Bookshelf

Book Talk: Lessons in Leadership:  Ex-College President Reflects on the Empathy in Higher Ed

At a moment when college leaders are navigating choppy seas, Eileen Wilson-Oyelaran ’69 has written a timely analysis of university leadership that outlines what it will take to lead higher education institutions effectively in the coming decade and beyond.

Book, The New College President: How a Generation of Diverse Leaders Is Changing Higher EducationThe book, “The New College President: How a Generation of Diverse Leaders Is Changing Higher Education,” co-written with Terrence MacTaggart and published by the Johns Hopkins University Press, profiles seven university leaders and describes the skills and personal qualities they possess that have made them successful.

Few are as qualified as Wilson-Oyelaran to opine on the topic. She served as president of Kalamazoo College from 2005 to 2016, a period that included a major economic recession, and also was named as chair of the board of directors of the National Association of Independent Colleges and Universities for the 2013-2014 academic year.

In the book, Wilson-Oyelaran discusses some of the major challenges facing the college and university presidency, among them high turnover rates, debilitating financial pressures and conflicting institutional strategies. For example, she says that presidents’ shorter terms may negatively impact institutions, since it generally takes time for presidents to understand school culture and garner the trust of their communities.

For Wilson-Oyelaran, that trust is more vital now than ever. “Colleges and universities are being asked to change more rapidly and more dynamically, but the ability to do that requires someone who is known and trusted, which takes time,” she says. “A leader who is embedded in the community is much more able to make the changes that are necessary right now.”

One quality that Wilson-Oyelaran and MacTaggart found in all the successful presidents they profiled was the significant adversity they faced. “Adversity gives you empathy and a great deal of resilience, which is of particular importance for leading institutions of higher education right now,” says Wilson-Oyelaran. “As the arrows get slung at you, it’s critical to be able to let them roll off and continue to move forward. You develop a sixth sense of how to keep focusing on what is of value and what to let go of.”

Eileen Wilson-Oyelaran ’69During her years at Pomona, Wilson-Oyelaran was a galvanizing figure who was instrumental in creating The Claremont Colleges’ first Black Student Union in 1967 and the Black Studies Center in 1969. She says that she’s deeply encouraged by how her generation’s efforts transformed higher education, both in terms of what the student body looks like, and in the expanded breadth of the curriculum.

“When I look at Pomona today, in many ways the institution represents what we hoped to see,” she says. “It’s pretty incredible to see how the field of African American studies has flourished nationally, and to feel that I maybe did a little bit to move that forward.”

Bookmarks

Barbour, Los escritores y el flamencoLos escritores y el flamenco. La lucha antifranquista (1967-1978)

Tyler Barbour ’09 explores the intersections among Spanish literature, flamenco and the political resistance of the Franco Regime.


Booth, I Am WeI Am We

Leslie Barnard Booth ’04 delves into the mysteries of crow behavior in this lyrical informational picture book inspired by the urban crows of Portland, Oregon.


Choi, Disaster NationalismDisaster Nationalism

In this ethnography, Vivian Y. Choi ’01 examines how the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami fostered new forms of governance and militarization during Sri Lanka’s decades-long civil war.


Citroën, The New Rules of InfluenceThe New Rules of Influence

Lida Citroën ’86 guides leaders through a new paradigm of leadership in which authenticity, passion and honesty
are required.


Covington, Hidden HealersHidden Healers

Through her experience providing therapeutic programs to prisoners, Stephanie Covington ’64 gives readers a look inside women’s prisons along with recommendations for change.


Dolan, Abigail and Alexa Save the WeddingAbigail and Alexa Save the Wedding

Lian Dolan ’87 writes a modern comedy of manners in this novel about two mothers planning their children’s dream wedding in Montecito, California.


Fleming, Animating the VictoriansAnimating the Victorians

Patrick C. Fleming ’05 traces the links between the Golden Age of children’s literature and Disney films, exploring Disney’s adaptations of Victorian texts.


Henneberg, I Trust Her CompletelyI Trust Her Completely

In this debut novel, Christine Henneberg ’05 observes female friendship and 21st-century motherhood alongside themes of abortion and ambition.


Severin, Deadly VisionDeadly Vision

Todd Severin ’85 crafts a medical and psychological thriller about a revolutionary medical breakthrough and the warring factions in medicine and politics to shut it down.

Book Submissions:

If you’ve had a book published and would like to submit it for inclusion in Bookmarks, please send a review copy to Lorraine Wu Harry ’97, PCM Books Editor, 550 North College Ave. Claremont, CA 91711 or email us.

Book Blurbs: Poetry Edition

Why have just one? For this issue’s “blurb,” we’re featuring five poems by alumni authors

Hongo standing in front of plaque of his poem

Hongo poses in front of his poem, inscribed on a plaque at the Smith Campus Center

Under The Oaks At Holmes Hall, Overtaken By Rain

By Garrett Hongo ’73

A desert downpour in early spring,
and I’m standing under California oaks,
gazing through rain as the grey sky thunders.
I don’t know why the nightingale sings
to Kubla Khan and not to me, nineteen
and marked by nothing, not even ceremony
or the slash of wind tearing through trees.
I don’t know why Ishmael alone is left
to speak of the sea’s great beast, why
the ground sinks and slides against itself,
why the blue lupines will rise and quilt
through the tawny grasses on the hillsides.
I can’t explain this garment of rain on
   my shoulders
or the sour cloth of my poverty unwinding
like a shroud as the giant eucalyptus
strips and sheds its grey parchments of skin
and stands mottled and nude in the
   shining rains.
I want something sullen as thundering skies,
thick as earthmilk, brown and sluicing
across the streets, grievous as the flood of waters.
I want unfelt sorrows to give away and
   wrought absence
to exchange for the imperfect shelter of
   these oaks,
for the froth of green ivy around my feet,
for the sky without gods and the earth
   without perplexity.
I want to have something like prayer to pay
or a mission to renounce as a fee
for my innocence under cloud-cover
and these furious nightingales of thunder,
companions of song in this untormented sea
of memory uncrowded with bliss or pain.

From “OCEAN OF CLOUDS: Poems.” Reprinted by permission of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © 2025 by Garrett Hongo. Hongo has published three books of poetry, including “The Perfect Sound: A Memoir in Stereo” (2022).

During Times of Trying to Forgive 

By Brenda Hillman ’73

Evening deepens, Jupiter lifts
   over Cetus, swaddled
  in ribbons of fog. Early stars
retreat into science broth,
  headlights on a hill, &
night stays calm. The source

of your hurt is tucked in.
Maybe you can’t forgive
each other yet, & who
   can blame you after all
    that happened, but still.
You try as a tide tries gray

   again. As a friend whose body
  had a tumor—whose body
has a tumor—reads in onyx light
   till day. How many Mondays
will she have? Is the mystery
  counting? She tries, it tries &

   the ones who are almost
loved walk through the field.
  Inexhaustible seeds are carried
  through the field like codes
    waiting to be read by air
  until the ground is ready.

A Pomona College Magazine exclusive. Copyright © 2025 by Brenda Hillman. Hillman has published more than 10 books of poetry, including In a Few Minutes Before Later (2022). She’s a professor of creative writing at St. Mary’s College in California, where she holds the Olivia Filippi Chair in Poetry.

Constellation of Cetus

Jodie Hollander and her book, NocturneMoon

By Jodie Hollander ’99

do you ever dream
just as I do,
of having a kind of sister
with you in the sky?
To comb one another’s
milky white surfaces,
or gaze out in awe
at fierce bright stars;
just to be together
amidst the emptiness.
Or are you content
all alone up there,
hovering high above
those darkening trees,
who too must hover
above the world below,
that still somehow sparkles
with artificial lights?

Reprinted with permission from Nocturne by Jodie Hollander. Reprinted by permission of Liverpool University Press. Copyright © 2023 by Jodie Hollander.

Hollander is the author of My Dark Horses (2017) and Nocturne (2023), which was longlisted for the Laurel Prize in nature writing.

Full moon over Glacier at Logan Pass

Cloud Study

By S. Brook Corfman ’13

I believed long hair alone
would, like rain, wash
my gender away but the rain

rarely cleans, now—it misses
the spot under the tree, moves
the dirt across the street, cannot

reach into my throat or under
the car unless I open for it.

Corfman (they/them) is the author of the poetry collections My Daily Actions, or The Meteorites and Luxury, Blue Lace.

Luxury, Blue Lace by S. Brook Corfman ’13


Poetry (July/August 2025) by Bruce Bond ’75Night
Class

By Bruce Bond ’75

We would only get so far,
    given the casualties
buried in each point of view.
  This one, this one, this.
To see them was to smell them.
One by one.
Then we read Wilfred Owen,
  a lyric
  whose anger comes later,
  after the specifics.
Take this face,
  how the penlight of the medic
  pierces the addled eye
    just so far.
  In each a sky so deep
  it swallows up the stars.
  Take this gate,
how it chatters like a telegraph key,
and you wake afraid,
knowing so little of your subject.
The siren
in the distance is no stranger
  anymore.
    It is headed
  for your hospital wing,
  where it could be a while,
  if you are waiting for your son.
We could stare at the wall
  together,
    as some at altars do,
  where the mouths
    of nocturnal flowers
  open to accept,
  as sacrament,
  a bee across the tongue.

Poem first appeared in Poetry (July/August 2025) and is reprinted with permission. Bond has authored 37 books and poetry collections and is an Emeritus Professor at the University of North Texas.

Booktalk: Pamela Prickett: The Unclaimed

Cover artwork for The UnclaimedPamela Prickett, associate professor of sociology, co-authored a recently published book, The Unclaimed, telling the stories of people who were abandoned after death in Los Angeles County. Through narrative nonfiction, the book shares the poignancy of the subjects’ lives and deaths, and the heartwarming ways strangers stepped in to provide dignity.

The Unclaimed was named to the “top books of 2024” lists at The Atlantic, BookPage, LAist, and NPR. In an interview with PCM, Prickett shares perspectives on societal alienation and the profound need for connection, offering insights into the importance of reconciliation. (Interview edited for length.)

PCM: You’ve co-written a fascinating book telling the life stories of people whose bodies were unclaimed in Los Angeles County. Who are these people?

Prickett: The unclaimed are people for whom next of kin—usually immediate family—decline to arrange a funeral or burial, cremation or some other form of disposition. When families cannot, or will not, claim a body, it becomes the responsibility of local governments to figure out what to do. Often these governments are resource-strapped and seek the cheapest, most efficient arrangements. In Los Angeles, after 30 days, a body not claimed by family is declared “abandoned” and, unless the person has assets, is cremated by the County of Los Angeles. To give the family extra time, the county stores the ashes for up to three years. At the end of that period, the ashes are interred in a common grave with everyone who died that same year.

PCM: How did you get interested in the topic?

Portrait of Pamela Prickett, associate professor of sociology

Pamela Prickett

Prickett: I hadn’t thought about it until someone I knew was on the path toward going unclaimed. A quick internet search revealed only a modest selection of news stories about unclaimed bodies in the U.S. A handful were features in the Los Angeles Times about the crematorium and annual burial in Boyle Heights. Once I read about the mass burial, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. How had I lived five miles away and not known about it? So I reached out to Stefan Timmermans, who I had worked with at UCLA, and we agreed to embark on this research project.

PCM: The book is, surprisingly, a page-turner. How did your career background contribute to this?

Prickett: I started my career as a journalist, working mostly in television. That experience helped shape my academic choices, including what I study and how I write. I’m committed to making research accessible to many audiences. For this book, we had the good fortune to have a skilled trade book editor who helped us envision it as narrative nonfiction, reading more like a novel. The result is a set of stories that takes readers into the lives of four Angelenos at risk of being unclaimed. We also meet the volunteers, community members and government workers dedicated to providing burials for unclaimed strangers, imparting a sense of dignity after their deaths.

PCM: The number of unclaimed in Los Angeles is rising. Why?

Prickett: The poor have always been more likely than the wealthy to be buried in unmarked graves and so-called potter’s fields. Today, Americans from all walks of life, including people with jobs and homes and families, who think they did everything right to prepare for old age, are ending up unclaimed. An estimated 2 percent to 4 percent of the people who die every year in the U.S. go unclaimed. In Los Angeles County—the most populous in the country—the number has more than doubled since the 1970s.

Shifts in the rate of the unclaimed tell us something fundamental has changed in what Americans are willing to do for their relatives—and it’s far less than in past generations.

PCM: A key commitment among members of the military is to leave no one behind. How is a group of veterans in Southern California acting on that commitment on behalf of unclaimed veterans?

Prickett: This is one way the research has revealed unexpected and heartwarming surprises. Every Wednesday, rain or shine, a group of motorcycle-riding veterans and their supporters, calling themselves Veterans Without Family, gather at Riverside National Cemetery to bury unclaimed veterans. The group takes on the role of surrogate relatives to draw attention to society’s neglect of veterans and express solidarity with their veteran “brothers and sisters,” who were often estranged from their biological families.

PCM: You also write about a group in Boyle Heights who gets together to mourn those they never knew. What motivates groups such as these?

Prickett: I attended that ceremony for the first time in 2015 and was forever changed. It felt incredible to be surrounded by people who were willing to take time out of their busy schedules to honor people they never knew. It’s a 35-minute interfaith, multi-lingual ceremony organized by a hospital chaplain, a man who walks the walk on radical kindness. By the end, you’re reminded that there is more good than evil in the world and that there is a space to create dignity and humanity for all.

PCM: What can we do as a society to reduce the alienation that too often results in people being unclaimed?

Prickett: The Unclaimed is a wake-up call to take stock of what really matters in life—social relationships. The book poses the haunting question, “How much did your life matter if no one close to you cares you died?” A few suggestions:

Reach out and break through social isolation and work to repair broken relationships.

Talk through the discomfort and sadness we often try to numb. Learn to work through conflict.

Before cutting off ties, think about the long-term consequences. While some relationships are indeed toxic, sometimes what we label as toxic is simple disagreement. Conflict is integral to social interaction, and the more we can work to repair fissures, the better off we will be.

We can change laws to create a more inclusive definition of next-of-kin. We rely on centuries-old English common law definitions of family to determine who qualifies as next-of-kin. It’s my hope that we push policymakers to assess the right to claiming based on the quality of the tie, not whether it is by blood or marriage.

PCM: How can we as individuals and communities expand our circle of caring?

Prickett: I encourage people to attend a local ceremony for the unclaimed. Respect in death can be a rallying cry for respect in life. The unclaimed remind us that unless everybody counts, nobody counts.

Book Blurb: Marcia Aldrich ’75, Enough

Cover artwork for "Studio of the Voice"I am lying awake in an unfamiliar bed, thinking about success. It is not a king- or queen-size bed, but a double, shared with my husband in a 400-square-foot cottage that I call The Hut. I am lying here, thinking about success, because I have left my home and driven across the country to take up a semester’s residence as the Mary Routt Chair in Writing at Scripps College. It is the bottom hour of the night, and ahead of me lies the long ascent of time toward morning.

The Hut sits a few blocks north of Pomona, where decades ago I was an undergraduate. Much has changed in Claremont, yet much remains the same. Old halls have been torn down, replaced by modern structures, yet the streets still carry the thick smell of eucalyptus. Once I earned my degree I moved on to a working life, to commutes on subway and bus, to corporate work and housecleaning, to graduate school, marriage and children, teaching and writing. I didn’t envision coming back. And yet this return has felt necessary, even preordained, as if the time for a reckoning has come.

Marcia Aldrich 75

Marcia Aldrich ’75

By many measures my return is a sign of success. I have done enough of what I set out to do—be a writer and a professor—to warrant selection to this named position. But I do not feel triumphant. No wreath of bay circles my crown. Just the opposite: I feel as if I’m lying on a bed of nails. Wandering the old campus gardens and courtyards, I meet my younger self, who doesn’t give me a congratulatory wave, passing by on her way to an important appointment. Instead she sits down beside me on the bench under the wisteria and stares into my face, assessing what I have become. Her eyes darken with disappointment. She finds me wanting. What happened? she asks. I thought you would amount to so much more. I thought there would be so much more of you. It isn’t enough, she says.

How slender she is, yet filled with expectation! Could I ever have been so young and fierce and yet so innocent? How her eyes brim with yearning! She’s sure she’s going to do something great with her life; no obstacle will derail her. Little angel, I say, what did you expect of me, and why are you so disappointed?

It is not enough to be a success—there’s always someone more successful. I rarely compare myself to someone who has achieved less. I notice the person ahead of me, not the person behind. I’m focused on the one who won the prize and forget about the people who were passed over. I ask myself how many among us are where we want to be, who we want to be—as if I could argue my way out of the night. There’s always somewhere we want to get, something more we need to accomplish, something to fix. Such dissatisfaction is good, keeps us moving forward. But too much self-criticism can mist our compass, make us lose our bearings. When will the tallying end, this measuring of myself against every other, this measuring myself against myself, this feeling of finding myself wanting?

I’m not sure when it hit me forcefully that I was flawed, essentially flawed, and no regimen of self-improvement would change that, but I’m sure my mother had something to do with it. She did a good job convincing me I was doomed to disappoint, that everything about me required renovation, though back in high school I didn’t realize that I would disappoint myself more than anyone else. I considered having a T-shirt made that said I am a deeply disappointing person because I felt a duty to warn people, to push them away in case they didn’t see my flaws and became attached to me. Any success took me by surprise and seemed a mistake. I waited for the correction to follow—I’d be stripped of the part in the play, the teacher would recalculate my A, the SATs would be rescored, the boy would come to his senses and dump me, the college acceptance revoked. Nothing seemed too small to worry about. I envisioned a grand tribunal sitting in golden chairs in the night sky, glaring down through my windows and judging me. The tribunal was made up of ancient women with white hair falling past their shoulders to their knees, who would ask in hushed voices: What did you do today? What do you plan on doing tomorrow? Will it be enough?

Enough. A word like a high mountain I can’t cross to see what’s on the other side—perchance a valley of milk and honey where every woman has plenty of what she needs and what she wants and knows she has reached her paradise. She’s satisfied—she doesn’t hanker after what hasn’t been done. Enough. What’s enough for me may not be enough for you. I may have wanted to tell my mother and a whole line of mother substitutes that I’d done enough, but I didn’t because I knew my mother would say, No, you haven’t and I wasn’t sure that she wasn’t right.

Enough can’t be precisely measured, precisely stated because it’s part of an emotional economy. One has to guess, make an estimate. How many hours of work is enough to consider myself productive? How much love is enough to feel loved? How many kisses are enough to feel kissed? How much money is enough to feel secure? Whatever scheme of measurement used, the evidence suggests it is the rare woman who has enough of anything, who doesn’t want more money, more love, more time, more kisses. And in my world it is the rare woman who doesn’t taunt herself because she hasn’t accomplished enough, who isn’t lying awake at night making yet another tally.

Bookmarks

Challenging Boys

Timothy Davis ’86 draws on his experience as a child and family psychologist, father of three and volunteer firefighter..


Powering the Future

Book, Powering the FutureThis pragmatic guide written by Steven Ferrey ’72 helps legal practitioners navigate the nuanced dynamics involved in shifting policy around renewable energy.


Book, The Sides of the SeaThe Sides of the Sea

Johanna X. K. Garvey ’73 examines theories of race, ethnicity, gender and sexuality in the works of contemporary Caribbean women writers.


Book, Intoxicating PleasuresIntoxicating Pleasures

Lisa Jacobson ’84 provides an in-depth account of the alcoholic beverages industries in the United States during the 1930s and ’40s.


Book, Old KingOld King

This haunting novel about the end of the frontier dream by Maxim Loskutoff ’07 was named a best book of the year by NPR and Publishers Weekly.


Book, By the Shore of Lake MichiganBy the Shore of Lake Michigan

Nancy Matsumoto ’80 translated her grandparents’ words as they tell the story of their incarceration in concentration camps through Japanese tanka poems.


Book, A Golden LifeA Golden Life

Step into the golden age of Tinseltown with this historical novel from Ginny Kubitz Moyer ’95, set in Hollywood and the Napa Valley in the 1930s.


Book, Abortion Rights BacklashAbortion Rights Backlash

A political science professor at UC Santa Barbara, Alison Brysk ’81 explores recent setbacks for reproductive rights across three continents, advancing the argument that the dynamic reflects a struggle between nationalism, democracy and globalization.

Book Submissions:

If you’ve had a book published and would like to submit it for inclusion in Bookmarks, please send a review copy to Lorraine Wu Harry, PCM Books Editor, 550 North College Ave. Claremont, CA 91711 or email us.

The Road to Truth

off the books coverThis summer, author and professor Soma Mei Sheng Frazier ’95 perched on a stool in front of an audience of Pomona alumni and opened her debut novel, a high-stakes road trip story published after nearly three decades of authoring shorter works. “Ready to get read to like babies at bedtime?” When she closed the book again, Frazier’s role model—Henry E. Sheffield Professor of History Samuel Yamashita—piped up to engage her in conversation about Off the Books, which, per The New York Times, “captures the relatable toggle between the private and the collective, between sinking into the anxieties of your life and grieving for the cruelties of the world.” In it, Frazier introduces us to Měi, a college dropout who begins driving private clients—including a man with a mysterious suitcase—to make ends meet. PCM spoke to Frazier about the book, the Uyghur ethnic minority group and her enduring admiration for Yamashita.

PCM: This book contains elements of mystery, drama, coming of age, Chinese American and multi-ethnic identity struggles, and the juxtaposition of East vs. West (globally but also between the two U.S. coasts). Did you set out to tackle all these issues, and how do you see them working in tandem to set the novel’s tone?

Frazier: The seed of Off the Books was a single issue: China’s treatment of the Uyghur ethnic minority group, many of whom have been “disappeared” into detention camps for such offenses as sporting the wrong beard. Their birth rates have plummeted, and children have been instructed not to speak the language their mothers sang them to sleep in.

To shine a light on that faraway situation, I set about writing the very American story of Měi Brown, a college dropout who finds herself driving a secretive private client from Oakland, California, to Syracuse, New York. As I wrote, all those themes grew from Měi’s personal growth and fraught relationships with a Caucasian dad and Chinese American mom, which became the backdrop for a quirky—and funny, I’ve been told—story about the circumstances that lead people to take big risks, and the consequences  of leaving one’s home.

PCM: Several of the central characters do not fit typical molds. Lăoyé, the main character’s grandfather, is a smack-talking, weed-smoking, 86-year-old video-gamer from China. Does this reflect your own personal experiences? How do you believe it adds to the major themes of the story?

Frazier: Well, typical molds can suck it. In my personal experience, people gain freedom when we stop contorting ourselves to fit those molds. Lăoyé is actually almost everyone’s favorite character, and I believe that’s because he is a mold breaker. He’s unapologetically sincere. As children, we say what we truly think and feel because we haven’t learned how to do otherwise yet. Then, as we gain age and wisdom like Lăoyé, if we’re lucky, we return to authenticity. When we meet Měi, she’s just beginning that journey back to herself, remembering the difference between reaction and intentional, self-driven action. On top of that, transporting her sweet (and I’ll say it: sexy) client Henry Lee across the states ultimately leads her to take the wheel in other ways.

frazier author headshot

Soma Mei Sheng Frazier ’95

PCM: The story unfolds through flashbacks intertwined with the progress of Měi’s road trip through the U.S. Although disorienting at first, it nicely accorded with real life—that is, we are constantly relating the present to past events we have experienced, even without noticing it. Does that structure serve other purposes?

Frazier: We are always toggling back and forth between present and past. Through the structure, my hope is that the road trip itself gives the story momentum, while the flashbacks (interspersed with present-day action) allow the characters to sort of experience that languid mental wandering that we often do on long drives.

PCM: Why did you use pinyin (romanization of Mandarin Chinese characters) for Chinese terms, including notating them with tone marks in an English-language book?

Frazier: Měi’s Chinese is rudimentary, so she’s limited to the kind of household language that one picks up organically from an immigrant parent, like “I’m hungry.” I wanted to permit people who know Chinese, or grew up in households that spoke Chinese but do not have complete command of the language, to relate. I also wanted readers who don’t know Chinese to experience the sort of disorientation that Měi herself does when the other characters suddenly start conversing in this language she doesn’t fully understand. So that’s why I didn’t italicize the Chinese. Italicization implies a sort of separation from English. But then in real life, there’s no separation. I wanted what was on the page to mirror the experience of hearing the characters’ conversations in real life.

PCM: What do you ultimately hope that this book accomplishes?

Frazier: I hope that Off the Books will make readers laugh and remind us to be kind to one another. I also hope it will pique interest in China’s treatment of the Uyghurs, ethnic minorities and prisoners of conscience. Because, yes, they’re halfway around the world, but I think we’d be fools to think of their issues as distant. China is the U.S.’s number one trade partner, and likely to gain regional hegemony and become a superpower. Before speaking with you, I did an interview with Radio Free Asia where I learned from the Uyghur interviewer that family members of every one of her Uyghur colleagues have disappeared. Ultimately, I want people to know about this and acknowledge the ugly truths about our number one trade partner, just as I hope we do about this country. And then to decide on their own whether and how to act on that knowledge to make things better for everyone.

PCM: How did Pomona College help or inspire you to undertake this book?

Frazier: When I was preparing to head to Pomona from New Hampshire, I walked into my mom’s office, and she was writing a check. I asked, “Hey, who’s that check going to?” And she replied that she was sending my aunties some money. I inquired why. After all, they were doing well. She said, “No, not those aunties—it’s for the aunties we had to leave behind in China.” And I didn’t know about these aunties, so I went off to Pomona reflecting on that experience and about the things I didn’t know about China. Those sentiments inspired me to delve further as an Asian studies major and Asian languages and literatures minor. Furthermore, I think a lot of experiences at Pomona—particularly being in Samuel Yamashita’s class—can make a person who might not have been focused on global politics think about global politics. Dr. Yamashita also makes us relate the issues we’re thinking about to our own behavior in the world. As the saying goes, a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down. In classes like his, you think you’re eating candy. Just all sugar. Yet you leave medicated, fortified with information about the world.

Bookmarks

The Presidents and the People, Corey BrettschneiderIn The Presidents and the People, Corey Brettschneider ’95 explores how five American presidents in different eras abused their power and how citizens fought back to restore democracy.


Loving Your Black Neighbor as Yourself: A Guide to Closing the Space Between Us.Chanté Griffin ’00 helps readers develop a vision of anti-racism and move toward racial healing in Loving Your Black Neighbor as Yourself: A Guide to Closing the Space Between Us.


American Aesthetics: Theory and PracticeAs an editor of American Aesthetics: Theory and Practice, Walter B. Gulick ’60 proposes a distinctly American approach to aesthetic judgment and practice through this collection of essays.


The Emperor and the Endless PalaceIn his debut novel The Emperor and the Endless Palace, Justinian Huang ’09 crafts a genre-bending queer Asian love story that unfolds across multiple timelines.


Climate Anxiety and the Kid Question: Deciding Whether to Have Children in an Uncertain Future Jade Sasser ’97 explores climate-driven reproductive anxiety, placing race and social justice at the center, in Climate Anxiety and the Kid Question: Deciding Whether to Have Children in an Uncertain Future


The Five Ranks of Zen: Tozan’s Path of Being, Nonbeing and CompassionThe Five Ranks of Zen: Tozan’s Path of Being, Nonbeing and Compassion is a comprehensive guide to the teachings of Zen Buddhism by American Zen teacher Gerry Shishin Wick ’62.


The New College President: How a Generation of Diverse Leaders Is Changing Higher EducationAs president emerita of Kalamazoo College and trustee emerita of Pomona College, Eileen B. Wilson-Oyelaran ’69 presents a fresh perspective on higher education leadership in The New College President: How a Generation of Diverse Leaders Is Changing Higher Education. 


BOOK SUBMISSIONS

If you’ve had a book published and would like to submit it for inclusion in Bookmarks, please send a review copy to or email us

Lorraine Harry, PCM Books Editor,
550 North College Ave.
Claremont, CA 91711

Hidden History

Four years after graduating, Michael Waters ’20 has published his first book, The Other Olympians: Fascism, Queerness, and the Making of Modern Sports. Released in June ahead of the 2024 Olympics this summer in Paris, Waters’ book tells the story of early trans athletes and the roots of sex testing of athletes in the 1930s.

In 2021, Waters’ senior history thesis at Pomona about placements of queer youth with queer foster parents in New York City in the 1970s was adapted and published in The New Yorker. Since graduating, he has contributed numerous articles to publications including The Atlantic, The New Yorker, WIRED, Vox and The New York Times.

Pomona College Magazine’s Lorraine Wu Harry ’97 talked to Waters about the book as well as his development as a historian and journalist. Answers have been edited for clarity and length.

PCM: How did Pomona train you as a student of history?

Waters: Professors in the History Department taught me the potential of discovery in the past. There are so many stories of marginalized communities out there. They are just harder to find in traditional archives. But there’s a way of doing history where you read against the grain and you look for what’s not there.

What fascinates me about queer history is finding pockets of queer community in these spaces and in these eras before we would expect them. I want to try to scramble this idea of queer history as a linear story of progress. Queer history has never been linear. There are so many surprising examples of acceptance and celebrity and community that existed before World War II, before traditional narratives of queer history, before Stonewall. My work is about finding those lost communities. Where was community, where were queer people coming together and what does that say about us today?

Often what I do is I look through newspaper archives. I like to do search terms related to gender and sexuality and filter for certain eras to see what comes up. There are often stories in those newspaper archives that haven’t bubbled to the popular consciousness today but that were a big thing at the time.

PCM: How did you conduct research for this book?

Waters: It was hard in many ways, but one really lucky thing was finding a short memoir that Zdeněk Koubek, the main Czech athlete in the book, wrote in 1936 in a Czech magazine. It was this rich, 40,000-word manuscript about his life. That solved what would have been potentially insurmountable archival problems, because a lot of his story is otherwise not well-documented.

A lot of the book pulls from different newspaper records, too. For the Olympics, I went to the International Olympic Committee archive and went through some of their 1930s, 1940s, 1950s, 1960s correspondence files. Avery Brundage, who’s a big part of the book—he’s an American IOC official—has this huge archive in Illinois, where he saved literally everything, it seems.

To make a book, especially a nonfiction book, sellable, there’s so much luck involved when it comes to sourcing. I couldn’t have done this book if it wasn’t for that source from Koubek’s life. Everything kind of came together after that.

PCM: How did you learn to write so well?

Waters: I hope that’s true. I’ve been writing magazine-type stories for a while now, which is very different from writing a book, obviously. But that muscle was helpful in this process. I started freelancing originally for Atlas Obscura, which is a website that chronicles historical oddities. I started writing for them in 2016. I emailed an editor out of the blue with an idea. That was between high school and college. I’ve been doing something along those lines in my free time ever since. It makes it easier to figure out how to tell history in a compelling way, I hope.

PCM: Were there any things that surprised you as you wrote this book?

Waters: When I first started doing this research, I was surprised how American media received the news of these athletes transitioning gender. When you read those articles from the 1930s, there’s a real sense of curiosity about them and how one could move between different categories of what we would call gender today. Certainly, there were some skeptical stories that existed, and there were others that were quite sensationalist. But even through that, there is this real sense of interest and fascination and, in many cases, acceptance. People accepted that there’s a lot we don’t understand about how gender works, how the body works. There were op-eds from doctors that would say, “This is actually quite normal.” It’s especially illuminating when, by contrast, you look at all of the transphobic coverage in newspapers today.

PCM: What impact do you hope your book will have?

Waters: When it comes to sports today, I hope that the book provides context for the anti-trans and anti-intersex policies that exist at the Olympics. The big thing for me is to show the influence of fascist ideology on these policies. Tracing that history lets us see how Nazi-aligned sports officials originally rammed these policies through. These policies were flawed from the beginning, and that tells us something about them today. We can also see alternate pathways for how sports could have included people of many different genders, if officials had just been willing to have that conversation.

I also hope that the book inspires more researchers to look into queer life in the early 20th century, because there were so many incredible stories that I came across about queer community and gender transition in this era. I hope to bring some extra attention to these stories of real people that have been lost, and then let other researchers take the mantle. I don’t want to have the final word, especially on a story as significant as Koubek’s. But that takes researchers and that takes institutions being willing to fund this research.

Three Pomona Alumni Publish Their First Novels

Patience and persistence. A little bit of luck. And the mentorship of novelist Jonathan Lethem, the Roy Edward Disney ’51 Professor of Creative Writing at Pomona College. These factors helped three Pomona alumni publish their first novels last year.

Francesca Capossela ’18, David Connor ’15 and Julius Taranto ’12, along with Tyriek White PZ ’13, convened on Pomona’s campus last spring for an event organized by the English Department that featured the four first-time novelists.

Francesca Capossela ’18

Capossela’s book Trouble the Living, set in the 1990s in Northern Ireland and the 2010s in a Los Angeles suburb, follows a mother and daughter as they confront the past while navigating their relationship with each other in the present.

Capossela knew she wanted the mother in the story to be from a different place than the daughter, hence Northern Ireland as one of the settings. Many years later, the mother raises her daughter in a Southern California town with several colleges—“basically Claremont,” says Capossela.

It often feels surreal to see physical copies of her novel on bookstore shelves, Capossela says. She’s learning how to pause and celebrate the accomplishment.

David Connor ’15

To introduce Connor’s book Oh God, the Sun Goes, Brian Evenson, faculty at California Institute of the Arts, said, “The premise is simple and absurd: The sun has disappeared, and no one knows why.

“It’s the kind of work that only David could write,” Evenson added.

At Pomona, Connor majored in neuroscience and minored in computer science. He also took a fair number of creative writing classes, which he says “without hyperbole, are some of the best I’ve been in.”

With an interest in the mind, consciousness and human experience, he says, “As time went on, I discovered that language was a much more malleable way to approach those questions than the scientific method for me.”

Julius Taranto ’12

Taranto’s novel How I Won a Nobel Prize is set on a college campus: one founded by a libertarian billionaire as a safe haven for canceled scholars and located on an island off the coast of Connecticut.

When Taranto arrived at Pomona, he thought he might major in economics or philosophy. But taking a class on James Joyce made him want to “keep coming back for more.” As his interest in economics started to wane, he discovered that he loved working with the faculty in the English Department.

After graduating, Taranto attended Yale Law School and practiced law for five years.

How I Won a Nobel Prize was named one of the best books of the year by Vogue and Vox.