The Right to Read

The lamb stew. All you have to do is ask for the Hungry Lamb Stew.

Evie’s eyes flitted around the corners of the quiet street. A few mothers were grumbling about the growing prices of eggs as they hurried home to cook dinner for their families. An overworked university student buried his nose in a notebook at a café table, silently reciting chemistry formulas for an upcoming exam.

No sign of the police, Evie thought.

Evie glanced over her shoulder and opened the door to Camille’s Classic Bistro. Tinkling bells signaled her arrival among the other customers, chatting with friends and filling their bellies with savory mushroom soups and lemon meringue tarts that melted in their mouths. Evie breathed in the familiar scents of spices and simmering vegetables.

It smelled like home.

A hostess with blonde hair that curled around her ears hurried over to where Evie was standing. Her smile was flawless in a way that only years of working customer service could achieve.

“Welcome,” said the hostess. “How many will be joining you today?”

“Just me,” Evie said. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Actually…I’m really looking forward to trying the Hungry Lamb Stew tonight.”

The hostess maintained her neutral smile but her eyes lit up at those words.

“Yes, of course! It’s one of our most popular seasonal dishes. If you’ll come this way.”

She gestured for Evie to follow her through the sea of hungry patrons. A small room was tucked away from the rest of the facility behind the cover of beaded curtains. 

“Here you are. This is where you will be dining tonight.”

The hostess lifted the curtains aside, and Evie stepped into the room.

Many guests were seated at the large, round table, some already enjoying mouthwatering bowls of lamb and plum stew. They ranged from shy teenage boys to older ladies with the wisdom of their age showing in the silver strands of their hair. 

Evie recognized her friend, Amber. Her deep brown eyes and chestnut hair complimented her name—Evie believed Amber could easily have been a fairy princess in another lifetime. Evie hurried to take a seat next to her friend.

“I thought you weren’t going to show up today,” Amber said. “You missed the start of the meeting.”

“Sorry,” said Evie. “It took a while to convince my parents that I was going to a study group and not running around like a hooligan.”

Amber stifled her giggles as a middle-aged woman approached them.

“I assume you’re here for the Hungry Lamb Stew?”

“Yes,” Evie said, nodding. “If that’s okay with you, Camille?”

Camille’s laugh filled the small space with a warmth that drove away any unease the group felt.

“No need to be so polite. You’re welcome here anytime, Evie.”

She signaled to a waitress to retrieve some stew for her young guest, then took her place at the head of the room.

The other patrons in the restaurant might assume it was a casual gathering for friends to enjoy good food and catch up on each other’s lives.

No one would guess they were dining a few steps away from an illegal book club.

Evie slipped her hand inside her purse and nervously fingered a copy of The Hunger Games. It was dangerous to keep it at her house, let alone carry it on the streets, yet she felt a strange sense of comfort, even rebellion, as she clutched an object that would shatter the government’s agenda.

Books put too many ideas into young people’s heads.

Books are dangerous connections to the past that allow history to repeat itself.

Books expose children to harmful themes and ideas that stunt children’s development.

These were the excuses their leaders had come up with when they had declared a ban on books unsanctioned by the government. Pride and Prejudice was said to encourage unrealistic expectations for healthy relationships. The Hungry Caterpillar was pulled from school library shelves after it was stated to promote childhood obesity. Even textbooks were taken away and replaced by material the government deemed “uncorrupt” and “fit for consumption by our youth.”

The government claimed they had put these bans in place for “the greater good of the people,” but Evie knew better. 

This was an erasure of the diversity books brought to the world. It promoted ignorance of world issues, a lack of empathy, and, worst of all, mob mentality. If everyone was forced to read the same books with the same topics, would there be room for independent thinking? Would people be able to learn from the mistakes of their past and strive for a better future?

No. Every person would be trapped in an endless cycle of conformity without ever having the chance to escape from their lives into the pages of another world.

But as history shows, when something is forbidden, a rebellion will arise.

Camille took her place at the front of the room and clapped her hands. The chatter immediately died down, and everyone turned their heads to look at their fearless leader: the woman who made all this possible.

“Welcome,” said Camille, “To Camille’s Classic Recipe Club. Those who joined us last month will recall our discussion of Victorian Carrot and Ginger Soup, which may have been enjoyed by a certain man dressed in gray.”

“The Picture of Dorian Gray,” whispered Amber. “That story was fascinating, right, Evie?”

“Yeah. The morally gray main character and all that talk about the “negative influences of vanity?” I can see why the government would put the book on its blacklist.”

The two girls drew their attention back to Camille as she continued her speech.

“If you are a newcomer to our recipe club, welcome! I hope you enjoy your meal and get a taste of what future meetings may hold. For the rest of you, I assume you did your research on today’s Hungry Lamb Stew. If not, feel free to ask any clarifying questions.”

Camille grabbed a dry-erase marker from her pocket and pointed at a large whiteboard. 

“Does anyone have any initial thoughts about the recipe? Any feelings it evoked within them or topics it encouraged them to explore?”

A man in his early twenties raised his hand.

“As I analyzed this recipe,” he said, “I thought a lot about self-sacrifice. I’m the oldest of five kids, and I believe the chef had a clear grasp of what it means to put the needs of your siblings above your own.”

“Excellent!”

Camille scribbled “self-sacrifice” on the board.

“What else?”

She pointed to a middle-aged woman attending the meeting with her daughter.

“I can’t imagine how horrible it would be to be a parent in that situation. They spent years raising and loving their children, hoping they would never have to send their family members to a deadly fate. If their child were chosen, they would either watch them die or see them become a murderer.”

The woman squeezed her daughter’s hand. 

“I’ve already lost a son. I could never willingly let my daughter face her death.”

Camille wore an expression of pity as she wrote “family losses” on the board.

Many other members of the illegal book club joined in the conversation. Some discussed what it meant to grow up too early while others alluded to the corrupting influence of power. There were mentions of character traits, critical plot points, and how the settings affected the characters’ decisions.

After nearly everyone had spoken, Evie raised a trembling hand. She hated speaking in front of other people, but this time, she knew she had to raise her voice. Camille smiled at her.

“Yes, Evie?”

“I…” Evie swallowed, then tried again. “I was just noticing how the situation in the b—in the recipe seems pretty similar to our own. Just, um, the way the government wants to control its people. Using intimidation and violence to take away basic rights.”

Muttering spread like wildfire throughout the room as people shot nervous glances toward the curtain that brought them security from the outside world. Evie’s voice grew stronger as she continued.

“But that’s not the only thing I noticed. The people who were a part of that recipe fought back. They didn’t want to be treated like a mindless herd of cows waiting for the slaughter. They were humans, humans who wanted to be free to live their lives through tiny rebellions.

“It’s just like what we’re doing. We might only be able to take small steps right now, but slowly, one day, we’ll be free. We’re in charge of our own minds, and no one can change that.”

It was a risky speech, but it needed to be said. While some book club members knitted their eyebrows, others gave her approving nods and even jotted down a few notes. 

“Thank you, Evie,” said Camille. “I completely agree.”

Camille wrote “justice” on the board and began to wrap up the meeting.

“Damn, Evie, that was intense.” Ashley’s expression was stern, but her bright eyes betrayed her excitement. “At this rate, Camille might as well make you Vice President.”

Evie lightly punched her friend’s arm.

“No way, Ash. I’m just a newbie to all this.”

But as Camille introduced next month’s book—The Grapes of Wrath, disguised as Farm Fresh Grape Juice—Evie knew this wasn’t simply a way for friends to discuss their secret passions and encourage diverse learning.

It was the start of a revolution.