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Online Forum: Nuances of Censorship
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PEN's Children's/Young Adult Book Authors Committee weighs in on the
many forms of censorship—be it from schools, libraries, and especially
self-censorship in the process of writing.
>> Join the discussion. |
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| Mary Ann Hoberman: And Yet... |
Censorship—for most writers it’s a word that immediately raises a red
flag. It brings up visions of totalitarian states abroad and right-wing
cabals at home. What first-amendment-loving, ACLU-supporting scribe
could possibly say anything in support of such a loathsome practice? And yet . . .
As soon as the PEN Children’s/Young Adult Book Authors Committee began
its discussion of the topic recently, it turned out that it wasn’t such
a slam-dunk issue after all. All sorts of nuances smudged the black and
white divide. And a few other issues that didn’t exactly fit into
censorship per se turned up as well. For instance, what about
self-censorship? And more particularly self-censorship, not to placate
the moral majority, but because certain subjects are inappropriate for
young readers.
After a lifetime of writing poetry and picture books, I recently wrote
my first children’s novel. Not young adult, not even junior high school
age, but aimed at the same audience that in my day fell in love with Heidi and Mary Poppins.
Based in large part on my own early life and times, it tries to
re-create what it was like for a nine-year old growing up in
Connecticut during the Depression. And in the beginning I thought I
would simply dive back into my memory bag and pretty much tell my own
story Like most childhoods, mine was a mixed-bag. My mother was
responsible and caring, but also rigid and critical. My father was
playful and fun-loving, but also short-tempered and sometimes violent,
not with my mother or younger brother but only with me. Today his
“spankings” would undoubtedly be considered child-abuse, but back then
they were accepted as part of the spare the rod/spoil the child method
of child-rearing.
And as a result of those beatings, arbitrary and uncontrollable, I lived in fear of my father well into my adult years.
But at the same time I adored him. His stories and songs enchanted me;
he could enter into a child’s world of make-believe like no other adult
I have ever known. So from my own experience I understand that a child
can live in perpetual terror of a parent, while simultaneously loving
that same parent who takes her to the circus and the zoo, creates a
magical Christmas, and shows off her accomplishments with pride.
And yet when I began to write my novel, despite my early plan, I was
unable to give my first-person protagonist, nine-year-old Allie, that
kind of father. Even though nine-year-old Mary Ann, and presumably many
other little girls, had and have fathers like that, I saw no way to
admit that kind of man as the protagonist’s father in a story for
nine-year olds. I asked myself why? After all it had “really happened.”
By bringing a character like my father into the novel, I would have
skewed the story, turning it into something far too dark for the
readers I envisioned. This kind of character would have required a
degree of complexity that I don’t think young children could quite
fathom. Instead I deflected the “bad” father onto another family (but
even this father’s negative qualities did not include physical
violence) and gave Allie a “good enough” father and mother.
And yet . . . there are children out there that are being beaten by
parents who also feed them and clothe them and take them to the circus
and the zoo and read to them and honestly do love them. And the
children love them back, while at the same time hating and fearing
them. Would a novel for third-graders that acknowledged this state of
affairs be feasible? Would it perhaps even be helpful? Possibly. But it
isn’t the one I allowed myself to write.
© 2007 by Mary Ann Hoberman. All Rights Reserved.
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