What Do We Do with Good Books by Bad People?

This week, Lyndon Riggall poses a difficult question that many of us in the front line of providing books and encouraging reading in young people are currently deliberating.

 

A note: This blog considers the important question of what we do with works by authors who have been convicted of crimes. As such, it discusses criminal acts which may be upsetting to readers. It is not suitable for children. Please be aware of this and read at your own discretion.

 

I’m not doing very well when it comes to my childhood heroes. I haven’t commented publicly on it, but after years of loudly and proudly celebrating authors such as Neil Gaiman and J.K. Rowling, it has become increasingly difficult to consider their work as separate from the context of their shocking personal controversies. We always talk about writing as the great builder of empathy… if anything, I’m starting to worry that there might be an inverse correlation between talent and kindness on the writer’s end. Some of the authors whose work I have most admired have turned out to be the most unforgiving and self-centred when they truly reveal themselves.

 

Here in Australia, we are not immune. The biggest literary news story of the year was not one we woke up hoping to hear. I speak, of course, of the conviction of Craig Silvey, who was arrested during a raid on his Perth home in January, and who pleaded guilty a month ago to possessing and distributing child exploitation material. It’s not the first scandal of this kind in recent years, with Oliver Phommavanh being arrested for sending inappropriate photos and videos to children aged eleven to thirteen in 2024. But Silvey is by far the most popular author in the country to fall under this kind of spotlight. I know many teachers who found their year of learning thrown into chaos overnight. Books were removed from circulation and boxed up, and readers who had found solace in Silvey’s work were heartbroken. If there was a library in a school that at Christmas didn’t have at least a copy of either Jasper Jones or Runt, I never knew of it. Now, all of that was under question. We had to decide what to do next.

 

What is the right thing to do with our copies of Craig Silvey books? This week, in her article ‘The Former Novelist’, Kristen Krauth (June 23, 2026), writing for The Monthly, talked about her friendship with Silvey, and the sense of betrayal. In the end, she opted to have her copies of his books recycled. Nevertheless, Silvey’s novels are not only eminently readable and filled with human kindness, they are also hugely popular. Not buying fresh copies is one thing, but is throwing away his work necessary, or would doing so merely be yet another hurt caused by the cruelty of his actions?

I’ve thought about this question a lot, and in the case of Craig Silvey, my answer is this: yes, they have to go. My reasoning, too, is simple: so much of what Silvey wrote about was people on the fringes. He had an award for young writers named after him. Each year, through his publishers, students could win an author visit  to their school. He made his work a safehaven for children and young adults who were vulnerable and lost, all while—as the guardian of that safehaven—he was a monster hiding in shadow. There is no true safety in the place he built. Our only hope is to find somewhere new; to knock it all down and start again.

 

As a young man, I was a serial author harasser. In late primary school, I sent Justin D’Ath stories I had written from my email address at the time, lriggall@millionaireintraining.com, to ask him if he thought one day I might be a writer. In my teen years, I contacted Derek Landy on MySpace and bombarded him with questions about writing Skulduggery Pleasant. All of it was professionally responded to, and with such kindness, but I was also—looking back—in a precarious position: I was awestruck. I was desperate for the attention of someone who was a real writer. If I had been young enough to read Runt instead of Echidna Mania, you better believe that I would have been sending emails to Craig Silvey. 

 

The thought turns my blood cold.

 

I can’t comment on every author whose work has become controversial, and I do think there is some validity to the perspective that there should, in general, be a separation of art and artist. In the case of Craig Silvey, however, for me it’s clear: I loved his books, and I’m horrified and saddened at what has happened, but there will be better stories that come our way, and stories we can celebrate without this pain lying at the heart of them. Australia does not need Craig Silvey to have great writers.

 

In my own personal journey, I have come to a realisation. I may never be as good a writer as some of the authors I have been thinking about recently, but I can be a better person. I have to be. And that thought buoys my spirits and gives me hope: that we will reclaim our literary landscape from the poison that infects it. 

 

It may take time, but I truly believe it. We are a long way from the final page. I choose to hope that there is, to come, a better ending to the story of all of us.

 

Lyndon Riggall is a writer and teacher from Launceston. He is the author of Becoming Ellie and Tamar the Thief, and is, alongside Georgie Todman, co-president of the Tamar Valley Writers Festival. You can find him at www.lyndonriggall.com and on socials @lyndonriggall.