I, like many others, often turn to literature as an escape from the real world— a way to step into the lives of fictional characters and momentarily leave my own behind. On BookTok, the TikTok community for readers, similar sentiments have been shared by followers; many expressing their desire to use reading as a shelter from societal issues, even going so far as to say things like “keep politics off of BookTok.”
This statement, however, has never sat quite right with me. No matter what our intentions are when we open a book to its first page, we are always engaging in a deeply political act. By political, I do not mean partisan debates or campaign slogans, but rather questions of power: who has access, whose stories are told, who is centered, and who is silenced. Even when reading high fantasy or erotic romance that appears detached from our current climate, the act of reading–and the systems that make it possible–remain inseparable from these questions of power.
Historically, literacy has been tied to systems of control and oppression. For example, the ability to read was deliberately withheld from enslaved people in the United States because it was understood as a pathway to autonomy and resistance. To read meant access to legal knowledge, communication, and the possibility of challenging injustice. Illiteracy was enforced to preserve power.Â
This history is not distant or isolated. Attempts to restrict access to books continue today. In the 2024-2025 school year alone, 6,870 book bans were enacted in K-12 schools nationwide. These bans disproportionately targeted books addressing topics such as gender, sexuality, and racism. Classics like The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood and The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison are among the works that have appeared on banned lists, and are crucial texts that confront totalitarianism, beauty standards, sexual violence, and systemic racism. The removal of these texts is not accidental. It reflects ongoing struggles over whose experiences are deemed appropriate, legitimate, or threatening.Â
In this context, reading becomes an act of resistance. Choosing to engage with stories that others seek to restrict is a way of pushing back against attempts to narrow young people’s intellectual and emotional worlds. Especially for adolescents, access to literature is not merely academic; it is foundational to developing critical thinking, empathy, and a broader understanding of the societies they inhabit.
Literature functions as both a mirror and a window. It reflects our own realities to us while also offering entry into lives and experiences beyond our own. Even the most fantastical worlds are shaped by real anxieties, hierarchies, and hopes. Fantasy kingdoms wrestle with tyranny. Romance novels navigate gender expectations. Dystopias exaggerate political fears already present in our culture. These stories do not exist in a vacuum, but are products of particular social moments, and they carry those moments with them.
The act of writing is also political. For authors from marginalized communities, literature has long been a vital space for visibility and self-definition. Through storytelling, they assert presence in systems that have historically erased or distorted them. To read those works is to participate in that reclamation.
Reading should absolutely remain a beloved pastime. It can be comforting, joyful, and immersive. But recognizing its political dimensions does not diminish that experience. Rather, it deepens it. When we read, we are not stepping outside the world. We are engaging with it–sometimes more deeply than we realize.