Read Banned Books
I have a vague recollection of reading the short story “Enoch” by Robert Bloch when I was in junior high. We’re talking over thirty years ago, so I don’t really recall the story at all, and I haven’t read it again since. I only remember it as being weird and dark, the kind of story I’d probably have a much greater appreciation for now, at this point in my life, than when I was 13 or 14. More germane to the present topic, though, is that a year or two later, I recall a parent in my neighborhood, whose kid was by then in junior high, causing an uproar over that story. Not only did she not want her child reading it, but she wanted it pulled from the curriculum altogether. I don’t know what happened with the story (whether the school kept it or not), but I know that that particular parent soon pulled her kids out of public school and sent them to a Christian school instead.
I was young and didn’t understand the implications at that time–or the thought process of the mother. I only recall thinking that she was overreacting and perhaps a little crazy. It certainly was her right and prerogative, though, to pull her children out of public school. And it was her right to express her opinion. But however weird the story was, it didn’t seem to warrant, in my opinion (both now and then), a challenging of its use in an English class. The purpose of an English class, after all, is to learn to read critically and to think analytically so that one can ultimately become a more discerning reader, thinker, and writer. Reading and writing are an integral part of an education, and the purpose of education, in general, is to engage students in new topics and expose them to different experiences and thought processes. That’s how people learn.
The Purpose of Reading
All that said, I don’t recall there being much engaging discussion about “Enoch”; I think I found the story difficult to understand and possibly boring. Most likely I was just too young to grasp the nuances of the story. It wasn’t a genre I was familiar with, and the overall story didn’t interest me. I felt the same way about Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, which we read in that same English class. There was a layer of meaning in Bradbury’s writing that was foreign to me. I was an avid reader as a kid, but I read a lot of “fun” novels and mysteries and detective stories; I had probably never read anything of the science-fiction genre until junior high. Since that time, though, I’ve developed a much greater appreciation for Bradbury’s work. It’s possible, though, that my newfound appreciation wouldn’t have happened without that initial exposure to something that I certainly wouldn’t have read on my own at that time in my life.
Likewise, when I think back on the many books I read in high school, books such as A Separate Peace by John Knowles, Lord of the Flies by William Golding, and Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton, I feel a sense of gratitude toward my teachers who assigned such books. All are books I would consider classics, and all are books that opened my mind to theme, symbolism, and the deeper meaning within a text. As I remember, all three were books that launched intense (and thorough) analytical discussions in class. Although I struggled with the critical analyses of such books, I remember feeling fascinated by the thoughts that my classmates had. I listened and soaked up the information. In doing so, I learned a new way of reading and of looking at books.
The purpose of reading, as I see it now (even if I didn’t see it as a teenager), is to expand one’s mind and learn about others. In learning about others, you in turn learn about yourself.
Banned Books Have Value
There have been many books that have been banned (or otherwise challenged) over the years. Many people think that this only happens in other places, not in the United States. But it certainly happens in the United States, too. And, sadly, book burning is also not a thing of the past. People are rightfully allowed to express their opinions about books, but censorship is not a respectful–or lawful–way to do that.
Each year when Banned Books Week inches near, I think of how amazing it would be if someday someone deemed my writing so potent and influential that they banned or challenged one of my stories (or future books). I am, of course, not advocating censorship. But books that are banned have value–they must. They must say something important, something so powerful that somebody doesn’t want others to see it. But I’m a discerning reader and critical thinker. I don’t automatically trust everything I read, and I decide for myself what will sway my thoughts. To that end, those who ban or contest certain writings seem to be exhibiting fear. Fear of difference. Fear of change. Fear of a world that doesn’t match their imagined ideal.
Perhaps Oscar Wilde was right: “The books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame.”
Words Are Powerful
I wrote a post a while back about the weight words can carry. The context of that post was a bit different, but I still can’t reiterate enough the effect–either positive or negative–that words can have. When a political figure says something demeaning or degrading, that matters. Others can brush those words aside like crumbs and say, “Oh, well, they didn’t really mean what they said,” but the fact is that what we say does indeed matter. Our actions matter, too. Censorship, like lies or unkind statements, is a betrayal to humankind.
That doesn’t mean that we have to agree with everything that’s written. Certainly not! In Oscar Wilde’s quote, in fact, I’d suggest that the shame he refers to is a shame in not allowing voices to be heard. We certainly have the right to respectfully disagree with ideas–and to speak out, discuss, and debate those ideas. We have the right to not read what we don’t want to read, too, but I don’t believe we have the right to censor someone else’s writings simply because they don’t agree with our own philosophies or because they challenge our own ideals.
Documents of Social Change
One of the many amazing aspects of books–one thing that makes them so important–is that they document history and social change. They often act as snapshots in time–what people were doing, thinking, and feeling in a certain era. I remember reading Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle in tenth grade. It was eye-opening and insightful–a world so different from mine. The same with Gone With the Wind, which I also read in tenth grade. Such books often teach more about U.S. history and culture than any teacher could ever hope to.
If words weren’t so powerful, others wouldn’t try to censor (or otherwise contest) the writings of Mark Twain, Walt Whitman, or Sinclair Lewis or the Harry Potter books or titles such as Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath or Allen Ginsberg’s Howl. Part of what makes books so potent is that they open up a dialogue for change and, subsequently, for growth. John Steinbeck often wrote about the underprivileged, drawing awareness to social conditions and injustices. He wrote of war and resistance. He wrote to understand, and we, in turn, read to understand.
Books open up vast new worlds. In the United States, books have been challenged, banned, or censored for a variety of reasons, often related to social, sexual, religious, or political objections. On their website, Banned Books Week lists the Top 11 Challenged Books of 2018; half of the titles noted were censored or challenged due to LGBTQIA+ content, which is an illuminating fact in and of itself. Books show us what it means to live outside of ourselves, and they show us what it means to be ourselves–what it means to be human. But this is scary for a lot of people. These books wouldn’t be banned if they weren’t culturally, historically, or socially significant.
Keep the Light On!
As I previously noted, it seems that fear is at the heart of censorship. Fear of differences and fear of a broken status quo. Writers are a unique lot, doing so much for (often) so little. For me as a writer, it is truth (in an abstract sense) that motivates me. Human nature is particularly fascinating to me, and much of my creative work is based on the myriad responses humans have to everyday circumstances. Sometimes it’s a societal critique; other times it’s just about drawing awareness to the human condition. I believe we are all looking for a truth of some kind; in doing so, we expose failures and insecurities (our own as well as others); failures and insecurities, though, are an intricate part of being alive. To that end, books can be a way to connect with others who have similar anxieties and insecurities. They can also provide us shelter from an often cruel world.
Writers all over the world have been imprisoned, exiled, or otherwise persecuted for their work. They’ve taken risks, usually for social and political justice. In 1971, Czech author Josef Skvorecky and his wife Zdena Salivarova founded Sixty-Eight Publishers, whose purpose was to publish Czech and Slovak writers who were banned in their communist-ruled homeland. Skvorecky and Salivarova were living in Canada at the time. They published many well-known writers, including Milan Kundera and Vaclav Havel, and the books were often smuggled into Czechoslovakia. These writers were important for the social and political context of the time, and reading these books now allows readers a unique historical experience.
The theme of this year’s (2019) Banned Books Week is “Censorship Leaves Us in the Dark. Keep the Light On!” I believe it’s essential to provide people access to books and stories and especially books and stories that challenge the reader, introducing them to new genres and ways of presenting thoughts. It’s important to keep writing, to keep exploring, to keep understanding–to keep the light on and stay aware. In this way, we can all offer our different perceptions and perspectives and become more thoughtful and insightful people.
[Post updated on 10-1-20 by the author.]
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