The final week of September will mark ‘Banned Books Week’, a celebration of the freedom to read and a challenge to literary censorship.

It is certainly good timing: the New Zealand Film and Literature Board of Review’s decision to temporarily ban a novel is the first since the law was enacted 22 years ago.

The supposedly nefarious novel in question is Into the River by Kiwi author Ted Dawe.

Following public complaints, an unrestricted M-rating was imposed. Lobby group Family First appealed the review, questioning the societal implications of references to explicit sex, drugs and offensive language. An R14 rating was then levied. Auckland Libraries requested this be reconsidered. A reclassification re-established the unrestricted status. Family First appealed again. Which prompted the provisional ban, pending a full review by FLBR.

Surely it is far more dangerous to prohibit adolescents from literary discussions of the very issues that may affect them as they transition through a turbulent period in their lives.

In 2013, this same novel nabbed the top prize at the annual New Zealand Post Children’s Book Awards. Judge Bernard Beckett proclaimed: "We were delighted to see a book that both engaged and respected older readers, with material as subtle as it is honest and provocative".

The decision to dictate what and what is not appropriate to read is an uneasy reminder that the paternalistic nanny state is alas, very much alive and kicking.

However, the roots of literary censorship run deep. The condemnation of texts judged unfit for public consumption because of their dangerous ideas, subversive political messages or explicit content, has affected some of the most well-known pieces of literature ever written. Like Ulysses, Gone with the Wind, Animal Farm, and Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

More inane examples include Charlotte’s Web (talking animals are satanic), Where the Wild Things Are (glorifying a child’s anger is psychologically damaging) and Twilight (this one is probably justified).

And there are approximately 1300 texts currently banned in New Zealand. Some are conceivably rightly objectionable. Other classifications are obsolete given major shifts in social attitudes.

But forbidden fruit is always sweeter.

The provisional ban upon Into the River is, ironically, making the desire to access the novel that much stronger. Perhaps it will fuel a black market for the text, piquing the interest of unruly teenagers in English class.

Which at least makes the ban a highly effective, albeit unintentional, marketing ruse.