Afro(ec)centric

“Remember, remember…”

Except, nope, I’m not talking about Guy Fawkes Day. I’m talking about this masterpiece of literature:

I’ve always been a reader of fiction. I don’t recall how old I was when I realized that pretend could be profound, but books were—are— the catalyst that facilitated significant and irrevocable change in me. I began reading words at two, reading children’s books on my own at four, acting out my own stories with Barbie dolls at 5, and writing down my stories in the second grade. By the fourth grade, I’d written plays and skits for classmates to perform, by fifth grade I’d had a poem published, by sixth grade, I’d written my first “chapter story” about a young Hungarian girl who’d survived two German concentration camps (Going Back to Auschwitz), and read my first Edgar Allen Poe story. And the fever set in. I was mutating.

Books are many of the ticks that mark the instances of change along my evolutionary time line; V for Vendetta is definitely one of these markers. I will be re-reading it this weekend and posting a review. And, hopefully, I can spark an revolution.