Friday, February 10, 2017
Reading a 1982 interview in The Paris Review, I became curious about the books the author had written, and looked them up. The writer was from the American South, and his two most well-known novels were set there. (The titles were mysteriously familiar, in my memory, though had not read them.)
When I read that his most popular book was "so controversial that the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice asked a New York state court to censor it," this information felt strange, jarring, to my mind.
Written by a Southerner, about life in the South, and -- banned in -- New York??
Like -- shouldn't that be the other way around?
After reading excerpts from the Paris Review author's fiction, Online -- I arrive at the realization, I'm better off just reading his interviews. (He composed at the typewriter... He does not outline beforehand...).
(Am not naming the author, or his book titles, here, because -- I guess I don't want to seem to be recommending them. Not in an overly-critical or "censoring" kind of way....)
I would be officially Against Censorship. Like -- in a survey, or test, of Who I Am. Just as true, though, I'd also subscribe to the theory that suggests there's no need to wallow in unnecessary, non-uplifting -- printage... (Is that a word?)