Reflect on the Russian proverb; ‘Don’t be mad at the mirror if you are ugly.’ No, I am not an elitist twit, but tread carefully, for you may well be! A wise man once cautioned, “Do not be quick to take offense, for the taking of offense lodges in the bosom of fools.” In case you are about to get hot under the collar, relax. I have never been one to smatter the truth with insincere bonhomie. Generally, reading and blacks are sworn eternal enemies. Our local glitterati seem to be the most compromised. You would hardly see a social media post speaking to a book they are reading. We need to embrace a culture of intention-fueled reading. And lest you are offended, let me assure you that I am saying this with a seraphic smile.
This unfavorable indictment, especially on our beloved buddies, is not wrought with emotion. Few subjects charge individuals with unrefined emotion as ones with racist undertones. To be clear, the theme of this article does not suggest pink, yellow or ruddy people fare any better. No. It highlights an unpleasant truth. An inherent weakness in our society, which is largely black. Few blacks can be labeled committed readers. While I would passively acknowledge that there are a few exceptions, I would hasten to ask, when did you last see your spouse, parent, sibling, relative or friend reading a book? As you answer this question objectively, not clouded by sentimental affection, reflect on the unfortunate self-deceptive demeanour mentioned by Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr, a 19th Century French critic, “Almost everyone flatters himself that he and his are exceptional.” Gone are the halcyon days when we used to pride ourselves with holding a paperback or hardback, deriving a deep sense of fulfillment in flipping through the pages.
