What are we to do with books from a bygone era that contain
stereotypes or racist or sexist attitudes deemed harmful today?
I was admittedly a bit dismayed to read the news that some
of Dr. Seuss’ books have been removed from circulation. And a little abashed. As
little as 10-12 years ago I read the likes of If I Ran the Zoo, McElligot’s Pool, and And to Think that I Saw It on Mulberry Street, to my now teenage
daughters. These were not the annoying, cloying, sing-song rhyme-y likes of The Cat in the Hat or One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish,
but narratives about children exploring the wider world, and returning enriched
from their adventures. They loved them, and so did I.
Now these have been pulled from the shelves by Dr. Seuss
Enterprises, never to be published again.
Certainly it’s their prerogative, and of course they have
every right to do so. But I now ask myself, was I a bad father for having read
my kids these books? Further, do I remain a person of questionable character because
of the kind of books I still read and enjoy today?
I’d be lying if I said I was not at least somewhat worried
about the future of old pulp literature and classic sword-and-sorcery.
I’m not a publishing libertarian. I don’t think anyone should
be able to publish whatever they want. Certainly new books that lead a reader to
the conclusion that the Jewish race must be exterminated, or that children can
and should be exploited, have no business being published. The question of to
publish or not publish is a spectrum, and at the extreme end certainly almost
all would agree that some books should never see the light of day.
But what about a book that contains a stereotyped image among
an otherwise fun, harmless story about a kid using his imagination to weave a story about
the wonders that may lie beneath the waters of an ordinary pond in a hayfield? McElligot’s Pool offers
a meaningful metaphor about the power of the imagination. Are the presence of “Eskimo
Fish from Beyond Hudson Bay” sufficient cause for its cancellation? Because if
so, then perhaps Ballantine/Del Rey should stop publishing The Coming of Conan the Cimmerian, which contains “The Frost Giant’s
Daughter” and “The Vale of Lost Women,” as well as The Conquering Sword of Conan, which contains the likes of “Man-Eaters
of Zamboula.” All of which have been criticized for containing offensive
material.
Canceling Howard would of course be terrible. I’m not a fan
of clichés but certainly the old saying “throwing the baby out with the bath
water” applies. You toss out “Man-Eaters of Zamboula” and you lose amazing
passages, like the iconic trial of strength between Conan and Baal-pteor:
Conan's
low laugh was merciless as the ring of steel.
"You fool!"
he all but whispered. "I think you never saw a man from the West before.
Did you deem yourself strong, because you were able to twist the heads off
civilized folk, poor weaklings with muscles like rotten string? Hell! Break the
neck of a wild Cimmerian bull before you call yourself strong. I did that,
before I was a full-grown man—like this!"
And with a savage
wrench he twisted Baal-pteor's head around until the ghastly face leered over
the left shoulder, and the vertebrae snapped like a rotten branch.
You may say of this post, "apples to oranges." And you may be
right. Dr. Seuss wrote children’s books, and Howard’s stories are for adults. Adults
can read with historical context, but children cannot, and therefore it’s not worth
leaving the images in Dr. Seuss’ books. Fair enough. Besides, most of his catalog
remains intact. Few are likely to miss these relatively obscure titles, and it’s
just easier to get rid of them (and less costly to hire an artist to re-do the images,
and reprint books that might not be selling well to begin with).
But put enough pressure on a publisher of adult fiction, and they too will be faced with such a choice.
You might argue, “well, it’s Del Rey’s right to stop publishing
Howard, and someone else can publish the Conan stories.” But it’s not that
simple. What if the current publisher holds the exclusive rights, and then opts
to sit on them, rather than surrender them?
Or, in a more sinister fashion, what if another publisher picks
them up—a publisher with a name, and a family. Does that mean that this
publisher is therefore a racist, by association? And fit to be ruined in the
public sphere?
Or, what if the current atmosphere of shaming and fear
continues to escalate, leading to only a disreputable publisher willing to pick
up the Howard stories? Couldn’t that further damage Howard’s reputation, by
association?
It’s not an easy issue.
My current proposal is to put a warning label on the cover,
and let the reader decide. “This book, written in 1933, contains caricatures and
stereotypes that readers may find offensive. They are preserved for the sake of
artistic integrity and historical accuracy. Proceed with caution.” Similar to
what the record labels did in the 80s with the “Parental Advisory/Explicit
Content” stickers.
Except we’d need something more concise, snappier, than what
I’ve suggested. “Warning: Old Pulp” might do it.
I’m probably worrying over nothing. Sword-and-sorcery is a
niche within a niche, not taught in schools, unknown to most readers, unknown even
to many who read fantasy. But I can’t help but worry, just a bit, about the
future of these old stories I still hold dear.
Postscript: I
hesitated to write this post, as I recognize and acknowledge that your opinions
may well be very different than mine. I acknowledge that some will find Howard
or Burroughs’ words, or Seuss’ images, deeply offensive and harmful. I cringe
at them as well. I don’t defend them, and I certainly don’t celebrate them. But
I recognize them as of their time, and I believe that the larger art within
which they are contained is very much worthy of preservation, and continued
reading and enjoyment. And continued discussion. Let’s have the discussion whether
they are works of art, and works worthy of preservation. I would also ask you
to think about what is lost when you stop publishing old books because some
part of them is offensive by our modern, enlightened standards. I think that
decision exacts a higher toll than you might realize.
