Don't Judge Me

I want to be a less judgmental reader. It’s the year 2020 and a new Twilight book has been released into an already confusing and apocalyptic time in history. I never read the series and only recently decided to sit down and watch the movies in order while my edibles kicked in.

The only reason I know about Midnight Sun is because I work in a local bookstore. I presumed it was to be a regular Tuesday shift until I saw the aura of thick shiny books with juicy pomegranates on their covers. Throughout the day young women wearing cloth masks around their faces would pick up the book and purchase it at the counter.

 

It was impossible not to be charmed by their excitement. They had read the books when they were younger and this was their taste of nostalgic commerce. Don’t judge me, some of them would say, sometimes over the phone. 

 

My mind traveled back 10 years when I was doing a year of AmeriCrops in a small town in West Virginia. A woman not much older than I would come into the community center where I worked. She liked petting my dog and we would make small talk from time to time. She told me she loved to read romance novels and this will always be something I remember. 

 

I think of her when I shelf a new romance novel or a customer orders a book by an author I know I will never read. Reading a romance novel was her escape, they were her freedom. Who am I to judge what makes someone else happy? I wrote an essay about how much I fucking love the Kardashians. 

 

As a writer and a book seller it’s easy to get wrapped up in what books or authors make me happy. On a tough day, I’ve been known to project negative energy on authors like local hero Wendell Berry simply because he has so many god damn books and they keep reprinting new editions of some of his backlist titles. DOES HE REALLY NEED THIS MUCH SHELF SPACE? Did Berry do anything to me personally? No. Have I actually read his work? I’ve tried reading his poetry. 

 

Do we have any books by Hunter S. Thompson? YES BUT….Okay fine, I’ll show you where they are. 

 

At least they’re reading is what the voice inside in my head, and sometimes my co-worker, will say. TRUE.

 

I will say that since the world changed at the beginning of this year I’ve let go of a significant portion of the toxic judgement that accompanies working in a prestigious retail space. Fuck it, the world is actually on fire so let the people be happy. Let them read their vampire books, their best sellers and Hunter S. Thompson. Who am I to judge? No one.