Anne Frank: Inappropriateness and Avidity

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blogpost thanking the librarians who permitted me to check out The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Black Boy, in 1970 when I was ten years old.

My parents were not with me, during those visits to the Penfield Town Library.

A few days ago, at Book and Puppet Company, we were short-staffed during our afternoon puppet show, and a friend visiting from out-of-town, who has never worked in a bookstore, kindly covered the cash desk while I was performing.

After the puppet show, as I was chatting with a child, I overheard my friend at the front of the store recommending the graphic novel version of Diary of Anne Frank to someone.

About ten minutes later, I was back up at the cash register when a mother with three young daughters placed three books on the desk for purchase. One of them was the graphic novel, Anne Frank’s Diary.

I said to the mother, “Just so you’re aware, this is not a children’s version of the Diary.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, The Diary of Anne Frank—you know, it’s not really a book for kids—and this isn’t abridged or anything.” 

“What are you saying?”

“Just--who are you buying this for?”

She gestured to one of her daughters.

I asked, “How old is she?”

“Nine.”

I said, “Well—maybe I would say this could be for a twelve-year-old…a thirteen-year-old…to start. I mean—it’s the graphic novel version, so, it’s more—graphic…”

The mother flipped the book open to the middle, revealing a shocking image of a tank in a battle. She flipped the book shut and pushed it to the side.

She said, “We’ll just take these.”

I rang the other books up, and as the mother left, one of the younger children noticed that her older sister’s chosen book had not been purchased and asked about it. The mother said, “We’ll get something for her later.”  As the group left the store, the nine-year-old gave me a sidelong dirty look.

My friend approached me and said, “She chose that book herself.”

I said, “The mother didn’t even know what The Diary of Anne Frank is.”

It wasn’t until later that evening, at dinner, as we all retold this story, that my friend said, “I showed her that book.”

I said, “I know. I heard you doing it, but I didn’t realize you were showing it to a nine-year-old.”

My friend asked, “Why did you think it was a problem?”

I said, “That book is not The Diary of Anne Frank. It’s a graphic novel interpretation.”

My friend apologized. 

I tell this story because during a few press interviews over the past ten days, I’ve been saying that I think kids should be allowed to see any book they’re interested in. And I believe this. However, it’s also true that if an adult recommends a book, that’s not the same thing as a child discovering and investigating a book on her own.  

Also, if a parent buys a book for their child, unaware of its content, and based on the recommendation of another adult, this also is not the same thing as a child discovering and investigating a book on her own.

Experienced booksellers, teachers, and librarians have radar. We aren’t exerting censorship when we instinctively but proactively engage with managing children’s reading activity—and family reading decisions. We’re deploying our professional judgement.

This past week, there has been newspaper coverage of schools in Florida removing lots of books from libraries, because of government pressure. The Diary of Anne Frank was mentioned. It’s being pulled from lots of school libraries.

What I did—checking with a parent to be sure she was part of the decision to have her child purchase the graphic novel version of Anne Frank—was different from removing the original version of Diary of Anne Frank from a school library. If I had been that mother, I probably would have purchased the book, and been grateful to have been alerted to its alarming content. I would have read the book together with my child. But this mother’s decision not to buy the book at all was valid. The point is that the choice to read the book was based on its being available. You can only make a decision if the book is available to make a decision about.

I’m certain that nine-year-old girl will remember about The Diary of Anne Frank, and will at some point read it. I have no fear about having deterred her.

I’m glad not to have set up a fight between the parent and child, after the book came home from the bookstore, when—inevitably—the parent then discovered that she didn’t think the book was appropriate for her nine-year-old child.

What I don’t know is whether this nine-year-old, when she’s actually pursuing the reading of the book, will have difficulty locating a copy.

It may have gotten removed from her school library.

Still—I know, she will be able—eventually—to get her hands on it.

When she does, she will devour The Diary of Anne Frank with an avidity in direct relation to the difficulty she had in obtaining it.