Why I Wanted to Get on the Pope’s ‘Do Not Read’ List

For those unfamiliar with church history, the ‘do not read’ list I’m referring to is officially known as the Index Librorum Prohibitorum (Translation: The Index of Prohibited Books). Created in 1559, it was a carefully curated collection of books that Catholics were strongly discouraged from reading. Why? Because those books were deemed dangerous to the soul. Heretical ideas, provocative themes, or simply the audacity to challenge the status quo could land a book squarely on that list.

Now, you might be wondering, ‘Why would anyone want to be on that list?’ My answer: because forbidden fruit tastes sweeter, and forbidden books sell faster. Some of history’s greatest works—by Galileo, Voltaire, and even Victor Hugo—made the cut. And you know what? Those books weren’t just read; they were devoured. Being ‘banned’ gave them a mystique, a rebellious edge, a certain je ne sais quoi that made people want to know, ‘What’s so dangerous about this book?’

But alas, in 1966, the Vatican retired the Index, citing that the modern world had made policing people’s reading habits impractical. (Or, as I like to think, they just ran out of time to update the list because the ‘approved reading list’ was much shorter.) Which brings me to my problem: since I’m clearly not going to make the approved list, the default would’ve been a nice spot on the ‘do not read’ list. Only now it doesn’t exist. Typical.

So why the obsession with the Pope’s imaginary ‘do not read’ list? It’s simple: I figured if my book were controversial enough to offend someone important—say, someone with a billion followers—it might be interesting enough for those billion followers to want to read it. The logic is flawless, right? I don’t need anyone to declare ex cathedra that my book is scandalous; I just need one curious Catholic to ask, ‘What is this nonsense, and why did Ian want it banned in the first place?’ Curiosity spreads like wildfire, and boom—now my book is flying off the shelves faster than communion wafers at a packed Mass.

But here’s the thing: I don’t even know if my book could offend the Vatican. Sure, there might be a cheeky line or two, but I don’t think it’s heretical or dangerous. I’m not advocating for the downfall of religion or proposing an alternative theology involving sentient coffee cups (though now that I’ve typed that out, it does sound intriguing). So what’s my angle?

The truth is, I just love the idea of being part of a long tradition of thinkers, writers, and creative troublemakers who made people question, wonder, or feel something. The Index Librorum Prohibitorum wasn’t really about banning books—it was about identifying ideas that challenged the status quo. And whether the Pope, your neighbour, or even your cat declares it forbidden, a challenging idea is something worth writing—and reading—about.

So here I am, a writer who likely won’t make it onto the Vatican’s radar but still dreams of a little controversy. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. Maybe it’s shameless self-promotion. Or maybe it’s just me playing with the age-old truth: forbidden ideas (real or imagined) are what keep the world interesting.

If this blog has intrigued you, I invite you to read the book and find out for yourself what I’ve done to deserve a spot on the Pope’s hypothetical blacklist. Who knows—maybe, if we spread the word far enough, I’ll get lucky. After all, stranger things have happened in the Vatican (just ask Galileo).

And hey, if a billion Catholics end up buying the book, I promise to split the royalties with coffee. Let’s not forget who the real hero is here.

So go ahead—dare to read what the Pope hasn’t banned. Yet.