A novel can be designed to tap into one’s horrors. Using imagery, diction and deep reflection, the narrator can give us a glimpse into the darkness which lies within us or around us. For many readers, monsters and somewhat stereotypical horror characters are enough to satisfy them. What I find much more effective, and simultaneously tremendously more important, is retelling dead and buried history in a moving fictional format. I think I can go out on a limb and say that for most people, learning history by means of content that captures the entire attention of our brains is more worthwhile than reading 10 chapters of a $100 textbook made by old men.
One groundbreaking historical fiction novel that immediately comes to my mind is “Beloved” by Toni Morrison. Over the past few months, the movement to ban any books deemed “progressive” or “mature” from public school library shelves has come back. With this context, a novel that delves metaphysically and literally into the intemporal traumas of slavery is more important to consume than ever. “Beloved” tells the story of Sethe, a former slave who, in necessity, committed infanticide under the pressure of choosing between a life of suffering or peace in death for her child. This is based upon the real history of Margaret Garner, who also killed her daughter out of fear that the baby would be taken away and brought back into a predestined life of slavery. When I realized that not only was “Beloved” based upon a true story, but that this kind of infanticide — albeit rare — did occur before the Civil War, the terror-driven and soul-draining plotlines interwoven into the novel become even more absorbing. Using masterful elements of both horror and drama, Morrison builds the core of the novel around the ghost of this child victim, named Beloved. Throughout the course of the novel, Sethe’s relationship with Beloved becomes parasitic and toxic, until she is consumed by her past. The book deals with the conflict between forgetting and relearning slavery’s toll on African Americans in this country, and advocates for an active response to the continuing costs of our racially oppressive society. In the same sense that this novel deals with healing through accepting cultural trauma, we must teach students about historical oppression in formats that are not dull and invoke real emotional response.
The movement to censor books that expose underlying flaws in American institutions, both past and present, is back in the forefront of public debate. Recently in Florida’s Polk County, “Beloved” was among 16 books removed from the shelves of public school libraries. Additionally, in October 2021, a mom who had tried to get “Beloved” banned from her son’s high school in 2013 was featured in a political ad for Gov. Glenn Youngkin (R-VA). Books like “Beloved” are often used as a rallying cry for book-banning due to the tendencies of some right-wing activists to advocate preventing children from being exposed to darker moments in American history. The debate over what schools should expose students to isn’t just limited to books that deal with racial issues. According to The New York Times, a bill was introduced two months ago in Oklahoma’s state Senate to “prohibit public school libraries from keeping books on hand that focus on sexual activity, sexual identity or gender identity.” These actions by politicians and so-called “concerned” parents are an imminent risk to the integrity of historical education in secondary school classrooms across the country.
When these books are taken away from school public libraries by local government or school district boards, it is principally important for activist groups to distribute novels and protest these actions. One such example of this is Voters of Tomorrow, which is “a youth-led political nonprofit [that] plans to give out about 400 copies of the Pulitzer Prize-winning books to public high school students in Austin, Texas, and Fairfax, Virginia,” according to HuffPost. It is crucial that these organizations made up of students, parents, teachers and politicians help in the fight to push back against the banning of books across this country. It is important to note that for these activist groups, this is definitely still an ongoing fight. Just last week, NBC News reported on “a far-right pastor [who] hosted a book burning event, encouraging parishioners to toss books like ‘Harry Potter’ and ‘Twilight’ into a fire to denounce what he described as ‘demonic’ materials.” Imagining that hundreds of your neighbors would go to a young adult book-burning ceremony is quite terrifying, but these rallies against progressive literature are becoming more and more common. Even the idea that these novels about wizards and vampires are considered particularly “progressive” is difficult and somewhat hilarious to process.
For such a diverse country with so many beautiful identities, finding a relatable protagonist in assigned public school readings is still very difficult. Therefore, it can be generally assumed that novels like “Beloved” are very crucial to younger generations of American citizens. Another novel that recently came out, titled “Lobizona,” is also facing challenges to be included in public school libraries in Texas (8). The novel is about “Argentine werewolves and witches and a protagonist whose mother gets arrested by” U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), according to Yahoo. The author, Romina Garber, said that “for too many readers, this book is the first time they’re seeing themselves on the page.” A book like “Lobizona” could quite literally inspire thousands of young Americans who are facing a range of challenges in this country, and it is an amazing contribution to ongoing dialogue about what it means to be living inside the reality of a gray identity between borders, or in a new home. Literature that avoids stereotypes and dehumanization of migrants is always important to diffuse into the brains of students, and the bans this book faces are a tragedy.
Books have powers that expand beyond pedagogy. They can change minds, bend reality and shape identities. Novels can be dangerous, and some should be. But those who seek to ban books don’t only see dangers to their fortified walls of opinion through depictions of horror, war, sex or progressive thought. Rather, they see “danger in empathy,” as The New York Times puts it. Shielding children from dealing with sympathy toward villains or emotional conflict through the death or betrayal of heroes is antithetical to democratic thought. Some may claim that a book like “Beloved” is just too appalling for students due to the graphic sexual and violent details included in the book, but these aspects are what makes the horror realistic and effective. Real lessons from reading do not come from neatly packed boxes of traditional and boring information, but rather from the messy, the uncomfortable, the horrific and the addictive.
Sean Reichbach is a freshman double-majoring in economics and philosophy, politics and law.