On Book Censorship, Banned Books Week, and What Writers Have to Lose
Curation is an individual choice. Censorship is a gag and a blindfold wrapped in a “care package.”
I believe parents have the right to curate what their own children read. I don’t believe they—or an organization or government body—should be allowed to make that decision for everyone else. And when collective censorship overrides individual choice, it affects not only readers but also what writers feel safe putting on the page.
Now, say what you will about California—because there’s plenty—but on the book-banning issue, I think we got it right.
Three years ago, Assembly Bill (AB) 1078 was signed into California law. Among other provisions, AB 1078 prohibits governing school boards from refusing instructional materials or library books because they include inclusive or diverse perspectives, including people of different genders, races, ethnicities, religions, sexual orientations, disabilities, and socioeconomic backgrounds.
So, as a Californian, I’m sitting in a different seat than I would be in states where access to books has been more broadly restricted.
But wherever we live, the question underneath the censorship debate is the same: Who gets to decide what we read?
Stories are meant to be told. Books are written to be read. Experiences are meant to be shared. Stories are a bridge to understanding and empathy for each other and our world.
And if you don’t like a particular story or experience, don’t read it. But don’t discount it. Don’t assume your experience is the only one that matters.
Now, I’m not saying my 10-year-old is allowed open access and can just read Stephen King. No way. Nor is she ready for The Perks of Being a Wallflower or Looking for Alaska. But that doesn’t mean those books shouldn’t be available in the library.
Curation is personal. Censorship is collective.
As a parent, I care about the content my child consumes, and I’m sure you do, too. We don’t want our kids stumbling across something they aren’t emotionally or intellectually ready to handle—or something they’re afraid to ask us questions about.
So I curate my daughter’s content exposure as she grows. That’s my job.
But I’m not saying what’s inappropriate for her at this age is inappropriate for everyone. I don’t have the right to demand that her entire class’s reading list be changed based on my morals or values. I do have the right to ask that she be given a different book or reading list.
What frightens me as a parent is that current book challenges aren’t primarily driven by individual parents making individual choices.
In 2025, the American Library Association’s Office for Intellectual Freedom tracked 4,235 unique titles challenged. Of those, 39% represented the lived experiences of LGBTQIA+ people and people of color. Fewer than 3% of challenges originated with individual parents. The vast majority—92%, according to the ALA—were “initiated by pressure groups, government officials, and other decision-makers”
To me, those are pretty staggering (and telling) statistics.
And that 92% does not represent the world I want for myself, my child, my neighbors, or anyone else.
I do not like it, Sam-I-Am.
Because when outside groups decide which stories are available to everyone, they limit individual opportunities to encounter those stories, wrestle with those ideas, ask questions, and decide for themselves.
Long short: Over time our worldview narrows and our ability for discourse declines.
And that concerns me as a reader and a parent.
But here’s the impact I fear for writers:
When writers see which books and stories are being targeted, I worry about what they might become afraid to put on the page.
Maybe they soften something.
Maybe they don’t write the queer kid.
Maybe they don’t write frankly about racism, sex, abuse, religion, addiction, gender, violence, or whatever difficult, uncomfortable, beautiful, messy thing belongs in their story.
Maybe they decide it’s safer not to write the story at all.
I don’t want fear deciding which stories get written any more than I want someone else deciding which stories we’re allowed to read.
So, if you believe what your kid reads should ultimately be your decision—not mine, not another parent’s, and not an outside pressure group or a government official—consider doing something to support the freedom to read during Banned Books Week.
Read a challenged book. Buy one. Recommend one you loved. Talk to your kids about what they’re reading and why. Visit your local library and ask how you can support their efforts to keep books available to the people who want to read them.
Banned Books Week, sponsored by the ALA, and October 10th is Let Freedom Read Day, and it’s a call to action! So let’s make some noise!
