By Annette Macintyre
As a tornado of school library censorship blazes through the United States and Alberta, my colleagues and I in Montreal are witnessing the damage and empathizing with our peers under siege. While it’s hard to predict a tornado’s flight path or the extent of its damage, in attempting to batten down our own hatches, we face a common concern seemingly in the eye of the storm: “age-appropriate” reading.
“Age-appropriateness” is the number one reason librarians choose not to purchase a book, according to School Library Journal’s (2023) Controversial books survey 2022 – 2023 data comparisons. Examining this trend as it plays out in Canada, Professor Ira Wells analyses the contemporary landscape of school library book banning in a March 2025 issue of The Walrus. Wells reveals the elephant in the room: that the seemingly infinite availability of information on the Internet today renders book censorship a symbolic act, one made on behalf of children. Knowing they cannot erase ideas, book banners instead attempt to limit access to children during an “impressionable life stage.” Books are seen as “sources of contagion and libraries as fields of indoctrination, and both invoke the vulnerability of children … materials must be ‘age appropriate’ – an inherently debatable category.”
As a high school librarian serving students between the ages of 12 and 17 in an urban, anglophone school in Montreal, I am trying to unravel the tangled concept of “age appropriateness” from where I sit. What is my role in determining what content is appropriate for what age, while also upholding the freedom to read? My intention in this article is to share a process of inquiry that might help others untangle this issue in their own contexts. Through a series of questions, I consider the contemporary reading environment, perspectives from psychology, legal and policy frameworks, and the professional values of equity and community engagement.
To begin, what do I mean by “age-appropriate”? In this article and in my high school context I distinguish “age-appropriate” from “age-relevant.” I use “relevance” to invoke a book’s perspective or relatability, whereas I use “appropriateness” to refer to a reader’s emotional safety when interacting with materials that contain potentially upsetting content. This may include explicit depictions of sex, graphic violence, or morally ambiguous messages. I refer to this material, interchangeably, as “mature”, “edgy”, or “gritty”. Whether deducing the appropriateness or relevance of a work, librarians usually begin by looking at that work’s target audience. But as I have learned, determining a book’s target audience is not in itself a standardized process.
How is a book’s target audience determined? In North America, there is no third party with a mandate to legally determine the age level of books. Contrast this with film industry rating bodies that determine who can watch what. These institutions, it should be noted, align their ratings with shifting social norms, not developmental psychology. The U.S.-serving Classification and Ratings Administration (CARA) states, “as American parents’ sensitivities change, so too does the rating system.” In Quebec, the decisions of La Répertoire des films classés are shaped by “general trends in Quebec society” and the “rules of public order.”
As we know, when librarians choose books, we rely on age recommendations provided by publishers or reviewers, and our own professional judgement. When marketing new titles, publishers voluntarily list a recommended target audience, which they may choose to select from a classification scheme, such as the one created by the Book Industry Study Group (BISAC). Meanwhile, review sources, like School Library Journal, rely on the discretion of independent reviewers. “It’s really more art than science,” reports a former director of reviews in a SLJ article (Ishizuka, 2022).
Complicating this somewhat subjective process, the target audience recommendation has a somewhat limited value in the high school setting. SLJ reviews focus on children’s and young adult materials, yet high school libraries also collect books written for adults that run the gamut from self-help to literary and genre fiction. Currently, “spicy” and “dark romance” books for adults are being hyped to youth on Booktok. Add to this the sobering and steady decline of high school reading, and where does a librarian turn when students, especially non-readers, flock to request Icebreaker or Tender is the Flesh? This increasingly familiar situation leads me to consider the extent to which mature books can engage non-readers.
What impact do mature books have on enticing non-readers to read? A large body of evidence from Kelly Gallagher (2023), Penny Kittle (2013), Donalyn Miller (2014), Patrick Jones et al. (2006), and many others shows the positive influence of interest, choice, and social connection in reading motivation. In 20 years working as a youth librarian, I can attest to the power of these strategies. I have also seen that grittier content will often provide the necessary traction to motivate a non-reader. If I accept that reading is a social good, that literacy raises children out of poverty, and that reading improves psychological growth and well-being (as argued by Djikic et al. (n.d.), Sheldrick Ross (1999) and others), then I believe that I do a great disservice to my students by not employing every possible measure to help them become readers. In doing so, I must weigh the proven risks of not reading against the potential or perceived threats of reading material that is not “age-appropriate”. And so, I ask myself:
To what degree can students be harmed by reading mature content? I believe that this question really sits at the crux of the present issue. Regardless of the point on the political spectrum from which a challenge arises, I see the vulnerability of young readers and the fear of hurting them as the central and common concern. As Ira Wells (2025) puts it, “those who would cleanse the school library frame their efforts as an appeal to save children from harm.”
Although it is beyond the scope of this inquiry, to more deeply understand harm it would be beneficial to know and compare the impacts of a child’s exposure to mature content across media types and ages of students. However, as it pertains to reading text alone, literature reviews by Christopher J Ferguson (2014) and Anne Lind (2015), show very little evidence of negative outcomes for adolescents who read, whether they read gritty material or otherwise.
In popular media and in the field, psychologists express diverse opinions. In an issue of Parents magazine (Garcia, 2024), a clinical psychologist warns parents against allowing their children to read books by Colleen Hoover. Reading these books “can skew a teen’s perception of relationships, and it runs the risk of normalizing unhealthy behaviors.” Similarly, Jeta Dedja, a psychologist at my school board, cautiously references Erik Erikson’s stages of development: “Students ages 12-14 are still developing their cognitive and emotional maturity. Introducing content that portrays distorted relationships can complicate their process of identity formation and understanding of healthy interpersonal dynamics.”
In a different article in Parents (Nesvig, 2023), psychologists take a more permissive approach. One states, “books are a great way for teenagers to safely explore some of the more complicated topics and feelings they might be starting to experience” while another offers, “the idea is not to ‘ban’ them from consuming this content but to create a safe space for them to learn about larger issues through fiction.”
Although times have changed, the “appeal to save children from harm” is not new. Forty years ago, the portrayal of sibling incest in Flowers in the Attic hooked junior high school students, shocked their parents and led to many censorship challenges. In finding courage to offer access to today’s questionable books, I derive inspiration from a September 1983 book review in SLJ wherein Roger Sutton explores Flowers through a psychological lens. He writes, “It is understandable that we are loath to encourage adolescents to believe that sex is dirty and frightening. However, in our well-meaning efforts to promote books which foster a healthier attitude, we promote an anesthetized sexuality … Teenagers often feel locked in the attic, tortured by their parents, misunderstood, ignored, frustrated – wanting many things they can’t even name. Flowers in the Attic is like a fairy tale, heightening and externalizing, and thereby articulating emotions only partly recognized by their owners.”
His claim recalls the power of fairytales as theorized by Bruno Bettelheim in his seminal 1976 work, The Uses of Enchantment.
“Parents who wish to deny that their child has murderous wishes and wants to tear things and even people into pieces believe that their child must be prevented from engaging in such thoughts (as if this were possible). By denying access to stories which implicitly tell the child that others have the same fantasies, he is left to feel that he is the only one who imagines such things. This makes his fantasies really scary. On the other hand, learning that others have the same or similar fantasies makes us feel that we are part of humanity, and allays our fear that having such destructive ideas has put us beyond the common pale.” (p.122).
To be clear, I am not equating the value of every gritty book with the universal wisdom of folk and fairytales, but I am compelled by Bettelheim’s idea that, “when unconscious material is to some degree permitted to come to awareness and worked through in imagination, its potential for causing harm – to ourselves or others – is much reduced.” My takeaway is that at the very least, like with dreams, stories touch the unconscious and shape us in unknown ways.
Given the diverse professional opinions and lack of empirical evidence, the question of harm feels like a best guess. Despite this uncertainty, my understanding is that most psychologists concur with Gay Ivey and Peter Johnson’s (2023) research on reading “disturbing books.” Ivey and Johnson show that when a trusted adult creates a safe space for dialogue about books that are edgy or potentially upsetting, students will grow. Jeta Deja advises, “rather than simply limiting access, promoting open conversations with students about the content they are consuming could help them understand the difference between fiction and reality, as well as healthy and unhealthy relationships … equipping them with the tools to critically engage with these books.” As a school librarian working with the insights of my psychosocial colleagues, I realize I can do better to help create this safe space. By the nature of my legal contract to students, I may even be obliged to do so.
As such, what laws and policies frame my role as a school librarian vis-à-vis the freedom to read? My obligations are shaped by an overlay of international, federal, and provincial laws, as well as municipal and school board policies. At a macro level, The Convention of the Rights of the Child states that the child shall have the right to “seek, receive and impart information.” However, that right is subject to certain restrictions such as the need to protect “public health or morals.” In Canada, our public morals are legislated under the Criminal Code. The Code defines the limits of what reading material anyone can give a child under the age of 18, expressly prohibiting “written material whose dominant characteristic is the description, for a sexual purpose, of explicit sexual activity with a person.” I take this as longhand for erotica, (or “smut”, as the students call it), and I wonder whether some of the titles trending on Booktok might occasionally qualify. Evidently, a child’s right to read is not absolute.
More broadly, my legal duty as a school staff member differs from that of a public library worker. In Quebec, in loco parentis, “in the place of a parent,” is written in our Civil Code. As a school librarian I am “entrusted … with the custody, supervision or education of a minor” to act on behalf of that minor, as well having the duty “not to cause injury to another.” In our Education Act the phrase used is “entrusted care,” and the Act implements it for all students up to the age of 18. As it pertains to library materials, our school board’s collection development policy mandates library staff to consider the “maturity levels” of students. Meanwhile in our province, youth gain the right of medical consent at age 14, and in Montreal this is also the age at which they attain open access to public library collections. Duty of care and professional accountability are subsequently contoured by a student’s rights outside the school. Navigating this interplay of rules requires agility, especially when taking an equity-based approach to service.
And so, given these legal frameworks, how can a school librarian equitably facilitate the freedom to read?
In education, learning is considered the most effective when it is student-centered. Universal Design for Learning (UDL) guidelines state that “it is essential to acknowledge the remarkable variability in what attracts and engages learners’ interests.” Each student brings a different background, home life, phase of mental development, emotional sensitivity, reading skill and degree of focus to each reading experience. The late professor Louise Rosenblatt developed this idea in her reader response theory (2005). The “maturity levels” cited in our board’s collection development policy will vary widely from one 13-year-old to the next: one loves spicy fan fiction on Wattpad while another seeks the familiar and comforting innocence of Raina Telgemeier.
A tidy solution to the stickiness of “age-appropriateness” might be to work in partnership with our public library to get every 14-year-old student an open access card. But in reality, students would still face barriers. Our public libraries in Montreal offer primarily French language collections. For the English-language reader who does not have expendable income, does not live close to a library with a robust English-language collection (or does not possess the skills or savvy to manage book reservations), the school library remains the best or only option. To provide the most equitable access possible, I could align my library’s rules to match the public library’s by providing access to anything available at the public library once students reach the age of 14 (budget permitting). But under my bond of “entrusted care,” when I am asked to purchase a book available at the public library such as Haunting Adeline, a violent and morally ambiguous book about a girl falling in love with her stalker, I hesitate. In Connecting with Reluctant Teen Readers, Patrick Jones puts the question of selection this way, “there are lines we need to draw.” (p.76).
A librarian colleague at my board, Andrea Lukic, suggests that acknowledging a student for having reading tastes that are too “edgy” for the school library can boost that student’s identity as a reader and a learner. Connecting with students about books is always beneficial, even when those books are not in the collection. With some students, limiting access can be a radical way to offer student-centered service that recognizes their subversiveness and inadvertently creates a connection between student and librarian.
Setting limits helps to create a safe space for students by balancing the freedom to read with emotional safety, but it also reassures parents that the librarian is competent and trustworthy. Nevertheless, tension can still arise when the community’s definition of age appropriateness differs from that of the librarian’s, and its trust in his/her/their competence may wane.
To that end, how can I maintain community trust while pursuing the freedom to read?
While the individual’s needs are primary, equity requires fair policy, procedure, practice and community-building. My colleague Jenna Mlynaryk, also a librarian at my board, puts it this way,
“My mission is to help as many students as possible become stronger readers and lifelong readers; help as many students as possible connect to life through literature; create as much buy-in as possible from the whole community that library services are valuable … and that we are all on the same team. If I’m debating adding a book to the collection, I will weigh whether the book will ultimately contribute to the trust, connection, and longevity of library services that I am trying to build.”
Each community is composed of parents whose cultural lenses and definitions of safety may differ from those of the librarian. It takes time to build trust, and as it develops, some decisions may need to be carefully negotiated. However, when a librarian is trusted and valued by their community, they/he/she is more likely to be supported by most when those choices are challenged by some.
With all this in mind, I have started to refine a professional orientation, albeit one still under construction. And so here is a summary of my main considerations:
Given that:
- age-appropriateness and reading experiences are variable,
- reading is critical for a good life, yet is also in decline,
- student reading is motivated by choice, and “gritty” books can entice non-readers to read,
- children have open access to the public library at age 14 (and the Internet often long before that) and students’ tastes are shaped by that exposure,
- the school library may be a student’s only point of access to books,
- there is no evidence that reading harms young people (some psychologists have even argued that reading challenging material can be cathartic),
- youth can grow when a trusted adult creates a safe space to discuss challenging material, and
- children have a right to information;
But also given that:
- there is a legal limit to the kinds of information that can be given to a child,
- psychologists recommend caution when exposing young people to mature content,
- school librarians are “entrusted” with student safety, and
- community trust is critical in achieving the library’s mission,
I must develop a framework of strategies to reassure myself and my community that I am considering all these aspects when putting books into students’ hands.
Therefore, I pledge to create a safe space for learning by:
- Practicing due diligence in collection development, including reading reviews and excerpts, discussing student requests with colleagues and students, taking adequate time to deliberate over choices, flagging certain titles for mature content, and recognizing that the collection belongs to the whole and needs to match popular demand and the overall community profile.
- Aligning age-bound access with public library policy, but with additional support measures for flagged titles.
- Consulting with my psychosocial colleagues in guiding students to develop skills for self-selection and in creating questions for pre- and post-reading conversations with students, and offering thoughtful readers’ advisory.
- Not providing access to a mature title if I have not been able to create a safe space for its use.
As a worker with “entrusted care” I liken the problem of age-appropriateness to my most profound challenge as a parent: tending to the tension that rises when values compete. In the home sphere, there can be tension between the needs of one child and the needs of the family, and in school, tension between the needs of the student and the needs of the school or community. In both home and school, there is also the tension between creating a safe space and allowing children to take the risks needed for growth. In that spirit, I take on the challenge of “age-appropriateness” in loco parentis, as I would a parent. Parenting brings many unknowns, but by drawing on the expertise of my community, I do not need to know it all. Nonetheless, there is one thing I know for certain. Literacy is absolutely vital for a healthy and fulfilling life. It is also, as we school librarians say in Quebec, our raison d’être. So, when the tornado strikes, my hope is that this professional orientation will help me to pursue my purpose, navigate tension, support the students as they learn and grow, and help them to reduce their own vulnerability.
References
Andrews, V. C. (1979). Flowers in the attic. Pocket Books.
Bazterrica, A. M., & Moses, S. (2022). Tender is the flesh. Scribner.
Bettelheim, B. (1976). The uses of enchantment. Thames and Hudson.
Book Industry Study Group. (2025). BISAC subject codes. https://www.bisg.org/BISAC-Subject-Codes-main
Carlton, H.D. (2021). Haunting Adeline. H.D. Carlton.
CAST (2024). Design options for welcoming interests & identities. https://udlguidelines.cast.org/engagement/interests-identities/
Civil code of Québec. RLRQ, c. CCQ-1991 (Section 1460) https://www.legisquebec.gouv.qc.ca/en/document/cs/ccq-1991
Convention on the Rights of the Child, December 20, 1989
https://www.ohchr.org/en/instruments-mechanisms/instruments/convention-rights-child
Criminal Code – R.S.C., 1985, c. C-46 (Section 171.1)
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Gallagher, K., & Allington, R. L. (2023). Readicide: How schools are killing reading and what you can do about it. Routledge.
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Ivey, G., & Johnston, P. (2023, October 21). What Happens When Young People Actually Read “Disturbing” Books. Teachers College Press Blog. 2025, https://www.tcpress.com/blog/young-people-read-disturbing-books
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Annette MacIntyre is the librarian at Marymount Academy International, a public high school in Montreal/ Tiohtià:ke. She has worked as a librarian with the English Montreal School Board since 2013, and before that at the Western Quebec School Board, the Library of Parliament, and at public and school libraries in Halifax / Kjipuktuk, where she is from.