I grabbed my book and opened it up. I wanted to smell it. Heck, I wanted to kiss it. Yes, kiss it. That’s right, I am a book kisser. Maybe that’s kind of perverted or maybe it’s just romantic and highly intelligent.
@ladybookmad made a post about Read the Margin this December, which is a challenge to read only authors from marginalized groups, and I thought it was a great idea. Hopefully it will help shine light on the stories of people who are often ignored (or stereotyped) by the dominant white/straight/cis narrative.
My reading list:
The Mortifications by Derek Palacio—Cuban-American
The Blue Between Sky and Water by Susan Abulhawa—Palestinian-American
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie—Native American (Spokane/Coeur d'Alene)
Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi—Nigerian-British
Bright Lines by Tanwi Nandini Islam—Bangladeshi-American/Muslim/LGBTQ
“Reservations were meant to be prisons, you know? Indians were supposed to move onto reservations and die. We were supposed to disappear. But somehow or another, Indians have forgotten that reservations were meant to be death camps.”
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian — Sherman Alexie
these lists of books to read before you die that are full of classics are all well and good but what if you don’t like classics? and what about the ya ones that are just full of popular series? so this is an alternative list of ya books you should read before you die. thanks to everyone who contributed books; i’ve had to miss some off because i’ve got more than 100, so i’ll probably include them on a second list. (also, i’ve not actually read all these books. it’s a group effort)
Review: The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian
So, I have this thing about crying in books. First of all, I don’t do it often. Second of all, I’m not impressed by it. Empathy is a natural human reaction; if you write people crying, readers will cry. (I’m more stimulated by sounds, so I’ll do it more if I hear someone crying in a movie, but same basic idea.) And frankly, it’s not hard and it’s not deep. “What have we learned? That dead people makes us…sad? Wow, no shit Sherlock.” So, crying over books, it’s just a thing for me, not a mark of quality or profound meaning.
Having said that HOLY SHIT I BAWLED LIKE A BABY and it managed to make me really think in the middle of all that crying. This book didn’t just tug at my heartstrings cheaply, no, it did that shit with a purpose. It did that shit smart. It spat in the face of all those other crying books and said this is how you make a statement, bish.
And I couldn’t make fun of her for that dream. It was my dream, too. And Indian boys weren’t supposed to dream like that. And white girls from small towns weren’t supposed to dream big, either. We were supposed to be happy with our limitations. But there was no way Penelope and I were going to sit still. Nope, we both wanted to fly.
Sherman Alexie, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian