John Lewis transforms the abstract notion of “good trouble” into something viscerally immediate in this remarkable graphic memoir that feels both urgent and timeless. Co-authored with Andrew Aydin and illustrated with stunning clarity by Nate Powell, March: Book One doesn’t just recount history—it makes you feel the weight of each footstep on the Edmund Pettus Bridge.
What strikes you first about March isn’t its famous subject matter, but Lewis’s voice: measured, reflective, yet crackling with the moral electricity that powered a movement. The narrative structure is ingenious, framing Lewis’s early civil rights experiences within the context of Barack Obama‘s 2009 inauguration, creating a dialogue between past and present that feels particularly resonant in our current moment.
Powell’s artwork deserves special recognition. His black-and-white illustrations capture both the intimacy of quiet conversations and the chaos of violent confrontations with equal precision. When Lewis describes the Nashville sit-ins, Powell’s panels make you feel the tension in those lunch counter stools, the weight of hostile stares, the courage required simply to order coffee.
But this isn’t just another worthy historical document. Lewis and Aydin have crafted something more sophisticated: a meditation on how ordinary people—college students, really—can reshape the world through disciplined nonviolence and unwavering moral clarity. The book’s power lies not in its famous moments but in its quiet ones: Lewis discovering Gandhi’s teachings, the painstaking organization behind seemingly spontaneous protests, the personal cost of choosing justice over comfort.
March arrives at a moment when Americans are grappling with questions of protest, resistance, and moral leadership. Lewis doesn’t offer easy answers, but he provides something more valuable: a blueprint for how democratic change actually happens, one difficult conversation and one brave action at a time.
