Why Was 'How I Live Now' Banned?

As someone who devours controversial books, I’ve always found the backlash against 'How I Live Now' hypocritical. It was banned for being “too dark,” but that darkness is its strength. The story follows Daisy, a 15-year-old sent to the English countryside, where a sudden war traps her in a fight for survival. The bans fixate on the cousin romance, but that’s reductive. The relationship is messy, impulsive, and deliberately unsettling—it’s supposed to make you question how love and desperation intertwine in extreme circumstances.

The violence is another sticking point. Scenes of dead bodies and Daisy’s near-starvation were deemed too graphic. Yet these moments are crucial. They strip away the sanitized version of war teens often see in media. The book forces readers to sit with discomfort, which is why it’s so effective. If you want more unfiltered narratives, check out 'Lord of the Flies'—another frequently banned book that exposes the savage side of human nature.

I remember the controversy around 'How I Live Now' like it was yesterday. The book got banned in several school districts because of its raw portrayal of war and teenage sexuality. Some parents and educators freaked out over the graphic scenes where the protagonist, Daisy, experiences the brutal realities of war firsthand, including violence and survival instincts kicking in. The romantic relationship between Daisy and her cousin also stirred up a hornet's nest—people called it inappropriate due to the incestuous undertones, even though the book handles it with nuance. Censors couldn’t stomach the unflinching way it shows a teen’s descent into chaos, both emotionally and physically. What’s ironic is that these elements are precisely what make the story so gripping and authentic. If you want a book that doesn’t sugarcoat adolescence or war, this one’s a punch to the gut.

The banning of 'How I Live Now' is a classic case of adults underestimating teens’ ability to process complex themes. The objections mainly revolve around two things: the depiction of war and the romantic relationship between cousins. Critics argued the war scenes were too intense for young readers—think bombings, starvation, and psychological trauma. But that’s the point. The book doesn’t romanticize conflict; it shows how war fractures lives, which is why it resonates so deeply.

The cousin romance subplot is another flashpoint. While some see it as taboo, the story frames it as a desperate connection forged in isolation, not glorification. The ban ignores how the book explores consent, power dynamics, and the blurry lines of love in crisis. Meg Rosoff’s writing is deliberately messy and visceral, mirroring Daisy’s fractured mental state. Censoring it removes a chance for readers to discuss uncomfortable truths about human behavior under pressure. For a similar unvarnished take on war, try 'The Book Thief'—it’s just as brutal but equally beautiful.