Comment Writer Cassandra Fong explores the innate political statements interlaced into the literature we consume, backing her argument up with a multitude of different books
Books are inherently political. If they weren’t, why would they be exorcised from shelves, consigned to flames, or subjected to the heavy hand of censorship across history? I believe that the act of reading is not merely an act of leisure or escapism; it is a quiet yet potent form of rebellion, a challenge to the prevailing political and cultural order. Whether one is an ardent bibliophile or a more casual reader, the act of engaging with literature has long been a mechanism of societal influence and transformation.
“…a well-read citizenry is essential to a vibrant democracy…
Take, for instance, The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin, a relatively obscure but profoundly political work. In this science fiction novel, Le Guin sets up a poignant juxtaposition between two worlds—one capitalist, the other anarchist—through the experiences of its protagonist, Shevek. I think it functions not merely as a speculative exercise but as a deliberate meditation on how political ideologies—whether utopian or dystopian— profoundly shape the lives of individuals. Le Guin dissects notions of freedom, scarcity, and social cohesion with an erudite precision, encouraging readers to interrogate their own societal systems. If a collective cannot read and think for themselves, cannot grasp any undertones of a text – when a well-read citizenry is essential to a vibrant democracy – I am of the belief that this book would allow them to. The novel’s quiet yet subversive political commentary emerges not from overt polemic. Instead, it’s woven into the very fabric of its narrative, forcing readers to reckon with the unspoken dynamics of power and idealism.
In contrast, Fun Home by Alison Bechdel—an acclaimed graphic memoir—explores the intersection of sexual identity, family, and cultural expectations. Bechdel’s candid recounting of her father’s hidden sexuality and her own coming-out journey, set against the backdrop of a dysfunctional family and a conservative upbringing, offers a powerful commentary on gender and sexual identity. As a work of nonfiction, I believe it stands as a political act in itself, forcing readers to confront the entrenched homophobia and gender expectations that govern so much of our personal and collective lives. Fun Home was not only controversial for its frank portrayal of lesbian relationships, but was also challenged for its depiction of familial dysfunction. In doing so, Bechdel displays the importance of personal stories—especially those of marginalised groups—and how they are inextricably tied to political discourse.
In a vastly different context, The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov exemplifies the marriage of fantasy and political critique. Set in Stalinist Moscow, this novel is an ingenious blend of allegory, satire, and metaphysical rumination. The Devil himself, incarnated as Woland, descends upon the city, causing chaos and exposing the deep contradictions of Soviet society. Bulgakov’s surreal storytelling—rich in symbolism and grotesque humor—functions not just as a whimsical fantasy but as a damning indictment of the stifling authoritarianism that sought to suppress artistic and intellectual freedom. When it was first written, it was banned by Soviet authorities for its subversive themes; its potency as a critique of totalitarianism endures. When a book that critiques totalitarianism is banned, it can ironically reinforce the very concepts the book opposes. By restricting access to the critique, a totalitarian system may be inadvertently demonstrating the dangers of unchecked power and censorship. Banning these works might also reinforce the idea that those in charge have something to hide, causing citizens to become more skeptical of their authority and question its legitimacy, even if they are not actively rebelling against it. The novel illustrates how art, when harnessed correctly, can serve as a mirror to society, revealing the deep fissures beneath the facade of ideological control.
“Banning these works might also reinforce the idea that those in charge have something to hide.
Finally, The Invention of Morel by Adolfo Bioy Casares offers a more obscure yet fascinating example of literature’s political potential. On the surface, it’s a science fiction novel about a fugitive who discovers a mysterious island where people live in a perfect simulation of life. However, the novel subtly critiques the political ideologies of its time, particularly the ways in which power can be manipulated to create illusions of perfection. It seems to offer a sharp commentary on the dangers of unchecked power and the ways in which societies can manipulate reality itself. Now, while The Invention of Morel might not have inspired the same kind of direct political action as 1984 (which undeniably laid the intellectual foundation for later critiques of surveillance and the erosion of privacy in modern society), its themes of constructed realities, manipulation, and the potential for technology to create illusions of perfection are eerily prescient in today’s world. Though it doesn’t directly address contemporary political issues, its exploration of power dynamics and human control speaks volumes about the political implications of technological advancements and mass manipulation.
“…literature has always been a tool of resistance, even when it isn’t overtly political.
I believe these examples demonstrate how literature has always been a tool of resistance, even when it isn’t overtly political. The books we read challenge us to consider the world around us, to question authority, and to engage with uncomfortable truths. They ask us to think critically about issues like identity, power, and freedom, and in doing so, they shape the way we understand the world. And when these books are banned or censored, it’s not just the content that is suppressed—it’s the very act of critical thinking, of challenging the status quo, that is being silenced.
In a world where information is increasingly controlled, the right to read freely is more important than ever. It’s not just about choosing what to read—it’s about choosing what ideas to engage with, and in turn, what ideas to resist. Reading, when done with intention and awareness, is always political. And that, perhaps, is the greatest power books can offer: the ability to question, to resist, and to transform the world around us.
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