Sunday, March 26, 2023

Censoring the Books No One Reads Anyway - weekly column 3.26.2023

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Censoring the Books No One Reads Anyway

 

The not-so-grand inquisitors are now coming for Agatha Christie – Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple are decreed insensitive and the narratives of their adventures, which began during the First World War, are to be recalled and rewritten for the delicate sensitivities of a population that mostly doesn’t read at all.

 

Maybe even the titles will be Orwelled:  Lord Edgeware Retires, Unpleasantness on the Nile, The Absence of Roger Ackroyd, Unhappiness on the Links, Awkwardness on the Orient Express, Mrs. McGinty’s Moved Away, and Inclusive Values Under the Sun.

 

Roughly 80% of Americans are literate. This skews higher for those born in the U.S.A.  [48+ US Literacy Statistics 2023 - Percentage by State (thinkimpact.com)]. The problem is not that Americans can’t read; the problem is that often they no longer do so because they no longer perceive a need for it. Once upon most households subscribed to a daily newspaper and several news or general interest magazines, but that is rare now. The news comes mostly by noise on screens, and even when there are words they are usually displayed in very short sentences and seldom with any paragraphing.

 

Much newswriting is so simplistic that one might think it was carefully limned on a Big Chief tablet, which is something else that has been made to disappear.

 

The dumbing-down of language and timorous self-censorship affects the national discourse. It is embarrassing to view an elected national leader calling out one word at a time from a prompting device. It is also embarrassing to see a television newsie stumble over simple vocabulary while employing the same old filler language we’ve heard for years. And what  has led news writers to refer to one person as “they?”

 

And now almost anything one chooses to read can be a matter of fear. In an unhappy era  when even the weather has become politicized, a village cozy crime yarn like Murder in the Vicarage can hardly escape censorship by the sort of Miz Grundys who seek only for outrage, not for enlightenment.

 

In an Agatha Christie yarn the murder is the crime; now the police inspector might arrest Dame Agatha for a failure to refer to the suspect by their (cough) preferred pronouns.

 

Imagine what the busybodies are going to do with Louis L’Amour and your favorite authors.

 

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