Books that discuss sexual assault should come with trigger warnings

I’ve loved words for as long as I can remember. I’ve always known that I wanted to be a writer, and maybe even a published author one day.

To me, they offer a form of escapism. A distraction from the real world, allowing you to get lost in another one – with a whole host of characters, and backgrounds.

Books can be devastating, or enlightening. They can help you learn, cry, laugh, or scream. They can break your heart, or mend it – as well as make you shake with fear or excitement.

With them, I feel safe – untouchable. They are my blanket.

Well, that was until I read Queenie, the debut novel from Candice Carty Williams. 

I know, I’m so out of the loop – it came out back in 2019, painted as a ‘refreshingly candid’, light-hearted and funny. At the time, it’s all anyone talked about – and, at first, I could see why.

It follows a 25-year-old Jamaican-British woman, living in London. It was (and still is) an extremely important book about race and gender, but I was expecting a light read, with moments of sadness – I was wrong.

As the book describes that a trip to a sexual health clinic reveals horrific internal bruising, lacerations on the protagonist’s thighs and tearing, I actually started to feel nauseous. It took me entirely off-guard, and I had to put the book down to get some fresh air.

The words rattled around my head for days and, for a long time, they were all I could see or imagine.

‘Have I missed something here?’ I wondered to myself, checking the front and back cover of the book – as well as its introductory pages for any mention of sexual abuse. Nothing. 

Quotes on the cover revealed it was ‘painful’, yes – but used the word in the same sentence as ‘hilarious,’ ‘compelling’ and ‘enlightening’. 

There were no trigger warnings, and I felt as if I’d been caught off guard – winded by its words.

I’ve been sexually harassed more times than I can count – and from a young age, too. Most young women have – 97% of 18-24-year-old’s, in fact.

Part of the reason why I read books is to transport myself to a world without that statistic, not to be reminded of it and my own mortality for simply existing as a woman.

I agree wholeheartedly that books can offer a rare moment of education; I get that it’s important to teach young girls about consent, how to practise safe sex and view their bodies – schools certainly don’t do it well – but if an author is going to offer an insight, their books need warnings. 

Would I have read Queenie if it had one? Yes, probably – it’s a brilliant book, though it’s not one I’ll be reading again. 

But I would have been able to prepare myself mentally and emotionally for it, first. Thankfully, I wasn’t in a dark place when I read it – but I could’ve been. 

I can’t deny that it’s sparked me into doing more research into any prospective novels I read though, and I’m giving a wide berth to ones that could potentially be triggering; American Psycho, The Kite Runner, A Clockwork Orange, Thirteen Reasons Why, The Handmaid’s Tale, The Lovely Bones, The Girl With the Dragon tattoo, even the Game of Thrones books.

Warnings could and should tell potential readers about distressing themes and content – it could cover sexual assault, domestic abuse, or even toxic relationships and suicide. 

They could even inform readers about upcoming chapters, or pages to avoid if you’re not in the right headspace at the time. 

Netflix offers various warnings with shows that depict suicide, child abuse, domestic abuse, violence and sexual violence in episode bios; our onscreen news channels often caution us of ‘distressing images’ in TV segments, and many mainstream TV shows offer up information before a show airs, so why don’t books? 

Since then, I thankfully haven’t been caught out again – and my mental health has been much better for it. I’m no longer on edge while reading, and can enjoy the feeling of escaping from my world into another.

But readers as a whole need to be given the choice to consent to delving into books with triggering themes. 

And without warnings, I’m not reading them – no matter how many five star reviews they have, or how many friends rave about it.