Book Banishing, August 2011

(After two years of intermittent sputtering, we shall now return to our regularly scheduled posting.)

So, I have a lot of books. And I like having a lot of books. And people know this, and from time to time they give me books. And this is pretty great.

But very few people that give me books (or recommend books for me or require that I read them for class—my MFA scars are still fresh) have a good handle on my taste in reading material. Thus, I've acquired a certain number of books that I don't particularly like (and even a handful that are objectively bad). Now, I'm the son of a librarian, and consequently I'm hesitant to get rid of any text, but I only have so much shelf space, and so I've decided it's time for some to go.

I'm planning to make this a monthly ritual, complete with an explanation of where I got the book and why I'm getting rid of it. In addition, I'll be soliciting ideas for an appropriate way to rid myself of it. Yes, I could just sell them to a used book store, and that may be what ends up happening. But certain works deserve different treatment (being left on bus stop benches; hidden in library stacks; burned, mixed with salt, and sewn into the earth; etc.).

So, which strange part of my collection will be the first to get the axe? Here goes...

John Boyne's The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is the extent of my collection of 21st century children's literature about the Holocaust. I received this as a going-away present from a boss in Hawaii at one of my many hated temp jobs. The boss was generally quite nice to me. In fact, she attempted to offer me a permanent position on the day I told her I was quitting in order to pursue graduate study in writing. When she gave me the book, she told me she felt it was a moving read and that people need to read these sorts of books "to make sure that it doesn't happen again." Her pitch in that regard was quite strong; she worked in sales. I read it quickly (no longer having a job frees one's time), came to the conclusion that it was passably good, that it accomplished its task of teaching readers that genocide is bad, and I shelved it away.

Why get rid of it? Aside from the fact that it reminds of a hated work experience more so than the kindness of my former boss, I want it gone because it was oversold to me, and this overselling, especially with regard to atrocity, is dangerous. Allow me to digress....

In 10th grade, my American history class covered WW2, a unit that necessarily included the Holocaust. As part of this, my teacher arranged for us to visit a Holocaust museum in Detroit. In the weeks leading up to this trip, at every relevant opportunity, the teacher would tell everyone how "moving" and "tragic" the museum would be, saying that it would essentially change how we looked at the world forever. On field trip day, as we filed past the sorts of exhibits you can imagine (photos of emaciated prisoners, salvaged prison garb, memorial lists of names...), I remember thinking, yes, this is sad, tragic, these people didn't deserve to suffer and die, but is this life-changing for me? No. My expectations for the place had been over-inflated, and thus the reality of the museum just paled.

My point? The hyperbole used to describe images and evidence of genocide to people (children especially) does a disservice to the reality of such atrocities.

• Millions of people were killed.
• Millions of people were killed, tragically.
• Millions of people were killed, tragically, and we must never let this happen again.

The first sentence remains more effective, to me, if only because it doesn't beat readers over the head with it's horror. The second and especially the third editorialize an opinion that should be obvious given the fact that precedes it. Perhaps this resonates with the writer-ly conceit "show, don't tell."

I have a vivid and empathetic imagination. Confront me with the facts of something horrible and I will quickly empathize with those who suffer. Explain to me how terrible something is, or worse yet, try to convince me, and you run the risk of having me imagine something that feels more terrible than your horrible reality looks.

I don't need Mr. Boyne's mediocre book to remind me that persecution of minorities is a bad thing. I can figure that out on my own. And I didn't need someone to tell me that I should care about the book because it depicts a tragedy and that events like it must be prevented in the future. Now, the question remains, what should become of the copy in my possession?