Dirty Little Secret?

Last year, School Library Journal ran an article on self-censorship.

"It’s a dirty secret that no one in the profession wants to talk about or admit practicing. Yet everyone knows some librarians bypass good books—those with literary merit or that fill a need in their collections. The reasons range from a book’s sexual content and gay themes to its language and violence—and it happens in more public and K–12 libraries than you think."

The article quotes Judy Blume, one of the most banned children’s authors in the United States: “I always tell people, 'You think you’re safe? Think again, because when you’re writing, anything can be seen as dangerous.’”

Christian writers are certainly used to encountering caution tape when it comes to objectionable content, and many feel oppressed by the unspoken restrictions in Christian fiction. Like the young adult authors interviewed in SLJ, they wonder, Should I include ____? Should I not? Will it hurt my chances?

One thing is sure. If writing a novel is sitting down and opening a vein, censure is literary lemon juice. It gets personal, and in their quest for freedom, authors often gravitate toward the article’s attitude: “[D]on’t put restrictions on kids, because they’ll regulate themselves if given the freedom to read. Children will put down what they can’t handle or what they aren’t ready for…”

While this may be true of many adult Christians, when taken in context, the position is a precarious one.

When regulations are abolished, literature is robbed of any common standard and purpose. We recognize the concept in history and politics; why not the Arts? Certain mores may be ridiculous, but the opposition eventually devours the freedom it claims to champion. "Librarians [you could easily insert "authors"] need to remember that it’s not their job to impose their own ideologies on the kids they serve…”

What we really need to remember are the words of Paul in I Corinthians. All things are permissible, but not all things are beneficial.

The example that comes to mind is Melina Marchetta’s young adult novel, Jellicoe Road, versus Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist, by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan. Every time I shelve Nick and Norah, I remember scenes that, if detailed, Gina would delete from this post (irony intended). When I shelve Jellicoe Road, however, I remember a novel so painfully brilliant that I was gutted for weeks. Both novels include the realities of teenage life—sex, drinking, profanity. But only one story succeeds in transcending the issues.

Without caution tape, without self-censorship, literature--whether CBA or YA--is full of sound and fury. And yet, tales told by Christians should not be tales told by idiots. We of all people know that life signifies something. In our desire to "regulate ourselves" as writers, remember "that by [writing] well you may put to silence the ignorance of foolish men." All things may be permissible, but the strength of a good "dangerous" story lies in the significance of its dirt.