But then I keep thinking: the idea of leaving in a logical, comprehensible, and moral universe, where there is no space for our imagination to have fun, is, at least for me, awfully depressing. It would be easy to accept that fiction doesn’t matter -since it shouldn’t-, but something impedes me to do so. I will try, then, to convince myself, and all the stubborn (like me), that fiction actually matters.
If fictions books are just inconsequential, then why do we ban them?
Because books, or rather, stories, are powerful. They are born from our limitless imagination to show us things we could never see. They are works made of hopes and dreams and fears.
Fiction stories educate, terrify, and even protect us. They are so important that we bother, not only to ban them, but also to burn and pulverize them. I suppose that many of us remember the years when the owners of these books were punished, and their authors persecuted. Even today, educational systems dare to prohibit certain fiction books full of literary richness due to ignorant complaints of the parents. There are furious debates around the issue of particular stories. We can still contemplate how authors can be convicted because of religious regimens and are threatened to death because of their fiction books. And yes, I refer to the recent and quite agitated debate, which was raised in the US when a publisher removed the word “nigger” from the novel Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain. Philosophical, pedagogical, social, and historical discussions, around one word in a work of fiction.
So while it may seem illogical to consider fictional stories (those that feature people who don’t exist and that often occur in places that are not real) important, they definitely are, and have been for many centuries: when epic odes were sung in honor of the heroes, and myths were told at the light of the fire. Until today, fictional works circulate around thousands of people igniting stifled passions. So does it matter? With out a doubt.