Chels

One of the great things about primarily reading classic literature is that we already know pretty much everything we’ll ever know about the authors. Oscar Wilde will never have a twitter account,  Mary Shelley will never be on tumblr (although she’d thrive there, I’m sure). What I mean is that there’s a very low chance we’ll have the rug pulled from under us by an author that’s been dead for at least a hundred years. All their scandals are either public knowledge, or died with them. The only access we have to their innermost thoughts are their published diaries or letters.

The same can’t be said for contemporary writers. I’m not going to say any names, but if you’re even a little bit active in online literature spaces, one or two probably came to mind. Both, if you’re chronically online like me. Two slightly different situations – I hesitate to use the word scandal – but both fueling boundless discord on what the right response is, if one is even needed. Of course, this isn’t to say there isn’t discourse surrounding the controversies of long dead writers – if you dig deep enough online, you’ll find it – but the primary difference, at least according to the court of public opinion, is that these writers are no longer alive to be affected by both support and criticism.

And to me, that’s where I have a pretty solid opinion – profit. Personally, I’d rather not financially support people who, at least in my opinion, don’t deserve my financial support. But this begs the question – where do you draw the line? To me, it’s a given that going to a bookshop and buying their works financially supports them (and yes, on an individual scale, it’s a drop in the ocean, but on a larger scale, it adds up). But a lot of the discussion takes this a step further. It becomes a neverending game of what if? Suddenly, it’s wrong to buy these books secondhand, because what if a reseller is buying them from a retailer, profiting, and in turn, financially supporting the author? What if you buy from a charity shop, then take away a chance for someone else to buy that specific book, and they buy firsthand?

It’s not just buying books. The discussion extends to film adaptations and merchandise, then asks if fan-made merchandise is even acceptable. It seems that every time a consensus is reached, a new question is thrown into the ring. Is it okay to display the books?

My real opinion is that we should all just do whatever we want, and that life is far too short and complex without getting in a spin about the right and wrong way to respond to someone else’s controversy, but that would make for a very boring post, so I’ll indulge in some recreational discourse. Just take it all with a pinch of salt – I’m not your mother or your boss, I’m not telling you what to do.

I was a fan of a certain book series growing up. Not as young as a lot of my peers, though, I first started to read it aged 12. Because I was 12 and hadn’t read incredibly widely in terms of adult literature at the time, I did think it was one of the best series ever written. Do I look back on it with those same feelings? Not at all. If I was braver, I’d love to pick it apart, but it wouldn’t go down well with either side of the debate, I know. Still, it was something incredibly significant to me through my teenage years, and arguably contributed to the creation of Nonsense & Lit. I think people say that with a layer of shame these days, as if there were glaring signs of what would come from the sheer popularity of those books. I don’t think there should be any shame in it. For its time, it was a great book series, and the impact is undeniable. I do think that there are a whole host of great books for young people, especially these days after the young adult market boom. 

When it comes to the other author you might have thought of, I have significantly less nostalgic attachment. There’s just one book, really, and a short story collection. If I’m being honest, I prefer the film. If I’m being even more honest, I wish I’d purchased and read a few more of the books a decade ago when I first read their work, because it’s undeniably good, but it would feel wrong to buy them at this point in time. What I’m saying, I think, is that I think I’d rather have the same nostalgic dilemma, rather than having to accept I probably won’t explore the rest of their work now.

This is where another debate comes in. What do we do with what we already own? I honestly find it a bit performative to show yourself discarding your copies online, but I find a lot of things online a little performative. (And yes, I am a hypocrite, because this post is also quite performative. It’s my way of acknowledging the debates that are happening, and almost preemptively defending myself, because ultimately, there will be people who criticise any decision made involving these specific controversies). 

My strongest feelings of do whatever you want apply to personal bookshelves. It’s only you seeing it, so it really doesn’t matter. Obviously, this is complicated in the world of bookish content. People love to criticise, so how do you decide what to do with books that you know will be controversial when you show your shelves?

I like the concept of a ‘corner of shame’ – a space dedicated to those books you don’t particularly want on display, but you also don’t quite want to let go of (for whatever reason). I currently have one series precariously hidden behind an old desk calendar. The others, I’m yet to find a home for. My shelves are overflowing anyway, so finding somewhere new for them would give me a chance to shelve some of my newer books and free them from limbo. But the thing is, I don’t want to get rid of these books, at least not yet. Most of them were gifts, and controversies or not, they hold memories from my teenage years, and contain stories that comforted me when I needed it. The most common snarky response to this sentiment I see online is just read another book, which is fair enough, I guess. I just don’t think we can help the stories that stick with us, and I don’t think we should have to.

A braver person might have mentioned these authors by name, welcomed controversy and discourse, but unfortunately, I’m not brave. In the grand scheme of things, none of this particularly matters, but in an era of online scrutiny whether you have a hundred followers or a million, it’s a debate that’s hard to ignore. It’s a double edged sword – if you don’t acknowledge it, then obviously your opinion is the Wrong opinion (determined, of course, by the viewpoint of the person making the assumption), but if you do acknowledge it, there are more important things going on in the world, and you’re making the issue all about yourself.

This all sounds a bit pessimistic, but I really do see the value in engaging in these kinds of discussions – it’s important to acknowledge our own values, and how the literature we enjoy may have implicit biases. I just wish people were less quick to attack and defend these days.

I also wish previously beloved authors could stop getting into scandals, but even my beloved Mary Shelley was a mistress, so I can’t say anything.