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My advice for a student hoping to get a job in climate

Every month I speak to at least two or three students who have reached out to me, usually on LinkedIn, who are hoping to get a job once they graduate in the climate space. I figure for each of these people there are probably two more who would love to know this information but for whatever reason don’t like to send cold connection requests.

As a caveat, my experience specifically comes from working in climate policy, in a thinktank. The climate space is much bigger than policy. I can only write to what I know. Your mileage may vary!

Without further ado, here’s the advice I wish I had as a student. It boils down to four things: learning, networking, getting (relevant) experience, and volunteering. Most of this is probably pretty generic to any field! But, regardless, here’s what I think.

1. Learn

You may already be studying something extremely relevant to tackling climate change, like geography or environmental science. But, like me, you may be studying a relatively unrelated field, like economics, politics or law, where papers about the environment form a minority of your courseload. Regardless, there’s a lot you can do to increase your knowledge of climate.

I’d recommend reading books, both new releases and classics. For me, books that made a big difference early on in my climate journey were things like This Changes Everything by Naomi Klein, Hope in the Dark by Rebecca Solnit, and Fossil Capital by Andreas Malm. More recent releases that have taught me a lot include books like A Planet to Win by Daniel Aldana Cohen et al, The Climate Diplomat by Peter Betts and Overshoot and The Long Heat by Andreas Malm and Wim Carton.

For staying up to date with current affairs, I’d recommend newsletters. Carbon Brief do an indispensable daily/weekly newsletter. If climate diplomacy is your bag then look no further than the Climate Diplomacy Briefing. But there are others. Podcasts can also be good.

Finally, there are webinars. A lot of think tanks and NGOs regularly hold online events where they discuss their latest research or campaigns. Keep an eye out for these by trawling the websites of organisations that you like the look of. This is a good way to take the temperature of where the cutting edge is.

2. Network

I know. Networking is so painful (especially for an introvert like me). But it has to be done.

LinkedIn is one thing (my main piece of advice for LinkedIn is to always, always send a specific and tailored message with your connection request). However, there’s no substitute for in-person networking.

If you’re in London or within a reasonable distance, there’s no excuse not to be turning up to events. Every month there are climate events put on by various universities, think tanks and NGOs. If you don’t know where to start, search on Eventbrite. Each June there is London Climate Action Week, where hundreds of events take place. There are monthly London climate drinks. Heaps of opportunities to meet people in the sector that you want to work in. The same advice goes if you’re in any big city.

Networking at an event isn’t hard. The small talk script basically writes itself: “What made you come to this event?” “What did you think of speaker X?” “What’s your biggest takeaway?”

3. Get (relevant) work experience

When it comes time to apply for your first graduate job, having (relevant) work experience will set you above the rest.

Undergraduates have long summers, which are perfect for working. Meanwhile, a PhD is 3-4 years long and most universities will let you work alongside your studies to some extent (Cambridge lets you work for up to 10 hours a week). Taking an internship one day a week for a few months is a good way to broaden your horizons while not distracting too much from your thesis.

How to find internships in the climate space? There’s no easy answer. While there are definitely some advertised (to find these I recommend trawling the websites of organisations that you admire), I personally had no luck with applying for these. Instead, I got two of my internships via completely cold emails. My advice for cold emails is to be as specific as possible about why you admire the organisation’s work, what you could bring to the organisation, and always attach your CV.

What to do if you can’t find an internship in climate? Don’t panic. Almost any internship/work experience will give you transferrable skills, which you can leverage in job applications later on. For example, does this internship give you experience in written and oral communication? Does it teach you data analysis, project management, or research? If so, great. All of these skills are indispensable in my current job.

The other good thing about internships is that they’ll also teach you what you like or don’t like about a given workplace or sector. You may find once you do an internship, for instance, that you don’t actually like or want to work in climate, or in a given type of organisation! That’s extremely important information to know.

4. Volunteer

It’s not always possible to get paid work experience in the climate field. Meanwhile, there’s lots of relevant experience to be had in the voluntary sector. There are a myriad of climate organisations, ranging from student societies to NGOs, who rely on volunteers to get things done. There are all sorts of different roles available and it’s a way to gain relevant experience and relevant knowledge, as well as demonstrate dedication.

Personally, during my PhD I got involved in my college’s divestment campaign. Engaging with a big, old institution to try and get it to change its ways when it came to investment in fossil fuels taught me a lot of skills that I now use in my job. I think it also counted as a plus in my job application as it showed commitment to the cause.

Of course, it’s not always possible to volunteer. Maybe you have caring responsibilities or work many hours a week already. If that’s the case, don’t panic. Volunteering definitely isn’t necessary to find a job later on. But if you can do it, I recommend it.

Good luck!

I hope this post was helpful. My only request of you is that, please, if you do end up getting a job in the climate space, pay it forward and give your honest advice to those who will inevitably ask you the same questions that I get asked all the time.

My decade of collective ambition: a five-year reflection

Around the turn of the decade, I made a lengthy facebook post, which I’m not linking to, ha. In it, I reflected on my previous decade, and declared the 2020s to be my decade of collective, not individual ambition. I eschewed individualised achievement for its own sake, and embraced working in service of greater, collective goals.

Slightly more than half a decade on, how has that pledge worked out?

The 2010s: my decade of individual ambition

Wind back to 2010. I was eighteen, in my third year of uni, in my second year of working in CSO. My first year of flatting (shout out to the PRC), and the year of the first earthquake. I remember being especially thrilled about getting into NYO for the first time that year.

On the outside, I might have appeared to be a fairly typical uni student. But inside, I had big goals. Graduate with first class honours, get a good grad job, do a Masters’ or even a PhD overseas.

I was vaguely aware of societal issues, but wasn’t politically engaged and the climate crisis hadn’t fully dawned on me yet. In comparison to some people I know, I was super behind! I was largely fixed on personal development. I call it ‘magpie mode’: the habit of collecting shiny things, racking up achievements — sometimes simply because they sparkle.

From individual to collective ambition

I pretty much achieved all my goals. At the end of my PhD, in late 2019, my ambitious part felt very satisfied. A doctorate from Cambridge was the most prestigious bauble my inner magpie could have dreamed of collecting. (Maybe I didn’t have an especially imaginative inner magpie!)

But something had changed in me. I simply no longer cared. Maybe it was the jading effect of the PhD years, but I no longer cared about prestigious things. Mapgie brain: quiet.

At the same time, during the course of the previous decade I’d become involved in climate work, first as a volunteer. Gradually, or all at once, it took over my life.

I had also become a lot more interested in social issues, like inequality, poverty, racism, and colonialism.

My North Star gradually reoriented itself from “achievement” to something like “transforming the world to keep global warming below dangerous levels in a way that puts people, communities, and ecosystems above profit”.

This, evidently, isn’t a personal ambition. That is, it’s not something I can possibly achieve on my own. Rather, it’s an ambition that is necessarily collective in nature.

Hence: making the 2020s my decade of collective, not personal ambition.

I’m not quite sure what bird fits this bill. Maybe the kea, the famous troublemaker. Or maybe the acorn woodpecker, which was the top hit when I googled “socialist bird”. Acorn woodpeckers share wealth (i.e. massive caches of acorns) and raise their kids together. In any case, magpie brain was long gone.

What did I do next?

My first move post-collective-ambition-realisation was to take a postdoc job at the Centre for the Study of Existential Risk. There, I figured, I could learn a lot more about the big risks facing the planet (in addition to climate), and possibly make a difference. This was perhaps the best first move I could have made. CSER was a fascinating environment, allowing me to pursue my interests pretty freely while exposing me to a lot of socio-ecological problems I hadn’t previously considered.

While at CSER, I realised I needed something more applied — something outside of academia, which in many ways is a hyper-individualised setting. So after two years and a bit of stress I cast around for policy jobs, and landed a good one at IISD. I’ve now been there for just over three years, working on policy in service of a just and equitable managed phase out of oil and gas production and an end to public finance for fossil fuels. Although “I do not dream of labour”, it’s a great job.

Outside of work I’ve been involved in various activities in service of climate activism, trade unions & a free Palestine.

So what have I learned?

  1. Collective ambitions are easy to state but harder to action. It’s easy to say “I want to fight climate change” or “I want to create a more just world” but harder to figure out how one’s specific skillset and interests can fit into that broad picture (while paying one’s rent!). I’ve been lucky to have been able to slot in somewhere useful after only a couple of years of wondering what I was doing. I think of the work of artists like Tolmeia Gregory in helping people realise that there are many, many different, necessary roles within movements.
  2. Comrades are necessary (and plentiful). The whole point of a collective ambition is that it is shared. I’ve been lucky to meet many people who share the same ambitions as me. It actually turns out that a lot of people want to make the world a better place. It’s not the lonely endeavour that some might think it might be.
  3. Kea brain needs joy, too. It can be easy to become quite serious and think that everything needs to be about the struggle. But that just becomes another kind of punishing optimisation. Keas are such joyful, mischievous birds really. Feeding that aspect is essential.
  4. Rest can be resistance. On a similar note, rest is necessary to recharge. While I don’t think 24/7 Netflix necessarily equals resistance, switching off can both enable more productive and sustainable efforts, and in itself represent resistance to the chronic grinding of this society.
  5. The collective ambition fades to become part of the background. In my day-to-day life I have day-to-day concerns. Once the big pieces are in place it’s just a matter of execution. It’s only once a year or so I seriously reflect on what I’m doing in life and how it fits in with my North Star. Maybe I should reflect more often? idk.
  6. External validation/individual achievement is still nice, and needed every so often. I won a prize for my book earlier this year and it pretty much made my year. (The magpie awakened…!) Indeed, the very fact that the book got published by a major university press was quite validating. These things still fit within the individual achievement paradigm. Honestly, though, I think it’s no bad thing to occasionally achieve something on an individual basis, and/or receive external validation for things one has done well.
  7. It’s not, like, this big noble thing. Working towards a collective ambition is fun and rewarding. It’s not a sacrifice nor a reflection of a particularly noble character. I think society should normalise it a lot more than at present.

Reprogramming the magpie brain

We are socialised to idealise individual ambition and achievement. At least in Aotearoa New Zealand, we are raised on stories of sports stars like the All Blacks, talented musicians like Dame Kiri Te Kanawa or Lorde, explorers like Sir Edmund Hillary or business leaders/entrepreneurs like Sir Michael Hill.

What if we were raised on stories of collective change, of troublemaking, of movements, of comradeship? What if we raised our kids on these stories?

I’m not suggesting that New Zealanders lack such stories — I’m thinking here of the nuclear free movement, or the Springbok tour protests, or more recently the Ihumātao protests.

Maybe it was just that those stories weren’t told in my family’s house. But maybe the issue transcends just my family. I think the latter is more likely.

What I will do differently in the next five years

Honestly, not much. Kea mode is certainly here to stay. I don’t see myself returning to the individual ambition mindset any time soon.

Following the above lessons, I’d like to find more joy in life. Spend more time with comrades. Rest when needed. Not search for external validation, but not shy away from it.

I would like to stop stressing out about whether I am making the biggest difference that I possibly could be. The kea doesn’t care about whether it’s making the most trouble it can. It just revels in the process. This is possibly easier said than done though!

What’s your collective ambition?

In conclusion, enjoy this picture of a kea I took during an early-2020s day hike (ahem, tramp) up Avalanche Peak. See the colour under those wings? (Yes, writing this whole post was a ploy just to post this one photo.)

What collective ambition are you working towards or contributing to? Let me know.

How I won the Whewell Scholarship in International Law

In 2016, at the end of my LLM year in Cambridge, I won a thing called the Whewell Scholarship in International Law. Nearly a decade on, I still, somehow, get the occasional email from people asking me how I did it. I am sick of receiving these emails. Hence I am writing this blog post. (I will no longer reply to such emails.)

This post will first outline what the scholarship is (and what it is not), before going through what I did in preparation for the exam. If you’re not a current Cambridge LLM student, definitely skip this post.

What the Whewell Scholarship Is (And What It Is Not)

Here’s what the Cambridge website has to say about the Whewell Scholarship:

“LLM candidates in international law are eligible to be considered for the award of the Whewell Scholarship in International Law. The award will be made on the basis of a candidate’s performance in any three of the papers designated as specialist papers in international law, together with a candidate’s performance in an additional examination for Paper 40 (the Whewell Paper) on “Problems and Disputed Points in International Law”. This additional examination does not form part of the LLM curriculum, nor does the mark awarded in this paper contribute towards the overall classification of a candidate’s LLM degree. Instead it is intended exclusively for candidates for the Whewell Scholarship. The examination on “Problems and Disputed Points in International Law” will be held at the same time as the other LLM examinations.“

In other words, to win the scholarship you have to come top, or do very well, in three of your four international law papers, as well as top the Whewell exam (“Problems and Disputed Points in International Law”).

The scholarship entitles you to a place at Trinity College for your PhD, plus a small (and I should stress: small) monetary award. It is not a full PhD scholarship. It may, however, assist you in gaining further funding (I got the Commonwealth Scholarship off the back of my Whewell win).

It’s also worth noting that the Whewell has a certain reputation. Because some very eminent jurists have won the Whewell in the past, certain people (Cambridge or Cambridge-educated international lawyers) will think about you / treat you differently if you win. I definitely noticed it. This is true among only a very small and select group of people though, and will obviously benefit you more if you plan to have a career in (academic) international law.

Finally, you get to have your name painted on a nice little board somewhere in the Lauterpacht Centre 🙂

How I Prepared for the Whewell Exam

It’s difficult or impossible to know what will come up in the Whewell exam; in my opinion in compares only to the All Souls specialist exams for its broad range. My strategy was threefold: revise for my other exams very well; practice past papers; and read widely.

  1. I revised for my other exams very well indeed. I chose not to pick and choose topics, but instead revised everything. (Throughout the year, I read the entire reading lists, too.) This added significantly to my workload, but in my opinion proved worth it. I also revised topics in international environmental law, in which I did not sit the exam (I wrote a dissertation in that paper instead). This latter strategy was very worthwhile as the first question on the paper related to the Paris Agreement, which had then recently been adopted.
  2. I found past papers and practiced writing essay skeletons and full essays. This was the bulk of my preparation for the exam. It helped to get a sense of the kinds of questions that could be asked, and helped me to practice thinking broadly or structurally about the issues. It also helped my overall preparation for all my other exams; in my opinion, it’s impossible to practice essay writing too much.
  3. I read widely. I got a sense from reading past papers that many questions touched on then-current topics or disputes in international law. Hence I read current and recent issues of leading journals like EJIL, AJIL and ICLQ. I read some classic/famous books in international law. I got out my old textbook from undergrad and made sure I was fully across the entire spectrum of general issues in public international law.
  4. This wasn’t part of my deliberate strategy, but that whole year I kept on reading broadly outside of law, as I always do, and I think this proved useful. I remember citing Peter Singer in one of my exam answers, for example, to make some point or other.

That’s all. Will doing these things guarantee a win? No. Will they help? Definitely. Will they make you a better international lawyer? I think so.

Remember, if you don’t win – which is the most likely outcome – there are other ways to do a PhD, and other ways to pursue success in international law.

Good luck!

2020 Reading

Let me start off by acknowledging that for many, 2020 has not been an optimal time for reading books. Friends of mine have found themselves at times unable to concentrate on anything longer than a tweet. If this applies to you, I send you solidarity! I hope 2021 brings you more headspace.

For me, though, one of the main ways I’ve gotten through this hellscape year–aside from, you know, organising to change the conditions that created it–has been reading books–and often long books, at that. For one thing, burying myself in a lengthy tome has, on many an occasion, stopped me from doomscrolling the Guardian live blog. As a spiralling few days in early March can attest, doomscrolling is definitely what I’d otherwise be doing. For another, it’s helped cover the gaping holes left in my evenings when activities used to happen (e.g. orchestra rehearsals, band practice, dinners with friends, dance class, talks, etc). (Also useful in this latter regard has been my discovery of gardening, actually practising the violin (what a concept, I know) and recently acquiring a wonderful Spanish tutor.)

(EDIT 4/01/21) Since writing this post, I’ve realised that in addition, to some extent, reading functioned as a means of procrastination–albeit productive procrastination (my favourite). While I was reading, I could put off working on the things that seemed too unwieldy, difficult or intimidating. Like my book manuscript! I published very little in 2020, and while this was partly a product of publication cycles (some things are in the editorial pipeline for 2021) it was also down to experiencing some paralysis about writing and submitting. This paralysis-feeling became less of an issue in the final quarter of the year, and I’ve made some mindset shifts that (I hope) will enable me to write as much as I want in 2021. But it was definitely one factor in why I read in 2020.

Maybe the largest benefit, however, has been that some of what I’ve read has helped me understand a little more of how the world has arrived at this juncture, and what may usefully be done. To take notes and make some sense of what I read, rather than, as so often in the past, plowing through pages upon pages only to forget what I gleaned within weeks, I used Roam.* Despite learning a lot this year, I still have a long way to go, especially in terms of reading political theory, economics, and global history. Thanks to the bibliographies of my 2020 books, however, there are now upwards of 500 books on my list of things to read, so at least I won’t be bored any time soon. Making this list also made me realise I didn’t read any books on science or music–two of my great loves–so that’s something to remedy in 2021.

Of course, not everything that I read–not even close!–has been directly educational or even all that serious. One consequence of finishing my PhD in 2019, after nearly a year in which I felt compelled to read little other than texts directly related to my field of study, was a hankering for a wide range of literature. If nothing else, these books reflect that. This is also a reason why, with one exception, I made it through no international law books this year! Oops. Well, onwards.

I’m not going to directly state the exact number of books that I read in 2020. One reason is that I didn’t set out with any sort of goal in mind–the reading just kind of happened. But more importantly, for me, to identify a number would be to create a kind of standard, which in subsequent years I would feel bound to meet or even out-do. This year granted me so much time for reading that to apply this standard to 2021 would (I hope) be unrealistic. In future I’ll probably read at about half this rate. Plus, as I’m the kind of person who tends to automatically compare myself negatively to people I don’t know on the internet, I don’t want to set off anyone else’s internal critic either.

I also had several advantages in my favour. Materially speaking, access to these books was facilitated by the Cambridge University Library, the CSER library, Verso sales, friends’ bookshelves, the neighbourhood bookshare, and the Amnesty bookshop on Mill Road. My partner reads a lot as well and I borrowed many books from him. Some I read for a reading group on Race and Technology, for which PDFs were provided. But I did buy a lot of books too–I have the disposable income to do so. (EDIT 04/01/21) It should also be noted that I was able to do a lot of this reading during work hours; one thing that can be said in favour of the postdoc life is that it’s remarkably generous in terms of being able to self-direct your time. Many of these books were and are key to my ongoing intellectual development, and I feel really lucky to have a job that supports this journey. Of course, all novels and the like, and non-fiction that I couldn’t justify as being remotely related to work, were read in evenings and weekends.

Below you can find the titles of books I’ve read cover-to-cover this year. I’m not counting books I’ve dipped in and out of for research, as that would be cheating! Nor am I counting the (far too many) books I started and haven’t (yet) finished. And obviously this doesn’t include journal articles, online essays, etc. For my own amusement only, I’ve given a 1-2 sentence take for each. This is obviously all very, very subjective and necessarily shallow. I will die on none of these hills. Out of interest, I audited the diversity of these books. 58% of these books were (co-)authored by women, and 37% by BIPOC authors. In 2021 I’d like to read more authors from the Global South, outside the North Atlantic sphere. Although I don’t believe that diversifying one’s reading lists, by itself, will lead to the structural changes we all need, it’s certainly no bad thing.

*I absolutely love Roam, find it invaluable for my work, and would recommend it to anyone–bidirectional linking has changed the game completely. That said, my membership is free thanks to joining the beta back in November 2019…so take my word with a large pinch of salt.

What I Read

So, here’s the list. I’ve loosely grouped them by genre and subject (very arbitrary of course!), but otherwise they’re listed roughly in the order I read them. I’m happy to talk more about any of these, or give specific recommendations.

Novels & Short Stories

  • Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. In between seeing the Greta Gerwig adaptation in theatres twice (!!), I read both the original book and Gerwig’s script. Jo forever!
  • Breath by Tim Winton. I have never remotely felt the impulse to go surfing, until I read this book.
  • Milkman by Anna Burns. With very little dialogue, so much of my experience as a reader took place inside the main character’s head–a fascinating and unusual read. Thanks to Hilary for lending it.
  • Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson. Basically a retelling of Blue (Da Ba Dee) except in red. (I’m kidding. It’s a great book.)
  • Vox by Christina Dalder. If you liked The Power by Naomi Alderman you might like this.
  • I Love Dick by Chris Kraus. Apart from some questionable descriptions of Wellington, I loved this! Specifically I loved the obsessiveness, the form, the style.
  • The Rosie Result by Graeme Simsion. Very funny and a good treatment of disability politics.
  • The Song of Achilles by Madeleine Miller. Greek myth + smut = a good book.
  • Weather by Jenny Offill. I wanted to like this, but I hated it. Authors have responsibilities in relation to the climate crisis (as do we all), and no matter how beautiful the prose is it doesn’t excuse the terrible politics.
  • Cloudstreet by Tim Winton. I read this all in one day and on finishing promptly restarted it.
  • The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. This is good if you want a light, distracting read.
  • Machines Like Me by Ian McEwan. Hated the characters, (but) enjoyed the book. I expect the AI ethicists I know might have a different opinion, however. Thanks Mum for lending it to me.
  • On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong. Devastatingly good.
  • The Shepherd’s Hut by Tim Winton. By now I had worked out that Tim Winton has a small problem with writing women. Gripes aside, this is a gripping read.
  • The Rehearsal by Eleanor Catton. To say “it reminded me of high school” might reveal a lot about my high school experience, but I’ll say it anyway.
  • The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy. I think I’ll keep reading this book forever.
  • White Teeth by Zadie Smith. Another one for the pool room. It’s interesting to ponder how its ultimately optimistic thesis stands up in current times.
  • N-W by Zadie Smith. A strange novel–it feels twisted and contorted. I’d like to re-read this.
  • Public Library and Other Stories by Ali Smith. Like all Ali Smith books, this has deceptively large font and all feels very light going, until it’s not.
  • Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I think if I had read this in 2013 I would have loved it and learned quite a lot. As it is, while it holds up as a piece of writing, it feels politically behind the times now. Thanks to Laura for handing it down to me.
  • Invisible Power by Phillip Allott. I picked this off the shelf in the law library during my frantic book-borrowing spree 4 hours before libraries closed in March. Technically a novel but really a thinly-veiled lecture–the voluminous footnotes might give it away, perhaps.
  • Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff. Holy…. crap. This book is a work of genius.
  • The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides. This made me want to study English at an East Coast liberal arts college circa 1982.
  • Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo. It should have been the sole Booker winner.
  • The Accidental by Ali Smith. Amber has such a nerve!! (If you know, you know). I loved the voicing of the different characters.
  • The Little Friend by Donna Tartt. The most underrated Donna Tartt book, and Harriett Cleves an overlooked literary heroine.
  • Autumn by Ali Smith
  • Winter by Ali Smith
  • Spring by Ali Smith
  • Summer by Ali Smith. I (re-)read these four all in one go, after Summer‘s release. This fourth book is a glorious culmination. Highly recommend all four.
  • Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel. Because I hadn’t had enough of pandemics in real life. Maybe the best post-apocalyptic novel I’ve read.
  • On Beauty by Zadie Smith. I had a long debate with myself about whether I liked White Teeth or On Beauty more until I figured that’s dumb and I can love them both.
  • Go Tell It On The Mountain by James Baldwin. I didn’t think I’d be into it because church has never been my jam, but I loved it anyway. Thanks Ellen for lending it.
  • The Swan Book by Alexis Wright. Aboriginal futurism, deeply pluralist, very confusing, lots of swans. I read it to challenge myself, and I sure was challenged–in a great way.
  • Real Life by Brandon Taylor. While I can’t relate to being a black man in the white spaces of academia, I sure can relate to doing a PhD. And on that point, this book is way too relatable.
  • Serpentine by Philip Pullman. Lyra 4 lyfe.
  • Walking the Clouds: An Anthology of Indigenous Science Fiction edited by Grace Dillon. Two words: Space Waka.
  • The Invisible Child and the Fir Tree by Tove Jansson. One can never have too many Moomins. Thanks to Lily for this sweet book.
  • The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood. Another one that I feel I may have appreciated more if I’d read it in 2010 or so. Thanks to the neighbourhood book-swap.
  • Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh. Strangely apt for 2020–a nostalgic look back at a time of youth and excess. Another Laura hand-me-down, cheers Laura.
  • Slade House by David Mitchell. Deeply creepy. I didn’t think paranormal stories were my thing but I really enjoyed this. Thanks Lily for the book, and to Susannah for getting me onto him.

Poetry

  • How I Get Ready by Ashleigh Young. So darn good.
  • Mezzanine by Zoe Hitzig. Spiky and odd and vital.
  • Magnolia, 木蘭 by Nina Powles. This book made me hungry.
  • Poūkahangatus by Tayi Tibble. Definitely not like any poetry I’d read before.
  • Citizen by Claudia Rankine. Hits you hard.

Journals, Memoirs, Essays, Art

  • Journals and Letters of Katherine Mansfield (C.K. Stead ed). A hangover, ironically, from reading as much C.K. Stead as I could get my hands on last Christmas, this book is going straight to the pool room.
  • Island Home by Tim Winton. Tim Winton’s writing is grounded in place to an extent unlike any other writer I know. This book (like the three volumes of fiction above) made me want to visit Western Australia.
  • On Coming Home by Paula Morris. The question any antipodean abroad encounters with regularity, especially this year: So (when) do you think you’re going home? It’s a tough one to answer, but made a bit less difficult by Paula Morris’ little gem.
  • The Bike and Beyond: Life on Two Wheels in Aotearoa New Zealand by Laura Williamson. I love bikes and I loved this book.
  • No Friend But The Mountains by Behrouz Boochani. Honestly, if you haven’t read this book yet, what are you even doing? I’d call Boochani the Elie Wiesel of our day, except such compraisons inevitably fall short.
  • Any Ordinary Day by Leigh Sales. Begun in February quite by chance, this foreshadowed the sharp turn life was about to take. Thanks Hillary for the lend.
  • How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy by Jenny Odell. Another chance February read, this was the perfect companion to the early days of deep lockdown. Possessing a scope much wider than the title suggests, this book is also about art, birds, ecoregionalism, and architecture.
  • The Living Mountain by Nan Shepherd. In a way, Shepherd and Odell are saying the same thing: know your local area. Shepherd’s is the Cairngorms, and this book is entrancing.
  • Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Anne Lamott. While ostensibly written for writers of fiction, many of the lessons equally apply to academic writing.
  • London’s Overthrow by China Mieville. On my street, lockdown gave rise to the delightful practice of leaving unwanted books on the brick wall outside the terraces for the neighbours to raid. This short essay, evocative of the austerity and protests of the early 2010s, was one such treasure find.
  • Chroma by Derek Jarman
  • At Your Own Risk by Derek Jarman
  • Modern Nature by Derek Jarman
  • Smiling in Slow Motion by Derek Jarman. I inhaled the four Jarmans after a chance trip to Dungeness where we stumbled across Prospect Cottage. What is there even to say? A rare life glimpsed in these tomes.
  • Intimations by Zadie Smith. Who else can not only write but release a piece of art during a global pandemic? (Other than Tay-Tay.) Small but perfectly formed.
  • Good Reasons for Bad Feelings by Randolph Nesse. I normally take evolutionary biology with a large handful of salt, but this is the most convincing and helpful such account I’ve read. Nesse acknowledges the limits and complementary nature of his approach while making a strong case for its use.
  • Azadi: Freedom, Fascism, Fiction by Arundhati Roy.
  • Can You Tolerate This? by Ashleigh Young. Two words: Big Red.
  • Funny Weather by Olivia Laing. I’m not as optimistic as Laing about the power of art to change the world. (There’s no substitute for organising.) But these essays helped me see the world a little differently, and I appreciate that.
  • Phosphorescence by Julia Baird. What does it mean to live life well? To some extent that’s a question I’ve been asking across a lot of this reading. This book addresses it more directly than most.
  • Nala’s World by Dean Nicholson. This is a wholesome and heartfelt true story about a man and his cat. If you like cats then this book is for you.
  • Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell. I laughed out loud all the way through this. Cuttingly witty and at times deeply insightful.
  • Nobody Will Tell You This But Me by Bess Kalb. This book made me want to call my grandmothers. One for all the immigrants, descendants of immigrants, and strong-willed women. With thanks to Moira.
  • Greenlights by Matthew McConaughey. Before reading this I had seen precisely one M. McConaughey film, and now I have seen two. An insight into a very interesting mind–perfect for the interregnum between Christmas and the New Year.
  • Living Better by Alastair Campbell. I made a jam jar after reading this book (if u know u know).
  • Vita’s Other World: A Gardening Biography of Vita Sackville-West by Jane Brown. An op-shop treasure find. Leaving aside the English fascination with nobility and titles and wealthy landowners, this book inspired me to plant flowers.

Race studies, feminism, critical theory, disability studies

  • Old Asian, New Asian by K Emma Ng. Part of the responsibility of being tangata tiriti in Aotearoa New Zealand is to understand anti-Asian prejudice and discrimination.
  • New Myths and Old Politics: The Waitangi Tribunal and the Challenge of Tradition by Tipene O’Regan. The man, the legend. This book made me want to learn more about Māori politics.
  • “I will not be erased”: Our stories about growing up as people of colour edited by gal-dem. If I had any teenagers in my life I’d want to gift this to them.
  • Stammering Pride and Prejudice: Difference not Defect edited by Patrick Campbell et al. Chances are you know someone who stammers–whether you know it or not. Do them a solid by reading this book. Thanks Kaitlin for the loan.
  • Women, Race & Class by Angela Davis. Powerful–required reading.
  • Mask Off by JJ Bola. Are you a man? Read this book. Are you someone who knows a man? Read this book.
  • Sister Outsider by Audre Lorde. Still necessary.
  • Feminism is for Everybody by bell hooks. This too.
  • Feminist Theory (2nd ed) by bell hooks. Highly recommend.
  • The Geography of Identity by Patricia Yaeger (ed). This was another random panic-borrow, and and thus a fairly random glimpse into the discipline of geography c. 1996, but I ended up really enjoying it.
  • Talking Back, Talking Black by bell hooks. More personal than the two titles above, this weaves memoir and critique.
  • Feminism, Interrupted by Lola Olufemi. Reading this shortly after hooks, Davis, and Lorde was a good move–the threads, continuities, conversations, and legacies are clearly apparent. But reading them the other way around would work well too, if you’re after an accessible introduction to feminism today.
  • Decolonising the University edited by Bhambra et al. Quite academic and tough-going in places, but well worth it.
  • A Fly Girl’s Guide to University by Lola Olufemi, Odelia Younge, Waithera Sebatindira, and Suhaiymah Manzoor-Khan. One for all students.
  • Social Reproduction Theory edited by Tithi Bhattacharya. My first proper taste of social reproduction theory certainly left me wanting more.
  • Racism: A Very Short Introduction by Ali Rattansi. As good as a Very Short Introduction can be.
  • Brit(ish) by Afua Hirsch. I learned new things about Britain and slavery in this book.
  • Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race by Reni Eddo-Lodge. I still got something new out of it upon a re-read.
  • A Billion Black Anthropocenes or None by Kathryn Yusoff. So good! So dense! I finished it and then immediately read it again (and hopefully understood more on the second go). I strongly believe that writing accessibly is a political choice, but I almost don’t mind when the writing is as good as this.

Politics, economics, organizing, environment

  • The Politics of Design: A (Not So) Global Manual for Visual Communication by Ruben Pater. I nearly studied graphic design and this book reminded me why.
  • A Planet to Win: Why We Need a Green New Deal by Kate Aronoff, Alyssa Battistoni, Daniel Aldana Cohen and Thea Riofrancos. A short and compelling case for a Green New Deal.
  • The Case for the Green New Deal by Ann Pettifor. If you’ve ever wondered “how do we pay for climate policy” this book may assist you.
  • Platform Capitalism by Nick Srnicek. This helped me understand the world better.
  • We Are The Weather: Saving the Planet Begins at Breakfast by Jonathan Safran Foer. Terrible politics, factually incorrect in places, would not recommend.
  • Winners Take All by Anand Giridharadas. This is a really accessible critique of philanthropy and management consulting, which I’d recommend to anyone wanting to dip their toes into economic/social critique.
  • Doughnut Economics by Kate Raworth. This book talks a big game but do its prescribed solutions live up to its ambitions?
  • After Geoengineering by Holly Jean Buck. One of the best books I read this year and certainly one of the most cogent takes on carbon removal and geoengineering on the left.
  • Capital in the 21st Century by Thomas Piketty. The man sure had a good dataset.
  • Our History is the Future by Nick Estes. I’ve seen this recommended widely, and I can only echo the sentiment.
  • Politics is for Power by Eitan Hersh. This one can be filed squarely in the “fancy university man discovers what people at the grassroots have always known” category. Nevertheless, it was a timely reminder of what’s important. If you consider yourself “political” and cried when Boris was elected but have never even been canvassing in your life, this is the one for you.
  • The Future Earth by Eric Holthaus. I think this book should be way more well-known and widely-read.
  • Abolish Silicon Valley by Wendy Liu. Who better to critique Silicon Valley than one of its own? Liu’s personal story, which she interweaves with sharp critique in this book, is fascinating and inspiring.
  • Economics for the Many by John McDonnell. Quite readable stuff.
  • Red Skin White Masks: Rejecting the Colonial Politics of Recognition by Glen Coulthard. One of my favourites of the year, Coulthard is challenging and rigorous.
  • No Shortcuts by Jane McAlevey. Jane McAlevey is an absolute queen and this may have been the best thing I read all year. In 2020 I got to go to her organizing school, through UCU, and it was the. best.
  • Four Futures by Peter Frase. I found myself with many more questions at the end of the book than when I began it.
  • Caliban and the Witch by Silvia Federici. This book made me consider some things in a new light. I’m now reading more Federici and also diving into the criticism and debate especially regarding the book’s approach to historiography.
  • Fake Law by The Secret Barrister. If I were much younger and hadn’t already become a lawyer, this book would inspire me to study law.
  • Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. Weaving science and indigenous knowledge into a vital whole, I can already tell I’ll be returning to this book over and over.
  • The Right To Be Cold by Sheila Watt-Cloutier. SWC is bad-ass. If you want to understand climate change, you have to understand Arctic perspectives.
  • Sand Talk by Tyson Yunkaporta. Mind-bogglingly great. Along with Swan Talk, maybe the most epistemologically diverse thing I read this year.
  • Public Knowledge edited by Emma Johnson. I do love Freerange Press and will always read their books. I found the essays in this volume varied wildly in quality, but overall I’d recommend it.
  • emergent strategy by adrienne maree brown. Another one I’ll be re-reading.
  • International Status in the Shadow of Empire: Nauru and the Histories of International Law by Cait Storr. Yep, the only international law book I read all the way through was this one. In the process I learned way more about hanseatic trading firms than I ever thought I wanted to know! Anyone interested in the political economy of Nauru should read it.
  • Winning the Green New Deal: Why We Must, How We Can by Varshini Prakash and Guido Girgenti (eds). If you’re going to read only one climate book, make it this one.
  • The World-Ending Fire by Wendell Berry. On re-reading this at the end of the year, I found unexpected resonances with Kimmerer, Odell, and Yunkaporta. What does it mean to know a place, to relate to the land, to live well?

Existential Risk

  • A Choice of Catastrophes by Isaac Asimov. The OG concerned-scientist summary of all the ways the world could end.
  • Life 3.0: Being Human in the Age of Artificial Intelligence by Max Tegmark.
  • Our Final Century by Martin Rees. An oldie but a goodie.
  • The Fate of the Earth by Jonathan Schell. Nuclear weapons are scary, y’all.
  • The Abolition by Jonathan Schell. As above.
  • Morality, Foresight, and Human Flourishing by Phil Torres. A good primer.
  • The Precipice by Toby Ord. Also a good primer. It looks a much lengthier read than it is, since half of the book consists of endnotes.
  • Global Catastrophic Risk by Bostrom and Circovic (eds). Reading this older volume after the much newer introductions certainly made some parts stand out as outdated.
  • The Collapse of Western Civilization by Naomi Oreskes and Eric Conway. As slim as it is scary. Thanks Ellen for the loan