On Reading Diversely

Faramola writes…

A couple of weeks before Christmas, I called my mom because I made a decision. She had been nagging me about what I wanted for Christmas, and while I had been racking my brain, I could not think of anything that I really wanted. My siblings had already submitted their lists to her, while I was yet to mention a single object of my desire. Then, it sort of came to me, but at the same time...it was always there in the back of my head. So I called her, and I finally told her what I wanted: “Mom, I just want a gift certificate from Skylark.”

While my request was met with a bit of speculation (I think she was hoping for an excuse to spice up my closet) that is what I was granted come Christmas morning. And while I knew it was coming, I was filled with elation, for I could not wait to walk through those doors not as an employee as I usually do, but simply as a book loving customer. 

Armed with my handy “to be read” journal, coffee, my gift certificate (which was indeed fat) and myself, I waltzed (yes, I like to think that I am truly that graceful when I walk) into the store knowing that I would likely not walk out of there for hours.

And so I browsed, I created stacks, I made really tough decisions that made my soul hurt when I put some books on my “save for later list”, until I walked out with a selection of books that made my heart sing. 

However...it was not until I got home and I took a closer look at all thirteen of my books that something struck me. All of these books were written by minorities- that is either women, people of color, and/or  writers of the LGBTQ+ community. I was surprised because I did not seek out minority writers while I was finalizing my stack of books. This was not a standard that I held, as my only intention was to get books that I was truly and genuinely interested in reading, nevermind who the author was. Honestly, I was captivated by the stories, not by who wrote them. But the more I think about it, I think that while it was unintentional, there was a subconscious part of me that gravitated to the likes of Toni Morrison, Salman Rushdie, James Baldwin, and Naomi Alderman. I think it's because they have this ability to tell stories that I can relate to, but also stories that I could not relate to, stories that are bound to make me uncomfortable because that is oftentimes the condition of the minority writer, reader, and human being.

A single (fat) gift certificate reminded me how important it is to read diversely, to read the stories of people that you identify with as a minority, but also stories of people from other minority groups. While there is not always the promise of enjoying the book that you read, there is always the promise of learning something new about the world and the people around you, and that is the best gift that you could get. 

So, while there was no initial planning on my part, I got, as Chigozie Obioma so tactfully named his book, “An Orchestra of Minorities”.

Faramola’s Christmas haul!