A recent article in the Guardian reported how a library in Virginia had banned To Kill a Mockingbird and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn because they contained racist language. News of such idiotic censorship always depresses me, and the problem is hardly a new one. Anyone with half a brain who has read those books would understand that the message of both is anything but racist. However, for some it seems the mere depiction of racism means the book must be, in itself, racist.

Schindler’s Ark chronicles unspeakable atrocities against the Jews. Does that make it anti-Semitic? Is the oppression of women promoted by the events of The Handmaid’s Tale? Does 1984 endorse totalitarian police state brutality? Is Trainspotting pro-drugs? Is The Kite Runner pro-child rape? Is The Godfather pro-organised crime? I could go on and on.

Such preposterous views have always blighted art throughout the ages. I have, over the years, vehemently disagreed with some of my fellow Christian believers, who condemn depictions of sex, violence or bad language regardless of context. For such zealots, watching or reading such things is “sinful”. I could not disagree more. The Bible itself is packed with sex and violence, not just mentioned in passing either. Several sections contain what one might say “too much information” with regards to sexual matters, and there is enough gruesome imagery to last a lifetime (who, for instance, would dare to make a film based on the final chapters of Judges – a story that begins with gang rape and dismemberment and builds to a full blown massacre). Oh, but the context is different, such zealots claim. My point entirely. Context is everything.

A book, play or film may be fiercely violent, full of profane language and ill-advised sexual activity, yet still be a moral tale. In fact, not including such material in certain contexts would make the story immoral. For example, I would argue a war film that doesn’t depict armed conflict with graphic violence is inherently dishonest and potentially dangerous. In a similar way, would that scene near the end of Babel with the completely naked Japanese girl be a tenth as dramatic if she were fully clothed? I would argue not. I watched the intensely gruesome murder near the beginning prison drama A Prophet through my fingers, but by the end of the film had to admit that had they toned the scene down it would have made the overall piece considerably less powerful.

Again, context is everything. I will concede that some people do not have the temperament for stronger material in stories, and that is perfectly fine. No one is forcing them to watch or read such material. However, what I find particularly irksome are people of a sensitive disposition who feel the need to presumptuously, patronisingly and censoriously inflict their preferences on the rest of us, for our own good.

The worst variant of such people are the religious kind, as they arrogantly profess to speak on behalf of the Almighty. For example, some of my fellow believers support their ideas about depicting sex and violence by quoting the verse from Philippians 4 verse 8 where Christians are encouraged to dwell on what is noble, lovely and true. What is “noble, lovely and true” is open to very wide debate. For example, I would argue that The Babadook is noble, lovely and true, with its cathartic and powerful themes of coming to terms with guilt and grief, but typically Christians would never endorse something as disreputable as a horror film, regardless of its message.

Conversely I would argue a film like the PG-rated Mamma Mia! is the complete opposite of noble, lovely and true. Its message is essentially it doesn’t matter who your father was, as long as your mother had loads of fun promiscuous sex. However, you don’t see me wagging my finger at my fellow believers when they choose to watch Mamma Mia! but condemn the likes of The Babadook.

But I’m getting off the point. All views are subjective (including mine). Besides, plenty of books, plays and films contain grey areas; where it is debatable whether the objectionable content depicted therein is endorsed by the context, or not. Furthermore, there are also works where appalling actions are openly and unrepentantly endorsed. Should we censor such works? Absolutely not. I say we appraise, criticise and speak out against them if we feel the need to, but should we censor them? No way.

In conclusion, I can only reiterate that whoever took that decision to remove To Kill a Mockingbird and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from those library shelves in Virginia should be thoroughly ashamed of themselves.

I have recently been researching the most banned books in American libraries. In many cases the reasons for said bans have been absurd and farcical. Nevertheless, despite laughing at such idiocy, I always choke on my laughter, as the only sensible way to feel about such censorship is to find it bone-chilling in the extreme.

In these days where the professionally offended proclaim their gospel of boycotting, censorial folly all over social media, it is more vitally important than ever to stand against the banning of books. Yes, some of these people are well-intended; thinking to protect sensitive souls from racism, sexism or the like, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions. The chilling effect on free speech at present is horrifying enough, without turning to George Orwell’s 1984 for apparent inspiration as to how to treat controversial texts. That novel is a cautionary tale, not a handbook for how to run the world. These days, the thought police are all too real.

Here then are some of the most banned titles in America, most of which I like a great deal: The Handmaid’s Tale (Margaret Atwood), Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury), The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini), Catcher in the Rye (JD Salinger), the Goosebumps series (RL Stine), To Kill a Mockingbird (Harper Lee), The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Mark Twain), Tintin in the Congo (Herge) the His Dark Materials trilogy (Phillip Pullman), Of Mice and Men (John Steinbeck), and the Harry Potter series (JK Rowling).

To look at a few examples, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and To Kill a Mockingbird were recently banned in a Virginia library for “racist language”. You’d have thought anyone would understand the anti-racist message of both novels, but sadly it seems some people can’t understand the difference between depicting something and endorsing something.

Tintin in the Congo is an interesting one, as there can be no doubt the book contains many racist stereotypes and outdated colonial attitudes. Herge himself referred to this volume as “the sins of youth” and his later work acted very much as a corrective. I can’t speak for American editions, but my copy of this Tintin adventure contains a preface from the publisher explaining the historic context and that some sequences may be offensive to readers. Such an introduction is right and proper to the complete and uncensored version of the book, and allows the readers to judge accordingly, rather than have the volume patronisingly withheld from them in case it turns them into raving racists.

The reason for the Goosebumps ban is that they are apparently too frightening for the children they are aimed at. Absolute rubbish. Children love being scared. The Goosebumps novels have been a regular fixture in my eight-year-olds reading life for well over a year now. There is nothing he enjoys more than a good macabre thrill, and why shouldn’t he? Restricting such material for children is, I believe, deeply unhealthy. They should be allowed the catharsis of a good scare.

On another note, I still find it transparently absurd that Christians object to the Harry Potter books. Any intelligent reading of them can only lead to a conclusion that they are the product of a Judeo-Christian culture, with the final novel in particular full of Biblical parallels. Yet I often come across believers who are convinced that JK Rowling is a witch (she isn’t), that the spells in the novel are real (they aren’t, as is obvious to anyone who understands cod-Latin jokes), and that the novels are somehow causing children to turn to the Church of Satan in droves (again, unsubstantiated nonsense).

Then again, the power of the written word can be dangerous, and I’d be a fool to state otherwise. Perhaps some deluded individuals really have joined Satanism after reading Harry Potter as a child. Hitler swayed many with Mein Kampf during the rise of Nazi Germany. Most damningly of all, the Bible has been twisted and perverted for hundreds of years to justify everything from the Crusades to the Spanish Inquisition and the Ku Klux Klan. Should we ban the Bible?

The pen may well be mightier than the sword, but banning books is not the answer. Instead these texts should be discussed, appraised, criticised, if necessary given curated introductions to explain historic context, and above all made available for readers to make up their own minds.

Here’s a peculiar observation I have made about my tastes: Generally speaking, in fiction I like my romance doomed.

Obviously there are exceptions (especially if one is reading/watching a romantic comedy), but on the whole big epic love stories seem more effective when they end in tragedy, for me at any rate.

Obvious examples (from books, films and plays) include Romeo and Juliet, The English Patient, Doctor Zhivago, The Remains of the Day, Casablanca, Brief Encounter, Gone with the Wind, Moulin Rouge and Wuthering Heights. In addition, doomed romances in novels that are not primarily romantic can be hugely effective in the right context (Winston and Julia in 1984 for instance).

Far From the Madding Crowd and Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (the latter essentially The Remains of the Day with action scenes) have a mixture of happy and sad endings, and very occasionally there are exceptions to my tragedy rule, Jane Eyre being a good example. However, even then the happy ending comes at quite a price.

I gave this matter some thought and concluded that the reason I prefer tragic romance in fiction is because it provides an escapist fantasy that allows the feeling of highs and lows of romance and heartbreak in a safe setting, in a way that provides considerable emotional catharsis. My unashamed love of a good tragic weepie stems from the same part of me that loves a good horror story. To me, tragic romance is the flip side of the same coin. Again, catharsis through fiction is what attracts me to these genres and I am not ashamed of it in the slightest.

Some people can’t abide tragedy (or horror) and quite honestly I feel sorry for them. For me to experience such things in fiction is to feel human, and to feel alive.

Every writer desires that their work will somehow affect the reader, getting under their skin as it were. In fact, sometimes bad reviews are preferable to good ones if the writing has made the reader frightened, sad, angry, offended, or otherwise provoked them.

Occasionally I read reviews of my work that clearly demonstrate I have achieved this. For example, here is an Amazon reader, David MacGuire, reviewing my novel Children of the Folded Valley:

“I generally review only the books that I really love or hate passionately. I neither hate nor love the book, it has its flaws, but the story has stuck with me. This is a good, original story. The concept and characters are engaging and appealing. There are places where the writing gets a little thin, but I hope to see many more books by this author. It has a happy ending, of sorts, and yet left me profoundly depressed. I think it was that the author hit it right on the head; even in a perfect paradise, people are going to be perfect s***s to each other, given half a chance. Even so I recommend it.”

Here’s another negative review of Children of the Folded Valley on Amazon (by “value for money”) that strikes a similar tone:

“Saying I enjoyed this book would be wrong. I found it disturbing, distasteful and fascinating all at the same time. This is the first book I have read about cults such as this and although it is a work of fiction the content is all too real. Read it if you will but to me there is enough sickness in the world without reading fictional tales of it.”

Mr MacGuire’s review sounds as though he is still struggling to figure out what he really felt about the novel, which I am pleased about because it demonstrates the story got to him. As for “value for money”, to be told one’s novel is “disturbing, distasteful and fascinating all at the same time” in a two-star review is actually a great encouragement.

So thank you both, David MacGuire and “value for money”.

In 2016 I planned to write two novels and release two novels. I did the former but not the latter for a variety of unfortunate reasons. However, I hope to rectify that in the early months of 2017, by releasing one of the novels I intended to release last year, The Thistlewood Curse.

A detective story that evolves into a supernatural horror thriller, The Thistlewood Curse is a gripping, page-turning tale set almost entirely on Lundy Island. Part of the reason I failed to release it last year was a self-inflicted delay to improve the first act. With that element duly tweaked, I am confident this tale of revenge, murder and astral projection is one of the best things I have written. I can’t wait to unleash it upon an unsuspecting readership.

In 2017 I plan to go full steam ahead on another horror novel, this time a ghostly tale very much in the vein of Susan Hill. I shall say very little at this point except that it involves an abandoned railway tunnel and a sinister painting.

My next novel in 2017 is even more shrouded in secrecy at this point. It has been gestating in my consciousness for about twenty years, but I finally feel the urge to actually push ahead and write the thing. Although a radical departure from anything I have written, being more of a satirical, darkly comic piece, it is very much based on personal experience. I suspect the finished product will be guaranteed to ruffle feathers in certain quarters.

Assuming I manage to write both of the above in 2017, I will move on to a long planned science fiction anthology of four (or possibly five) novellas, each of which are too short for a novel but too long for a short story. One (or possibly two) involves time travel, one virtual reality, another suspended animation and another, spiders. Yes, you read that correctly. Spiders.

On that infuriatingly enigmatic note, I wish you all a Happy New Year.