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Writer's Block: Forbidden Reading
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My parents, while expressing grave doubts about some of the stuff I read, never actually forbid anything. Any books were fair reading game, in my house, and I was brought up to regard my parents' library as the source from which I should draw my reading choices. The problems started happening when I branched out into sci-fi and fantasy, and then manga and graphic novels. My Mom, especially, was very dubious about manga at first. She was convinced I was reading a whole lot of poorly-drawn sci-fi fantasy comic books with smutty undertones. Her approach to shutting this behavior down was passive-aggressive at its best:
Me (about age 13): Check this book I got from Cal-Animage! It has summaries of untranslated manga I want to read!
Mom (flipping through pages, radiating disapproval): "The girl warrior climbs up dragon's horn." (disapproving pause) You know what really means, right?
Me: What are you talk--
Mom: That means the dragon's penis.
Me (mortified, snatching book back): MAW-UM!
My Dad's approach was far more insidious and still plagues me to this day. "What's with the eyes?" he'd say, thumbing through my latest, most treasured purchase, "This is badly drawn. What the hell's with this guy's hair? Why are their eyes so large? Tsk, so ugly."
So, while neither of them expressly forbid me from reading anything, they made their feelings on the matter pretty darn clear. In retrospect, I wish they'd not gone the passive-aggressive route and talked to me honestly about their concerns about my choice of reading material. As it was, it took me writing my Master's thesis on CLAMP and feminism to get them to take manga seriously, beyond just simple crap that I was wasting my time on.
The only adult who expressly tried to forbid me from reading something was a teacher I otherwise adored, Mrs. Biondo. One day in fifth grade, I brought in my library hardcover of The Headless Cupid by Zylpha Keatley Snider for quiet reading time, and Mrs. Biondo looked at it, told me it was too difficult for my reading level and demanded that I choose something from the classroom collection. I remember grabbing the book from her and firmly stating, "I'll read what I want to!" I suppose I was a lucky kid, growing up the way I did, able to stand up for what I wanted to read. (I still remember The Headless Cupid with great fondness.)
My parents, while expressing grave doubts about some of the stuff I read, never actually forbid anything. Any books were fair reading game, in my house, and I was brought up to regard my parents' library as the source from which I should draw my reading choices. The problems started happening when I branched out into sci-fi and fantasy, and then manga and graphic novels. My Mom, especially, was very dubious about manga at first. She was convinced I was reading a whole lot of poorly-drawn sci-fi fantasy comic books with smutty undertones. Her approach to shutting this behavior down was passive-aggressive at its best:
Me (about age 13): Check this book I got from Cal-Animage! It has summaries of untranslated manga I want to read!
Mom (flipping through pages, radiating disapproval): "The girl warrior climbs up dragon's horn." (disapproving pause) You know what really means, right?
Me: What are you talk--
Mom: That means the dragon's penis.
Me (mortified, snatching book back): MAW-UM!
My Dad's approach was far more insidious and still plagues me to this day. "What's with the eyes?" he'd say, thumbing through my latest, most treasured purchase, "This is badly drawn. What the hell's with this guy's hair? Why are their eyes so large? Tsk, so ugly."
So, while neither of them expressly forbid me from reading anything, they made their feelings on the matter pretty darn clear. In retrospect, I wish they'd not gone the passive-aggressive route and talked to me honestly about their concerns about my choice of reading material. As it was, it took me writing my Master's thesis on CLAMP and feminism to get them to take manga seriously, beyond just simple crap that I was wasting my time on.
The only adult who expressly tried to forbid me from reading something was a teacher I otherwise adored, Mrs. Biondo. One day in fifth grade, I brought in my library hardcover of The Headless Cupid by Zylpha Keatley Snider for quiet reading time, and Mrs. Biondo looked at it, told me it was too difficult for my reading level and demanded that I choose something from the classroom collection. I remember grabbing the book from her and firmly stating, "I'll read what I want to!" I suppose I was a lucky kid, growing up the way I did, able to stand up for what I wanted to read. (I still remember The Headless Cupid with great fondness.)