to read the book! — but it’s a piece of the story that strikes most directly at the ways that too many people try to protect or insulate ancient Greece and Rome from association with white supremacist politics, thereby perpetuating the very thing they claim to abhor.

Learn more about The White Pedestal at the Yale University Press website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Craig Fehrman's "This Vast Enterprise"

Craig Fehrman, a journalist and historian, spent five years writing and researching his new book, This Vast Enterprise: A New History of Lewis & Clark. His first book, Author in Chief, was described by Thomas Mallon in The Wall Street Journal as “one of the best books on the American presidency to appear in recent years.” Fehrman lives in Indiana with his wife and children.

He applied the "Page 99 Test" to This Vast Enterprise with the following results:

Page 99 finds the expedition about four hundred miles up the Missouri River -- still in their first year but well underway, their fears about encountering Native people as pitched as they will ever get.

I think this page give a great sense of my book because it incorporates multiple perspectives. Each chapter in This Vast Enterprise moves to a different point of view -- think As I Lay Dying or, if you prefer, Game of Thrones. Page 99 is in the middle of a Clark chapter, and I describe him noticing and analyzing Native art. (I found Clark's college notebook; he's an underrated Enlightenment thinker.) But I also describe the perspectives of John Ordway, a working-class soldier who was curious about Native people, and Joseph Whitehouse, a working-class soldier who was terrified of them. When it comes to history, people like to ask whether someone was a "man of his era," but I think that's the wrong question. People believed many different things in 1804, just like they believe many different things in 2026. I tried to capture this period's range of perspectives. Within a few pages, the book will rotate to a new chapter and a new point of View -- that of Black Buffalo, a brilliant Lakota leader who was as interested in using the Americans as they were in using him.

Page 99 also includes details about what the expedition felt like. This was important to me -- I wanted to put readers in the canoe or, for this stretch, on the barge. Here's the page's last paragraph:

July was hotter and harder. The barge continued to wheel, and when the soldiers tried towing it barefoot on the shore, the sand scorched their feet. The Missouri’s bacteria-rich water sloshed in their scrapes and burns, leading to boils and abscesses. Their sweat soaked their shirts in minutes. It was more perspiration, Clark admitted, than he’d thought “could pass through the human body.” The heat produced some positives, including plentiful strawberries and plums. But it also brought ticks and gnats and especially mosquitoes, though Lewis had anticipated these pests and brought netting to help the men sleep at night.

Visit Craig Fehrman's website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Eamonn Gearon's "The Arab Bureau"

Eamonn Gearon is a global historian, specializing in the Middle East and North Africa and the history of intelligence, whose books include The Arab Bureau: The Story of Britain's Most Ingenious Intelligence Unit and The Arab Revolt. His doctoral research uncovered previously unknown Arabic documents which shed new light on British intelligence work in the region.

Gearon applied the “Page 99 Test” to The Arab Bureau and shared the following:

Page 99 falls in the chapter “Rooms at the Savoy,” which follows the Arab Bureau’s establishment in Cairo’s Savoy Hotel. The page addresses the challenges of coordinating intelligence across multiple, jealously competitive British agencies. It describes the “tri-continental operation” the Arab Bureau conducted, i.e. linking London to North Africa while coordinating with Delhi, Simla, and other British outposts across Africa and Asia. The page emphasises the practical difficulties of building physical infrastructure from scratch, recruiting and vetting local Egyptian staff, and maintaining operational security. Most strikingly, it places the work of the Arab Bureau in technological context: in an age before satellite imagery or instant communications, where information often “travelled at the speed of a camel caravan,” the ability to predict behaviour through cultural understanding became a strategic advantage in itself.

Does the Page 99 Test work?

Remarkably well! Page 99 captures what I consider the book’s central insight: that the Arab Bureau’s true innovation was not any single intelligence breakthrough but rather a fundamental reorientation of how intelligence itself was conceived. The page shows the Arab Bureau wrestling with coordination challenges that would be familiar to any modern intelligence agency: turf wars; fragmented infrastructure; and institutional jealousies. Yet it also reveals how the Arab Bureau transformed these constraints into opportunities, pioneering what we might now call “culturally informed intelligence.”

The reference to information travelling “at the speed of a camel caravan” summarises the book’s argument about why the Arab Bureau matters. Where traditional military intelligence sought quantifiable data, the Bureau developed methods that valued contextual understanding, precisely because, in their technological environment, cultural literacy was a form of strategic advantage.

What page 99 cannot capture is the vivid cast of characters who populate this story. From scholar-spies like Gertrude Bell and D.G. Hogarth, to Hussein Ruhi’s extraordinary double-agency, or T.E. Lawrence’s complicated presence in an organisation his legend has obscured. Nor does it convey the Arab Bureau’s astonishing work in Arabic language propaganda, nor its uncomfortable legacy. But as a window into the institutional dynamics that made the Arab Bureau both necessary and revolutionary, page 99 serves as an unexpectedly apt introduction.

The book distils the Arab Bureau’s approach into what I call “Seven Pillars of Intelligence Wisdom”, methodological innovations that resurfaced in Iraq and Afghanistan a century later, often without practitioners recognising the lineage. The past, it turns out, keeps informing the present.

Visit Eamonn Gearon's website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Sandrine Bergès's "No Place Like Home"

Sandrine Bergès is Professor of Philosophy at Bilkent University in Ankara, Turkey and British Academy Global Professor at University of York, UK. Her recent publications include: Liberty in their Names: Women Philosophers of the French Revolution (2022), Olympe de Gouges (2022), Sophie de Grouchy's Letters on Sympathy (with Eric Schliesser, 2019). She has also written and edited (with Alan Coffee, and with Eileen Hunt) books on Mary Wollstonecraft.

Bergès applied the “Page 99 Test” to her new book, No Place Like Home: Women Philosophers' Struggles with Domesticity, and reported the following:

What’s on page 99?

Marie-Jeanne Roland, philosopher of the French Revolution, who died at the guillotine in 1793, was a big fan of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Rousseau thought a woman should be a domestic creature: an obedient wife, and a caring mother. Manon Roland, while partly agreeing, distanced herself from his account. Page 99 is about how her idea of domesticity differed from Rousseau’s. Roland agreed that women should spend time running their household, doing the work themselves or with the help of servants. But she thought they should be efficient about it so they had time to do the stuff that truly matters to them: in her case, writing and influencing the course of the revolution by hosting its actors in her salon.

Is page 99 representative?

Page 99 is in the sixth of nine chapters. Chapter 1 starts with Xanthippe, complaining about having to get dinner on a string at short notice for her husband Socrates, and Chapter 9 ends with twenty-first century feminist authors talking about the robotisation of housework. Manon Roland comes bang in the middle: she is the thirteenth out of the twenty-five women philosophers I discuss. Page 99 is representative, because nearly all the women I talk about in the book struggle with the same dilemma: how to live a full human life within the confines of domestic expectations? While some women tried to escape the home, or redefine it, Roland, page 99 says, tries to reinterpret it: to her it’s a sign of power and rationality to be able to get all the housework done in a short time so as to make time and space for other pursuits. So the test works! Except of course a reader would need to read the pages before and after page 99 to get the full argument. I’d say 98 to half-way through 100 would be ideal. Then you’d get a more complete sketch of who Roland was and what her view of domesticity was. And a bit of drama thrown in, as page 98 starts with the signing of her death sentence.

What would still be missing to give a full idea of what the book is about, from page 99 (or 98-100), is a sense that this is a philosophical discussion. Although I treat her as such, Manon Roland isn’t usually regarded as a philosopher – a memoirist, or a hapless victim of the revolution. In the first pages of Chapter 6 I introduce her as a republican political philosopher. She followed Rousseau’s rural republicanism, the view that the a good republic is composed of households and villages which nurture republican values and virtues in all citizens. Roland, comparing herself to a Roman matron, places women right at the heart of this republic: they are responsible for bringing up future citizens. But that’s not enough, she thinks. During a revolution, a woman’s work must take her outside the home, and her sphere of influence must extend to all her acquaintances, not just her family. So the test sort of works – provided it encourages the reader to look at the whole chapter, or maybe the whole book.

Visit Sandrine Bergès's website.

--Marshal Zeringue

Paula Davis Hoffman's "Making the Miami Cubanita"

Paula Davis Hoffman is an adjunct professor of history at Houston City College.

She applied the "Page 99 Test" to her new book, Making the Miami Cubanita: A Pop Cultural Genealogy, with the following results:

If a browser were to open Making the Miami Cubanita to page 99, they would land almost smack-dab in the middle of Chapter 3. Titled, “In the 1970s, la Virgen de PBS Asked, ‘¿Qué Pasa, USA?’”, it investigates a half-hour sitcom series that ran from 1977-1980. Featuring the Peñas, a multigenerational Cuban refugee family living in Miami’s Little Havana neighborhood in the late 1970s and 1980, this show was one space created by Cuban exiles and endorsed by the U.S. government both to engage the exile community and to represent it to the broader American public at a pivotal moment.

Page 99 begins with an analysis of one episode in which older brother Joe was ordered to babysit his 17-year-old sister while his parents and grandparents went out. As they walked out the door, they demanded, “¡Cuida tu hermanita!” (Take care of your little sister!) Though mere months away from being a legal adult, Carmen barely strained against the figurative leash her family conspicuously paraded for all to see, a marker of the family’s honor. This page touches on existing scholarship on Cuban American racial identity during these years and demonstrates how this sitcom’s depiction of communal standards of femininity furthered a political agenda. While there is significant pan- Latin confluence on many of the behavioral mandates related to female comportment (such as chaperonage), in this PBS show these mandates were presented as distinctly Cuban.

Reading this page alone would provide readers with a fair but not complete picture of what my book is about. Making the Miami Cubanita explores Cuban American assumptions of whiteness and right-wing politics from a pop cultural and historical lens. Organized by decade, I start with a prelude from the Spanish American War and then jump to the portrayal of Cuban femininity in I Love Lucy in the 1950s, radionovelas in the 1960s, ¿Qué Pasa, USA? in the 1970s, Miami Vice and Scarface in the 1980s, Old School Miami Bass in the 1990s, the Elián González saga in the 2000s, and movements to reanimate chongaism via social media in the 2010s. My epilogue ties it all together in the 2020s and going forward. I was very deliberate about writing in an accessible, engaging way. I want people to enjoy reading my work, both academic and lay audiences.

Visit Paula Davis Hoffman's website.

--Marshal Zeringue