My dad would frequently hand me books to read (sci-fi, mostly), only to have my mother say "Isn't there an awful lot of sex in that?" at the dinner table when I mentioned how much I was enjoying it. My dad's response was always "Oh, really?" (not playing innocent -- genuinely clueless), and my mother would roll her eyes and say "Okay."

They never took anything away from me -- my mom didn't really mind that I was reading Jitterbug Perfume at age 10, it just wouldn't have occured to her to recommend it to me -- but it was an amusing pattern, later to be repeated with my oldest-younger sister, and brother. (My youngest-younger sister, alas, does not enjoy reading. We suspect she may be a pod person.)

My parents never censored, but my mom would certainly comment and judge anything contrary to her values. I occasionally hid books from her, not because I expected her to ban me from reading them, but because I didn't want to hear the "why must they use those words" or "why can't they wait till they're married" lectures AGAIN.

There were a few books (the first one I can think of is Roots, which I read when I was 11 or 12, but pretty much any book with a rape scene) where my mother would talk with me about it as I was reading, to make sure I knew that all sex wasn't like that, but Jephti's Daughter was the only book that was ever taken away from me.

My senior year in high school, in AP English, our teacher spent the whole first quarter on Greek drama, and he wanted us to read The Frogs. The only way it was published at that time was in a book that also included Lysistrata and one other play. The school board refused, because they said that Lysistrata was inappropriate for us. The teacher protested the absurdity of making him not able to teach a totally appropriate play just because of the way it was published. The school board finally agreed to order the books, on the condition that, when he handed them out, he was to tell us to read The Frogs and only The Frogs. This had the predictable effect.

I can only remember one time my parents called the school about reading material. My freshman year of high school, we read Inherit the Wind, and my teacher made a lot of comments about how certain characters represented the "angry, vengeful" Old Testament G-d and others represented the "loving, peaceful" New Testament G-d. I objected, she countered that she was stating facts and I was trying to impose my own religious interpretation to soften the Old Testament. My mother was ready to pull me out of the class, but I didn't want to create that much of an issue. At our school, all freshman are required to read one Shakespeare play, but each teacher can decide which one, from a list of about three or four. My mother called the head of the English department to make sure that this teacher would not be allowed to teach Merchant of Venice, at least not to my class.

When I was in 7th grade, my English teacher recommended that I read and write a book report on The Exorcist. That warranted a visit from my parents, into my classroom, where I was in class, and a somewhat raised voice discussion. The teacher said she only mentioned it in passing; I said she used the words 'you should read...', which was true. She was embarrassed and angry, I was embarrassed. My parents were livid. And, frankly, I don't think I'd recommend that book to an 11 or 12 year old, so I don't think she thought things through very well -- though, she didn't like me, and that might have coloured the way she responded to me, I don't know.

The thing about my parents is that they are not well-educated, they think I'm a pod person, and they were bewildered by my voracious reading appetite. There was not only an alien child in their midst, but I was bringing things into the house they didn't know how to handle. I don't think they'd react that way now (they're certainly tolerant of Nick's musical taste when he visits, another big problem button when I was a child), but it certainly caused a lot of friction at the time.

I don't think I'd rec The Exorcist, book or movie, to anyone of any age. I got to page 50 or thereabouts, said something unprintable, and put it in the recycling bin, basically. Loathed it.

I'm trying to remember if there was anything in the house that sent me off to adults with questions, other than the Japanese gents with the enormous organs. I don't think so, because I was and am very close to my nearest-in-age sister Alice, who happens to be 9 years my senior, and therefore was askable without qualifying as a proper adult.

Must ask my sister later if I ever boggled at something I read....

(edited because way too much explanation.)

The school board refused, because they said that Lysistrata was inappropriate for us.

That cracks me up, because my high school put on Lysistrata as their fall play, the year before I got there. The boys stuffed their pants.

My class read Lysistrata senior year and our assignment was to write an essay about why a school board might object to it being assigned reading.

Neither of my parents read anything but the bible, the newspaper, and the Sunday School quarterly. Reading was not a pastime for them. They were pleased that I liked to read, although my mom would yell at me for reading library books when I was supposed to be doing my homework. I must have been 10, maybe a little younger when I realised I needed to edit a bit when asked about the book I was reading. I knew their beliefs, and their slant on things. So when I was reading Michener's Hawaii at 11 and my mom asked what it was about, I said it was about how the American missionaries and the Chinese and the Japanese had settled the Hawaiian islands. That satisfied her. I never hesitated to answer a query, and was always factual, if I didn't offer full disclosure. It was simpler that way. And I was never forbidden to read anything.

The only thing I remembered being taken away from me by my mother was the first Sweet Valley High book. I think I was around 10 or 11 when I was reading it, and there's a scene where Jessica sneaks out with an older guy and he takes her to a bar. While they are there, he puts his hand on her knee and says to her something about not showing the goods in the window if she doesn't intend to sell them or something like that (I don't know why I remember this so well - probably because it was 7 years before I was able to finish the damned book).

My grandmother always read to me and was a lit major when she went to U of M so she mostly just got mad at the "trash" I was reading when there were so many good and wonderful books out there. She's STILL trying to get me to read Rebecca.

She's STILL trying to get me to read Rebecca.

"Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again." Listen to your grandmother. I think there are people who'd put Rebecca in the "trash" category, though.