All of these things are true, and yet. And yet.
And yet there's a difference between choosing some other book and condemning a particular book as dangerous. In a culture that values books, people laud the ones that they choose to read rather than condemning the ones they choose not to read. Every time that I go into a library or bookstore and walk out with a book, I have decided that all of the other books in there are, in one way or another, not as suitable for my current needs. But I do not tell people that there's something wrong with the other books. Every time I decide which book to assign for a class, I have implicitly decided that other books are, in some way, not as good, but I do not spend (much) class time critiquing the other books.
Some of Seuss's books probably are not the best choices for young children. They probably should not be emphasized over other Seuss books, or children's books by other authors. There's nothing illiberal about drawing up a list that happens to include some wonderful children's books but doesn't include And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street. And if this means too few buyers to justify further printing costs, well, then some of Seuss's books will go out of print, like so many books before.
And yet.
Libraries with finite shelf space, publishers with finite budgets, and schools with finite time for reading instruction should all be in the business of exploring and celebrating that which is valuable in the books on their rosters. That is different from announcing and critiquing the harm of other books. The world has more than enough puritans and preachers telling us why books are harmful. Why would a book lover join their ranks when quiet omission is an option?
More importantly, I do not believe that there is such a thing as a truly dangerous book. There are certainly books that one could misread (e.g. all of them), books that small children are not yet ready to examine (e.g. most of them), and books that might challenge our values (e.g. the best ones), but there is no such a thing as an inherently poisonous page. A book that blends a joyous children's tale with the less savory norms of an earlier era is a cultural artifact well worthy of examination. It might not belong in the typical kindergarten syllabus, but I would hope it continues to attract enough attention to stay on the market. If not, I hope we could wave goodbye to it with sorrow rather than smugness. Maybe the best parts of it will move a future author to write an inspired work.
It would be easy to tar my stance as reactionary, defending dead white males whose works offend a more diverse society. However, I still remember the 80's and 90's. I remember when the people trying to get art and literature pulled from the market were conservatives. It used to be the fundamentalist preachers who wanted to banish art from the public eye if they thought it might corrupt the youth. Indeed, in many places it still is the religious conservatives who occupy that role, and not just in foreign countries. America has no shortage of conservative religious types who would gladly censor art if given the chance. Every argument that I make now about the complexity of art and literature, the value of examining morally complex characters and ambiguous themes, applied at least as well to the conservative censors of previous decades. Dee Snyder's arguments are timeless.
I want a society that finds joy in books. I want a society where the books that discomfit us are examined for lessons when possible and treated with benign neglect otherwise. I want a society where we respond to apparently offensive literature with a simple "That's nice, but here's another book that might be more useful in this lesson plan" rather than "No! That book is dangerous! It will pollute minds!"
