Banned Books Week: Tintin in the Congo

Not only do I read banned books, but I buy them as well. Let me start with a story.

At the end of August, on my final evening of a lovely trip to Cape Cod, I was checking out Herridge Books in Wellfleet. Herridge Books is a used book store tucked in a corner not far from Mayo Beach and Wellfleet Center. I was looking for Church Mice books, while my daughter wanted ghost stories. You could have knocked me over with a clam roll when I found this:

As Captain Haddock would say--blistering barnacles!

A brief history of Tintin in the Congo: it is unavailable to purchase new in the United States. Period. Despite Tintin's decades of cult status in this country, and a highly successful animated film helped raise the franchise's profile, no one can walk into their local Barnes and Noble, or log on to Amazon.com to purchase a newly minted, 2005 (which is when it was last reprinted) edition of this book. Why not? Because the American publishers of the Tintin books, Little, Brown and Company, have deemed it too offensive for this country. Or, to quote the Forward at the start of the UK edition, (which indeed the copy I bought was) Tintin in the Congo contains "bourgeois, paternalistic stereotypes of the period." And Heaven knows we can't have any of that. Particularly in a children's book. And let's not even get started on Herge's attitude to big-game hunting.

I don't mean to sound glib. The controversy surrounding Tintin in the Congo is actually quite complex, based on the book's publishing history, Belgian colonial history, and Herge's own growth as a writer and the creator of Tintin the character. (The Guardian summarizes the issues nicely in this article about a recent attempt to ban the book in Belgium.) And, truthfully, the book is bourgeois and paternalistic. Embarrassingly so. I doubt that Herge meant to offend readers of the day, or even future readers of a more enlightened period, which I'm sure we all like to think the 21st Century is. But there are readers who will take offense to this book.

Now that I have finally read it, I can see that there's not much to recommend Tintin in the Congo other than Herge's name on the front cover. But as a fan of Tintin, I wanted to read it. As a librarian interested in issues of censorship and free speech, I wanted to read it. As a mother who discusses race relations with a daughter curious about the unequal world around her, I wanted to read it. There are many reasons why I wanted to read this book, and not a single one of them had to do with actually agreeing with its content. Yet look at the extent I had to go to find it--dumb luck at a used book store.

It's very easy to stand up and support books like To Kill a Mockingbird or The Color Purple, challenged and banned books whose literary merit and social importance is inherent. But there are ugly books which need protection, too. I recently read Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 (yet another frequently challenged book,) and I came across this exchange between Guy Montag and Faber:

"My wife says books aren't 'real'"
"Thank God for that. You can shut them, say 'Hold on a moment.' You play God to it." (p. 80)

The Reader plays God to the book. Not the publisher. Not the neighbors. The Reader. Maybe it's because I believe in a God who supports free will as opposed to the manipulation of life to ensure harmony, that I found this quote so appropriate to the issue of intellectual freedom. There is a market in this country for Tintin in the Congo, and Little, Brown and Company should feel free to meet the demand of that market. They should not play God to readers by refusing to publish it. Publish the book, and let the readers play God.

For more information about Banned Books Week--it's the 30th anniversary by the way!--you can visit a couple of sites:
http://bannedbooksweek.org/
http://www.ala.org/advocacy/banned/bannedbooksweek

And if you completely disagree with everything I say, feel free not to read Tintin in the Congo (assuming you can find a copy.)

Tintin in the Congo causing trouble again

The National Coalition Against Censorship blogs today about the decision by the Brooklyn Public Library to remove Tintin in the Congo from its circulating collection. They will still keep the book, but it will now be housed in a special collection. This is basically the age-old compromise for librarians when faced with material of a "difficult" (i.e. controversial) nature: make the book available, just make it difficult to find. Although most librarians probably consider themselves as protectors of intellectual freedom (I know I do) and like to think that they would fight to the death to allow readers access to a book--any book!--(fortunately I've not yet been asked to do so,) it is probably fair to say that most librarians also choose their battles. Books like To Kill a Mockingbird, The Diary of Anne Frank, even the Harry Potter books, have cache, and it is easy to imagine most librarians standing up for these classics. But Tintin in the Congo has had a hard time finding defenders. I blogged about this issue in 2007 when Little Brown made the decision not to republish the book in the United States, despite the fact that the entire Tintin collection was at the time being reissued as a box set. And not having read the book myself (how can I? It is not easy to locate in this country,) I cannot comment on its historical or literary value. In the case of Tintin the Congo, I now have the feeling of collusion between publishers and libraries who have effectively between them made this book unavailable to anyone, buyers or borrowers. That is neither honest nor good.

Tintin on the hot seat

The news that Little Brown will not be publishing Tintin in the Congo is not really news. This story made the rounds of the blogosphere earlier in the year when the book was released in Europe. My gut instinct is to disagree with this decision, because to me it seems like historical revisionism. I can understand not marketing it as a children's book. I can even understand not including it in the box set. But to decide against publishing it altogether seems spineless and naive; spineless because the publisher's preferred to avoid a controversy, and naive because ignoring the book doesn't make what is objectionable less so. English children's novelist Anne Fine commented on the controversy in an article for The Times, citing incidents in her own writing where she has revised older texts for modern readers. If she chooses to do that to her own writing, that's her decision. And I guess choosing not to publish a book is a publisher's prerogative, but I would have had more respect for their decision to cancel publication if Little Brown said they wouldn't make any profit from the book. Everyone knows that money talks. And maybe that is what's motivating this decision, and they're not simply taking the high road.

I always come back to the opinion that if something is objectionable, don't buy it/read it/promote it. English journalist Kathryn Hughes agrees, although she is of the opinion that modern readers can learn from their unenlightened ancestors. Which takes us back to that historical revisionism thing. Tintin in the Congo is what it is: a book written when colonialism and colonialist attitudes were rampant. Eradicating racism from modern society is commendable, but eradicating all reference to it is not the way it's done.

Rave Reviews: Lou Gehrig the Luckiest Man

I was once asked to consider which I would prefer: the candidate of my choice as President the United States, or the Red Sox to win the World Series. Without a moment's hesitancy I answered, "the Red Sox to win the World Series". I'm just putting that out there to let you know the mindset of the person writing this post.

Through the wonders of online social networking I have made friends with people who share my interests, as well as those that simply do not--but I like them anyway. And that includes Yankee fans. I avoid them in real life when I can, but through the relative anonymity of sites like Twitter, Facebook, and blip.fm, that piece of damaging information sort of snuck through after we had already become friendly.

So where am I going here? A few months back I wrote about Tintin in the Congo and censorship. As a librarian I have the power to put whichever books I deem fit on the shelves. And while some might self-censor books dealing with hot-button issues like race, same-sex marriage, or religion, the one area in which I am always the most tempted to judge a book as "not worthy" is on the topic of baseball. The little librarian devil that sits on my shoulder can point out a million reasons why I shouldn't put a Yankee book on the shelf, which then makes the little librarian angel on the other shoulder have to work extra hard to ensure that my professional duties are maintained and carried through. So, because I have stumbled into some Yankee friendships, and because I am simply not magnanimous enough to say "Congratulations," this is the best that I can offer them:

If I am ever in the challenging position of having to recommend a book to a Yankee fan, I always hand them David Adler's picture book biography, Lou Gehrig: The Luckiest Man. Some kids might know that he has a disease named after him (Lou Gehrig's Disease, officially known as amytrophic lateral sclerosis.) Most baseball fans are familiar with his record of playing in 2130 consecutive games--a record which spanned fourteen years and stood unchallenged until Cal Ripken, jr broke it in 1995. Some might have even heard soundbites of the speech he delivered at Yankee Stadium in 1939, in which he uttered the now iconic phrase "today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth." But what this book does so well is show young readers how Gehrig's tenacity, consistency, and positive attitude came from a lifetime of trying to be the best human being he could. He never missed a day of grade school. He worked hard because he had watched his parents, poor immigrants to the United States, work hard themselves. When he could no longer play effectively, he benched himself and was happy enough simply to put on his ball uniform and bring the lineup cards to the umpires. When he left baseball he took on a job working with former prisoners with the New York City Parole Commission, in the hopes of inspiring and reforming troubled youth. Gehrig's No. 4 was the first uniform ever retired by a team.

Terry Widener's illustrations are warm and old-fashioned, representing a now distant past with a certain amount of nostalgic glow. It is a fitting style for a man who, in truth, seems like a saint, even without holding him up to the likes of many modern professional athletes who often come across as barely contained hooligans making as much money as they can. Adler's text is easy to read and keeps the story focused on Gehrig's modesty and character, his love of the game and his love of life. This is a book which not only serves as a fine introduction to one of the great figures of the game, but it is also a book which shows young readers how to be a hero through honesty, hard work, and gratitude. It is a book which should be read by Red Sox and Yankee fans alike.

John Patrick Norman McHennessy--not a moment too soon

Hurrah! My prayers have been answered! A Random House Summer Catalog was in my inbox this morning, and on page two was the announcement and brand new ISBN number for a reissued edition of John Burningham's outstanding John Patrick Norman McHennessy--the boy who was always late. This has been on my "Lost Treasures" list since the early days of this blog. I take no credit for it's reissue, only immense pleasure that someone in a position to bring it back did so.

I hope it has been left as originally published and not revised to meet modern day sensibilities. I'm thinking of the bit where the disbelieving teacher threatens to thrash JPNM for telling lies. Children today need not fear corporal punishment, and I suspect that when the book was originally written in 1987 there really wasn't much danger of it then either. But you never know how far the bubble-wrapping of children will go. The revising of books is an ongoing controversy in Children's Literature, from Tintin in the Congo to whether or not editions of Good Night Moon should feature a picture of illustrator Clement Hurd holding a cigarette.