Our Blog

All over the planet people have tried to prevent others from reading books they consider immoral, unethical or just plain dangerous – and it seems that fictional worlds aren't safe from this either.

So in celebration of Banned Books week and the tireless efforts of librarians, publishers and booksellers to protect your right and freedom to read, here are five books that have been banned, suppressed or challenged in, um, books. (Warning: Spoilers!)

The Grasshopper Lies Heavy (The Man in the High Castle by Philip K Dick): In The Man in the High Castle, the Nazis won WW2 and America has been taken over by the Japanese. In this alternate history there is a book called The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, which is in itself another alternate history in which the Allies won the War. The Nazis have banned the book because they don't win in it, and they don't want people going around getting hope that they don't have to live under Hitler's oppressive rule.

To complicate matters, although the Allies win in Grasshopper, the reality portrayed in that book is vastly different from ours – Hitler lives to be tried at Nuremberg for a start. This means that The Grasshopper Lies Heavy is an alternate history of an alternate history of our reality. Still with me? Ok, next up we have:

Image via Tumblr

In 1999, Stephen Chbosky released his debut novel The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Presented in the epistolary format, the book related the experiences of Charlie, a shy and troubled teen who slowly comes out of his shell with the help of some new friends, the music of The Smiths, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Set in the early 1990s, the book immediately struck a chord with readers young and old with its frank and often funny and heartfelt descriptions of teenage life. Because the book dealt realistically with issues that included homosexuality, casual drug use, and other controversial topics, it immediately became banned in certain school districts. However, the book continues to resonate with readers who have found catharsis through reading Charlie’s letters to an unknown person.

A feature film adaptation written and directed by Chbosky was released in 2012. Starring Logan Lerman as Charlie, Harry Potter co-star Emma Watson as the angelic Sam, and Ezra Miller as the flamboyant Patrick, the movie is the rare adaptation that both respects and enhances the source material. The film was a modest art house hit and is on its way to slowly becoming a cult phenomenon, not unlike Rocky Horror itself. It is certain that in years to come both the book and the film will continue to help readers understand the, well, perks of “feeling infinite.”

via Tumblr

A portion of Perks' enduring appeal is how the book (and film) uses music to reflect the characters personalities. The lost art of mix tape-making plays a crucial role in the story, with Charlie discovering how songs can help people like himself get through hard times and express their feelings in ways they might not be able to articulate.

Some of the timeless tunes featured in the book/film include The Smiths’ “Asleep,” Suzanne Vega’s “Gypsy,” Ride’s “Vapour Trail,” XTC’s “Dear God,” The Samples’ “Could It Be Another Change?” (which contains the line “you can’t love anyone until you love yourself,” a sentiment echoed by Perks’ declaration that “we accept the love we think we deserve”), Cocteau Twins’ “Pearly Dewdrops Drop,” and David Bowie’s anthemic “Heroes,” which in the movie version plays the crucial role of being the “tunnel song” that helps Charlie, Sam, and Patrick realize they are young, alive, and full of possibilities.

There’s no sign of a Perks sequel on the horizon, and this is probably a good thing as the story is perfectly contained. Yet I can’t help but wonder what songs would have been important to Charlie in time since the book/film ended. Thusly here’s a self-indulgent and totally imagined mixtape (or, if you prefer, a Spotify playlist) of some songs that the character might enjoy these days. These songs all make me feel infinite, and perhaps they will do the same for you.

I’m fairly certain, in a completely un-scientific way, that if you asked anyone worth asking what the two best things are in the world (bar oxygen and anything that merits an NC-17) they would agree: books and food. As made obvious by the mere existence of banned book week, one way books have been made increasingly compelling over the years is (ironically) when groups of moral decide to ban them.

So now here’s another to make those banned books even better: pair them with cupcakes, or a tart! Following is a carefully curated list of some truly delicious baked goods with literary aspirations.

The Fahrenheit 451: Red Hot Cinnamon Cupcakes (The Domestic Rebel): Maybe not quite hot enough to burn books, but certainly spicier than the typical frosted dessert.

The Great Gatsby: Pink Champagne Cupcakes (Cupcakes by Tattooed Martha, Sabayon by A Food Centric Life): Because if Gatsby and Daisy didn’t teach us about the perils of overindulgence, they certainly showed how fun it can be while it lasts. Plus, you know, champagne is delicious. To get the most out of the flavors, I swapped out the champagne frosting included in the cupcake recipe for a champagne sabayon as a slightly less pink topper.

The Huckleberry Fiin: Huckleberry Cupcakes (Martha Stewart): Huckleberries are a surprisingly underutilized fruit, but with a book like this classic there really isn’t a choice.

The Things Fall Apart: Coffee Cake Crumble Muffins (Table for Two): Fall apart. Crumble. It’s a dreadful pun, sorry. I embellished on these a bit by topping them with a simple fruit sauce (recipe below), using fruits native to Nigeria. The tang also balances out the sweetness of the crumble.

Since the dawn of time, people have been marketing activity books to young boys: The Dangerous Book For Boys, The American Boy’s Handy Book, even The Boy Scout Handbook. But for me, one book occupied me for hours, providing me with infinite activities on long summer afternoons: The Anarchist Cookbook.

I was ten years old when I first stumbled across my copy of The Anarchist Cookbook. I still don’t remember how I got mine; it just seemed to appear in my room one day when I needed it most. First published in 1971, it’s since been disavowed by its original author, William Powell, and a later company, which bought the rights decided to stop printing it because it “had no positive social purpose.” These days, Powell spends a fair amount of his time online asking for people not to read it, hoping it will disappear from memory.

I may not remember how I got my hands on my first copy of The Anarchist Cookbook, but I remember looking at the table of contents for the first time and feeling like a kid on Christmas morning:

• Telephone and Communications Sabotage
• Converting a Shotgun Into a Grenade Launcher
• How to Build a Silencer for a Submachine Gun
• Bows and Arrows
• How to Make Tear Gas in Your Basement
• Molotov Cocktails
• How To Make an Anti-Personnel Grenade
• Book Trap
• Gate Trap
• Chimney Trap
• Loose Floorboard Trap

​Not to mention the extensive chapters on how to make LSD and grow marijuana at home.  I have to admit that I did try to follow the recipe for turning innocent bananas into a smokeable hallucinogen (“1. Obtain 15 lbs of ripe yellow bananas. 2. Peel all 15 lbs and eat the fruit. Save the peels.”) but it wasn’t the drugs that enthralled me. It was the weapons. Everything I needed to know to lead an effective guerilla war was right here in this one book. This was the secret knowledge they (read: adults) had kept hidden from me.

And I had no doubts that I would soon need to lead a band of freedom fights in guerilla warfare, because make no mistake: the Commies were coming. It’s hard to explain now, but growing up in the Eighties meant you grew up knowing that there was a 50/50 chance the world would turn into a nuclear cinder before you reached 18. Adults decried inner-city violence out of one side of their faces, while congratulating themselves on spending hundreds of millions of dollars on more efficient ways to turn the globe into radioactive rubble with the other. Looking back, it was a confusing time, but living in the Eighties, I wasn’t confused at all. I had seen The Day After and Amerika, I had read USSA and I, Martha Washington. I had watched and rewatched Red Dawn. I knew the score: the Commies were coming and I was going to have to kill them.

And so I studied The Anarchist Cookbook every day, hiding it in a metal box that also included razor blades, garotte wire, hacksaw blades, a large kitchen knife, and a canvas backpack, an assortment of objects that I somehow thought would protect me when World War III finally arrived. My parents put their faith in Reagan, his finger on the button even as Alzheimer’s ravaged his brain. I put my faith in learning how to convert a beer can into an edged hand weapon. Teachers told me I had to learn Algebra, but I knew that I actually needed to learn sabotage against a moving vehicle. I went to cotillion where we were taught the difference between the Foxtrot and the Cha-Cha. The only difference I needed to know was between an Eagle Apache carbine and an Armalite Rr-180.

While my parents’ marriage fell apart, they enrolled me on a forced march of self-improvement: Suzuki violin, soccer, solfège, saxophone lessons, after school enrichment programs, math tutoring, Cub Scouts. It was at a summer science program where I decided to bring in my copy of the Cookbook and pass it around. When the teacher confiscated it, I thought the gig was up. Instead, his eyes lit up, and every day after our regular program ended he would spend fifteen minutes giving lectures out of the Cookbook. It turned out that most of the drug recipes didn’t have much basis in chemistry and the explosives recipes were largely designed to ignite during mixing. He did approve of the phone hacking and bugging techniques, and he thought the booby traps weren’t half bad. But by the time summer was over, the Cookbook lost a little of its luster.

Five years later, the Soviet Union fell apart without ever trying to invade America once. I never got to kill a man with a crossbow, or clear barbed wire with a Bangalore torpedo, but then again none of those decorated generals ever got to unleash their ICBMs or Minuteman missiles. I still feel sympathy for soldiers like General Curtis LeMay who, like me, learned all about killing Commies, and then never got to put his ideas into practice.

It’s a small comfort when I realize that, as it turned out, the real heroes of the Cold War were the men who wound up doing nothing.

Dear Nana,

Your grandchildren should thank you for many things, but there’s one that’s left quite an impact: instilling a love for magic. I’m referring to Harry Potter.

I can’t remember what we were doing or how the topic came up. I only remember your words, your facial expressions, and the dim light as I read in the corner. I remember After so vividly that Before is hazy. So for the sake of entertainment, allow me to embellish the story, to take some creative liberties.

About thirteen years ago, we were rolling out the crust for one of your delicious Thanksgiving pies when you asked me how school was going. I told you all about my class, my friends, Girl Scouts, and the latest American Girl book I was raving over. I was a reader – not as big as I am now, but definitely read more than my classmates. You smiled and asked if I’d read Harry Potter yet.

I was offended. “Ugh! No! Why would I want to read a book about a boy who goes to a magic school? It’s not even real!”

You stopped rolling out the crust and looked at me square in the eye. I’m still intimidated, even though I tower over you now. It’s that look you get when your grandchildren have crossed the line, and rather than dig a hole to try to get back on your good side, we attempt to stand as still as possible and wait for your calm, disappointed reprimand.

I turned bright red at that stare.