Mike Curato, author of ‘Flamer,’ one of the country’s most challenged books, on the ultimate cost of book bans

I am not a child anymore, and very glad to be alive, but that scared kid is still a part of me. Toni Morrison, a fellow banned author, once said, “If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” Before I was a published author, I had an idea for a story about my youth, the story I’d never had — the one that might have kept me from putting that knife to my wrist in the first place. When, in 2014, the We Need Diverse Books campaign called for more representation in children’s literature, I answered with my young adult graphic novel, “Flamer.” It’s the story of Aiden Navarro, a 14-year-old Filipino-white mixed kid who is navigating friendships, bullying, racism, religion, body dysmorphia, and sexual identity while away at a scout camp. It’s also one of the most banned books in America.

A lot has changed since I was a kid, but old stigmas and hatred still exist, and the biggest problem remains: Children are killing themselves. The Trevor Project 2023 US National Survey on Mental Health of LGBTQ Young People states that 41 percent of LGBTQ youth contemplated suicide this past year (trans, nonbinary, and people of color reported higher rates). Fourteen percent attempted suicide. Meanwhile, we can see a rise in anti-LGBTQ sentiment sweeping the country, on public platforms, in legislation, and of course with book banning. The correlation between these statistics and current events is not a coincidence. Anti-LGBTQ policies and rhetoric are causing real harm. Book banning sends a message to queer kids — we don’t want you here — that creates the kind of intimidating, stigmatizing climate that made me want to kill myself when I was a teenager.

There has been an over 700 percent increase in book challenges since 2020, according to the American Library Association — a trend traceable to a Texas lawmaker sharing, in 2021, a McCarthy-esque list of 850 books he wanted placed under investigation, many of which are by or about LGBTQ people and people of color. It continued with the Missouri House recently voting to defund public libraries, and the governor of Florida calling for the prosecution of educators who have books like mine on their shelves.

Book banners talk a big game. They say they are protecting the children, or that we’re peddling porn. They make misleading accusations based on passages taken out of context. “Flamer” is a book for teenagers about things many teenagers experience. Yes, there is a brief scene with implied (not explicit) masturbation and a shower scene (with partial nudity).

Yet anyone who has read the entire book will know that these scenes are not in any way pornographic. They’re included to showcase Aiden’s anxieties and shame — his humanity. There’s nothing gratuitously sexual in the book. But a quick screenshot and a recitation of cherry-picked lines becomes great fodder for book banners and ambitious politicians. None of them has ever mentioned the resources found in the backmatter of “Flamer” for teens struggling with identity, or coming out, or suicidal thoughts; nor the afterword in which I explain that the book is inspired by my own lived experience. What they do say is that my book is inappropriate for teens. How can that be when that book was my reality? How can that be when kids are going through the same things I was?

Because through all of the noise of school board battles and political posturing there is still that quiet, scared kid who believes that being seen means being hated. That’s who we (banned authors, queer authors, authors of color) are writing for. We write so that the scared, hurting kid and others like them can see themselves for the beautiful humans they are. We write to help, to protect, to validate. We write to save ourselves and the next generation.

Recently, at an event in the Midwest, a teen asked me to sign “Flamer.” They didn’t say much, just handed me a letter to read later — an exchange that created a perfect circle: I wrote a book for teens like me, and one of those teens handed me a letter in response. Each of us gave the other a hope we both needed, telling each other, “I need you to keep going so that I can keep going.” And I promise that I will.

Mike Curato is on Instagram @mike_curato and online at www.mikecurato.com.