Deja Vu?

I’m going to go ahead and assume that you, dear readers, are like me in that you—sometimes, at least—judge books by their covers.  That’s precisely what drew me to Sugar vs. Spice , because in my experience, it is very rare to come across a contemporary fiction featuring a black female that contains not a single kinky sex scene (or any sex scene, for that matter).  Not that I have anything against that genre, but it’s uncommon nonetheless.  However, when I learned that Joan Skerrett ’s book was about Tari Shields, a short (like me), feisty (like I try to be), kickboxing/yoga fanatic (both of which I love) journalist (see “Aspirations” in my “About Me”) whose career and budding romance are brought to a screeching halt when she is diagnosed with breast cancer (the same disease my mother had 11 years ago and has thankfully recovered from), I was downright spooked.  Call me a narcissist, but how could I not have checked it out?

Tari’s wrestling matches not only with cancer, but with the pride and stubbornness that distanced her from her family and friends were all too relatable.  Her refusal to disclose her illness to her editor, potential boyfriend (whom I pictured had the face of Shemar Moore , but that's just a suggestion to sweeten the plot), and even her parents was met with my exasperated sighs, as I found myself telling her through gritted teeth to “just let them help you!” 

Easier said than done, of course.  Because black women—or any woman of color—must bear the brunt of two disenfranchised subcultures, which can result in the belief that asking for help or showing our vulnerability equates to weakness.  This touching novel (an easy read that goes well with a bar of dark chocolate…and maybe a couple Kleenex) taught me that it’s quite the opposite.  Anybody can refuse help to overcome obstacles.  It’s the ones who courageously extend their hands, who willingly acknowledge their vulnerability and let themselves be saved, who possess the true strength.