February 22, 1944|
New York City
|Occupation||Poet, memoirist, novelist, critic, playwright, and publisher|
All writers want to know that someone is reading their work, taking them seriously. It provides a kind of moral support.
I'm an active author: I travel to give readings and talks, although I know it's risky.
Having a book censored means something. It means you have deeply offended one or more people who felt they needed to protect unsuspecting readers from your inflammatory words, thoughts, and images.
I couldn't swear that I believed in the law – or in the American legal system.
The prime goal of censorship is to promote ignorance, whether it is done via lying and bowdlerized school texts or by attacking individual books.
I'm 68 years old, and I'm as much a criminal now as I was at the age of 22. And, I'm even more of a dissident than I was then.
To be censored is one sure way of knowing you have been taken dead seriously. It also speaks to the continuing power of the printed word, almost fifteen hundred years after that amazing invention.