Places I Never Meant To Be: Original Stories by Censored Writers

"What effect does [the climate of censorship] have on a writer?....It'schilling.

It's easy to become discouraged, to second-guess everything you write. There seemed to be no one to stand up to the censors....so I began to speak out about my experiences. And once I did, I found that I wasn't as alone as I'd thought."

-- from Judy Blume's introduction toPlaces I Never Meant to Be

Judy Blume is not alone: Many of today's most distinguished authors of more >>

"What effect does [the climate of censorship] have on a writer?....It'schilling.

It's easy to become discouraged, to second-guess everything you write. There seemed to be no one to stand up to the censors....so I began to speak out about my experiences. And once I did, I found that I wasn't as alone as I'd thought."

-- from Judy Blume's introduction toPlaces I Never Meant to Be

Judy Blume is not alone: Many of today's most distinguished authors of books for young people have found their work censored or challenged. Eleven of them have contributed original stories to this collection. Along with a story written by the late Norma Klein when she was a student at Barnard College, they comprise a stunning literary achievement as well as a battle cry against censorship.

When I was growing up I'd heard that if a movie or book was "Banned in Boston" everybody wanted to see it or read it right away. My older brother, for example, went to see such a movie --The Outlaw,starring Jane Russell -- and I wasn't supposed to tell my mother. I begged him to share what he saw, but he wouldn't. I was intensely curious about the adult world and hated the secrets my parents, and now my brother, kept from me.

A few years later, when I was in fifth grade, my mother was reading a novel calledA Rage to Live,by John O'Hara, and for the first time (and, as it turned out, the only time) in my life, she told me I was never to look at that book, at least not until I wasmucholder. Once I knew my mother didn't want me to read it, I figured it must be really interesting!

So, you can imagine how surprised and delighted I was when, as a junior in high school, I found John O'Hara's name on my reading list. Not a specific title by John O'Hara, butanytitle. I didn't waste a minute. I went down to the public library in Elizabeth, New Jersey, that afternoon -- a place where I'd spent so many happy hours as a young child, I'd pasted a card pocket on the inside back cover of each book I owned -- and looked forA Rage to Live.But I couldn't find it. When I asked, the librarian told methatbook wasrestricted.It was kept in a locked closet, and I couldn't take it out without written permission from my parents.

Aside from my mother's one moment of fear, neither of my parents had ever told me what I could or could not read. They encouraged me to read widely. There were no "Young Adult" novels then. Serious books about teenagers were published as adult novels. It was my mother who handed meTo Kill a Mockingbirdand Anne Frank'sDiary of a Young Girlwhen they were first published.

By the time I was twelve I was browsing in the bookshelves flanking the fireplace in our living room where, in my quest to make sense of the world, I discovered J.D. Salinger'sThe Catcher in the Rye,fell in love with the romantic tragedies of Thomas Hardy and the Brontë sisters, and overidentified with "Marjorie Morningstar."

But at the Elizabeth Public Library the librarian didn't care. "Get permission in writing," she told me. When I realized she was not going to let me check outA Rage to Live,I was angry. I felt betrayed and held her responsible. It never occurred to me that it might not have been her choice.

At home I complained to my family, and that evening my aunt, the principal of an elementary school, brought me her copy ofA Rage to Live.I stayed up half the night reading the forbidden book. Yes, it was sexy, but the characters and their story were what kept me turning the pages. Finally, my curiosity (about that book, anyway) was satisfied. Instead of le << less