Should Publishers Ban Inappropriate Synonym In Children'S Books?

Sometimes I catch myself grinning when a YA character tries to sound like they swallowed a thesaurus. The biggest culprits are the highfalutin synonyms — 'utilize' instead of 'use', 'ameliorate' for 'fix', or 'pulchritudinous' when all you meant was 'pretty'. In a lunchroom scene, one awkward line of dialogue with a word like that can trigger snickers or a mocking nickname, and authors often use that to show social distance or insecurity. I also see a lot of teasing sprout from malapropisms and words that sound fancy but are commonly misused: 'peruse' (people think it means skim), 'irony' vs coincidence, or 'enormity' used when 'enormousness' was intended. Those moments make readers laugh and characters flinch, which is great for tension or humor. If you write YA, lean into these slips as character work. Let a kid overcompensate with big words to hide fear, or have friends rib them for saying 'literally' in a situation that's obviously not literal. It feels real — I’ve seen it at school plays and in chat threads — and it tells you so much about who's trying and who's trying too hard.

I love playing detective with word choice; it’s the little eyebrow-raising moments that make editing fun. When I’m reading a manuscript I flag inappropriate synonyms by listening for a mismatch in tone or meaning: if a word sits oddly in a sentence I stop and ask why. I use inline comments to mark the spot, explain the problem briefly, and usually offer two or three alternatives so the author can choose what fits their voice. For example, I’ll point out when 'disinterested' appears but 'uninterested' is meant, or when 'enormity' is used where 'enormousness' was intended. Those are tiny semantic traps that change a sentence’s meaning. Beyond meaning, I pay attention to connotation and register. A slangy synonym in a formal paragraph, or an archaic term in a modern, snappy scene, sets off warning bells. I’ll annotate things like collocation errors — words that don’t naturally pair together — and I’ll sometimes show a short line from a reference like the OED or a corpus result to back up my suggestion. Tools help: I rely on track changes, a searchable style sheet, and concordance tools to check how a word normally behaves. When cultural or potentially offensive words come up I add a sensitivity flag and suggest bringing a sensitivity reader into the loop. If a problematic synonym appears repeatedly, I compile a short list in the manuscript’s style guide and query the author about preference and intent. I’m careful not to erase an authorial quirk without asking; sometimes odd choices are voice, not error. Overall, I try to be pragmatic, explanatory, and collaborative — marking the why, not just the what — so the manuscript gets clearer without losing its spark. Editing like this keeps me engaged and, honestly, a little smug when a paragraph suddenly sings better.

It's wild how often this topic comes up in parent groups! From what I've seen, yes, certain children's books get challenged or banned, usually for themes adults deem too mature. Like that picture book 'And Tango Makes Three' about penguin dads—some schools pulled it for LGBTQ+ content, which bums me out because it's such a sweet story about unconventional families. Then there's older stuff like 'Where the Wild Things Are' that faced bans decades ago for 'dark imagery.' What fascinates me is how these debates reveal cultural shifts. My niece's school library still has 'Captain Underpants,' which was controversial for 'disrespecting authority,' but now kids adore its chaos. Honestly? Kids notice way less than adults assume—they just see fun stories. The real issue is who gets to decide what 'inappropriate' means. After seeing how my nephew reacted to 'Goosebumps' (zero nightmares, just giggles), I think we underestimate how well kids filter content themselves.