Libraries and LGBTQ+ books: controlling what people read is a dark, dangerous step

In a civilised society, we do not burn books. Even when we loathe them

A writer friend of mine has a small daughter who loves the library. Like many modern parents, she tries to offer her child agency – choices – where possible. This snack or this one? Purple or green socks? In the library, amidst the wondrous, rich world of children’s picture books, the girl picks out some tie-in books from the Peppa Pig universe.

My friend smiles brightly and suggests adding some more – non-Peppa – titles to the pile. Later, reading aloud from a tale which features stereotypical gender roles and some dubious representation of archaeology, her face hidden, she grimaces. This is the trade-off, when upholding your principles; sometimes kids pick books most intelligent adults would be quite happy to see go up in smoke.

Would literature suffer if every bit of Peppa media were placed atop a bonfire? (We could throw in everything relating to Paw Patrol while we’re at it.) It’s hard to argue that it would. The defence of the Peppaverse would need to rely on its role in creating young readers, instilling a love of and familiarity with books in children, rather than its thoughtful characterisation or lyrical prose. But Peppa is not on trial – for now. And in a civilised society, we do not burn books. Even when we loathe them.

Godwin’s Law is an adage asserting that any online discussion will eventually turn to comparing someone or something to the Nazis. It’s tricky not to race there when the topic of book-banning arises, even though the ubiquity of the reference can feel intellectually lazy. It serves as shorthand, really; we understand that controlling what people read is a dark, dangerous step down a road best not taken.

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In the United States, books containing “controversial” content – often relating to LGBTQ+ characters, depictions of police brutality and racism, or drug use – are frequently challenged, often removed from library shelves entirely. Book banning is on the increase, though it has always been present, particularly in relation to young people. The argument seems well-intentioned at face value: let’s protect the kids.

The argument would be a little more solid were it not happening in a country with such extraordinary levels of school shootings. But it’s not limited to the US. In Ireland, a small coalition of organisations are concerned about LGBTQ+ content in books aimed at teenagers. The campaigning to have these titles removed from libraries has led to staff being advised to secure buildings and alert gardaí; meanwhile, the protesters are lodging complaints with their local stations on the grounds that these books violate child protection laws.

Irish authors, particularly those who write for young people, have responded with dismay and disgust. YA writer Triona Campbell (A Game Of Life of Death) recalls her time in a Catholic all-girls boarding school, the nuns removing articles from the newspapers “because they were deemed inappropriate for young minds.” These challenges feel like more of the same. “Banning books or newspaper articles you don’t agree with is never the answer,” she adds. “Every book is not for everyone,” says Savage Her Reply author Deirdre Sullivan, “but every library should have as wide and inclusive a range of texts as possible.”

“Ireland has too long and painful a history of censorship and repression for us to allow this rubbish to take hold,” Celine Kiernan (the Moorehawk trilogy) notes, while other writers point to the importance of young people seeing themselves in the books they encounter. “I wish I’d had access to books like the ones they’re currently calling for libraries to ban when I was younger,” Amy Clarkin (What Walks These Halls) says. Not having them “didn’t stop me being bisexual, it just meant it took me many more years to figure out who I was.”

Elaina Ryan, CEO of Children’s Books Ireland, insists that “positive representation on the page is so important: it is crucial that every member of the LGBTQIA+ community can feel seen and heard in books for children and young people.” The organisation’s Pride Reading Guide is one of many resources on a wide range of topics, informed by children’s and YA specialists; it has also been subject to complaints. As with the kerfuffle over library content, these have often conflated “child” and “teenager”, or ignored more nuanced age recommendations.

“The people jumping on this particular bandwagon don’t understand how libraries work,” author Felicity Hayes-McCoy says bluntly. “They don’t understand professional curation, they don’t understand checks and balances already in place.” She describes her local library in Dingle as “full of people whose business it is to think about these things”. Helena Close, author of Things I Know, adds that “libraries are much safer spaces than the internet” – there is something almost quaint about books like Heartstopper, a fluffy boy-meets-boy tale, being seen as corrupting the youth when these same youth have smartphones – and access to a world of often-violent pornography – in their pockets.

It is a mistake to think those advocating for LGBTQ+ content in books for young people believe “anything goes”. In non-fiction titles in particular, it is important to offer advice and guidance in line with best practice, which can change over time; these changes can also provide an opportunity for critics to swoop in demanding that books are removed entirely. But when resources like this are not up-to-date, librarians are ideally placed to bridge gaps; their role is the organisation and dissemination of information.

Novels, on the other hand, are not instruction manuals, and should not be read as such. Here the focus tends to be on parity – if other titles in this age bracket feature romantic relationships between opposite-sex couples, for example, then it is reasonable to include those with same-sex couples, with a similar, age-appropriate level of detail. (Two boys holding hands does not an explicit sex scene make.) This gives young readers choices. This book or this one? Pick up this book, or put it down? In a civilised society, we make space for agency where we can.

Claire Hennessy is a writer and reviewer of YA fiction and a creative writing facilitator.