Last week was Banned Books Week. In my opinion, most books worth reading have been banned or censored at some time during their circulation. Notice that I preface the previous assertion with, “in my opinion,” because I don’t claim to be an arbiter of what others read. By contrast, it seems that those who seek to censor and ban books think that their opinions matter more than others’.
It’s more than troubling to think that in this century in the United States book banning and censorship are not only tolerated but increasingly sanctioned. I have no quarrel with those who want to restrict access to books, games, movies, or anything they deem inappropriate for those within their guardianship. I think it goes too far when outsiders seek to extend those judgments as to what is appropriate for those with whom they have no relationship.
When I was 16 or 17, I was suspended due to my insatiable desire to continue reading the library-restricted novel Gone With the Wind. The trauma of the suspension is probably blocking me from remembering the exact details of whether it was from school entirely or only from my physics class, but the condition for my return was for a parent to meet with my physics teacher. My mother couldn’t believe that she would have to miss a day of work to come to the school for some kind of foolishness that was so unlike me, who always followed the rules. Although my grades put me in excellent standing in my graduating class, not completing the physics course would have delayed my graduation.
After being warned more than once not to bring the book to class, I could not put it down. In an attempt to hide what I was doing, I positioned myself at a back table in the physics lab and held the book on my lap under the table. I was so engrossed in the novel that I didn’t realize when my teacher was standing next to my lab table. I can’t say what was most fascinating to me about the novel. Whatever it was, it was absorbing enough for me to risk the ire of my teacher.
In contemporizing the narrative of this work of fiction, by all accounts I should not have relished reading it. In retrospect, I wonder how my 16- or 17-year-old-self felt about the contrast between what I was reading and the factual reality of the American Civil War, the elaborately drawn nobility of rich White Southerners, and the portrayal of favored slaves. As damnable as the mythologizing is in this book, I would not be in favor of banning, censoring, or restricting it.
To truly educate for a changing and evolving world, many banned books ought to be required reading with analysis and discussion of the historical, social, and cultural context in which the book was written, as well as the more recent and contemporary thinking in regard to the subject. However, in the current climate of suppression and falsities, teachers dare not attempt to teach students what would certainly broaden their perspectives and require them to interrogate the truths that they have been led to believe. Despite the pessimistic outlook for the social, cultural, and political landscape, I continue to have faith that youth will clear the path to their own enlightenment. It may not come early because of access, but I’m encouraged to think that young readers are the same now as they have always been. Just as I took a risk to read Gone With the Wind, a library-restricted book, they, too, will find a way to read banned, censored, and restricted boo
Gwen Dungy 