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Delivery: Express Mail

(The Delivery System)

Dear Readers,

I have a question for you. Not about the book. About yourself.

If you woke up tomorrow and found yourself in the early 1800s, carrying everything you know today, would you survive?

I asked myself that question after finishing Kindred by Octavia Butler.

My first response came from my faith.

“He won’t put more on me than I can bear.”

Then reality settled in.

Not five minutes.

I don’t say that to be dramatic. I say it because reading Kindred forced me to stop looking at slavery as something confined to history books and imagine what it would have demanded of me. Not the version of me that’s comfortable, safe, and reading from a cozy chair in 2026—but the version stripped of choice, dignity, and freedom.

Before picking up this book, I’d seen all the praise.

“A must-read.”“Five stars.”

I intentionally stayed away from reviews because I’ve learned something about myself: I don’t want someone else’s experience to become my own before I’ve even turned the first page.

I’m glad I waited.

What surprised me wasn’t the cruelty. We know history. We know what happened. As heartbreaking as it is, none of it erased what we already know about the hatred people are capable of teaching one another.

Yes, teaching.

Because Rufus…

We meet him as a little boy before life, influence, and example shape him into the man he becomes. Watching that transformation was unsettling because it made me wonder how much of who we become is a decision and how much is simply what we’ve been shown over and over again.

I kept hoping he’d change.

Maybe Dana’s influence wasn’t enough because it came only in moments of crisis. Maybe if someone had consistently challenged what he was learning, his story would’ve looked different.

Or maybe that’s the part of me that always hopes people can choose better.

One of the saddest moments for me wasn’t even centered on Rufus. It was seeing children playing games that mirrored slavery without understanding the weight of what they were acting out. They weren’t born knowing cruelty. They were repeating what they’d seen.

Children are always watching. So are adults. We’re all learning something from someone.

Dana, on the other hand, taught me something different.

She reminded me that surviving and surrendering are not the same thing.

She adapted because she had to. Not because she agreed with the world around her, but because surviving sometimes requires wisdom just as much as courage.

I don’t know what I would’ve done in her place.

Actually… I do. They would’ve had to kill me.

Every part of that life feels impossible to imagine, and yet millions of people didn’t have the luxury of imagining it. They lived it.

When I reached the final page, I didn’t walk away believing trauma always leaves us with less of ourselves.

I walked away believing that somehow, in ways we don’t always understand, it reveals the strength in the parts that remain.

So, would I recommend Kindred? Yes.

Especially if you enjoy historical fiction that asks more of you than simply turning the page.

This book asks uncomfortable questions.

And if you let it, it quietly holds up a mirror.

Thank you for opening another letter with me.

I never know where the next book will take us. That’s part of the joy of reading. Sometimes we find comfort. Sometimes we find answers. Sometimes we leave with better questions than the ones we started with.

I already have another book waiting on my shelf, and I have no idea what it’s going to teach me.

When I turn that first page, I hope you’ll join me again.

Until next letter,

From Love,

The Letters

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