Women, Memory and Exile: A School Library Reflection
Adding Fly Wild Swans to our school library felt like a natural continuation of a legacy. Wild Swans has long stood as a canonical piece of literature, a book that captures the struggles of three generations of women against the backdrop of China’s political upheavals. In her second publication Fly Wild Swans, Jung Chang turns her gaze inward, reflecting on the cost of telling that story and the way truth can estrange a writer from her homeland. It is a pensive work that reminds us how women across centuries have shouldered familial and societal expectations, carrying memory and resilience even when nations would rather forget.
Jung Chang and her canons of literature
For students, these books are more than history. They are lessons in courage, in the power of memory and in the resilience of women who endured both familial duty and political oppression. Wild Swans explores the tension between tradition and rapid government‑driven progress. What was presented as modernisation often meant the destruction of customs and the breaking of family bonds as the Cultural Revolution tore families apart and demanded loyalty at the expense of tradition. Her story gave voice to three generations of women living through the upheavals of Mao’s China and this new work is written not only of her mother and her homeland, but of the burden of truth itself, and the cost of bearing witness when a nation would rather forget.
Fly Wild Swans reveals the aftermath of telling that truth, showing how a writer can be celebrated abroad yet silenced at home. Jung Chang turns her gaze inward, reflecting on the cost of telling that story and the way truth can estrange a writer from her homeland. Unlike Wild Swans, which focused on her mother and grandmother, this new work is more personal. It explores how writing Wild Swans changed her life, both opening doors in the West and closing them in China. There is a deep melancholy in her reflections on being unable to freely return to her birthplace. The success of Wild Swans brought her recognition abroad but estrangement at home. This tension between belonging and exclusion mirrors the broader story of women in history, who have often been celebrated for their endurance yet denied the freedom to define themselves.
I chose to buy Fly Wild Swans for my school library because it is a book that students should encounter, not only for its historical insight but also for its profound exploration of resilience, identity and the role of women in shaping and surviving history. Adding Fly Wild Swans to our collection ensures that the conversation continues, allowing readers to see how the legacy of truth‑telling reverberates across generations.
By placing both works on our shelves, we invite students to consider how politics, family and identity intersect, and how women across centuries have borne the burden of expectation while still finding ways to endure. These books remind us that literature is not static. It evolves, it questions and it carries forward the weight of generations.
At the end of each school day, I wander through the library and notice the gaps and blank spaces. Why? It is because the shelves never lie about the books that are loved the most. These are the ones that stack tall on our return trolleys. To be fair, they are also the ones that leave with another student almost instantly. They are the ones with worn spines, grubby covers and suspicious stains on the pages. Yet all of them tell me a story. They all tell me something about our school community.
Non‑fiction loans follow the interests of the boys themselves, whether it be cars, music, military equipment, or funnily enough… anatomy. These choices show me that curiosity is not confined to the classroom but stretches into the interests, curiousities, passions, and fascinations that shape their lives outside the school grounds.
The sports shelves mimic the seasons almost perfectly. Footy fades as winter ends, and suddenly, cricket biographies and fiction surge forward, especially anything tied to the upcoming Ashes. It is as if the rhythm of the sporting calendar beats through the borrowing habits of our students, reflecting not just their interests but the pulse of the wider culture around them.
The novels tell another kind of story. Fantasy sagas rarely rest long before they are whisked away again, dragons, quests and magical lands offering both escape and courage. Contemporary stories about identity and belonging circulate steadily too, often returned with dog‑eared pages. Those books feel like companions, helping students navigate questions of who they are and where they fit.
Certain authors move faster than most. This year we have seen a sharp update in request for Orwell’s works that seemed to be borrowed by students who want to think critically, because his sharp observations on society still resonating decades later. King’s novels vanish quickly from the shelves too, his blend of horror and humanity appealing to readers who crave both thrills and reflection. Griffiths brings laughter and lightness, his quirky humour and imaginative plots offering relief from the seriousness of school life. Kinney’s books are snapped up by younger readers, his diary‑style storytelling capturing the awkwardness and comedy of growing up. Walliams adds another layer of fun, his playful characters and outrageous scenarios proving irresistible to students who want a quick, joyful read. Bancks, with his Australian voice and relatable themes, connects directly to the local experience, showing students their own world reflected back at them. Heath’s stories move quickly too, often chosen by readers who enjoy adventure and fast‑paced plots. And then there is Rowling. Her magical universe remains evergreen, with titles borrowed again and again by students who want to lose themselves in a world of spells and friendship. Dashner’s dystopian tales race through the library as well, his fast‑moving plots and high stakes gripping readers who love suspense.
And then there are the comfort reads. During exam season, familiar series, lighthearted tales and joke books fly off the shelves, as if students are reaching for something steady and reassuring when stress runs high. When headlines outside the school walls grow louder, books on social issues suddenly become popular, showing me how our community is engaging with the wider world.
Over time, these borrowing trends become a mirror. They reflect curiosity, resilience, joy and sometimes vulnerability. They remind me that the library is not just a place to find information, it is a living record of what matters most to our students at any given moment. Each book borrowed is a quiet signal, a way of saying, this is what I need right now.
Together, these authors form a chorus of voices that shape the identity of our school community. Orwell challenges us to question, King dares us to feel fear and empathy, Griffiths and Kinney make us laugh, Walliams and Heath keep us entertained, Bancks grounds us in our own backyard, Rowling invites us into magic, and Dashner pushes us to imagine futures both thrilling and uncertain. Their collective presence on our shelves is more than entertainment, it is a reflection of the many ways our students seek to learn, to grow and to belong.
And as the year turns, the shelves whisper back, carrying the heartbeat of our community in every borrowed book.
On Sundays, our family has a rhythm. We go to church in the morning, then its off to our local library. The kids scatter to their favourite corners, borrowing books and settling in to read whatever strikes their fancy. The only rule is, that for every book that is a re-read, there must be one you have not read before.
This week’s book haul – mine.
Whilst my children scurry to their favourite genres, I grab a coffee and wander the shelves, letting my eyes land on whatever catches my eye. My husband always chuckles at this part. “You work in a library,” he says, amused. He’s right, of course. I do. But I work in a boys’ school library, and let’s just say the collection doesn’t quite float my boat. We then settle down for 30-45min of quiet reading together, but all on individual journeys.
There’s something different about being in a space where reading is chosen, not assigned. Where stories are picked for pleasure, not performance. That contrast has been sitting with me lately, especially after reading Loh et al.’s 2025 report on the decline in volitional reading and a recent piece in The Conversation about the new Children’s Booker Prize. Both paint a sobering picture: young people are reading less, and they’re enjoying it even less than that.
Loh, C. E. et al. (2025) The Decline in Volitional Reading: Evidence-Informed Ways Forward. National Institute of Education, Nanyang Technological University, Singapore.
Loh’s recommendations to improve literacy success.
agency
access to literature
time in daily routines
reflection and connection
social interaction
developing a positive reading identity
What struck me most in Loh’s report was what wasn’t there. None of the key principles mention curriculum reform. None suggest that testing is the answer. Instead, the focus is on joy, choice, and connection. Reading for pleasure is framed not as a luxury, but as a necessity. It’s a stronger predictor of reading attainment than socioeconomic status. That’s huge. It means that if we want to close literacy gaps, we need to open up space for enjoyment.
In my school library, I see the tension. Boys who associate reading with assignments, comprehension questions, and accelerated reader points. Not with curiosity or escape. Not with laughter or awe. And I wonder: what would happen if we let go of the scaffolds and trusted them to choose? The Conversation article makes a similar point. Awards like the Children’s Booker are lovely, but they won’t shift the culture on their own. What we need is a reimagining of reading in schools. Less about outcomes, more about experience. Less about control, more about trust.
Furthermore, parents need to remember that they are their children’s first educators. Is reading and literacy your household value? One of the key findings in Loh’s research is that children need access to literature and to see it modelled by the adults around them. Do parents take their kids to the library? Do they read in front of their children? Or do they presume that schools will take care of it? Do they even ask their children how often they visit the school library? These questions matter. Because when reading is visible and valued at home, it becomes part of a child’s identity, not just a school subject.
So here’s my quiet Sunday reflection: maybe the best thing we can do as educators is to make room and provide time. Room for stories that speak to our students. Room for browsing, for borrowing, for reading without a worksheet attached. Room for libraries that float their boats and time to lie back and float away.
Because when reading becomes a choice again, it becomes a joy again. And that’s where the magic lives.
I recently attended the QSLA conference at the beautiful State Library of Queensland. It was a fantastic day for school informational professionals to gather, share emerging news, identify new trends and trade in good old fashioned work chit chat.
Andy Griffiths – author of the famous Treehouse series, was our keynote speaker. I have known of Andy’s work for almost a decade. Whilst I have admired his works, I hadn’t fully appreciated his philosophy until now. His words, much like his books, were playful on the surface but deeply subversive underneath. They invited us to reconsider not just how children read, but why they need stories that break the rules.
Griffiths and his co-creator, illustrator Terry Denton have created the inventive, imaginative chaos that is the Treehouse series. I found it amusing that they named the main characters after themselves. Their fictional versions live in an ever expanding treehouse that defies logic and gravity, expanding with each book to include ludicrous additions like a marshmallow machine, a tank of man-eating sharks, and even a volcano. Their adventures are reckless, absurd, and often dangerous. But that danger is never real. It’s theatrical. It’s safe. It’s fiction.
… and that is the point. It is fiction as Andy pointed out last week to a large group of educators and informational professionals.
This was so true. In a world increasingly obsessed with safety, structure, and supervision, Griffiths’ books offer a counterbalance. They don’t just entertain their readers… they liberate them! They allow children to imagine running across six lanes of traffic or jumping into a volcano, not because they should, but because they can. In fiction, the consequences are exaggerated, the outcomes are ridiculous, and the lessons are embedded in laughter. Griffiths uses humour to engage the reader and builds into that playful sense that children have. As Griffiths said last week, “Reading is a game between the reader and the author. Authors make black marks on pages. Readers use these marks to make an image in their heads.”
I then thought about all the other books that ‘helped me break rules’. Darryl and Sally hosting midnight feasts at Mallory Towers, Matilda using her brain to solve problems, Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew resolving mysterious events. Each of these characters and books gave me option I may not have thought of previously.
Leaving the conference, I felt a renewed appreciation for the role of literature in childhood. Not just as a tool for literacy, but as a sanctuary for wild thought. Griffiths reminded us that imagination isn’t just fun. It’s vital. It’s how children rehearse life, test boundaries, and build resilience.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s how they learn to be free.
There are books I return to not because I’ve forgotten the plot, but because I remember how they made me feel. Like Serena Bourke’s thoughtful reflection on why students reread the same book, I too find comfort in the familiar pages of my favourite titles. These books have become more than stories. They are companions. They are constants. They are friends.
When I’m happy, I reach for books that mirror my joy. Stories that sparkle with wit and warmth. They amplify the moment like music that makes you dance even harder. But when sadness creeps in, I turn to different titles. Not necessarily ones that cheer me up but ones that understand. Books that sit quietly with me, offering solace without demanding anything in return. They don’t fix the sadness inside, but they make it feel seen.
And when I feel unsettled, adrift in the chaos of life, I go back to books that anchor me. Their words are familiar. Their rhythms soothing. I know what’s coming next and that predictability is a balm. It’s like rewatching a movie you’ve seen a dozen times. You’re not watching it for the plot. You’re watching it to relive the feeling you had the first time. The laughter, the tears, the quiet awe. But some books have become emotional landmarks. I remember where I was when I first read them. The scent of the room. The season outside. The version of myself that turned each page. Rereading them is like visiting an old friend. You pick up right where you left off. No explanations needed.
There are specific titles I reach for depending on how I feel. I reach for something like Anne of Green Gables when I’m happy. It’s full of whimsy, imagination, and the kind of joy that makes you want to skip down a pathway and play hopscotch. When I’m sad, maybe The Little Prince or The Secret Garden. There’s something quietly profound about their simplicity, gentle wisdom, and a strong reminder that what’s essential is invisible to the eye. I read Jane Eyre when I’m feeling overwhelmed. Brontë’s classic coming-of-age novel inspires me to have faith, to persevere with hope and most of all, to believe in myself. I reread Harry Potter when I feel mischievous or want to relive some childhood nostalgia. It’s like slipping into a world that once felt limitless and magical. And when I’m ready to disappear into bygone days, I turn to The Sunne in Splendour or When Christ and His Saints Slept. These historical epics transport me to another time, another rhythm of life, where the stakes are grand and the stories rich with legacy.
Serena Bourke writes about how students reread books because they offer safety, familiarity and emotional resonance. I think that’s true for all of us. In a world that changes too fast, books stay. They wait patiently on shelves, ready to welcome us back. And each time we return, we bring a new version of ourselves to the story. The book hasn’t changed but we have. And somehow it still fits.
So yes, I reread. Not because I’ve run out of new titles but because some books are more than books. They’re friends. They’re mirrors. They’re memory keepers. And in their pages, I find pieces of myself again and again.
I’ve just returned from a wedding overseas. It was a beautiful celebration, and between the flights and lounges, I had time to catch up on some reading. Normally, I’d pack a couple of paperbacks, but this time, I decided to travel light and for the first time, go digital only.
This was not a lightly made decision! Before I left, I logged into eWheelers through my school account and downloaded a few titles I’d been meaning to read and others for my children. I also used BorrowBox via my Brisbane City Council library membership. I accessed both platforms on my phone, which made it incredibly easy to dip in and out of books whenever I had a spare moment. One of the great things about eWheelers is that it works across multiple devices, so whether you’re on a tablet, laptop, or mobile, your library is always within reach. It can also be read offline, as can books on Borrowbox which makes it perfect for when WiFi is not available.
Pool side reads
Ebooks are brilliant for travel. They offer the flexibility to read whatever you fancy without the bulk. It’s quick, convenient, and surprisingly satisfying to flick through pages with just a tap. For students, ebooks and or audiobooks, are becoming an increasingly valuable library resource. Many prefer them because they’re easy to access, allow for tech engagement, and offer features that physical books simply can’t.
Digital reading platforms often include options to change font sizes, switch to dyslexia-friendly fonts, or even translate texts into different languages. This makes eBooks especially helpful for students with vision impairments, learning differences, or those studying in multilingual environments. It’s a more inclusive way to read, and it’s reshaping how libraries support diverse learning needs.
And let’s be honest, eBooks also preserve a bit of anonymity. I’ll admit, I indulged in a cheeky bit of romantasy and adult fiction on the plane, the kind of titles that might raise eyebrows if I were carrying the physical copy around in public or completely mortify my children next to me! For young people, this privacy is gold. It allows them to explore genres they might be embarrassed to share with peers, especially when it comes to romance or identity-focused narratives.
This ties into a broader issue: many teens feel pressure to conform to social norms, especially around gender expectations. Ebooks offer teens a quiet refuge—a way to read without the gaze of others. For students navigating the delicate terrain of romance, identity, or emotionally expressive stories, this privacy matters. These genres, often unfairly stigmatised among peers, can feel too vulnerable to carry in plain sight. Smith and Wilhelm (2002) observed that boys, in particular, are more inclined to engage with emotionally rich narratives when the fear of judgement is lifted. In this way, digital reading becomes more than convenience, it becomes a gentle permission to explore, reflect, and connect with stories that might otherwise remain untouched.
eBooks also allow for customisation, changing fonts, adjusting layouts, and even switching languages, which makes reading more accessible and less intimidating for students with dyslexia, vision impairments, or those learning English as an additional language. For teens navigating identity, peer pressure, and personal growth, digital reading can be a quiet revolution, one page at a time.
That said, I do miss the tactile joy of a real book. The smell of the pages, the feel of the spine, and the quiet ritual of turning each leaf offer a kind of bibliotherapy that digital formats can’t replicate. There’s something grounding about physically interacting with a book that screens just don’t deliver. This feeling is evident from what the research tells us and what my experience has been as a teacher librarian in high schools because teenagers still express a strong preference for physical books despite the popularity of digital reading platforms. This inclination is often tied to the sensory and emotional experience that printed books provide such as the feel of the pages, the smell of the paper, and the visual satisfaction of seeing progress through a tangible object. Young readers, in particular, report screen fatigue and eye strain from prolonged digital use, making physical books a welcome reprieve from their tech-saturated lives (World Economic Forum, 2023). Additionally, cultural trends like #BookTok have reignited enthusiasm for printed books, with teens embracing the aesthetic and social aspects of owning and sharing physical copies (Literary Hub, 2023). Research also shows that teens retain information better and concentrate more effectively when reading print, especially in academic settings (ResearchGate, 2024). These findings suggest that while ebooks offer convenience and accessibility, physical books continue to hold a meaningful place in teen reading habits.
Still, for this trip, convenience won. And who knows, maybe next time I’ll sneak a paperback in for old time’s sake.
Smith, M. W., & Wilhelm, J. D. (2002). Reading don’t fix no Chevys: Literacy in the lives of young men. Heinemann.
University of Edinburgh. (2024). Supporting teenagers’ reading enjoyment and engagement: A guide for teachers and librarians. https://blogs.ed.ac.uk/literacylab
Eighteen months ago, a group of misfit boys were introduced to one another in what could only be described as a playdate orchestrated by fate, and a well-meaning informational professional. At first glance, these four boys had little in common. Yet over time, something extraordinary unfolded. They began meeting regularly in the library, and from those gatherings emerged a fully-fledged micronation.
The couch that sparked a nation. As you can see, I have a crown made from paper printed with the Constitution of this micronation.
They appointed ministers: an Archduke, a President, a Minister for Finance who oversees a coffee jar filled with bottle caps, and a Secretary of Defence whose primary qualification is being the tallest. Together, these young men drafted a constitution, designed coinage (featuring my profile, no less), and issued passports and other official documentation. Eventually, I was graciously crowned their Head of State—Her Gracious Imperial Majesty, Empress Trish.
Letter of appeal to voters for the micronation of Lectulus and Cathedra.
Today, this quirky collective has grown to 17 members and is preparing for its first general election on 5 November. What began as a casual connection has evolved into a vibrant community, complete with governance, creativity, and camaraderie—all nurtured within the walls of a school library.
Libraries as Hubs of Wellbeing and Learning
While this story may sound whimsical, it highlights a deeper truth: school libraries are far more than repositories of books. They are sanctuaries of connection, creativity, and wellbeing.
Student wellbeing is increasingly recognised as a priority in Australian schools. Research indicates that poor wellbeing and associated mental health concerns affect between 10–20% of young people (Merga, 2020). In response, the Australian Government launched the “National School Wellbeing Framework” in 2018 to support schools in fostering positive relationships and wellbeing within safe, inclusive, and connected learning communities (Education Council, 2018). Although the framework does not explicitly mention libraries, many of its initiatives can be effectively implemented through a library lens.
School libraries have long served as safe havens for students, offering refuge for a variety of reasons. Merga (2021) notes that contemporary school libraries provide students with a peaceful space to recharge and relax. Similarly, Willis, Hughes, and Bland (2019) affirm that libraries contribute to both physical and emotional wellbeing by enabling vital social connections to flourish.
Merga’s research validates what many educators have long known: school libraries are places where students feel they belong, feel safe, and feel welcome. Some seek sanctuary and solitude; others come to connect and unwind. As school library professionals, our role is to create spaces where young people continue to feel secure—whether they are reading a book, playing a board game or Minecraft, or, as my students do, establishing a micronation on the couch outside my office.
Merga, M. (2020). How can school libraries support student wellbeing? Evidence and implications for further research. Journal of Library Administration, 60(6), 660–673. https://doi.org/10.1080/01930826.2020.1773718
Merga, M. K. (2021). Libraries as wellbeing supportive spaces in contemporary schools. Journal of Library Administration, 61(6), 659–675. https://doi.org/10.1080/01930826.2021.1947056
Willis, J., Hughes, H., & Bland, D. (2019). Students reimagining school libraries as spaces of learning and wellbeing. In J. Franz, H. Hughes, & J. Willis (Eds.), School spaces for student wellbeing and learning: Insights from research and practice (pp. 121–137). Springer. https://eprints.qut.edu.au/126979/
Fairy tales have long served as cultural touchstones as they passed down through generations to teach values, warn against danger, and reflect the beliefs of the societies that created them. Though often associated with bedtime reading, fairy tales are far more than simple entertainment. They are rich with symbolism, moral lessons, and cultural nuance. Across the world, these tales take many forms and espouse a range of cultural values and traditions. In West Africa, the Anansi stories feature a clever spider who uses wit and trickery to navigate challenges, often blurring the line between hero and villain. In Russia, Baba Yaga, a fearsome witch who lives in a house with chicken legs is a treated as both a threat and a source of wisdom. Japanese tales like Momotaro (Peach Boy) celebrate loyalty and courage, while Indigenous Australian Dreamtime stories embed spiritual and ecological knowledge, linking people to land, ancestry, and community.
Fairy and folk tales are shaped by the values and fears of the cultures that tell them. Take Little Red Riding Hood, for example. In the original French version by Charles Perrault, the story ends with Red being eaten. A stark warning about the dangers of naivety and talking to strangers. Two centuries later, the Grimm brothers added a huntsman who rescues her, softening the tale but still portrays Red as a naive child with no common sense that needs a man to rescue her from her own stupidity. In China’s Lon Po Po, three sisters cleverly defeat a wolf disguised as their grandmother. In West Africa’s Pretty Salma, the story is reimagined with vibrant market scenes and a trickster dog. However, in some modern versions, Red is a sweet girl who outsmarts the wolf and saves her grandmother. Each version reflects different cultural fears, values, and expectations.
Fairy tales offer insight into social norms, gender roles, and moral expectations. However, many students today encounter fairy tales primarily through Western adaptations, for example, Anderson, Perrault, Grimm and more recently, Disney. As we are all aware, the latter often simplifies complex narratives into polished versions where good triumphs, evil is vanquished, and everyone lives happily ever after. However, we all know that life is not a happily ever after scenario. We also know that many of these fairy tales have not aged well and their depictions of women and other minority groups are outdated and sometimes offensive.
Fractured fairy tales offer a powerful way to revisit these traditional stories and challenge the assumptions they carry. By twisting familiar plots, reimagining characters, and shifting perspectives, fractured tales invite students to question stereotypes and explore alternative narratives. These adaptations provide a meaningful way to integrate classic and traditional tales into the curriculum as shared cultural knowledge as these stories are familiar, accessible, and often deeply embedded in popular media and literature. By engaging with them critically, students can recognise the stereotypes they contain, such as passive heroines, villainous outsiders, or heroic princes, and begin to unpack the social messages behind them.
As mentioned previously, traditional tales often portray female characters are passive, villains are irredeemable, and heroes are defined by their ability to rescue others. Fractured versions ask: What if the princess saved herself? What if the villain had a backstory? What if the tale took place in a modern classroom, a refugee camp, or a suburban street?
Fractured fairy tales are re-imaginings of traditional fairy tales and they are more than just creative exercises. They are acts of critical literacy. Fracture tales encourage students to analyse how stories shape our understanding of identity, power, and justice. They also provide space for students to insert their own voices, experiences, and cultural perspectives into the storytelling tradition.
A compelling example is Disney’s Maleficent (2014), which reinterprets Sleeping Beauty through a postmodern lens. Rather than portraying Maleficent as a one-dimensional villain, the film gives her emotional depth and agency. It highlights the impact trauma can have on emotional stability and the ability to make future connections. Maleficent’s loss of her wings to Stefan’s violence triggers a cascade of vengeance. This violent action of Stefan gives the viewer a reason why Maleficent cursed Aurora. It was not a random event, but rather retribution for past actions. Furthermore, Aurora awakens not through a prince’s kiss, but through Maleficent’s maternal love that grew despite the hatred and anger. It assuaged her internal trauma and avoided the trope of romantic salvation. Maleficent uses intertextuality to challenge the “grand narrative” of the original tale, offering a more nuanced and inclusive version of the story.
For educators, fractured fairy tales are a rich tool for both literary analysis and creative writing. They allow students to explore genre conventions, experiment with structure, and reflect on the social messages embedded in familiar texts. By comparing global versions of tales and then reworking them with a modern lens, students learn that storytelling is not fixed. Instead it celebrates how stories continue to be fluid, diverse and deeply personal.
There are numerous fractured fairy tales that can be used effectively for academic and recreational purposes. So… why not use them for your own teaching and learning… And fracture some stereotypes along the way.
Books:
The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs by Jon Scieszka m- Told from the wolf’s point of view, this witty retelling flips the narrative on its head.
The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales by Jon Scieszka – A collection of absurd and hilarious twists on familiar fairy tales.
The Wide-Awake Princess by E.D. Bakerm – Princess Annie is immune to magic and sets out to rescue her enchanted sister, challenging traditional gender roles.
Peter and the Starcatchers by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson – A prequel to Peter Pan that adds depth and adventure to the original tale.
The Wishing Spell (Land of Stories series) by Chris Colfer – Two siblings fall into a world where fairy tales are real—and not always as expected
Films
Maleficent (2014) – Reimagines Sleeping Beauty from the villain’s perspective, exploring themes of agency and maternal love.
Shrek (2001) – A satirical mash-up of fairy tale tropes that challenges beauty standards, heroism, and social norms.
Into the Woods (2014) – Intertwines multiple fairy tales with darker consequences, highlighting moral ambiguity and personal responsibility.
Ella Enchanted (2004) – A feminist twist on Cinderella, where the heroine fights against magical obedience and societal expectations.
Enchanted (2007) – A fairy tale princess lands in modern-day New York, confronting real-world complexities and stereotypes.
Hoodwinked! (2005) – A comedic retelling of Little Red Riding Hood as a crime investigation, with multiple unreliable narrators.
Each year, Banned Books Week invites us to reflect on the importance of intellectual freedom and the dangers of censorship. Around the world, books are challenged or removed from shelves due to content deemed offensive or ideologically inappropriate by local authorities. These decisions often reflect broader societal tensions around race, gender, sexuality, and political beliefs.
In Australia, the free flow of information is protected by legislation such as the Freedom of Information Act, and championed by organisations like the Australian Library and Information Association (ALIA). ALIA upholds core values of open access to knowledge and ideas, ensuring that libraries remain spaces where diverse perspectives can be explored without fear or restriction. Public libraries, in particular, play a vital role in this mission by offering equitable access to information and digital resources for all citizens. Platforms like Trove, hosted by the National Library of Australia, further support this by providing access to a vast and growing collection of digitised newspapers, books, images, and more.
However, the conversation around banned books takes on a different tone in school libraries. Here, the issue is not so much about banning books, but about what to include. School libraries operate within a framework of collection development and management policies, which guide decisions about which resources best support the needs of the school community. The point of a school library is to support student success by providing access to resources that meets the curriculum whilst also fostering skills in reading, research and informational literacy. Therefore, any policies regarding the breadth and depth of a collection will factor in curriculum relevance, age appropriateness, and the diversity of student experiences.
So when I look at the list of most commonly banned books worldwide… I realise we have most of them on the shelves.
Most Commonly Banned Books Worldwide (All-Time)
The Catcher in the Rye – J.D. Salinger Banned for profanity, sexual content, and themes of rebellion.
We have this title as it is considered a classic as is in our senior collection aimed for sophisticated readers in Grade 10 and above.
To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee Challenged for racial themes and language
We have this title as it is considered a classic. It currently sits in our Classics collection and is available for students to borrow. It is also a class text and is frequently used as part of novel studies.
1984 – George Orwell Banned for political themes and criticism of totalitarianism
We have this title as it is considered a classic. It currently sits in our Classics collection and is available for students to borrow. It is also a class text and is frequently used as part of novel studies.
Harry Potter series – J.K. Rowling Challenged for promoting witchcraft and occultism
We have numerous copies of this!
The Satanic Verses – Salman Rushdie Banned in several countries for blasphemy
We don’t have this text as it does address the curriculum.
The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood Banned for sexual content and perceived anti-religious themes
We have this title as it is considered a classic. We do have this novel in our senior collection aimed for sophisticated readers in Grade 10 and above. It is also a class text and has been used as part of novel studies.
Beloved – Toni Morrison Challenged for graphic depictions of slavery and violence.
We don’t have this text as part of our collection. We do have 12 years a slave, The Colour Purple and Uncle Tom’s Cabin.
Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov Banned for being “obscene” in several countries
We do not have this novel because it does not meet any curriculum requirements.
Fifty Shades of Grey – E.L. James Banned for erotic content and BDSM themes
We do not have this novel because it does not meet any curriculum requirements.
The Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck Banned for political reasons and profanity.
We do have this novel in our senior collection aimed for sophisticated readers in Grade 10 and above.
I will point out that one of the challenges of being in a school with students from Grade 5-12 is that what may be appropriate for a senior student to read may not me developmentally appropriate for a younger boy. To manage this, we have further classified the fiction texts into general (all years), middle fiction (Grades 7-9) and senior fiction (Grades 10-12). Students are able to freely access resources within their ‘age range’. However, they require parental permission to access more sophisticated readers. This ‘limiting’ of access is our way of supporting the free movement of information whilst acknowledging that some novel themes could cause distress to an immature brain.
This distinction of inclusion versus exclusion of texts is crucial. While public libraries are bound by principles of universal access, school libraries must balance educational goals with community values. This is where the role of a teacher librarian is imperative because school libraries need staff that are fully trained and qualified. They need someone who is an informational professional and an educator to be able to craft a collection development policy that helps ensure that resource selection is transparent, consistent, and inclusive, rather than reactive or restrictive. It is this combined capacity that empowers teacher librarians to advocate for collections that reflect the richness of student identities and the complexity of the world they inhabit. Unfortunately, here in Queensland, many schools lack a qualified informational professional in their school library, that is if they have a library at all! This an absolute travesty for the children and their wider communities.
Ultimately, Banned Books Week reminds us all why intellectual freedom matters. This week serves as a poignant reminder of the fragile nature of intellectual freedom as it honours the fundamental right to read, to explore ideas from all perspectives, and to seek truth without interference. Each year, the spotlight falls on books that have been challenged or removed because they represent discomfort or dissent for a select few individuals. However, in doing so, we need to think about the deeper cost of censorship: the narrowing of thought, the silencing of voices, and the erosion of a society built on open inquiry and democratic exchange. Whether in public or school libraries, our responsibility is to foster environments where curiosity is encouraged, critical thinking is nurtured, and all voices have the opportunity to be heard.
If you’ve ever heard the term “weeding” in the context of school libraries and pictured yourself in gumboots pulling dandelions from the fiction section—don’t worry, you’re not alone. But while it might sound like a gardening chore, weeding in libraries is a vital part of collection development. Think of it as removing the junk so the flowers can stand out—because every great library deserves to blossom.
Weeding, or deselection, is the process of removing outdated, damaged, irrelevant, or unused resources from the collection. It’s not about discarding books for the sake of it; it’s about curating a vibrant, purposeful collection that supports student learning, teacher needs, and curriculum goals. A well-weeded collection is easier to navigate, more appealing to browse, and more likely to be used. It’s the difference between a cluttered storeroom and a well-organised learning hub.
Here in our library, we’re about to begin a weeding process ahead of our fiction stocktake. From a logistical perspective, it gives us a chance to winnow what is not being effectively utilised and what is not supporting the ethos of our library. It also gives us the perfect opportunity to refresh the shelves and make space for stories that truly resonate with our readers. We’ll be using our Collection Development and Management Policy to guide our decisions, focusing on books that are outdated, physically unattractive (yes, those yellowed pages and cracked spines count!), or simply no longer meeting the needs of our school community. If it hasn’t been borrowed in years, doesn’t reflect current values, or makes students wrinkle their noses, it’s probably time to say goodbye.
However, I will add that I have an inner Book Dragon and that one is loathe to get rid of books. Therefore, just to make sure, we are going to give these books one last hurrah, we’re setting up a “Last Chance Borrow” display. This is a fun and engaging way to spotlight forgotten titles that might still have a spark of interest left in them. Students and staff will have the chance to browse and borrow these books before they’re officially retired. Who knows—maybe a hidden gem will find a new fan! It’s also a great opportunity to start conversations about what makes a book worth keeping and how our reading tastes evolve over time.
Our process of weeding is made easier by having a very clear policy and process. Our LMS, Oliver, provides us with a list of titles that have not been borrowed in recent times. This list, combined with our policy, helps us set clear parameters and ensures that our choices are thoughtful and consistent. We’re not just tossing out books—we’re making room for new voices, fresh ideas, and engaging reads that support literacy and learning. Weeding also helps us maintain a collection that’s inclusive, relevant, and aligned with our school’s educational goals.
Of course, weeding can be emotional. Saying goodbye to old favourites isn’t easy. But remember: a library isn’t a museum. It’s a living, breathing space for discovery and growth. And just like a garden, it needs regular tending. So grab your metaphorical secateurs, consult your policy, and let those literary flowers bloom. Your students—and your shelves—will thank you.
Learning through the Library 