This entry is sort of an unintended Part Two of a previous blog entry, which I wrote about here, back in February.

An exciting thing happened this past winter: our school invited David Elliott, my all-time favorite author of children’s books, to come visit. He graciously agreed to speak with grades K through two in the morning, three and four just before lunch, fifth and sixth right after lunch, and seventh and eighth graders before the end of the day.  

I was fortunate to attend the presentations for grades five/six, and seven/eight. The last of the two proved to be the most exciting because several of our students had read David’s novel in verse, Bull, a work of utter poetic genius, which is a retelling of Theseus and the Minotaur. I’d read Bull myself, and loved its bold and complex portrayal of Poseidon, who opens the novel with the sentence, “Whaddup, bitches?”

The novel contains some unquestionably crude material, including an instance of the f-word. But our reading specialist had invited David to discuss his books with our students, and the principal had approved and paid for the visit. What was there to worry about?

A few days after the presentation, the school secretary approached me. She said that there were enough funds to order several of David’s books, which he would sign. I asked for a bunch. Knowing our seventh and eighth graders’ interest in Bull, I asked her to order several copies of that title in particular.

“How many?” she asked.

“How many can you get?”

 “As many as you want.”

We had 14 eighth graders. I figured about half of them would appreciate a signed copy.

“Maybe seven?” I suggested.

“No problem!” she replied.

A week later the books arrived. I found them on my desk right after I returned to the classroom from lunch duty. All of them were signed with bookplates. I set them aside, intending to offer them to the eighth graders the next day.

Minutes later, when my seventh graders arrived for class, one of them noticed the stack of books and asked to look at one. I handed it over, and he started reading immediately. Because it’s a novel in verse, he turned pages pretty quickly. 

“Mr. Ludwig?” he said.

“Yes?” 

“Um, check out page six.”

 Page six had the f-word on it.

I wasn’t surprised. Like I said, I’d read the book. But this student hadn’t, and he was shocked.

 “Is this OK to have in school?” he asked.

“Of course it is,” I said. “These books are for eighth graders, and they’ve all seen the f-word before. Besides, we invited the author to come to our school, and the school bought the books. It’s all perfectly acceptable, as long as we know that we don’t use language like that ourselves.”

“So I can read it?” he said.

“Sure,” I replied.

Word got around fast. Several seventh graders were equally shocked by page six. As part of a project for my Inquiry class, one of them decided to ask the principal how she went about making decisions regarding what makes a book “inappropriate.”  

The next morning, my principal wanted to see a copy. I sent one down to her.

Apparently, she hadn’t read the book. To her credit, she read the first 50 page, right then and there.

At recess she came into my room and said three things. 

First, she said there were multiple uses of inappropriate language in the book.

Second, she said there was quite a bit of sexuality in the book.

And third, she said that this book had no place in our school, and that I should find a home for the seven copies we purchased. I wasn’t allowed to give the copies to individual students as originally planned. Further, I couldn’t write to individual parents to ask if I could give their child or children a copy. In effect, the books had to disappear. Immediately.  

I wasn’t in a position – literally – to argue. As an English teacher, I was obligated to follow the requests of my administrator, and it didn’t seem like a good time to mention that she herself had approved Mr. Elliott’s visit as well as the purchase of multiple copies of Bull. But I was also studying to become a school librarian, and couldn’t help but consider that, if I’d been a librarian already, I might have more leverage. As things stand, our school didn’t even have a librarian. We had a digital learning specialist who happened to be in charge of checking books in and out of the library, but that’s all.  

Our school had no policy to address a situation such as this. Bull isn’t a book that was to be added to our library’s collection. I wasn’t trying to teach it as a whole-class text. It was just a book with mature material delivered in an intentionally crude way.

I put the books in a closet at home, and proceeded with the rest of the school year.

Meanwhile, the seventh grader who found the f-word asked his mother to order the book for him. Several other students did likewise. Kids who generally didn’t love reading were excited to read and discuss the novel. Everyone started looking up Greek mythology.

I don’t know why we’re scared of the f-word. I don’t know why we’re so squeamish about how babies are made. Is making babies, say, more offensive than killing? Why are we so afraid of language? In middle school, students have read whole-class texts for generations that feature war, racism, and murder. But sex? No way. We can’t mention sex. We can’t give them the impression that sex is necessary or even desirable. We can’t talk about how it can be used as a weapon. We can’t acknowledge that it’s literally where we all come from.

I don’t know. I think it’s all a bunch of bull – which is probably why I’m so excited to switch from the role of English teacher to that of school librarian.

If there are any teachers or librarians out there who want an autographed (bookplate) copy of David Elliott’s Bull, please drop me an email! I’d love to send one of the seven signed copies your way, free of charge. I’m at ben@benjaminludwig.com. First come first serve!