Apparently Esquire published a list of “75 Books Men Should Read,” of which exactly one was by a woman.
The great Ta-Nahesi Coates skips straight past the obvious objections, instead making a point about incuriosity and the foolishness of willed ignorance.
Books are our most intimate art-form. The reader does a temporary mind-meld with the author, and a collaborative world—their words and our imagination—is conjured from nothing. And because each reader’s mind is his own, each of those conjured worlds, each of those planes, are different. […] Why any dedicated reading man would dream of this sorcery strictly with other men is beyond me….I don’t link to Coates as often as I’m tempted to because I assume most of our readers read him already. If you don’t, you should; his blog is one of the Great Works in our little genre, and as good now as it has ever been.
This is not a favor to feminists. This is not about how to pick up chicks. This is about hunger, greed and acquisition. Do not read books by women to murder your inner sexist pig. Do it because Edith Wharton can fucking write. It’s that simple.