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Using an interdisciplinary approach that also considers legal, literary, and religious documents of the period, Magali Carrera focuses on eighteenth-century portraiture and casta paintings to understand how the people and spaces of New Spain were conceptualized and visualized.

Winner, Book Award, Association of Latin American Art, 2004

Reacting to the rising numbers of mixed-blood (Spanish-Indian-Black African) people in its New Spain colony, the eighteenth-century Bourbon government of Spain attempted to categorize and control its colonial subjects through increasing social regulation of their bodies and the spaces they inhabited. The discourse of calidad (status) and raza (lineage) on which the regulations were based also found expression in the visual culture of New Spain, particularly in the unique genre of casta paintings, which purported to portray discrete categories of mixed-blood plebeians.

Using an interdisciplinary approach that also considers legal, literary, and religious documents of the period, Magali Carrera focuses on eighteenth-century portraiture and casta paintings to understand how the people and spaces of New Spain were conceptualized and visualized. She explains how these visual practices emphasized a seeming realism that constructed colonial bodies—elite and non-elite—as knowable and visible. At the same time, however, she argues that the chaotic specificity of the lives and lived conditions in eighteenth-century New Spain belied the illusion of social orderliness and totality narrated in its visual art. Ultimately, she concludes, the inherent ambiguity of the colonial body and its spaces brought chaos to all dreams of order.

The Calumet Region around Lake Michigan’s southern rim once housed massive steel mills, workshops, and railroads. Capitalists like Elbert Gary built factories and dominated local governments. During its heyday in the twentieth century, the Calumet Region was also a thriving district for immigrants who worked dangerous jobs.

But even before the area’s decline started in the 1970s, intense racial, ethnic, and political strife determined job and housing prospects. In the Heart of the Rustbelt details how people struggled as factory rules and local politics failed to protect residents from health hazards and sabotaged workers’ rights. 

Roger Biles and Mark Rose describe how workers organized (or didn’t), the ethnic neighborhoods where they lived, and the distinct foodstuffs, such as Hungarian goulash, that both bonded and excluded immigrants. The authors also showcase individuals including Gary, IN Mayor Richard G. Hatcher, who fought for equality. Chapters also explore the lives of steelworkers Eddie Sadlowski, who sought to democratize the union, and Mexican American Jesse Villalpando, who experienced union and management’s hostility in hiring and job assignments. 

In the Heart of the Rustbelt provides a fascinating history about industrial growth and why race and ethnicity mattered as the Calumet Region rose and fell. 

An exploration of race, Hollywood, and the commodification of the body

Incorporations offers a new way of thinking about issues of race, bodies, and commodity culture. Moving beyond the study of identity and difference in media, Eva Cherniavsky asserts that race can be understood as a sign of the body’s relation to capital.

Winner of a NWSA/University of Illinois Press First Book Prize

Groundbreaking and ambitious, Indians on Indian Lands presents the case for holding Indian diasporas accountable for acts of violence within a colonial settler nation.

Over the past few decades, Austin, Texas, has made a concerted effort to develop into a “technopolis,” becoming home to companies such as Dell and numerous start-ups in the 1990s. It has been a model for other cities across the nation that wish to become high-tech centers while still retaining the livability to attract residents. Nevertheless, this expansion and boom left poorer residents behind, many of them African American or Latino, despite local and federal efforts to increase lower-income and minority access to technology.

This book was born of a ten-year longitudinal study of the digital divide in Austin—a study that gradually evolved into a broader inquiry into Austin’s history as a segregated city, its turn toward becoming a technopolis, what the city and various groups did to address the digital divide, and how the most disadvantaged groups and individuals were affected by those programs.

The editors examine the impact of national and statewide digital inclusion programs created in the 1990s, as well as what happened when those programs were gradually cut back by conservative administrations after 2000. They also examine how the city of Austin persisted in its own efforts for digital inclusion by working with its public libraries and a number of local nonprofits, and the positive impact those programs had.

Winner, Humanities Book Prize, Mexico Section of the Latin American Studies Association, 2018

Many scholars believe that the modern concentration camp was born during the Cuban war for independence when Spanish authorities ordered civilians living in rural areas to report to the nearest city with a garrison of Spanish troops. But the practice of spatial concentration—gathering people and things in specific ways, at specific places, and for specific purposes—has a history in Latin America that reaches back to the conquest. In this paradigm-setting book, Daniel Nemser argues that concentration projects, often tied to urbanization, laid an enduring, material groundwork, or infrastructure, for the emergence and consolidation of new forms of racial identity and theories of race.

Infrastructures of Race traces the use of concentration as a technique for colonial governance by examining four case studies from Mexico under Spanish rule: centralized towns, disciplinary institutions, segregated neighborhoods, and general collections. Nemser shows how the colonial state used concentration in its attempts to build a new spatial and social order, and he explains why the technique flourished in the colonies. Although the designs for concentration were sometimes contested and short-lived, Nemser demonstrates that they provided a material foundation for ongoing processes of racialization. This finding, which challenges conventional histories of race and mestizaje (racial mixing), promises to deepen our understanding of the way race emerges from spatial politics and techniques of population management.

Sweden, like other Nordic countries, prides itself on being “colorblind” or immune to the kinds of racism found in, for example, the United States. In the 1960s and 1970s, white Swedish documentarians, in the fashion of early anthropologists, recorded racial tensions amid the US civil rights movement. More recently, in the twenty-first century, short films produced by Swedes of color have tackled racism and bigotry within Sweden.

Benjamin Mier-Cruz offers a comparative study of these two periods of Swedish documentary filmmaking. “Racially innocent” white documentarians of the mid-twentieth century developed an “aesthetics of altruism” predicated on Sweden’s assumed racial equalitarianism—a notion that their documentaries in turn helped create and maintain. In contemporary films, on the other hand, Swedes of color use the same filmic format to challenge not only their predecessors’ reductionist, pseudo-anthropological presentations but also Sweden’s purportedly colorblind ideology. Mier-Cruz’s close readings of films from both eras demonstrate the possibilities and limitations of the documentary form and the ways in which it is motivated by politics and activism.

The notion of addiction has always conjured first-person stories, often beginning with an insidious seduction, followed by compulsion and despair, culminating in recovery and tentative hope for the future. We are all familiar with this form of individual life arrative, Susan Zieger observes, but we know far less about its history. “Addict” was not an available identity until the end of the nineteenth century, when a modernizing medical establishment and burgeoning culture of consumption updated the figure of the sinful drunkard popularized by the temperance movement.

In Inventing the Addict, Zieger tells the story of how the addict, a person uniquely torn between disease and desire, emerged from a variety of earlier figures such as drunkards, opium-eating scholars, vicious slave masters, dissipated New Women, and queer doctors. Drawing on a broad range of literary and cultural material, including canonical novels such as Uncle Tom's Cabin, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and Dracula, she traces the evolution of the concept of addiction through a series of recurrent metaphors: exile, self-enslavement, disease, and vampirism. She shows how addiction took on multiple meanings beyond its common association with intoxication or specific habit-forming substances—it was an abiding desire akin to both sexual attraction and commodity fetishism, a disease that strangely failed to meet the requirements of pathology, and the citizen's ironic refusal to fulfill the promise of freedom. 

Nor was addiction an ideologically neutral idea. As Zieger demonstrates, it took form over time through specific, shifting intersections of gender, race, class, and sexuality, reflecting the role of social power in the construction of meaning.