I’ve been swallowing books lately. After going through his book on Motown, I finished Nelson George’s memoir City Kid. I really enjoy his fine prose.
It made me think a lot about my own memories matching his pages. The parallels, tangents and intersections. Different countries, different times. Many things being the same if not the exact same. I think there’s something about folks kind of born between generations. We don’t really fit a mold, we bridge.
Also It’s always harder to ponder over what a book did to oneself compared to a movie. Sometimes the details of something insignificant in a written story give you a better sense of what you value in life, for instance. Sometimes just a sentence makes you laugh hard as if you had just been waiting for that joke all along, even though it comes out of nowhere. It’s hard to pinpoint. It’s a feeling.
I’m also realizing that for the first time in history the kids that are roaming cities now? They might be the very first generation that will never need to learn to read.
I wonder if Berry Gordy finally did learn.