A recent random spot check of a book shelf at my parents' house revealed five banned or controversial books on one small shelf alone. I didn't stand a chance.

I can’t speak for God and I don’t want to speak for the president (because he certainly doesn’t speak for me), but, if they don’t like Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, Tintin, Deenie, Harry Potter or James and his giant peach I have to question their rationale.

But then, I would, wouldn’t I? I’ve spent a lifetime reading and enjoying banned books. I’m one of them. The independent heathens who run around willy nilly reading books and question everything, especially God and the president.

Worse, in the eyes of the morality police, is that in many cases I didn’t even know the books were controversial, much less banned. My parents gave me the books to read and I eagerly devoured every word. I didn’t know they were bad books, I just knew I loved reading them. Ignorance is bliss.

My mother was an editor and manusript reader. Consequently she accumulated a lot of books. The publishing company she worked for prior to the birth of my brother gave her a steady supply of books, both new titles and reprints of classics. Banned? Huh? My mother's company printed and published these books for crying out loud. My mother. We're not talking Playboy® Enterprises, we're talking an established, prestige publishing company with a solid reputation. It never even crossed my mind that any of these books were bad for me. The only thing which embarrassed me about them was that they were dated editions - old and sometimes frayed with use - as opposed to the new "cool" paper back editions the other kids at school had. "Tom Sawyer? Oh yes dear, we have that, look on the living room shelf." Sure enough, much to my dismay, I'd find an old fashioned copy of the book. The only shameful thought I had was of disappointment. "Darn. I don't get to buy a fancy new edition. I'm going to look like a dork with this old copy."

That's not to say I didn't have plenty of new books. Other kids got candy or small dolls or toy cars as little treats. I got books. My mum would regularly come home from a day of shopping with a couple of books for me. Every couple of weeks my dad would come home from work with a) records and b) books. I'd gulp down my dinner and coax my dad to hurry up and finish his dinner, too, so we could dive into the new book. He'd pull me onto his lap and read the new book to me and teach me to read along with him. If my brother or I misbehaved, eventually, usually sooner rather than later, my dad would gather us after dinner and read us a passage from an appropriate book. Usually some Dickensian hardscrabble urchin surviving on his cunning and learning lessons in life and ethics along the way. You know, to make a point about our misbehavior or to help us understand there were kids who had things a lot worse than we did and we should be grateful for all we had. (My parents, being the evil influencers they are, also subscribed to the mother of all corruption, National Geographic which often served as not only a monthly world studies lesson, but lessons in humility, compassion and gratitude were also discussed. But in spite of all which can be learned on a monthly basis, National Geographic is not allowed in some school libraries because of "questionable content." You know, erupting volcanos are just a little too salacious for young minds and heavens, we can't have any of this evolution propaganda clouding their judgment.)

Reading and books were just a way of life, but, we never took books for granted. Every new book was special and exciting. And I was thrilled with each new tome. Even if there was a disciplinary lesson to be learned.

Little did I know my parents were weaving a web of evil and corrupting my young mind.

For instance, the first book I remember, the one I was so upset about my brother trying to pry from me, was a baby-fied version of Alice in Wonderland. I was no more than a baby but that controversial-to-some book was my cherished possession.

And in spite of her best efforts, Laura Ingalls Wilder did not turn me into a racist.

Little House in the Big Woods and Little House on the Prairie, Laura Ingalls Wilder’s lauded biofic long adored by 8-year-old girls and a much truer historic representation than any inane American Girl dumbed down marketing pabulum, were banned and are held in contempt in some circles. I spent an entire Summer captivated and held spellbound as the story of Laura and her family played out for me on the pages of those books. Since my father and his family were Nordic immigrants to Minnesota I felt a strong connection to Laura and her family. Her people were my people. Their land was our land. Those long family road trips to Minnesota were forever after much less tedious because I imagined Laura and her family pioneering the same land we were traveling. I learned a lot of things from those books but racism, hatred and derogatory stereotypes of First Nations people aren’t among them. Hard to believe beloved Michael Landon would have anything to do with anything sordid, but his highway to heaven was tainted with the stain of offensive literature.

Yes, I do recall references to "Injuns" and even Indians, and yes, there were some fearful passages wherein the Ingalls clan were facing the then rumored to be violent tribes of "red skins" as they pioneered across the prarie. But thanks to my parents, schools and community, I already knew times had changed and it was wrong to use those words. That was then, this is now. Further, I knew why it was wrong and I fully understood those stories happened a long time ago when things were very, very different. What I learned from those books was how different life was back then - for all skin colors. I learned about racial tolerance. It was my first lessons in how the West was really "won" and the injustices against the First Nations people living on the plains. I didn't put down those books and start my own little Children United Against Injuns club. Just the opposite. It prompted me to learn about the different tribes of First Nations people living in the area. So inspired was I that I started wearing my hair in braids and took up Chippewa beading for a few weeks. (And I also learned that Choctaws were often vegetarian which was terrific fuel to the fire already smoldering against my parents for making me eat animals. Now, for that my parents might have a valid argument against Ms. Ingalls Wilder.) Basically: The only thing Laura Ingalls Wilder did regarding racism was inspire me (and a lot of other young girls) to learn more about First Nations culture. If some kids misunderstand the books and skew the stories and twist them into some awful hate manifesto, the problem lies in the behaviors and examples their parents are giving the kids and what is taught, tolerated and accepted at their schools, not in the Little House books.

Roald Dahl and Judy Blume changed my life.

Mr. Dahl took me on my earliest and most exciting, life changing adventures. His way, his style, his humor, his words spoke (and still speak) to me, touched me, inspired my imagination to go places I dreamed into being after reading his words. His stories, yes, but more to the point, his words, the actual words and the way he put them together, were catalysts to dizzying heights of imagination. To this day traces of his humor and the visages his words conjure end up in most of my creative work. I owe so much to him that words fail me when I try to express my love and regard for his words. Some people sing a favorite song or think about puppies and kittens when life gets difficult. Me? I go to my happy place: Deep in the pages of The Witches or James and the Giant Peach or Charlie and Chocolate Factory or Matilda et al.

Had it not been for Judy Blume my difficult adolescence would probably have ended more like Go Ask Alice than in an AP lit class reading Slaughterhouse Five and Lord of the Flies. And I can say that with authority because I read my sister’s hand-me-down copy of Go Ask Alice and I knew I didn’t want to end up like that. After reading that banned book I was scared straight. That slim edition did more to keep me on the straight and narrow than years of Sunday school or the local cop addressing us kids about the dangers of drugs ever did. Yet parents, educators and religious leaders habitually declare it to be an evil tome of corruption.

I'm not a parent so I'm not fully qualified to make this statement, but, I was once a pre-adolescent and teenaged girl and I have volunteered and spent time with many other peoples' young adult daughters. Here's what I suspect regarding the Judy Blume Situation. Judy Blume is not to blame. She writes books which speak to young readers without condescending to, preaching at or accusing them. She addresses issues many (most) kids face. They identify or are at least sympathetic to her characters. The blame lies in parents not accepting that their children, especially their daughters, are young adults facing problems and issues far beyond a lost My Little Pony. The blame also lies in parents who have not developed strong communication with their children. Maybe they're afraid, embarrassed or just apathetic, but whatever the reason they haven't or don't talk, really talk, to their children and their children consequently feel alienated from them. A Judy Blume book appears and forces parent to confront their denial, fear, embarrassment or apathy. They could take the opportunity to open a meaningful dialog with their child, or, they could raise a stink with their local school or library for giving their child access to the book and form parents' coalition against the outragious corruption between the covers of Judy Blume's books. Apparently it's easier to go through all that than just sit down and talk to their child. Ban the books. Why not burn them? Heck, why not burn Judy Blume at a stake? "Are you there, God, it's me Judy. I heard you and the president don't like my books."

Flowers for Algernon. Catcher in the Rye. The Outsiders. Of Mice and Men. Uncle Tom’s Cabin. A Doll's House. Lord of the Flies. Brave New World. To Kill a Mockingbird. Ulysses. And yes, even Carrie. If we weren’t “allowed” to read them as class assignments my parents and teachers made sure they were available to me for extracurricular education and enjoyment. Some of the teachers at my schools towed the safe party line and didn't assign any controversial books as reading assignments. One term I landed in one of those classes. Was it misery? No. Did my education suffer? No. But. My parents augmented my class assignments with books not on the "safe list." Instead of book reports there were conversations between my parents and I about the characters, plot and opinions of the books which came as easily and normally as discussions after seeing a movie.

I cannot imagine who I would be today had I not read these books in my formative years. Maybe my life would have been better, more successful, easier, if I hadn’t been corrupted by the words in those books.

It’s impossible to say. The damage is done.

But it will be interesting to see how that young God and president fearing girl’s life turns out free of the influence of banned books to enlighten and present new ideas and points of view to her. It will be interesting to see if obediently following the rules and staying away from what They say is bad will lead to success and happiness for her. You don’t know what you don’t know. Ignorance can be bliss.


I know this … a man got to do what he got to do.

A few years ago I was on a "date" with a man I met online. He seemed intelligent and normal enough. Educated. Professional. Conversation turned to the topic of bank profiteering. (As it naturally does...) I referenced Grapes of Wrath. He a) didn't understand the reference, b) said he'd never read the book, and c) said his school didn't allow it.

Okay. Sure. I understand that. But what I don't understand is why, in all the years since he became an adult and left that school, he never bothered to read one of the greatest books of all time. And worse—because, you know, maybe he was just really busy and hadn't got around to it—worse, though, was that he felt that the ban at his school was justification enough to never read the book. I wasn't crazy about this guy anyway, and he showed little interest in me, but the fact that he was okay with going through life avoiding books simply because they were on his high school's banned list made me scream, "Check please!" and high tail it out of there. If he were simply not interested in the book or didn't like Steinbeck's style or had valid personal reasons for not reading the book I would have been okay with that. Not everyone has to or needs to read every great literary work. But, to diligently avoid books simply because they were on your school's banned book list is something I can't tolerate in a potential suitor.



Maybe my parents and teachers were wrong. Maybe my friends and I are wrong. Maybe we’re all too brainwashed, too corrupted at too early of an age. Maybe we know too much.

Maybe we read too much.

If God and the president don’t like it, well, we should change our ways while we still can. Maybe we might have a shot at redemption and salvation. Maybe censorship isn’t bad. Maybe freedom of choice is bad. Maybe we should just stick to what They tell us to read and ignore the rest. Maybe it’s for our own good. You know, like communism. And Catholicism.

It could be nice to have a break from all that thinking. And it sure would be a lot easier and faster at book stores and on Amazon.com if our reading lists were given to us. No more browsing and perusing endless aisles and possible reading adventures. No more having to open your mind to new ideas and opinions. No more scary topics beyond the approved comfort level. No more corruption. No more having to think for yourself. No more reading about difficult situations and complicated concepts. No more gray area. No more horizons broadened. No more coming to uncomfortable realizations. No more stretching imaginations. No more wasted time, just stick to the approved list and away you go. What They say goes, the rest is bad and worthless.

Brainwashing 101.

Seems like I read something about that somewhere…was it back in 1984? Is it hot in here? Feels like it’s about 451° F.




Banned Book Week begins September 29. My advice, while I still have a few synapses firing independent of church and state, is to read or re-read a book on a banned list. Even if just to see what all the fuss is about or to feel naughty or rebellious, it’s a good time to ingest some words put together in sentences you may not have read for a while, or ever. There’s something on the lists to interest everyone. I’m certain you can find at least one "controversial" book which will appeal to you. Remember, unlike Mein Kampf which in a twist of laughable irony is not banned in the US, Canada and England (among others), even the Holy Bible regularly appears on banned book lists.

Labels: Banned Books Week