‘Immoral books,’ and the best medicine being laughter
Jonathan Smyth recalls how books were censored in the old days in his latest Times Past column...
Not everyone felt the love when raunchy reading material first made an appearance in bookshops and libraries after the Irish State was formed. In the 1930s, ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ may have proved a feisty bestseller for D.H. Lawrence, but it did not float everyone’s boat. They banned it in Ireland and elsewhere for introducing readers to forbidden ‘overt’ sexual practices. Consternation was high at the time and having your book banned became an accolade for a generation of successful novelists; finding yourself outlawed for writing delicately described ‘obscenities’ became a literary badge of honour, and the excommunicated were the envy of aspiring writers who desired a hot seller of their own.
The church was opposed to the lack of moral decency displayed and worried about the effect such debauchery might have on the newly formed nation. Then, there was the early censorship board doing its best to strike a balance, perhaps; we look back to the old days, and imagine the board to be a brigade of stuffy prudes, and they often were. Although, they had genuine concerns, especially when considering violence, sadism and deciding the age appropriate nature of books and films.
In recent times, a new priggish pedantry has crept into life on the other side of the Atlantic, and many marvellously funny children’s books like Diary of a Wimpy Kid, and Captain Underpants have been pulled from the shelves by the overtly overwrought. Children naturally love anarchic humour, especially the hilarious goings on in a Roald Dahl story, and what a pity it is that the ‘dry as dust’ feel obliged to desecrate an author’s work by applying yawn-inducing silly ‘sensitivity’ adjustments. Heaven help us all!
Communism
In 1933, Bishop Finegan in his Lenten Pastoral drew attention to the spread of ‘threatening evils’ in literature, especially pointing to the ‘dangers’ of Communism which he believed had a two-fold aim; firstly, class warfare, and secondly, the complete abolition of private property. He opposed ‘the anti-religious and anti-moral education’ that such a regime would impose upon the young from childhood. In combating the ‘dangerous doctrine’, he drew attention to the role to be played by Public and Private Libraries and warned that they needed ‘cautious management’ since most of the books had to come from places outside Ireland and he sternly added, ‘It is a well-known fact that literature subversive of faith and morals issues in great quantities from the English Press… Should such literature to any extent get into them, the public libraries, instead of a blessing, would become a curse.’
The bishop understood that there was a county committee and a sub-committee for the selection of books, and stressed the great importance of these committees and instructed its members to attend meetings religiously and take the ‘greatest of care’ in choosing proper books, for ‘on them, and on the librarian working the scheme, devolves a heavy responsibility.’ The bishop feared the bad influence to be had on church goers, and stated, that even with the ‘greatest of care, it is impossible that the members of the sub-committee may be able to exclude from circulation every description of seriously dangerous books.’
Belturbet
On April 1, 1933, The Anglo-Celt’s editor published a communication he received about the recent reading of a letter by Dr Stuart, from Belturbet, at a sitting of Cavan County Council which exposed the dreaded discovery of an ‘immoral book’ in the local library. The irate scribe informed the paper of the deep hurt they felt when only a few Councillors condemned the book and branded the undecided as ‘devoid of moral courage and true civic spirit’. Perhaps lacking courage themselves, the upset author of the letter to the newspaper was simply signed, ‘Veritas.’
The United States declared war on ‘bad books’ and in 1946 the New York American announced that in the ‘history of American writing’ they had never witnessed so many ‘obscene books’ and requested punishment for publishers and writers of filth who defend smut by ‘terming it realism.’ Books banned by the censor for contravening the sensibilities of Irish readers included JP Donleavy’s ‘The Ginger Man’, Pamela Moore’s ‘Chocolates for Breakfast’, Kathleen Winsor’s ‘Forever Amber’, Joseph Heller’s ‘Catch-22’, John McGahern’s ‘The Dark’, Iris Murdoch’s ‘The Flight from the Enchanter’, and Edna O’Brien’s The Country Girls.
By today’s standards such fears may seem mild or even irrational, and yet libraries play an essential role in the dissemination of information which can equip people with the pleasure and leisure of reading fiction, or the instruction in factual information that helps them with everything from gardening, biography, history, fishing, politics, sewing, art, baking and well-balanced advice on health and life issues.
In 1961, his Lordship, Most Rev Dr Quinn, Bishop of Kilmore, in his warning on the degrading influence on the youth of evil literature, immodest clothing, watching television and drinking, had offered this time-honoured advice: ‘It is the duty of parents, a duty which they cannot transfer to others, to exercise the utmost vigilance to ensure that foul reading matter shall not fall into their children’s hands.’
I will always remember the day in Cavan Library that a charming older lady took a book down from the shelf, remarking to me, ‘oh, this might be an interesting one,’ to which I suggested an alternative title.
Some weeks later, her son called to thank me for the ‘skilful way’ I had diverted his mammy away from the ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ novel and for the great laugh that the incident brought them both when he explained to her what the book was about. After all, laughter is the best medicine.
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