Book-Burning with the Creative Writers’ Guild

Kyle Burkett

All right, so a few weeks later I have the cast off. The wrist is still stiff, but I can use it. One day I went to the library to print my sonnet explication for my Milton class, and I saw a display for Banned Books Week. The Creative Writers’ Guild will have their fingers in this pie, I thought to myself.

Sure enough, that Wednesday at 5:00 James started the Guild meeting off with the announcement that it was Banned Books Week and that we would be celebrating that Friday night behind the library. Everyone should bring their favorite banned book. I don’t really have a favorite banned book, so I checked the list of one hundred most challenged books for 1990-2000 on ALA’s website. I had read about a fifth of them (okay, exactly twenty), but most of them were read in middle school, and it’s been about seven years. I decided just to bring my Milton textbook, since some of his prose tracts were burned publicly.

So Friday night me and The Riverside Milton headed out to the library to celebrate Banned Books Week. I got held up trying to cross the street, so I was almost late. The Guild hierarchy actually beat me there. The hooded robes were back, and I was having flashbacks of the dungeon beneath the Music/English Building.

Once everyone was robed, we stood in a circle and Dr. Railsback announced that we would be reading selections from our banned books. He started us off with The Grapes of Wrath, and the scene where Rose of Sharon breastfeeds the old man. James read part of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, when Tom watches his own funeral. Brittany read the climax of Carrie, when Carrie locks the doors and sets the gym on fire. Eric, a nontraditional student from my Milton class, read from The Lord of the Flies, the scene with the revel on the beach when Simon is killed. Someone even brought The New Joy of Gay Sex. I let my mind wander during that selection. I read the section from Areopagitica in which Milton says that no moral person would be dumb enough to be led astray by a book.

After everyone had read, Dr. Railsback asked the group, “Should these books be burned?”

The Guild responded with one voice, “No!”

Dr. Railsback chuckled. “Absolutely. No one should be punished for free thinking. The only ones who deserve punishing are those who oppress us.” With that, he motioned to James to bring a large box from the shadows. “Behold, the tools of the oppressors!” The tools of the oppressors were hard to behold, it being night, but he pulled out a Zippo to read some of the titles for us. “Mein Kampf! The Republic!” As he read each title, he lit the book on fire and tossed it into the center of the circle.

Brittany walked quickly around the circle, giving each member of the Guild a lighter. James produced more boxes of books, and said, “Okay, we’re going to get as much of a bonfire as we can before Public Safety shows up. Come on, don’t be shy.” So we started grabbing books, lighting them on fire, and throwing them on the pile. People started shouting their titles.

“Student Handbook!”

“The Communist Manifesto!”

We burned political documents, religious works, academic garbage, and anything else that could oppress anyone on this planet or any other planet, moon, or celestial body. That’s right, we. I took part in the book-burning. I personally burned C. S. Lewis’s Christian Behavior and the Constitution of the United States. I am just as guilty as the others. I suppose there’s no excuse for giving in to the herd instinct, but that’s what happened. It’s hard to resist the thrill of burning paper, melting of cheap plastic book covers, and shouting of oppressive titles. Besides, hooded robes provide an element of anonymity that makes anything all right as long as it’s done in a group. I was part of the crowd that screamed:

“Beginning Rhetoric!”

“The Riverside Milton!”

“That’s mine!” I gaped in disbelief as my Milton textbook flew in a graceful fiery arc onto the bonfire. Oh great. Now I’ll have to pay for the book. Just then, blue lights flashed in the library parking light. Campus cops investigating an arson, most likely. I looked around, and saw three robed figures melting into the trees at a distance from the bonfire. I didn’t want to see what the cops would do to the Guild members who hung around, so I ran after them. I had to lift my robe above my knees to keep from falling, so I looked like a Little House on the Prairie girl lifting her skirt, but that’s okay. At least I got away.

Away from the police, anyway. I was still in the grips of the Creative Writers’ Guild. When we reached a safe distance, the three robed figures turned around. Sure enough, they were James, Brittany, and Dr. Railsback. I’m in trouble now, I thought. Alone in the woods with the leaders of this crazy cult of writers.

“Well, it looks like you passed,” Brittany said. “You’re not a novice any more.”

James said, “I could tell you had potential from that absurd little exposÈ you wrote about joining the Guild. Have you thought about becoming an officer? We could make up a title for you.”

“I don’t think so,” Dr. Railsback countered. “He doesn’t have his book. They could trace it back to him.”

“It got burned,” I explained.

“Then you should be safe. Still, I think it’s a little early to be talking about officer status. We’ll keep an eye on you. If you can prove that tonight wasn’t a fluke, we’ll keep you under consideration.”

So there I was, being considered for a position in a disorganization that pilfered souls, killed freshmen, and lit the tools of the oppressors on fire. All on account of a soft spot in my heart for some dumb rabbit.

Next time Thumper dies.



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