Some thoughts from St. Mark's on the importance of literacy and access to books of all kinds
My early childhood was spent in western Maryland, in a little town in the mountains. Our first home was on a small street that ran parallel to a major highway. About a mile up that small road was the local library. We had no television, so books were a major source of entertainment to my sister, Mandy, and I.
During the summer, about twice a week, Mandy and I would get on our bikes and ride up to that little library. We would arrive early when there was rarely anyone there but the librarian, return the books we had gotten on our previous visit, and stock up on new ones. The librarian would have recommendations and let us know about any new books that had come in. We had worked our way through the children’s section and were moving into the young adults and adults.
I got to know some of the classic children’s authors – Louisa May Alcott, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Gene Stratton Porter and Lucy Maude Montgomery. I met the Hardy Boys, Tom Swift, Jr. and Judy Bolton among many others. I saw the secret garden, played with “the yearling” and solved mysteries. I gained a love of history, and of the individual stories of those who lived in the past. It all came alive in a very personal way that continues to impact my life and my perspective.
I learned that people’s stories are not one-dimensional; that there are always circumstances and events that have untold impacts: don’t judge – that’s God’s job and only he knows the whole truth. I learned that there are places in the world that we can only imagine; that people in the past, without heavy equipment, fancy tools and modern conveniences have made things of unbelievable beauty and complexity; you don’t need money to be rich or happy, and sometimes money is a curse. I learned that attitude and perspective can make a difference in how you feel about life.
Books continue to impact my life. I use them to escape, to educate and to challenge my beliefs, my view of life, and my imagination. I’m still that little girl on my bicycle, rushing to the library to see what’s new, and hurrying home to open the latest book – inhaling that special smell of paper and ink that opens the world. Mickie Jones
Among my childhood heroes were the historical figures, Florence Nightingale, Susan B. Anthony, Abraham Lincoln, Harriet Tubman, and Theodore Roosevelt. I voraciously read every available biography and commentary I could find about them. What impressed me most was that, despite vastly different backgrounds and utilizing an extraordinary range of personal strengths, each felt called to carve out a legacy which left the world a far better place than the one their respective generations had inherited.
One of my earliest opportunities to make a mark for the better was in my early teens, when I was cast in the role of Peter in a community theater production of "The Diary of Anne Frank". The power and majesty of that extraordinary script left an indelible impression on me. Even better, it afforded me the privilege of meeting and hearing the testimony of several local Holocaust survivors.
Fast forward to the present day. Realizing that book bans and burnings are among the earliest methods employed by oppressive regimes to provide traction for their warped agendas, I'm appalled by our current political climate, in which the teaching of factual history and the free dissemination of ideas is under attack. The fact that The Diary of Anne Frank is listed as inappropriate and/or subversive on nearly every roster of banned books is alarming. Is it any wonder that anti-Semitic attacks and other bias based atrocities are occurring at an epidemic level?
The book fair, sponsored by St. Mark's Justice and Advocacy Committee on the first Saturday of October, is a perfect example of local pushback against a grave societal ill. Involving a wide assortment of community stakeholders, this effort aims to open minds, encourage dialogue, reclaim our right to a full spectrum of literary resources. Kenneth Decker
To say that reading is big in our family would be quite the understatement. There are books in every room of our house. Books fill (and spill out of) every bookcase - there are at last count seven bookcases, and we are in serious need of at least two (three?) additional ones. There are books on tables - dining room, kitchen, end and coffee. Pick a table and you will find books on it. There are books that we can’t bear to part with despite having read them - in some cases multiple times. Some have been in our “to be read” pile for longer than …..well, it’s been a long time ……but we’ll get to them eventually.
Books and authors are celebrated in our family. We’ve been to libraries and bookstores in Washington DC, Toronto, San Francisco, Salt Lake City, and Reykjavik, Iceland, to name a few. Some of you might be familiar with The Island Bookstore in Corolla, Duck, and Nags Head. We’ve been to all three - usually on the same day. If we’ve been to a city on vacation, you can be sure we’ve done two things there - gone to a bookstore and library as well as checked out any interesting churches and cathedrals.
Prior to COVID our summer plans always included a trip to the National Book Festival in DC where we listened to and met authors. We have pictures of us getting autographs with some of our favorites. We also have a favorite family story of a Secret Service agent giving Elizabeth a very stern look when she may have cheered a little too enthusiastically during a talk by former first lady Laura Bush when she spoke about her time being a librarian.
I can’t remember a time when reading and books weren’t a big part of my life. My dad was not a reader except for the newspaper or an occasional magazine. My mom would read and occasionally go to the library, but one bookcase was more than enough in our house. However, I was always encouraged and given access to opportunities to read. At an early age I would grab my library card and ride my bike to the library. I remember reading the short stories “To Build a Fire” and “The Most Dangerous Game” many times at a young age and being thoroughly enthralled each time. I loved biographies and read everything I could find on Abraham Lincoln and John F Kennedy.
During my career as teacher and administrator I was often asked by parents for tips on how to encourage their child to read. I always had the same rather simplistic answer - find things that interest them and let them read about those things Comics, magazines, newspapers, heck even baseball cards had me reading back in the day. I can clearly see the path I took from those things I read as a kid to my “adult reading”.
Comic books with The Flash, Superman and Batman showed me long before I was truly cognizant about Martin Luther King Jr’s teachings that good will always defeat evil and light will always push out darkness. Mad Magazine taught me the joys of satire and parody (and sometimes just plain nonsense). Peanuts and Charlie Brown showed me that a simple cartoon could touch your soul. My grandfather was a subscriber to Sports Illustrated (though I don’t recall him ever attending or watching a game) and those first hand me down issues from him were my gateway drug to being a sports fan through the fantastic writings of Dan Jenkins, Gary Smith, Leigh Montville, Pat Jordan, Jack McCallum, Frank Deford and a host of others.
Through books I’ve explored the highest peaks of the Himalayas with women and men of all nationalities and the heart of the Amazon jungle with Teddy Roosevelt and a host of other stout-hearted explorers. I’ve heard of the ravages of wars too numerous to count. I’ve seen both heroes and villains and more than a few sinners and saints. I’ve had my heart filled, broken and filled again. On October 7th St. Marks will mark Banned Books Week by celebrating our Freedom To Read. We celebrate it everyday in our house. Don Kyser
I grew up in a house full of readers in a family where education ranked just behind God and family in level of importance. Both my parents were exceptionally smart, both attended college, and their expectation was that all seven of us kids would also go to college, which we all did. Books were all over the house, trips to the library were adventures. While we were a normal family with a television we all enjoyed, it was also not unusual to find several people sitting in a room away from the tv, companionably enjoying our separate stories.
I devoured novels from an early age— I think I started with The Bobbsey Twins series when I was about eight, then read my way through all my mother’s vintage Nancy Drews as well as all my brothers’ available Hardy Boys. I visited The Secret Garden twice, made friends with The Borrowers, Heidi, Pippi Longstocking and Anne of Green Gables. I cried my eyes out over Black Beauty and had a great time with the pirates of Treasure Island, the creativity of The Swiss Family Robinson.
As I grew older and more curious, I loved Gone With the Wind, A Passage to India, The Sun Also Rises. I also often pilfered from my parents’ stack, and thus came to read all the Agatha Christies (pretty tame) and the entire James Bond series (possibly less appropriate for a girl still in junior high) among other works. I’m sure my folks were aware of what I was reading, but I think they had confidence that I would be able to separate the world of fiction from real life.
I recall when To Kill a Mockingbird was first published. I was ten and well aware that people were talking about it. I borrowed my mother’s copy and read it. I think that one spooked her a little, because it was one instance where she found a private time to talk with me about what I’d read and how it impressed me. At ten, I remember I clearly understood the parts of the story that had to do with Tom Robinson’s plight and Atticus’ choices. I think Mother was relieved to find that I understood that Mayella had been beaten, but hadn’t the faintest idea or interest in the subject of rape per se. That was above my level of sophistication at the time, and I think I just dismissed it as something bad, not needing to know the particulars. I suspect many young readers engage in this kind of self-censoring all the time. And I think it was why my parents weren’t terribly strict with what I read—they left the opportunity for questions and discussion fully available to me.
So I was very surprised when, come the ninth grade English class assignment to read Lord of the Flies, my father objected and went to the teacher to refuse to allow me to read it. I’m not sure I was ever entirely clear why he balked at that one. It is a savage little tale, of course, but one with a decent moral ending, as I recall. I argued with him mightily—I was furious that he would put me in such an embarrassing position in my class. I figured my winning argument was that I had already read the book, which I had. He acknowledged that, but it was still not a book that he cared to have me discussing with my peers. I got assigned a book report on Gulliver’s Travels instead and had to spend several class periods alone in the library.
Why has this memory come back after so many years forgotten? Because banning books is now all the rage, and this was my childhood experience having a book banned. I hated it. It made me feel cheated, as though I was not trusted to be smart enough to parse the story for myself. My tiny rebellion: to this day I have never read Gulliver’s Travels—and it was the only time in high school that I ever resorted to Cliff Notes. I imagine that my little act of revenge allowed the entire incident to fade for me fairly quickly, but I’m sorry that I never thought to ask him about it as an adult, because it may have been the only time my dad limited my right to think on my own. I didn’t think it was right then, and I don’t think preventing children from exercising intellectual curiosity is a smart idea now. Far better to allow a growing mind to get a little beyond its depth and need to ask questions, than to put up barricades that might stunt that growth.
Fortunately for me, this one incident didn’t keep me from continuing throughout my life to read voraciously, and to explore a wide range of genre, style and subject. Reading has given me the world, and perhaps more importantly, a better understanding about how others navigate that world. That has been a life-long gift. Penny Adams
There are many ways in which we as humans share similarities with others of God’s creatures. We eat & sleep, we love & feel pain, we experience happiness & grief, we are capable of great tenderness & surprising, horrifying violence. To me, one of the critical differences between us and the rest of the animal kingdom is that we are, by our very nature, story tellers. As far as I know, we are the only ones in creation who tell stories. We not only tell stories about what we have seen or done on any given day, but some of us have the gift of creating stories that range beyond any specific, personal experience we may have.
I have long been a voracious reader. I can only recall one occasion where I started a book that I simply failed so miserably to connect with that I did not finish it! Books opened worlds to me, they provided a glimpse into parts of the world I had never seen and might not otherwise have experienced. Not only was my mind broadened, but my vision grew, and my heart was expanded. I suppose it should come as no surprise that some of the books and authors who had such a profound impact on me as a teen and young adult are the very same ones who repeatedly find themselves on the banned books lists.
The Grapes of Wrath, read when I was in 8th grade, showed me a level of poverty, desperation, and hope that has impacted me to this day. I don’t know that I have ever read anything better. Mom gave me a copy of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings when I was in high school. Where else would my upper middle class, suburban, white girl self ever have had such an intimate glimpse into the heart of the life of a 3–16 year-old black girl? As a young adult in grad school, I practically forced my classmates to read The Color Purple, so much so that when the book was returned to me, the cover was battered, and the pages were falling out! Again, my classmates and I not only saw, but felt, a world very different from our own.
These are the books some are determined not be read, not only by you, but by your children and grandchildren. It is indeed a life changing experience to see a world beyond your own, isn’t it? To be reminded that our story is not the only story changes us.
When I was a young adult, I received another gift from books when I stumbled upon Rubyfruit Jungle. In this novel, I saw myself represented in a way I never had. I existed in a fully realized character and the impact of seeing myself cannot be overstated. I was not alone, I mattered, I could have a rich and full life.
But once again, some people don’t want others to have access to books in which the reader is represented, whether they be LGBTQ+, persons with disabilities, immigrants, or people of color. Some do not want us to see ourselves, do not want us to know we are not alone, or that we are strong and capable. I can’t help wondering, why are they so afraid?
Those who wish to censor the story tellers are, in one sense, correct! The story tellers, the truth sayers, do change the world. They open our minds, hearts, and eyes to others and to ourselves forever. Once we’ve read the story, we can’t “unsee” the words or the worlds. Blessed are the story tellers and their poems, plays, and novels. Karen Hardison
When I was a teenager, I fell deep down the well of young adult novels, and specifically I found the fantasy realms that contained magic the most illuminating and intriguing. In reflection it makes sense to me that these magical realms would offer me the rest and reprise I needed from my daily life. Although I was provided with creature comforts by my mother and father, I was existing in the world as someone else, an identity assigned to me at birth, which was incredibly exhausting.
Although I didn’t have the language in my teenage adolescence, I was experiencing the harsh reality of existing in the world as a female, when in the depths of my heart, soul, and mind felt out of sync with this identity and gender. Young Adult Fantasy novels offered me an escape from the limits of my world and instead implored me to consider worlds beyond the places in which I felt stuck and alone.
The fantasy realms in which I would dive headfirst into, gave me the chance to explore worlds in which your standard human wouldn’t dare enter and this felt special to me. The knowledge that other worlds exist within the ordinary one I lived in, gave me the hope that I too would find a place in the larger world one where I too would feel seen.
Although it doesn’t seem like fantasy novels are high on the chopping block, I knew many folks in high school that were banned by their parents from reading fantasy novels which included “witchcraft,” like Harry Potter. The escape that books can offer our youth and teens is irreplaceable. Realms in which trial and error occur, character develop leads, and yes, magic is sprinkled in, are sacred spaces for teenagers to experience the harsh realities of our world within the safety of the pages in a book.
The banning of books won’t stop the large unasked questions bubbling in the mind of teenagers, but instead leaves our beloved without the tools to experience those questions through the landscape in which the characters in books experience them. In essence a book is far less harmful than the trial and error of our lived experience. Ryn Kennedy