When books disappear without reason, we should pay attention
Sunday Star Times: When books disappear without reason, we should pay attention | The Post
Emily Makere Broadmore is the editor of literary journal Folly.
OPINION: Over the past week, hundreds of copies of Folly Journal’s latest issue were stripped from the shelves of 47 Whitcoulls’ stores for being ‘too offensive’ and against its ‘family friendly values’. Staff from across the regional outlets approached us anonymously, saying this occurred within hours of the stock arriving in store.
We were told Issue 003 of Folly would now live “under the counter”, alongside porn, cigarettes and whatever else is considered a threat to society. Our distributor warned us, verbally, that Whitcoulls did not want its name mentioned in public, and that doing so “would not go well” for us.
We can’t speak to corporate intentions, but the timing was uncanny: within hours of our story going public, staff nationwide were told to refuse to sell Folly “even if customers ask”.
As a family friendly retailer, Whitcoulls proudly sells a full spectrum of human depravity, much of it at toddler height. Staff anonymously sent us internal ‘spicy’ and ‘extra spicy’ labelling intel and acquainted us with the range of sadomasochistic billionaire fantasies, lavish mythical cross-species sex franchises, and reverse harem erotica that is all perfectly acceptable, alongside a popular YA franchise where children murder each other. If this is really about ‘family values,’ then perhaps the families purchasing blood-soaked battle novels for their kids and coercive sex scenes for their summer holiday reading would like to know what, exactly, Folly has done wrong.
Folly’s latest issue contains literary essays, some risqué stories and poetry (yes, about humans having sex, with humans), and an interview with the Reserve Bank chief economist.
Flummoxed, we floundered. Is this normal, I asked people in the industry. Then Whitcoulls staff started messaging us, sending screenshots and emails. A number said things like: ‘This is absolutely ridiculous when you consider the smut they have on display.’ One manager DM’d us: ‘They said your issue was under the counter. It’s not. It’s upstairs in a box. No one is allowed to touch it.’ Another; ‘We’d love to sell it, but we’re scared we’ll be shot.’
The issue of Folly in question.SUPPLIED
So much for ‘available on request.’
Some staff said the supposed complaint was due to a single “f...” in a poem, possibly involved bestselling author Nikki Gemmell’s essay on the origins of the word c... . None of this made any sense. If the word f... were genuinely a problem, half the romantasy aisle would ignite spontaneously.
The complaint itself seemed odd (who is riffling through the racks at 10am on a Monday looking for offensive content to report to a nationwide head office?), even “a bit fishy”, one person said. “I can’t verify if [the complaint] is even legit,” said a floor staffer.
There’s a sign you have a culture problem when staff start calling out hypocrisy publicly, and revelling in the public shaming of their employer. (“Head office is losing the plot... They’re aware of your comments LMFAO”). Someone sent a photo of an internal email, written incoherently from someone at head office, instructing staff to ‘refuse’ to sell Folly. Even if customers ask for it.
A display of market power, I would argue, very unbecoming of a bookstore.
The decision to strip a publication from shelves within hours of stock arriving in store raises only two possibilities:
The decision is either an impulsive and hypocritical over reaction to risqué content by middle management (which senior management hot-headedly refuse to review), or
Something much more troubling….such as an act of censorship in a country that prefers to believe such things don’t happen here.
One reader wrote to me: “Emily, this raises important questions about access to independent creative voices in Aotearoa. I’ve seen similar patterns internationally — like South Korea’s officials bulk-buying documentary tickets to suppress screenings, or US astroturfing campaigns used to drown out dissent.”
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I’m not sure we’re quite there. Sure, Folly isn’t overly popular amongst the wider literary scene, but Whitcoulls is hardly the beating heart of the literary establishment. To me, it feels more like a PTA committee trying to cancel the school play because someone said “bloody hell”. But the supposed complaint increasingly looks to have been a head office decision – made without judgement or suggestion of alternative options to keep ranging this locally produced publication. Such as shelving it next to the reverse harem erotica instead of next to House & Garden.
Whitcoulls has no obligation to stock Folly in the future and has every right to assert its market power. But a large retailer on this tiny, insular island at the bottom of the world, Whitcoulls has some social obligation to use that power with good judgement – especially in how it treats local publishers in an increasingly fragile publishing sector.
Like, ideally, not making books disappear overnight or holding them hostage in a stationery dungeon alongside the printer paper and glitter pens for two weeks.
Because Whitcoulls did order Folly, knowing the title would likely contain strong language. To then silently remove the book and withhold stock from sale is simply not acceptable.
Risque literature with the occasional f-bomb? Absolutely horrifying.
Reverse-harem romantasy and BDSM erotica? Bon appetit.
The Sunday Star-Times contacted Whitcoulls for a response but it did not respond.