I spend my last solo christmas with a dizzying array of views. I go into it feeling that I’ve just cheated myself out of a brilliant thrill. This because I’ve just finished devouring the collectors, and before that, the camel club. Both brilliant books that have me smiling as I get taken through some familiar and unfamiliar parts of DC… a life that could have been, and actually ‘be’s’ once I immerse myself in Baldacci’s story telling. The frustration at not having more camel club books immediately at hand is soon dissipated by Richard Virgin’s engaging tale, and that of bell hooks. Chomsky’s also present, but I’ll listen to him later. I’m currently having my mind blown by both Richard and bell. It’s incredible how much I relate and still feel totally alien to each tale. I have a dozen trashy romances that had been saved up specially to be read this week. Clearly my mind’s not in the mood for fluff, and willfully sought out a manner of substance. I’ll hang on to them though. Not convinced that this capricious mind is cured of the longing for brain chewing gum. bell is brilliant in her incisive openness, and she weaves a beautiful tale that helps me examine mine own. I recall the first time I read ain’t I a woman. How it was a total page turner and how I kept nodding through all the reading, glad someone had captured all I found wrong with feminism. I remember asking June Jordan (who is now late – as we say in Africa) about the racial differences in feminist thinking, and her response introducing me to the concept of coalition politics. Much as I see its usefulness, I’ve never been one to fully embrace that there coalition story. I turned to womanism as my theoretical framework, though I’m still very uncomfortable with it… I feel it does not encompass the African woman’s existence. Which is allegedly a totally helpless one, but as I grow into it, I’m realizing it is actually the most powerful of female experiences. If you know just how to swing it. Aye, therein lies the rub. bell reminds me of promises made, and she tells of fighting that which people said was inevitable, only to find out they were right all along, as dreams turned to ashes on the tongue. But are detractors, those who urge that one content oneself with mediocrity, always right? Richard’s is a brilliant 328 page ad for his brand (and yes, I do play my part in supporting this global brand, and look forward to increasing my contribution). I love his ease and lack of self-consciousness. I titter at the whole virgin blue peace pipe and hatchet burying ceremony; it’s something I’d definitely think up, and should do more of 
. Richard, despite his whiteness, maleness, and developed-ness (hey, what do you want? Didn’t I just tell you that I was reading bell hooks at the same time?), inspires confidence that if you can dream it, you can achieve it. I believe him ‘cause I pay visits to that space from time to time. Why don’t I inhabit that space fulltime as he does? Why that’s the most useful question you’ve asked all year 
