Back in the 1960s, students marched, sat in, and refused to be silent. Patrick Dolan was one of them. Decades later, in Blame It on Socrates, he’s standing in front of a classroom full of students who don’t know—or don’t care—what it means to challenge the system. Until, of course, a philosophy assignment sparks a protest of its own.
That got me thinking: Can a novel be a protest?
I like to think so. A good book disrupts the way we see the world. It challenges assumptions, raises questions, and forces us to sit in discomfort. It demands that we look deeper, think harder, and—if we’re lucky—emerge a little changed. But the best novels don’t lecture or preach. They slip through the cracks in our certainty, plant a seed of doubt, and leave us wondering long after the final page.
Some of the most powerful protests in history weren’t shouted through megaphones—they were written in ink. Orwell didn’t take to the streets, but 1984 still echoes in every conversation about surveillance and authoritarianism. Harper Lee didn’t lead a march, but To Kill a Mockingbird forced generations to see injustice through the eyes of a child. Books don’t always demand action, but they do something just as powerful: They make us think.
And thinking, in its own quiet way, is a kind of rebellion.
Maybe that’s why storytelling has always been dangerous. Words have the power to topple regimes, unsettle the comfortable, and spark movements. They give voice to the voiceless, challenge the narratives of power, and remind us that every status quo was once something worth questioning. A novel might not change the world overnight, but it can light the match that starts the fire.
So, can a novel be a protest? Absolutely. Not every protest comes with a picket sign. Some come with a dog-eared book, passed from one restless thinker to another. And maybe, just maybe, the best protests start with a story worth telling.
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