I was in a book shop the other day. A woman behind me was asking the shop assistant for help choosing something for her daughter. The shop assistant, hearing that the daughter was turning 14, went through a range of books that sounded jam-packed with sleepovers and BFFs. At one particular suggestion, the mum wrinkled her nose.

“Are there boys in it?” she asked.

The shop assistant laughed and replied: “Oh yeah, all of them have boys in them.”

I saw the mum’s upper lip start to curl in disgust, and the shop assistant added quickly, “Oh, I mean there are boys – but nothing to scare the horses.”

It got me thinking about two things. Firstly: are horses particularly averse to racy literature? And the second was something I probably hadn’t considered probably since I was around 14 myself, and that’s what teens ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t’ be reading. Nowadays, we tend to worry more about what kids are watching. A lot of parents would just be happy that their child had picked up a book for once instead of glazing over in front of the TV. But that’s not to say ‘dangerous’ books aren’t still a concern, as the conversation on which I eavesdropped demonstrates. Young teenagers are reluctant to give their parents much indication as to how mature their understanding of the world is, and parents aren’t keen to expose their kids to any material that might traumatise them for life. As a result, there’s a general consensus on how to approach books and young teenagers: encourage them to read, but don’t push their boundaries.

But this approach, I think, deprives teenagers of a vital reading experience. We’ve all read books that once finished have you leaning back in your chair feeling like your brains have just blown out of the back of your skull. But I would argue this happens most often when you’re around 13 or so. Reading something that exposes you to new and perhaps shocking ideas at just the right point in time, when you’re sheltered and naïve, can make a book really detonate in your hands.

It would be impossible to talk about controversial kids’ books without mentioning Melvin Burgess. When Junk was given to me for my 12th birthday, I knew nothing of its legendary status in British teenage fiction. But I immediately attached to it a certain notoriety – my mum had just willingly, without any prompting, given me a book about drug-addicts. It was the coolest thing that had ever happened to a 12 year old. I took it to my room and absolutely scoffed it down, feeling like I had to finish it quickly in case she hadn’t noticed how bad it was yet. Here were kids only a couple of years older than me running away from home, losing it, shooting heroine. It was intense, it was memorable, but more than anything, it was incredibly liberating.

In response to those shaking their fists and calling for Junk’s censorship, defenders of the book argued that while it described kids doing drugs, it also described kids suffering as a result of doing drugs, and regretting having done them in the first place. It seems that profanity in teenage literature is only forgivable when there’s clearly a lesson to be learned. If you’re writing a sex scene for teenagers, you have two options: either don’t write it, and use a strategic page break to drift romantically off into the distance, or write it but deglamourise the experience somehow, maybe with an STI or an unplanned pregnancy. While I’m not dismissing either approach, particularly the latter (which, I think, hits home a lot harder than just hearing about these things in a classroom) the fact that it’s so taboo to present teenagers with a sex-positive attitude is concerning. We assume that reading something like this when you’re quite young won’t be mind-expanding but utterly life-ruining, and in doing so I think we discredit a lot of young people.

But books seen as unsuitable for youngsters aren’t just the ones with sex and drugs in them. Perhaps the most common reason parents won’t buy a book for their kid is on the grounds that it may be upsetting. This happens particularly, I think, with girls. Adults are hesitant to recommend books exploring mental health issues, death, or subjects that their children might find ‘confusing’, like homosexuality and gender dysphoria. And it comes from a good place. They’re only worrying about how kids will respond. But avoiding more mature themes stunts the experience of a reader, and can impede the development of a young individual. Maybe I’m being unfair, but the syrupy book titles I heard being read aloud by the shop assistant didn’t sound like they’d offer anything very challenging. I remember my first book about an underage pregnancy, my first book about suicide; I don’t remember my first book about a sleepover. And of course, those books were a bit overwhelming at the time, but that’s not a bad thing. Surely this is the age when you should be breaking out of your comfort zone and being introduced to these ideas, as it’s better to have these revelations when you’re younger than to find yourself trying to uproot close-minded preconceptions in later life.

There are some conversations that just don’t come up when you’re 12. And because you’re 12, a lot of these conversations are ones you don’t even know you want to have. Books are the best way to get them started. For those having a hard time growing up, they can be a source of great solace and comfort, and a shocking but necessary punch-in-the-face for those unaware of the issues that their peers may be experiencing. Attempts to censor teenage fiction are founded in concern for young people’s safety, but in my opinion demonstrate a fundamental lack of awareness of how young people are experiencing the world. Teenagers are eager to find out more about ‘the real world’, and we shouldn’t stop them.