One theme runs through almost every epic tale. The fragile hope that the hero will conquer in the face of what seem to be insurmountable odds.

Hope.

A small yet profound word.

It’s an idea that recurs time and again in stories, especially those with a fantasy or sci-fi bent. Why? Because at their heart, spec-fic tales are about the battle between good versus evil. The battle between light and dark. The battle between hope and despair.

As titanic forces clash, realms rise and crumble, and rebels rise up against tyrannic empires, this theme of hope makes its presence known—a pillar upholding the bridge upon which the story is built.

What causes people to seek hope—writers to speak of it in stories and readers to look for it within the pages?

It’s because we live in a broken world full of things going wrong. We yearn for hope because it’s a promise of the calm after the storm, the dawn after endless night.

The characters, too, seek this hope, and for the same reasons. That’s why it resonates so strongly within us. We become personally attached to the story as we see the characters keep the feeble flame kindled. We ask, “If they can cling to hope, why can’t we?”

However, not every story paints a picture colored with hope. Happy endings are sometimes passed over in favor of making the story grittier, darker, more realistic.

Is that a good thing? After all, isn’t it naïve to assume every story has or needs a happy ending?

Let’s look at three popular stories and how they each approach this idea of hope.

1. Game of Thrones

I haven’t read the books or watched the TV show, but I’ve heard plenty about Game of Thrones, particularly the unrelenting violence and corruption. The tagline of the series could read, “No one is really good and only the good survive. Therefore no one survives.”

Exaggerated, yes, but it makes the point. Game of Thrones presents a bleak world to say the least. A world where hope is outcast and despair rules supreme because people aren’t given a reason to hope, aren’t shown a light in the darkness to guide and encourage them.

In such a setting, hope has no place, and where there is no hope that evil can be defeated, that good will triumph in the end, life becomes a meaningless cycle where survival and temporal pleasure is all that matters.

Everything is indifferent fate and cold steel.

A grim outlook indeed.

2. Hunger Games

A lot has been said about the lack of hope present in Hunger Games, as evidenced by the less than triumphant conclusion to Mockingjay.

So much pain endured, so much sacrificed in the effort to overthrow the Capitol. Yet what was the outcome at the end of the day? Katniss kills the rebellion’s leader and ends up back at home, traumatized and miserable.

Gale goes off and doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

Even the eventual marriage between Katniss and Peeta is laced with strands of sorrow, as shown in the book’s epilogue (and dealt with in much more tasteful, poignant fashion at the end of Mockingjay Part 2).

In one regard, I like this approach because it shows us how devastating Katniss’ experience in the Games and as the Mockingjay were. They took an irreparable toll on her emotionally and mentally.

Image from thehungergames.wikia.com

At the same time, the story felt cold, lacking that flame of hope. An echo would have taken the story to a new level, not by minimizing what Katniss endured, but by offering a glimpse of something beyond.

3. Lord of the Rings

Sam says it best:

“It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end… because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing…this shadow. Even darkness must pass.”

Hope shines forth in this quote like a ray of sun piercing a storm-filled sky. It gets at the root of hope—that darkness and danger abound, and the ending can’t possibly be worth remembering, too filled as it is with despair.

But…even darkness must pass.

Image from lotr.wikia.com

What a beautiful, timeless reminder, one Sam and Frodo experienced firsthand. Written by a professing Christian, Lord of the Rings presents a view of hope that expresses the deeper truths stemming from a Christian worldview.

Finding Hope

We hope not because we have seen the end, when the shadow passes and sunshine and peace fill the land once more. But because we long for that time, knowing deep in our hearts it will come.

For Christians, this hope is rooted in the promises of God. That alone adds depth and meaning to the stories we read, and offers encouragement. Sam and Frodo made it through. Our hope, our confidence, is that no matter what trials come, what hardships we face in this world, the darkness is only a fleeting thing.

Because of that, we truly can find hope, and through our stories, we can let that beacon of hope shine forth in a what at times seems to be a hopeless world.

Realm Makers, the conference for speculative fiction from a “faith-based worldview,” has done a great job bringing in quality keynote speakers right from the start. I couldn’t find a list on the web site, but I know they’ve had Jeff Gerke and Tosca Lee. And this year Thomas Locke will fill that role.

Some may not know that Thomas Locke is the speculative pen name for Davis Bunn. His author bio gives us a glimpse of the man:

Thomas Locke is an award-winning novelist with total world-wide sales of seven million copies.

His work has been published in twenty languages, and critical acclaim includes four Christy Awards for excellence in fiction and his 2014 induction into the Christy Hall of Fame.

Thomas divides his time between Florida and England, where he serves as Writer In Residence at Regent’s Park College, the University of Oxford. He holds a lifelong passion for epic fantasy, science fiction and techno-thriller stories.

Thomas’s screenplay adaption of Emissary is under development as a feature film with a British production company.

And this is the man who has included Realm Makers in his busy speaking schedule.

Although much of his writing (as Davis Bunn), is not in the speculative genre, his latest work is a fantasy. Merchant of Alyss (Revell, January 2016) is the second in his Legends of the Realm series. Emissary, book one in the series, introduces readers to a reluctant hero and takes him on a journey to save his world. There’s magic and romance and adventure and fantastic creatures. Good fantasy stuff!

Locke is a full time writer who loves to surf, though he doesn’t get much chance to ride the waves since moving to England. His new passion is cycling.

I’m not sure how he finds time because he is also writing a near-science fiction series. Trial Run is book one of the Fault Line series, with the free ebook short story Double Edge introducing the series. Meanwhile he still writes his historical adventure books as Davis Bunn.

Locke’s fiction, while fitting into the classification of inspirational, is not geared toward Christian readers, but toward a broader range, much like Tolkien’s books. When he first decided to write fantasy, he did so because he found the current in the genre to be overly dark. He wanted to infuse it with some of the elements of classic fantasy, particularly the journey-quest structure and the marriage of internal goals with external ones.

He also has a unique perspective on where he fits as a Christian writer:

Emissary is a Latin word that means ambassador.

My wife, Isabella, and I live for part of the year in the UK and the other part in the US. Increasingly, in our ministry efforts outside of writing, she and I are the only Christians in the room. We feel as if we are emissaries to the world.

During the time we live in the US, it’s easy to become insular. It’s a simpler and more comforting existence if our world is restricted to the community of believers who see the world the same way we do. In the US, our friendships and contacts can mostly be centered around fellow Christians.

Both situations feel right. But the direction we’re feeling called is to this community outside our faith community: the general university system, general entertainment, the growing world of nonbelief. (from Davis Bunn, The Gentleman Adventurer)

Emissary has received a good deal of attention and acclaim. From the back cover:

With his twenty-first birthday, Hyam begins a journey that will lead him to his destiny–or his doom.

Hyam has always shown a remarkable ability to master languages, even those left unspoken for a thousand years. But now the shadow of suspicion that was cast upon him as a child prodigy at Long Hall is lengthening, and he must keep his identity hidden–or face annihilation.

As Hyam’s mother slips toward death, she implores him to return to Long Hall before he settles down to farm his land. This journey born from duty becomes an impassioned quest for the truth. War is coming swiftly, and Hyam must rely upon his newfound powers and the friends he meets along the way in order to unravel the puzzling past and ensure that he–and the realm–will have a future.

“Book one of the Legends of the Realm series is a wonderful journey away from the real world. This universe is one of fantasy with good and evil, magic, and creatures both mundane and fantastical. The young hero and his companion animals will soon have readers wanting to go on adventures with them. A fine start to this intriguing series.”–RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

“Readers of inspirational fantasy will enjoy [Locke’s] foray into a new genre.”–Publishers Weekly

“A superbly crafted fantasy adventure novel that engages the reader’s total and rewarded attention from beginning to end. Very highly recommended.”–Midwest Book Review

For anyone interested in learning more about Thomas Locke and his fantasy, Alton Gansky, director of the Blue Ridge Christian Writers Conference, interviewed him at Writers Talk. The video is nearly thirty-four minutes long, so if you have some time, you’ll get some interesting, behind-the-scene information as well as learning a bit more about who Thomas Locke is.

Embers (Enclave Publishing)

Abiassa’s Fire Book 1

By Ronie Kendig

Introduction
He’s coming for them. And the kingdom.

Haegan and Kaelyria Celahar are royal heirs of the Nine Kingdoms, but Haegan is physically crippled. What chance does he have against Poired Dyrth, the greatest enemy the kingdom has ever faced, who wields fire with a power none can match?

Their only hope is forbidden: Kaelyria must transfer her fire-harnessing abilities to Haegan. When she does, it comes with a terrible price: Haegan’s disability is healed, but only by being transferred to Kaelyria. This decision causes their father, the King, to unleash his wrath against Haegan.

Haegan must flee the kingdom alone with two impossible tasks: Find a cure for Kaelyria and stop the coming war with the omnipotent Poired Dyrth.

EXCERPT

Once amid the fertile lands
Were proud and strong brigands.
Vain in their ways,
They numbered their days;
Then came the blight
With fire so bright.
It devoured hearts and pride.
In agony, their children cried
As roaring devoured every drop
Of life, livestock, and crop.
Red, orange, gold, and blue
Reshaped the lands—people, too.
Now they writhe amid the pyre
Of Abiassa’s Fire.

1

It was said the very soul of the land burned within her. The soul of the fire, of Abiassa. The thought drew Kaelyria Celahar’s gaze to the Fiery Mount. She traced its spine in the distance. The charred slopes teemed with reddish-gold lava spilling down into the Lakes of Fire. So beautiful. Forbidding. Compelling.

“Red, orange, gold, and blue; Reshaped the lands, people, too.” Kaelyria’s breath bloomed over the leaded glass as she recited the ancient rhyme. As the circle of fog shrank, she braced against the heaviness crowding her, sniffling out the joy she once felt at being the heir to the throne. The future ruler of a realm so powerful. ” ‘Now to thrive on holy pyre, They unleash . . . Abiassa’s Fire.’ ”

Blackened earth shifted, forced aside by the burning elements that glowed bright against the night-darkened land. Just as she would push aside the darkness pursuing her and her people. Gone were the laughter and merriment that thrived in the days of her childhood. At nineteen, she was an adult, no longer the child who once danced around the Great Pit singing the evensongs with her friends. With Haegan.

Things changed.

Kaelyria lowered her gaze. Hand on her stomach, she drew a breath as synergy, hot and thrumming, surged against her palm. Answering. Churning. The very essence of who she’d been since Haegan’s incident now infused her with the abiatasso that guided her, enabled her to someday rule. But more importantly it existed to protect the people of Zaethien.

Even the midnight sky seemed to shrink, yielding darkness to the territories beneath its heavy cloak. Or maybe they were shrinking because of her intended course—if her connection with the land was as whole as she’d been taught, could it feel her turmoil? The irrevocable path she’d chosen?

Grief anew threatened to strangle her. She closed her eyes. If she did not do this, the fires could go out. The land could die. But if she did, she could die.

“My lady, princess?”

The soft voice pulled Kaelyria from her somber thoughts. She straightened, smoothed a hand down her silk-embroidered gown as much to brush away the weighty thoughts as to compose herself, and turned from the window. Across the black lacquered floor, torchlight scampered up the gilded walls and tapestries, casting an odd glow against her handmaiden’s young face.

Pulling the silk wrap tightly around her shoulders, Kaelyria lifted her chin. “Is he here?”

Kiesa gave a reluctant nod, no doubt held captive by the fear that shone in her eyes. This was the end, even her maiden knew. “My lady-grace, are you sure you—”

“Bring him.” Kaelyria dared not trust herself to hear anyone’s concerns or complaints, especially the one who knew her heart better than most. The one who attended her minute by minute. The ne who dressed here, laughed with her, and shared confidences.

Kiesa tucked her head and stepped back. Once she’d cleared the threshold, she gave a quick bow and vanished.

One last chance to change your mind. Would Haegan ever forgive her for this? Would Father? And Graem . . . The thought cinched a tight cord around her stomach.

A large shape filled the doorway. Cilicien ka’Dur entered, followed by Kiesa. Hair smoothed back, facial hair trim and neat encircling his mouth, he brought with him a chill that defied the roaring fire in the hearth. Adorned in his Ignatieri overcloak and black breeches, he made an impressive figure as he bent before her. When he bowed, the firelight caught the gold threads and streamed down them, striking the rubies, orange sapphires, and—the most prized—citrines stitched into his mantle. Fiery prisms exploded from the gems and leapt around the room.

“Princess, it is an honor.” His voice seemed oiled, slick. Though his gaze did not go to the fireworks cast by his bejeweled cloak, ka’Dur could not keep the pride from his eyes, from puffing his chest.

Kaelyria curled her hands into fists, her attention flicking to where Kiesa stood in the shadows, sensing the support of her handmaiden against this accelerant. His appearance had caught her off guard at their first meeting—he was not what she’d expected an accelerant to look like, especially not one of his caliber. Old, gnarled, she’d expected. This . . . Even as it pleased her eye, something about his beauty sparked unease in her heart.

With an amused look, ka’Dur strolled her private quarters, considering the paintings, the sofas, the gold tables, and brocade tapestries. “Quite a change from our last place of meeting.”

Kaelyria ignored him, steeling herself. “Are you prepared to do this?”

“Are you, my lady-grace?”

Kaelyria walked quickly to the armoire and retrieved the pouch from the lead box. She rubbed her fingers over the velvet. Gems poked through the fabric and rolled against her palm. half her inheritance, and the gems the least of the price she would pay.

Any price is worth protecting Abiassa’s Fire.

And Haegan.

– – – – –

The Author

Ronie Kendig is an award-winning, bestselling author of a dozen novels. She grew up an Army brat. Now, she and her husband, an Army veteran, have an adventurous life in Northern Virginia with their children and two dogs–a Maltese Menace and a retired military working dog, VVolt N629. Ronie’s degree in Psychology has helped her pen novels of intense, raw characters. Since launching onto the publishing scene in 2010, Ronie and Rapid-Fire Fiction novels have hit bestseller lists and garnered numerous awards and much critical acclaim.

Last time I posted here, I made the argument that readers should not be too picky. Today I will make the argument that writers – and, more broadly, “creators” – should not be jerks. Turnabout is fair play, and anyway, I read this article, “The Most Successful Creative People Constantly Say ‘No’. ” It’s not the saying no that bothers me, or even the constantly saying no. It’s how these successful, creative people say no.

The author cites several responses a Hungarian professor received from people whom he had asked to participate in a study. He cites them as proof that saying no is a habit of highly successful people, and not (which would be more rational) that humility is evidently in deficit among highly successful people. Here they are:

Secretary to novelist Saul Bellow: “Mr Bellow informed me that he remains creative in the second half of life, at least in part, because he does not allow himself to be a part of other people’s ‘studies.’ ”

It’s not even a study, people. It’s a “study”.

Management writer Peter Drucker: “One of the secrets of productivity (in which I believe whereas I do not believe in creativity) is to have a VERY BIG waste paper basket to take care of ALL invitations such as yours — productivity in my experience consists of NOT doing anything that helps the work of other people but to spend all one’s time on the work the Good Lord has fitted one to do, and to do well.”

It is probably the literary equivalent of being overdressed to respond to this with a quotation from Dickens, but it does come to mind: “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were, all, my business.”

Secretary to composer György Ligeti: “He is creative and, because of this, totally overworked. Therefore, the very reason you wish to study his creative process is also the reason why he (unfortunately) does not have time to help you in this study. He would also like to add that he cannot answer your letter personally because he is trying desperately to finish a Violin Concerto which will be premiered in the Fall.”

I think it would be well to remember that countless millions of people are totally overworked, and for nobler reasons than that they are creative. The world can do without another Violin Concerto. It cannot do without food – which is what, essentially, most people work for.

The rest of the article continues the intimation, found in these quotations, that there is something especially important about creativity – and, it follows, about creative people. “Time,” our author states, “is the raw material of creation.” Time is far more than that; time is the raw material of life, and the time of creative people is no more valuable than that of other mortals.

“We” – meaning creators – “do not have enough time as it is.” True – and not because we (you, they) are creators. It’s true because no one has enough time.

Or maybe everyone has just enough time. I am amenable to that idea, too. What I am not amenable to is the idea that some people – special people, creative people – are particularly short on time, and this is why they throw other people’s invitations into the wastebasket, and tell them so.

Creativity is not a virtue, nor is it elevated above a thousand other good and honorable human activities. Creative people have the right to say no, but it’s only the same right everyone else has. Nor is a haughty or high-handed No, let alone a rude one, at all to be excused. We all live under the same rules, and one of the most basic of those rules is: Don’t be a jerk.

Are you ready for a happy stroll through a world bright with feel-good moments, happy families, unrealistic expectations, and sentimentality?

Welcome to the landscape of Christian entertainment.

Don’t worry, the flowers are always in bloom (despite the occasional thorn), conversion experiences abound, healing themes flow like the waters from the Fountain of Youth, and the details are wrapped up in a sunny yellow bow.

Shadows are but lingering thoughts, barely given substance in the light of intensely happy sunbeams. Bonnets are as common as rain showers in England, and the people living in this happy world are nice.

Even the villains, who seem to have their bad language vocal chords permanently damaged.

Most importantly, the fare served breakfast through dinner is a healthy, predictable diet of Christian themes, Christian ideals, Christian philosophies, Christian lingo, and Christian morals.

Anything less is questionable, perhaps evil, and therefore should be confined to the forbidden chasm of H-E-double-hockey-sticks. (You know, the dark, sulfuric, flame-bathed place.)

To be fair, this description (sarcasm intended to make a point) doesn’t encompass the entirety of Christian entertainment. However, it illustrates the reality of what we commonly refer to as Christian fiction—books, movies being the primary storytelling devices.

Christian fiction is notorious for being, shall we say, subpar when it comes to most storytelling elements. Why? Because the message, the purpose of the book, becomes the dominant force, crushing plot, character, nuance, and creativity down like an avalanche leveling trees.

Must it be this way? Must stories by Christians always hammer the nail on the head so the reader can’t possibly mistake the book’s agenda?

The answer is a resounding NO!

I submit that blatantly Christianized books cause more harm than good. They paint the world, and our place within it, in overly positive terms that lead to discontent when we find out how broken and messed up everything is. They undermine excellent storytelling. Most egregious of all, perhaps, is the way it inundates the reader with the Christian message, to the point where it becomes an annoying, repetitious buzz.

Stories by Christians should reflect timeless truths, grow naturally from the author’s worldview, and glorify God in striving for excellence. Which, by the way, isn’t a code word for “Let’s use blatant Christian themes.”

By way of example, let’s look at two heralded stories rooted in the Christian worldview.

Lord of the Rings and Narnia.

Quality (Not Christian) Fiction

I can hardly imagine anyone who doesn’t appreciate the quality found within the pages of these timeless tales. Both those were written by Christian authors. Both contained themes obviously derived from a Christian perspective of life and the world.

Granted, the elements in Narnia derived from Christian roots were more obvious, but never explicitly stated. To the believer, the similarities are undeniable, but to the secular reader, the subtle echoes aren’t annoyingly overbearing.

Lord of the Rings, on the other hand, is much more vague. Tolkien insisted his intent wasn’t to write an allegory. Again, while the echoes of truth are apparent to the Christian, they’re veiled behind resonant themes, a breathtaking setting, relatable characters, and a gripping tale.

Imagine if Tolkien had approached Lord of the Rings with the mindset of, “I’m a Christian, therefore my work must obviously be Christian.” What do we get? Here’s my imaginative interpretation:

• Frodo wearing a cross instead of a Ring
• Sam reciting scripture verses when the road becomes dark
• Frodo actively evangelizing Gollum
• Gandalf heralded as a direct representation of Christ
• A lack of any magic, good or otherwise
• Minas Tirith and Helm’s Deep as symbols for building walls of protection around our lives so the evil forces can’t get in

You get the idea.

In such a scenario, the weight, the beauty of the tale are lost, sacrificed in favor of preachiness.

Lord of the Rings is one of the most profound works of fiction penned. Not because it resides in the land of Do Good, Be Good, Feel Good, but because it reaches into the dirt of a fallen world and mines the gems of truth we can all understand and appreciate.

Lots of news on the Christian speculative fiction front. Perhaps most notable is the announcement that Gilead Publishing has acquired Enclave Publishing. From their press release:

(Wheaton, Illinois) The force is strong as Gilead Publishing acquires Enclave Publishing, the premiere publisher of science fiction and fantasy from a Christian perspective, and welcomes an imprint with a realm of possibilities.
Despite the changing of hands, Enclave Publishing won’t stray from its galaxy far, far away as Enclave Publisher Steve Laube will oversee the imprint.

President and Publisher Dan Balow says, “Adding the Enclave imprint and titles to Gilead was an easy decision. It represents an expanding of boundaries for what constitutes Christian novels. Also, retaining Steve Laube as the publisher maintains legitimacy for the imprint and to the company in general. Not many people can say they have read thousands of books in a certain category, but Steve can when it comes to the Sci-fi and fantasy genres.”

Laube comments, “I have long believed that this genre is unique in its ability to tell ‘Fantastic’ stories of philosophical and theological depth. This new partnership will give these books the support they need to reach new and, hopefully, ravenous readers.”

Ravenous indeed. Gilead is set to release 8 titles from the Enclave imprint for Summer and Fall 2016.

There is no dark side to this partnership.

Former owner, agent Steve Laube will continue on as Enclave’s publisher, so he’ll still be involved in things like acquisition. He announced the sale on his agency blog, saying

They desire to keep me a part of the process because of my love for the genre and the experience I bring to the ongoing publishing efforts (which only shows you can fool some of the people some of the time). Thus they have asked me, as a consultant, to be the Publisher for the Enclave imprint. I still get to set the vision for the imprint and acquire all new titles for Enclave. The name will not change; it will simply become an imprint of a larger entity (much like Bethany House is an imprint of the Baker Publishing Group).

He goes on to add what this change will mean for the house and its future:

In practical terms, nothing will change on the acquisitions side of Enclave. The only difference is that the company is now part of a larger team to help move it forward. We will still plan on 12 or more new Enclave titles per year and now the production, sales, and marketing will be shared among people who have expertise in each area.

You may sense my excitement for the future of Enclave, and for the genre as a whole. This is something I’ve been hoping would happen in the Christian market for a long time. It is a dream come true to be a part of that!

I take this change and Steve Laube’s enthusiasm about it to mean that Enclave is actually growing. It’s great news as far as I can determine.

It’s fitting because Christian speculative fiction seems alive and well. The Realm Makers conference to be held in Pennsylvania this year on July 28-30 opened registration earlier this month. Once again the line of faculty is impressive, starting out with keynote speaker Thomas Locke, the top-selling novelist also know as Davis Bunn. Others include Kathy Tyers, Tosca Lee, Patrick Carr, Mike Duran, and Steve Laube.

There’s more speculative news. At the conference a new award for editing will be launched. The Christian Editor Connection, founded by Kathy Ide, is partnering with Realm Makers to launch an award for editing. The first of its kind, for editing in the speculative genre, will be presented at Realm Makers.

One more bit of good news: this past week I was on the faculty of the Orange County Christian Writers Conference here in Southern California. So were other writers and editors in the speculative genre, such as Merrie Destefano, Mike Duran, Lindsay Franklin, Rachel Marks, and Ben Wolf. Because there were a substantial number of us, as you might expect, a number of conferees with interest in in speculative fiction attended. Some found the number surprising. I didn’t. I’m convinced there are an increasing number of Christians who love the genre, and as a result, more and more are writing speculative fiction. With a few Christian publishing houses which seem committed to the genre, and with more agents open to represent authors writing speculative fiction, some knowledgeable of the general market as well, and with self-publishing a wonderful alternative, I don’t see an end to the number of writers committed to speculative fiction.

Update: On May 11, Christian Geek Central provided a video version of this article.

This morning on Facebook, author and friend Mike Duran posed a question about the theology of speculative fiction. Theology? Indeed. Stories say something. Something meaningful or frivolous, something true or false, something obvious or thought-provoking, something about God or about His world and the people in it.

My contention is that fantasy, and other speculative genres, can do more in the realm of theology than can “reality” fiction. I presented my case for fantasy showing evil in an article published in the first iteration of Speculative Faith, some eight years ago. Nothing’s changed in my thinking on the subject. Here is that article.

“Reality fiction” (as opposed to speculative) requires evil to show up in a known form. The protagonist faces opposition, from things outside himself and from his own wayward heart. The inward conflict in fantasy may look much the same as that in reality fiction, but the external conflict may be considerably different. In this difference lies fantasy’s strength.

External conflicts in reality fiction center on day to day problems: a cheating spouse, job stress, disobedient children, and such. Or on day to day disasters: child abuse, pornography, Internet predators, drugs abuse, serial marriage, same sex marriage, child sex slaves, gang violence, homelessness.

For argument’s sake, suppose a Christian author decides to write about child sex slaves. Does he present Christ as the answer to the conflict he paints? Or as a peripheral subject? Does he show Christ as the comforter instead of the answer? Who then saves the day? Some social service or governmental agent? Or Christian? Can the author realistically show the character’s Christianity as the motive for what he does to solve the conflict?

And what about a story dealing with cultural issues that are widely debated in society such as abortion and homosexuality. Can the author of such a story avoid oversimplifying on one hand, with stereotypical answers, or giving anti-biblical views on the other, with culturally relevant open-endedness.

All the while, can the author avoid the appearance of condemning the sinner instead of the sin?

In contrast, fantasy can have evil show up in whatever imagined form, but inevitably, the real truth about evil comes out: it is opposed to good. That’s the heart of evil.

What was the problem with Adam eating from the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil? Because God told him not to. Adam chose against God.

In fantasy, choosing against God can look like eating Turkish Delight or keeping a ring you set out to destroy. It can look like a White Witch or a roving Eye or a disembodied wizard who too oft remained nameless.

I believe depicting evil with this broader stroke is not only truthful, but it gives the Holy Spirit room to use the story for His purposes in the life of the reader. What was Turkish Delight but a sweet treat? Until it became More. Until it became the the thing that enticed Edmund to choose against Aslan. And as they think about the story, do readers dwell on Turkish Delight or might they consider their own enticement?

In addition, without a reality-sin issue at the heart of fantasy, few readers can assign the problem to Others. (Oh, sure, those Other people—the ones addicted to Turkish Delight—they really need to read this book, but that’s not me!) Thus fantasy depicts evil in a universal way, even as it personalizes the protagonist’s struggle, thus allowing readers to identify with the character, though their own struggles may be with vastly different issues.

In short, fantasy tells the truth about evil—it is a problem primarily because it opposes good. And fantasy depicts evil in a way that makes it understood universally.

Can reality fiction accomplish these things? Possibly. But in my opinion, not as often and not as well.

—–

Sometimes amazing stories don’t look so amazing when they first begin.

Consider many people in Western cultures that are becoming more ignorant of the Bible.

“Well, I tried to read the Bible,” some say, “All I found there are boring genealogies, bloody sacrifices, bloodier ‘genocides,’ and a lot of rules about sex that are simply offensive.”

My advice?

Finish the story.

Or how about Christian readers who hear about or try to read a fantastical fiction series?

“Yeah, that’s the story in which the hero breaks the school rules and only gets rewarded for it, and practices ‘magic’ that is actual witchcraft, and there’s nothing that looks like Jesus.”

Again, finish the story.

This advice counts even more about serialized stories, in which Story 1 in the series doesn’t always make sense or fully realize the story’s themes until you reach Story 5 in the series.

I recall when viewers, Christian and otherwise, criticized the 2008 film The Dark Knight.

“You’re kidding me. At the end they pin the blame on Batman and lie to Gotham City?”

Finish the story.

Also, enough with the “‘Martha’ made them besties, haw haw,” “joke.” As if treating superheroes like human beings with feelings, and not mere cartoon characters, is automatically stupid.

Of course, more recently came near-identical criticisms of Batman v Superman.

“The story didn’t make sense. That vision was weird. It didn’t finalize the spiritual themes.”

That’s because the story isn’t actually over yet, so we must first finish the story.

We can’t stop a TV show partway through and then complain about missing the ending. And we can’t stop a film or TV series partway through and lament the lack of resolution.

Which brings up the issue of trust. Why would we stop the story partway through? Because we don’t trust where the story is going and don’t feel the storytellers have earned our trust quickly enough. Or the story is new and strange to us and we have no confidence in it.

I felt this way about Japanese stories in general, and then anime series in particular.

Two family members recommended the first anime I tried, called “Fairy Tail.”

“Yeah, the heroines look like perverse drawings, sometimes I don’t understand the humor, and these transformation visuals are just silly. Why would I spend 200+ episodes on this?”

Finish the story.

That’s what I would have told myself. Or at least finish the arc, giving the storytellers a chance to earn trust—just as the witness of two family members promised they would.

Even after the “Fairy Tail” fandom got to me, it required two fans’ recommendations for a new anime series, “One Piece.” By then I was quite happily ensconced in the story-world of “Fairy Tail.” Fine, I’ll allow one crazy anime series in my life. But I did not want to hear my anime-fan sister-in-law, or even author Ted Turnau who has written a book about popular culture and everything, to start another anime about superhero pirates, “One Piece.”

Yet start it I did, and it took dozens and dozens of stories to get really good.

The moment I realized “One Piece” was awesome.

“This is absurd. The characters look too wacky and the show is far too sentimental. Lots of recaps. Okay, I got it, this part is Very Sad. No, sorry, this thing with the dog is just stupid and that actor’s noise doesn’t even sound like a dog. Do they not even have dogs in Japan?”

Finish the story.

Or finish one arc, and you will suddenly find the phrase “Usopp hammer!” totally hilarious.

Now, apply all of this wisdom to real life.

I am not very old. But I’ve been forced to do this repeatedly, even as recent as last week.

“Why all this suffering? I feel banished, cast out, afraid about the future. I thought I trusted the Storyteller, especially when He told such an amazing and true-life Story about creation, fall, redemption, the Church, and the future glorification of all things. But I don’t. Not when things like this happen—lost family, lost friends, lost jobs, lost opportunities.

“I’d just as soon stop participating. This is a stupid arc. This plot is redundant and the characters aren’t empathetic. I don’t even like the Hero that much. Let’s find another book, maybe another author if one exists. I could write this better. This is a dumb fandom.”

Finish. The. Story.

Image copyright AMC

I’ve been watching AMC’s hit zombie show The Walking Dead since the first season. I live in suburban Atlanta so it was hard not to be charmed by scenes of my home city being overrun by gore-spattered walkers. There is in fact an undercurrent of quaint Southern charm throughout the series, with its frequent views of leaf-strewn streets and quiet neighborhoods. Despite the ugliness of the show’s subject matter, it still manages to capture the beauty and serenity of the Georgia countryside.

Sadly, that’s pretty much the only bright spot in the entire show. TWD is one of the biggest hits in TV history, which is more than a little surprising considering the graphic violent content and bleak overtones. Of course, it is also a fictional testament to the human survival spirit and camaraderie that often emerges in crisis situations. There is also one more aspect, which is really my opinion more than any notion rooted in fact, that the show provides a much-needed cathartic release for its audience, particularly on a Sunday night when the specter of the impending work week looms large. It’s basically the idea that killing zombies lets you purge your savage instincts without actually committing murder. What could be more welcome news for this sick, desperate world – “You mean I can kill people and be the good guy? Sign me up!” The audience enjoys vicarious thrills through these weekly slaughterfests and doesn’t have to feel guilty about it.

I’ve never read the comic books and I’m not a big fan of the zombie genre, but the show drew me in very quickly because it is more than just a hurricane of undead violence. The zombie apocalypse is merely the background in which everyday characters are suddenly forced into extraordinary situations with encouraging and terrifying results. Friendship and family dynamics are strained and frayed, alliances are made, betrayals abound, and the fragile human psyche is laid raw and exposed in this new nightmare world that looks a lot like where we live already, just with dead people instead of living ones. The survivors wander in desperation, looking for a safe haven to begin life anew.

As time and the seasons wore on, we the audience were forced to ingest disappointment after heartbreak after failure. Places that should have been safe collapsed for various reasons, though more often than not it was the people inside that brought about ruin and destruction, rather than the zombie hordes outside. Rick and the gang move from place to place, searching for that community or mountain or fortress where they can protect themselves and nurture what little they have in the hopes of reigniting civilization. And time after time, they are thwarted.

Image copyright AMC

It’s not difficult for the believer to see this as an allegory for our own souls in our quests to find peace and salvation. Those who do not yet know the grace of God are wanderers in the wilderness of their own lives, despite their protests to the contrary. Our sinful natures drive us to seek solace in the things of this world – money, love, success, entertainment, sensations, ambition, etc. Yet they inevitably crumble, often sabotaged by the very natures that drove us to seek refuge in the first place. The lover cheats; the workaholic pushes legal limits; the hedonist ODs; the superstar burns out. Nothing offers us the sanctuary we thought it would when we first laid eyes on it. But we keep looking, and we know that we cannot stop or we will perish.

The truth is that nothing we do can save us. No matter how high the walls may be or how strong the fence is, it will eventually fail. Only surrendering to God’s limitless grace can give us rest and safety. Perhaps Rick and his friends should give prayer a try. After the recent season finale, they’re going to need all the divine help they can get…