Left Unread Books | So *I* can’t hate a Black book?

So I can’t hate a Black book?

It's been a few days since the conversation blew up online, but I don't feel like I'm done talking about it yet. So let's dive in.

And fair warning, this one's gonna be a tad bit messy.

Last week, a Black woman posted a status about a popular book that was written by another Black woman. It is a book I have read. A book many of you have read. And more importantly, a book that has had a lot of mixed reviews both on and off social media. This particular reviewer didn't like the book. Her post was strongly worded and, as expected, it didn't land well with everyone.

Which is fine.

I often disagree with other people's opinions on books I have read. My friends included. In fact, sometimes I read or watch one of your thoughts and wonder if you even read the same book I did. If you could see some of the arguments Naomi (@fromthemixedupdesk) have had over books, you would struggle to see us the same. I don't see anything wrong with that. One of the most enjoyable parts of being a part of a community like this is that we can have open discourse about the books we love and hate. Even when that discourse is heated.

Here is where the problem comes in for me: When this reviewer dropped her quick thought on this book, it didn't turn into discourse. People were not hopping online to share their thoughts on the book or to offer alternative perspectives. Instead, what they did was crop out her name and face and post her thoughts without the context of her identity and question the way that reviewers engage with Black books.

Now, is there a conversation to be had about the standards people hold Black books to in comparison to white (or even brown) books? Absolutely. And it is a conversation I will join every single time it comes up. However, the way this conversation was framed brought up, for me, a flaw in the way we have been approaching this conversation.

Some of us seem to believe that it is a moral issue to not like a Black book.

That's just not true.

I could list dozens of Black books that I hated. Some of my least favorite books were written by Black authors. Not because Black authors are inherently worse writers than anyone else, but because most of the books I read are Black.

Because they are the majority of my reading experience, Black books take up space in every corner of my library.

Now, for full disclosure, I don't really want to talk about that specific reviewer or her right to hate this book that many of you love--though I do think she has that right and y'all need to cool it for real. But what I want to talk about is the way that some of us worship Black mediocrity as a protest to white mediocrity, instead of unlearning the biases that limit our access to a wider pool of Black authors. (I am not calling this specific book mediocre. I am suggesting that refusing to accept honest critique of Black art is due to our belief that we have to accept mediocre art in order to keep our access.)

What do I mean by that?

For every "there are only two or three of us", there are thousands of Black writers who you may never encounter because you have been conditioned to not see their work as legitimate.

Yes, we are talking about indie authors again. Specifically, Black indie authors.

I have been saying this for years. While I think we should continue to fight for Black books that make it through the many layers of discrimination in this industry to be chosen by major publishers, that cannot be the extent of our efforts to create space for ourselves. The hard truth is that the vast majority of Black authors will be indie for their entire career. And I don't mean "the vast majority" in the same way that the vast majority of all authors are indie. I mean that Black authors are disproportionately denied access at every level of the publishing industry.

Black authors are less likely to get an agent. Less likely to get a book deal. Less likely to receive sufficient marketing efforts/budget from their publisher. Less likely to win awards. Less likely to get larger advances. Less likely to... the list goes on.

I am not sharing this because I want to convince you of the existence of systemic racism. If you are following me, you likely already understand that racism is very much alive and well. I am sharing this because I want you to understand that our efforts to fight for change HAVE TO INCLUDE THE PEOPLE AT THE BOTTOM.

I don't think we should consider it advocacy to bully readers who don't enjoy a Black book. Especially when that reader is also Black. Rather, we should be using our considerable social power to point toward authors that readers aren't even hearing about because they have no access.

And I want to be clear: I am not telling you that we shouldn't uplift traditionally published Black authors. We should. And if you pay attention to my content you know I regularly partner with Black traditionally published authors to put their work in front of my audience. I love my siblings and cousins who have broken through the considerable barriers and found a way to be successful within the industry. I want them to be successful. In fact, I want them to be so successful that major publishers have no choice but to take us more and more seriously. But simultaneously, I believe strongly that if we were united in our refusal to leave the least represented voices in our community behind, we would not have to see honest reflection of Black art as an attack, because the scope of Black art would be SO MUCH WIDER.

Treating indie authors with respect solves many of the problems that we find ourselves struggling to navigate. And my hope is that the more we talk about this, the more we can collectively get over our bullshit and get on board for actual radical approaches to change.

So here is my challenge to all of you: pick up a Black indie book in your favorite genre and make that your next read for 2026. And then report back, I'd love to hear how it goes!

And to help out, here are some to choose from:

Devil of the Deep by Falencia Jean-Francois (Published by us)

No One's Gonna Take Her Soul Away by Amanda Weaver (Self-published)

TJ Young and the Orisha by Antoine Bandele ( Self-published)

May A Divine Awaken by Michael Tinsley ( Self-published)

One and Done by Frederick Smith (Published by Bold Stroke Books)

When Blood Meets Earth by E.A. Noble ( Self-published)

I Accidentally Summoned A Demon Boyfriend by Jessica Cage ( Self-published)

Dusk Mountain Blues by Deston Munden ( Self-published)

The Waning by Wumni Aramiji ( Self-published)

House of Frank by Kay Synclaire (Published by Ezeekat Press - Bindery)

The Inevitability of by Neka Marie ( Self-published)

In The House of Transcendence by Amanda Ross (Self-Published)

We Are the Origin by C.M. Lockhart ( Self-published)

As always, I appreciate you being here. Please subscribe if you haven’t, so that we can continue to invest in Black and brown authors. Thank you!