Photo Illustration by Thomas Levinson/The Daily Beast/Getty/Simon & Schuster
It was my first time. The experience was not as sexy as the first R-rated movie I snuck into (Purple Rain) or as violent and arty as the last (Full Metal Jacket), nor as trippy as the first time I did psilocybin mushrooms (yes, the leaves on that oak tree spoke to my most inner being). This first time was a let-down.
Like so many first times, an inequality existed: The school board members would not call or text before, during, or after they had their way with me. We were total strangers. If they’d asked, I would’ve talked about my book with them, told them what I really needed, and asked them the same. But I was blind to their intentions and gagged. I should’ve seen it coming. But hey, it was their first time too, so maybe I should be proud.
In the last few years the number of banned books has risen at an alarming rate. The targets of this dangerous trend have overwhelmingly been authors of color and members of the LGBTQ+ community whose books deal with issues of identity and equality, the kinds of books that might save a young person’s life. As a straight, white male writer who has written almost exclusively about the military and warfare, I might have thought my books were safe.