Growing up, some of my favorite stories were one’s involving magic or the unknown. I liked the tale of Briar Rose aka Sleeping Beauty (mostly or especially the witches), I loved “The Shoes That Were Danced to Pieces,” and I enjoyed any tale that involved gnarled old witches riding around on brooms (or frankly witches of any sort). If you asked me why, I would have struggled to tell you that they all had this feel to them – a shrouded darkness that added to or even spun mystery into the tale (strangely I never liked the Wizard of Oz). Most novels with witches try to grasp a hold of this magical darkness but fail (one series that I think actually does a good job at recreating the feel is The Last Apprentice by Joseph Delaney).

There was a point where I decided I needed to abandon reading this type of story altogether, and it came shortly after reading a brain of sleeping beauty that seemed very dark to me – probably the Grimm’s version. I don’t remember for sure as I was very young (probably five or six and probably in first grade). I remember being crushed because I loved all tales containing this eery, dark magical feel, but I felt my decision was right. I stuck with it to the point of preventing myself from getting a story on witches as well as removing Halloween from my favorite holidays. I’m pretty sure my resolution lasted until the following year’s Halloween season.

I know. Strange I’d remember that, but the fact is I do. I even remember images from some of the last books I read before this decision went into effect (I even read a less dark tale to end my witch- and Halloween-fondness on a good note, wondering even if maybe I was in the wrong to try and end it on good terms).

So where am I going with this? I faced my first, real literary dilemma. Many of us face that numerous different ways (especially those who go on to write tales and stories and novels of their own). Whether the debate revolves around the darkness of stories, whether to read stories about people with no moral code, or to write characters who behave contrary to how we believe a person should, that debate is very real.

Some of us decide a story is a story and no harm can come from it. Some believe authors should try to pull us into a morally relativistic future they believe is ahead of us. Some believe authors should caution their readers of unforeseen dangers while others believe authors “sell out” – that is, lose their authorialness – when they try to insert meaning into a story (“stories are supposed to entertain, not teach”). Or perhaps, even, authors are great inventors thinking up wondrous new ideas.

The fact of the matter is, however, that most often what authors write and mean and say is different from what the reader gets from it. Sure, if an author beats us over the head with an idea, we’re likely to catch on, but otherwise it’s up to the reader to decide, and that’s okay.

That’s the great thing about literature. Nobody can make you read what you don’t want to, even if it’s for a grade.