I am turning 30 years old this year, and it has taken me about 24 years to realize that what I read should not matter to anyone else. And, even more unfortunately, that what other people read should not matter to me.
Because in the end reading is about immersing yourself in a world that makes you happy. And who are we to judge each other for what in those worlds makes us happy.
I read romance novels. I love romance novels. Some of them.
I read fantasy. I read YA. I have a hard time reading literary fiction, not that I don’t love some works of literary fiction but my brain feels better when I’m in an urban fantasy world, surrounded by the supernatural.
You can judge me for it if you want, but I’m going to let my freaky little book flag fly.
However just because I read these things, and enjoy them does not mean there cannot be discourse surrounding certain books.
We can enjoy books and still be critical of their content. But when it comes to talking to someone who loves something that deserves criticism, is it not better to approach them gently instead of confront them? Perhaps they don’t know, or understand what might be problematic in the book they’ve just read.
Criticize the content, not the reader.
After all, aren’t readers supposed to be more compassionate?
Thank God I’m almost 30. My twenties have essentially been me trying to figure out how to apply my eyeliner.
I still don’t know how to apply eyeliner. At least not the way I’d like…