No. 11: Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman

Over the weekend my boyfriend, Tivo, recorded a couple episodes of 30 Days for me. 30 Days is the brainchild of Morgan Spurlock who deep fried himself into liver failure by eating nothing but McDonalds for 30 days in the hilarious and disturbing documentary Supersize Me. (Banning note: Don't try that at home, Gentle Readers.) 30 Days follows the same concept as the movie – take someone with one opinion/creed/philosophy/moral conviction/living condition and have them live in the exact opposite environment for 30 days and see what happens. As you can well imagine, fun ensues from there! Spurlock has tossed an active duty soldier into the San Francisco apartment of a homosexual activist; a Boston gun control advocate onto the Ohio farm of a gun enthusiast, a New York City electronic gadget freak onto a Utah off-the-grid organic commune, a conservative Christian from West Virginia into a Muslim home in Dearborn, Michigan, and himself into a Virginia jail... all for 30 days.

It’s absolutely brilliant. In every episode I’ve watched, all the participants come out changed for the better, with less rigid opinions, an understanding of something they used to fear, and unexpected new found friendships. That is, until I watched yesterday’s show. In it, a Mormon woman, Kati, who believes that children should be raised by a mother and a father, lived with Tom and Dennis, a homosexual couple, who adopted four boys out of the foster care system. This episode really shocked me. Despite the fact that Tom and Dennis were excellent parents and that the boys were happy and healthy and would still be in foster care without them, Kati never swayed from her opinion that Tom and Dennis shouldn't have been allowed to adopt children.

So, today I am thinking about gay and lesbian parents. Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman seemed like a fine book for The Daily Banning. This book is about a child, Heather, raised by lesbians; one of whom gets pregnant via artificial insemination, and the other who helps raise Heather. It centers around Heather's new playgroup, where the other kids and their parents talk about Heather's mommies simply and positively. No big deal, right? Wrong!

This poor book is so banned that its author, Leslea Newman, gave an interview on beliefnet.com stating that she had two jobs -- one as a writer and the other as a defender of Heather Has Two Mommies. Apparently this book has been praised, banned, showered with awards, burned, read aloud in the US Senate, and gotten people fired. Quite a track record for one little childrens' book. I think the thing that most shocked its censors is that Heather's family is virtually indistinguishable from their own family. If that's true, then what happens to their conviction that being around gay people is damaging to children? They might have to change their minds and we can't have that.

Let me bottom line it for you, Gentle Readers... Kati would hate this book. That alone should make you run out and buy it.

No. 60: Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret, by Judy Blume

I read somewhere that a group publishes a newsletter titled “How to Ban Judy Blume” and that Judy Blume herself actually subscribed to it. I’m torn between hoping this is true because that would be the most awesome thing ever, and hoping that it’s not true because I really can’t afford another girl crush right now. I’m already trying to figure out how to be BFFs with Gwen Stefani (rock star, fashion designer, hot husband, cute kids), Michelle Obama (brilliant, confident, great wardrobe) and Tina Fey (hilarious, brilliant, writer, producer, actress) and really have no time to add Judy Blume to my crush corner. ...but if it’s true, Judy’s cool factor is rocketing (rocketing!) up the scale. Plus, I couldn't have gotten through junior high without Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret which is much in Blume's favor.

So let's talk about this banned book. Margaret, 11-years old and the daughter of a Jewish father and a Christian mother, moves from New York City to suburbia just before the start of sixth grade. Her new teacher assigns the class a year long study project, which Margaret decides to do about faith because she herself is no religion and she needs to chose one. Margaret makes friends, hangs out with her grandma, and worries about bras, periods, and kisses from boys -- none of which she has experienced at the start of the book. Along the way, she talks to God, always starting with "Are you there, God? It's Me, Margaret..." as if God wouldn't a) be there or b) know who she was.

This book is brilliant and painful and funny and beautiful. Here's a passage that makes me laugh and breaks my heart at the same time:

“Are you there God? It's me, Margaret. I just told my mother I want a bra. Please help me grow God. You know where. I want to be like everyone else.”

I know, right? Don't you just want to cover your head or eat chocolate or burst into tears or something because this is exactly what puberty was like? Margaret has all the doubts, fears, and worries of a typical girl and Blume captures all of it. As a result, the book is full of 'tween angst but at its sweet center is Margaret just talking to God and trying to figure out her world.

So why is this lovely book banned? Censors seem to take issue with it's portrayal of religion (a political quagmire on a good day) and its frank discussions of boobies (the horror!) and periods (oh God no! anything but that!). Well, newsflash -- this is what little girls think about. Banning a book because it addresses growing up in a way that makes you uncomfortable is just retarded. ...and shortsighted because kids are going to think about these things and grow up whether you like it or not. So here's the deal censors (and I repeat myself): if you don't want your kids reading this book, don't let them. The rest of us will give our kids Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret in hopes that it will do for them what it did for us - arm them with a little more information and make them feel a little less alone.

One last thing... leave Judy Blume alone. This woman is a national treasure (and I don't mean that snarky), right up there with my BFFs Gwen, Michelle, and Tina.

No. 37: The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood is the end of all happiness. I used to think that the movie Cold Mountain (which made me want to throw myself off a cliff) was the end of all happiness, but now I know better. Cold Mountain, meet The Handmaid's Tale. You've been dethroned.

Set it a post apocalyptic-ish America (now called Gilead and run by Christian zealots), the world is massively infertile. Women who can still bear children, or "handmaids," are valuable commodities and are given to high ranking couples to produce children for them. The book is narrated by Offred (literally "Of-Fred, or "belonging to Fred"), a handmaid whose pragmatic response to the turmoil in her society is both spooky and compelling. The book is depressing as hell and portions of it are squirm inducing in the extreme. It's also brilliant.

Part of why it's so upsetting is that it's plausible. If the conditions that scary Atwood imagines existed (and we smashed our Constitution into bite sized chunks and fed it to our dogs) The Handmaid's Tale isn't that far fetched.

Critics claim the book is depressing. Yeah, but so is The Scarlet Letter and I had to read that. It's also cited as too sexually explicit for minors. Sex in Gilead isn't fun for anyone, readers or participants. It's only for procreation and the way they do it is the grossest, least sexy, most squick-worthy Ménage à Trois, like, ever. Critics also take issue with the book's treatment of women (whose lives are the suck), Christianity (depicted at its ugly extreme), and believe it or not, Islam (the women are veiled and polygamy is accepted). Gentle Readers, I submit that these very complaints are the point of this book.

Here's the deal, America. The Handmaid's Tale is a cautionary tale about fundamentalist totalitarianism, fascism, backlash against feminism, and all kinds of other nasty things that could happen if we all stopped caring about... basically everything. Should a 12-year old read it? No. Should a 17-year old read it? Sure. It's got mature themes but aren't the late teens the point in life when kids are supposed to start thinking expansively and examine their world? If the answer to that is "No," then stock libraries with nothing but Hello Kitty and I'll go watch TV.

I do have one major complaint about this book (and notice that I'm complaining and not screaming "burn this book" to anyone who will listen). Atwood, a Canadian, set her story in America. In case you didn't know it, those are totally different countries (one in which Atwood lives and the other in which she doesn't). I say, keep your dystopian nightmarish future society vibes in your own country. Seriously. Don't you think we have enough to worry about already? Among the war in Iraq, idiot white supremacists opening fire at the Holocaust museum, the OctoMom and all kinds of other crazy crap we're quite busy. Fending off your mental super whammy, is really not on our national agenda. To balance the cosmic scales, I am going to have to write a scary story and set it in Canada. The things I do for you people.