It’s easy to give “artists” a pass when it comes to sex (and violence) in our entertainment, such as the new Marvel series “Jessica Jones” on Netflix. Frank Turk thinks we need to have our eyes washed out with soap in order to get rid of the wrong ideas we have about these topics and get right with the word of God. Here’s how he explains it.

Before I dive into this essay, I think it’s only fair to tell you all the ways in which I have biases regarding this subject.

The first bias, which I think is the most important, is that I grew up on comics which were all in compliance with the Comics Code Authority (CCA), and frankly they were the greatest comics in the history of the world. I don’t really care if you disagree with me about this, but if you do you are simply and irredeemably wrong — disconnected from fact and history.

If you are a fan of Stan Lee, he wrote under the constraints of the CCA, and he developed all his legendary characters under the watchful eye of the CCA. So my view of comics (and, I think, therefore art) was shaped by the boundaries of the CCA and the game which those rules formed.

My second bias is related to that, and it drives my wife and kids crazy: I think that the only thing which makes any game fun is the rules which create the game.

Let’s face it: the only thing which makes any game a game and not a brawl with a ball (or a puck) is the rule book which creates the boundary lines you play in, the goals, and the time limit which creates a beginning, middle, and end of the play.

So in my view, when we play at art, we have the same quandary: unless we understand the rule book, we really aren’t playing at art. We are instead merely acting out in a way which is incomprehensible to others and therefore we can’t really gain any cooperation or understanding with them as we do whatever it is we are doing. When there are no rules, there is no meaning.

Bias 2-B should be listed here as a hatred of book reports and gratuitous spoilers in reviews and think pieces. So be advised that if I can avoid it I will avoid disclosing details you need to enjoy (insofar as it is possible) watching “Jessica Jones” on Netflix.

The third (and final) bias I’m going to (briefly) list here, before getting on with it, is that I love people.

I think I didn’t know this about myself until about 10 years ago, but I honest-to-pete love people and always want what is best for them. This is amplified by proximity, which means that the closer you are to me, the more I really want the best for you — including and up to giving up myself for your own best interest, and giving up what is convenient and pleasurable for me to see to it that what you really need is what you really get.

For my wife and my kids, I hope it results in something they can treasure and hold onto as an analogy of a greater love which God gives them. For the rest of you (especially internet readers), it results in me talking about stuff like this.

Following ‘Jessica Jones’

“Stuff like this” today is a consequence of something that happened in the last 30 days on Netflix – which is the expansion of the Marvel Cinematic Universe to include a character created by Brian Michael Bendis named Jessica Jones. In that 13-part series, Marvel¹ takes a stab at an interesting genre of story-telling: the noir detective tale.

Let’s be honest: that genre is, historically, “stylish Hollywood crime dramas, particularly such that emphasize cynical attitudes and sexual motivations … that has roots in German Expressionist cinematography … [derived] from the hardboiled school of crime fiction that emerged in the United States during the Great Depression.”² So this isn’t cookie-cutter Disney Princess fodder; this isn’t even golden- or silver-age comic book tropes. This is something else, and means to be something else.

From my perspective, that’s fine. Everything cannot be the first 100 issues of Spider-Man or The Fantastic Four. There is room in my wheelhouse for The Dark Knight Returns (the graphic novel, not the movie).

What bothers me about Jessica Jones, though, is not the darker tone or even the more-adult plot. The nudity bothers me.

So why bring it up? I mean: if I can look past the violence in this show (which is also pretty graphic – some of it obviously inspired by Tarantino), why can’t I look past the sex?

Well, that’s an interesting question. Let’s see if I can bring it home in the space we have left here today.

Great stories do not ‘need’ nudity

First, I don’t think the answer is an either/or. I think that we can legitimately ask ourselves why we find violence so compelling as entertainment, and whether or not that’s a good thing. I think the answers are pretty clear, and I think to divert away from the problem of sexual depictions in contemporary cinema by saying, “yeah, but violence …” is changing the subject. If you cats need me to come back and unpack the problems of violent entertainment for you next time around, I’ll be pleased to do it. Today is about sex in art, so don’t divert your eyes as if this is the first time you have ever seen such a thing.

Second, let’s face it: our society has turned sex into a very cheap and easy thrill, and not for any good reasons.

The obvious overarching reason is that there is a faction of Western Civilization which has a strange compulsion to destroy itself. It has been working since some time in the late 19^th century (maybe just a little earlier) to take everything which was creating a great civilization and tarnish it with all manner of half-truths in order to tear it down and cause people to doubt that it is worth having or saving.

Among those half-truths has been the question of whether or not any kind of western “traditional” sexual morality (which is actually the morality of marriage and the family) is good for people or oppressive and used to subjugate one sort of people or another.

The irony is that when you actually do approach the place where the wall used to be and look back into the ruins, nobody can tell you if there is anything good or bad anymore. Divorce, or course, is now merely morally neutral and while maybe a little sad for some people it is just something adults do. That means sex itself is at worst morally neutral, and so all manner of sexual expressions are merely morally neutral so that women or no longer protected from men, children are no longer protected from anyone, and any claim that any sexual act is somehow untoward is met with the kind of scoffing sound one hears when one enters the cat lady’s house and someone says, “how many cats are there in here?”

Sex is now cheap in our society — and this is why is can be used cheaply, for instance, in “Jessica Jones.”

As far as Art goes, there’s nothing artistic or intimate about the way sex is portrayed in this series: it is presented to the viewer as not much at all. Jessica’s alcoholism is far more interesting than her sexual exploits; Trish’s underdeveloped history as a child star and her teen years growing up with Jessica are far more interesting for these stories than her romping around.

If sex is actually so personal and intimate and necessary for the development of these characters, why is it treated with less care than drinking, less care than even drug abuse, less care than the weird relationships of Jessica’s neighbors?

As we consider that, consider this: There are relationships and contexts in this show which are far more sexually charged than the relationship between Jessica and Luke, and none of them are sexually explicit on screen. The love triangle in Jeri Hogarth’s office is the example that comes immediately to mind — there is literally no sex ever shown in that conflict, yet it is clearly and openly a sexual conflict. It has real sexual tension but almost nothing which is sexually graphic.

Kilgrave was only seeking a new companion for adventures all across space and time.

How can one rightly say that the art was damaged by a lack of skin when in fact the art was far better because of the absence of skin?

More importantly, the whole creepy vibe of the relationship between Jessica and Kilgrave was summarized and planted in the viewer’s mind by one scene in which Jessica imagines of hallucinates that Kilgrave licks her face. The sort of sexual horror in that moment could not be replicated by showing more skin.

So, just to be clear: I grew up reading comics full of skin-tight costumes, male and female. I’m in favor of know who is male and female in a story (as unpopular as this view might be, the classic Heinlein story “All You Zombies” notwithstanding). What I am not in favor of is the so-called necessity of nudity in art, especially the utterly gratuitous use of sex and nudity in this show.

This sort of talk in this distressed age we live in gets a lot of eye-rolling and hand-waving, I know. I look like an old Christian prude by saying these things, but I want the reader to think through something with me.

Imagine for a moment two couples from your real life. Imagine on the one hand the couple you think are, aspirationally, the happiest and most loving couple you know (which, I am sure, will not be the same degree of joy and love in all cases). Now on the other hand, think of another couple who are, frankly, the bad example — the ones you worry about and hope will someday either separate or resolve their inability to get along. Now as you think about these two couples, think for a minute about all the ways in which you know that they are what they are. Think of all the ways in which you know what kind of relationship they really have. From my perspective, this is the art of their relationship — the ways they express to each other (and therefore sort of passively to other people) how they really feel and they really are connected.

Here’s something I think you have never considered before: even if you made a list of the top 25 signs from both, not one of them would be that you had seen them naked together. The art of their real relationships is really expressed by keeping those things which are intimate as intimate, and they keep sex private for good reasons.

If this is true for the real relationships you know and truth in the real world, what makes you think that Art has any right to be more transgressive than real life is?

Look: At the end of this (or maybe at the beginning of it in Christian ethics), there is a revealed word to us about human sexuality which Jesus spells out for the Pharisees when they try to trap him into making a legalistic argument about divorce. In His view, God made human sexuality for humans, but not for public consumption. It is a private thing, intended to join two people together as one body, one life, and to create new life. It is supposed to be about the kind of love which keeps the world fruitful and full.

When we allow ourselves to uncritically see it used for something that’s not even savory entertainment, I think we are giving up the rules of the game which, from the very beginning, were meant for our good. It’s not merely comic books and movies about comic books which get worse when we overlook this sort of thing. It is our own lives, and our own ability to separate truth from falsehood, and to keep holy what God has said is supposed to be holy.

Explore SpecFaith Movie Missions for The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi.

Some months after the Disney purchase of the Star Wars franchise and announcement of new films, in summer 2013 I helped host a Star Wars original trilogy viewing at my church.

We viewed Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi.¹

Then we explored the films starting with a series of questions. For the first film, the questions tended to challenge lingering assumptions that Star Wars plays by science-fiction rules, not fantasy rules. It doesn’t. Jedi knights are wizards, The Force is magic, and the whole thing is quite religious — and often opposed to biblical Christianity.

Yet how can Christians explore, engage, and enjoy Star Wars anyway?

From the Speculative Faith Movie Missions series introduction, posted a long time ago in a galaxy far away:

Why then should Christians enjoy stories and movies?

Based on the same reason God created man to do anything, as the confession says:

Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy Him forever.

… We might reword the definition to be about art, stories, movies, or any Thing:

Story’s chief end is to help us glorify God, and to enjoy Him forever.

We might flesh this out: With a story we can explore and enjoy the beauty, goodness, and truth of God, people, and His world.

In a context of biblical discernment and caution about our own temptations, we can engage with Star Wars to explore and enjoy the beauty, goodness, and truth of God, people, and His world.

1. What sort of story is this? How does that affect how we discern and enjoy it?
2. Dramatic opening: hear. Imagine you’ve never seen this film before. What does what we hear “say” about the story and how we may react, before we have seen anything?
3. Dramatic opening: see. After the scrolling opening prologue, we see the giant ship on top, firing laser blasts at the tiny ship at the bottom. What does this tell us about the story and likely which ship the storytellers expect us to “root” for? (Hint, and related: And how do many other stories also emphasize rooting for the “underdog” rebel side?)
4. Dark Vader. Before we meet the hero, we meet the film’s primary villain. Without any reference to later films, what do we think of Darth Vader? He is masked and in black; Leia shows her face and wears white. What is this meant to show to the story’s viewers?
5. Delayed hero. Though we see Princess Leia early on, at first the film almost acts as if C3P0 and R2-D2 as the protagonists. Only later do we catch up with Luke Skywalker and Han Solo. (Behind-the-scenes information reveals that scenes were shot showing more of Luke’s life, including him hanging out with his friends, but those scenes were cut.) Of these three heroes, who do we most root for? How are the others different?
6. “That wizard is just a crazy old man.” Uncle Owen says this about Obi-Wan Kenobi. “Crazy old man,” clearly not. (The story makes us wonder.) But what about “wizard”?
7. Enter The Force. Obi-Wan informs Luke, “The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together.” What do you think about The Force concept? What may be true about it? What may be wrong about it, but not harmful? What can be harmful about it?
8. “The ways of the Force.” When Luke has nothing left, he has a “conversion.” He says, “I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi like my father.” Any thoughts?
9. 

   He commented on “Star Wars” before it was cool.

   “Only a blind force.” C.S. Lewis in Mere Christianity writes:

   “When you are feeling fit and the sun is shining and you do not want to believe that the whole universe is a mere mechanical dance of atoms, it is nice to be able to think of this great mysterious Force rolling on through the centuries and carrying you on its crest. If, on the other hand, you want to do something rather shabby, the Life-Force, being only a blind force, with no morals and no mind, will never interfere with you like that troublesome God we learned about when we were children. The Life-Force is a sort of tame God. You can switch it on when you want, but it will not bother you. All the thrills of religion and none of the cost. Is the Life-Force the greatest achievement of wishful thinking the world has yet seen?

   What do you think?

10. “Religion’s greatest hits.” That’s what Mark Hamill (Luke Skywalker) called The Force concept. Is he right? The Similarly, TVTropes.com calls this an example of an “interfaith smoothie.” How should we be aware of these, and do they post a risk to all Christians?
11. Good parts version. Though the Force is based on Eastern belief, do its believers have the moral relativism of Eastern religions? How do good and evil appear in the story?
12. Brute force (lowercase-F). But then all the mystical stuff is gone during the Death Star sequence. What do you love about these scenes? Which capabilities and actions do the heroes show ? (Example: Han’s approach versus Luke’s approach, and their differences with Leia.) How does all this hold our interest, and not just the threat of the villains?
13. “… I knew you were going to say that.” As the Millennium Falcon is being pulled into the Death Star, Han Solo says what most people consider to be a bad word (when it’s used not to mean God’s eternal punishment). Obi-Wan said the same word earlier. This surprised me, mainly because I don’t recall these words appearing in other Star Wars films and they seem to be particularly modern slang. What do you think about this?
14. Simple story. A brief exception to the “no other Star Wars movie discussion” standard: Many other films that are trying to follow in Star Wars’s course feature complex plots and special effects. Are they more exciting, less than, or about the same as this? Why?
15. “Quite the mercenary.” What are the main differences between Luke and Han Solo?
16. Final duel. Darth Vader defeats Obi-Wan Kenobi — or does he? Without knowing what comes next, what does Obi-Wan do? Does it change the story’s outcome, or is his choice more mysterious? Might we say this counts as a heroic sacrificial death to save others?
17. Rebels strike back. Luke and his friends regroup at the rebel base to plan an assault on the Death Star. Without hearing much of the “politics” behind the Rebels vs. Empire, what do we see that gives us just enough context? On what does the story focus instead?
18. “May the Force be with you.” Though Han declares he’s selfishly leaving this battle, he utters this religious phrase to Luke — and seems to mean it. Do you believe he did?
19. Last battle. Until Star Wars released in 1977, audiences had not seen a space battle of this magnitude or with these kinds of effects. Even more than 35 years later, how does this battle captivate us and make us root for one side? What makes the bad guys bad?
20. “Let go, Luke.” Obi-Wan makes good on his pledge to become “more powerful” in some way by somehow urging Luke to forego his targeting system and fly using his feelings, or instincts, or whatever it is — what do you think Luke used instead? Might there be any Biblical truth this scene echoes? Is there any risk if we tried to imitate this action?

Explore SpecFaith Movie Missions for The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi.

“And they lived happily ever after.”

                             Happily ever after

Everyone knows that phrase. The standard line resounds through numerous stories, wrapping the tale’s end in a sparkly, feel-good bow and sending the characters off to a blissful life of painless euphoria.

But, to use a modern phrase, is it for realz? Or is it just to lather us with the satisfaction of the happy feels?

The happily ever after comes at the end, after the Menacing Monster has been defeated, the hero has earned his place in the annals of history, and the conflict faucet has turned off in favor of the gentle farewell.

This begs the question: should stories always end well? If not, how should they conclude?

Taken simply, without the context of eternity, happily ever after is at best naïve and at worst a blatant lie. Sure, the story has run its course, the lovers are together, and the future shines bright with potential. But put yourself in the shoes of the characters. Substitute their life for yours. Are we guaranteed a happily ever after?

In one sense, yes. In another, not so much.

A Not-So-Happy Ending

A story’s impact can stand or fall on how it concludes. Some stories close with the perfect last scene, last page, last sentence. A sense of completion and satisfaction fills the reader. “Yes,” they say, “this is exactly how it should have ended.”

Other stories fall short. I loved the Hunger Games novels, but to me, Mockingjay failed to produce that satisfaction. Instead of resonating with lush notes of a world-famous symphony, it squeaked with the hesitation of the first high-school band practice of the year. (I thought the movie did a better job.)

Mockingjay had a rainy-day ending. Gloom, depression, pain. Mostly, it stole the warm blush of hope I was craving. What it did do, however, was point out a harsh fact of life:

Not every ending is happy.

• Marriage doesn’t lead to lifelong bliss, without another snag or dark valley
• Winning the war doesn’t ensure peace now and forevermore
• Friends don’t last forever

Lord of the Rings comes to mind as an example of a bittersweet end. The Ring was destroyed, Sauron vanquished, Aragorn crowned king, the Shire saved from Saruman’s schemes. The hobbits returned in safety, yet as Frodo said:

“The shire has been saved, Sam. But not for me.”

Frodo had the privilege of passing into the West, but Sam watched him leave. His best friend, his dear Master Frodo, gone.

There still he stood far into the night, hearing only the sigh and murmur of the waves on the shores of Middle-earth, and the sound of them sank deep into his heart.

I can only imagine the sorrow he felt. Not an end of triumphant jubilation, but the right end.

The Ultimate Ending

What does this discussion of endings mean for us as Christians? Three things:

1. We accept the consequences of living in a sinful world. We realize that things go wrong, that notes of sorrow weave into the melody of life. We understand that meeting Prince Charming or the beautiful princess won’t result in a blissful utopia.
2. Thankfully, this world, with its cares and problems, is only temporary. Death isn’t the end of the story.
3. We can live with the confident hope that the ultimate end of the story of history does, indeed, conclude with “happily ever after.” Where “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Rev. 21:4 ESV)

As C.S. Lewis poetically stated at the end (how appropriate) of The Last Battle:

And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can truly say that they all lived happily ever after…now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.

What is your favorite type of ending? Is there a time when books should end on a gloomy note?

One thing I love about speculative fiction is the fact that it opens the door to the impossible. It expands our vision of reality.

Years ago, people didn’t have the constraints of science as we do today. They didn’t have the skeptical, “show me” mentality of the Missourian. They believed what they couldn’t see because they’d been told it was so.

Today our response is more apt to be, Really? Those Muslim converts first heard about Jesus in a dream? Really? His behavior mirrors that of people in the Bible identified as having an evil spirit. Really?

In truth, all the events of the original Christmas would likely come under our skeptical questioning today. Think about it.

Mary was astounded. How could she not be? An angel had told her she’d get pregnant, and here she was, still a virgin, staring down into the little face of her newborn son.

As if that wasn’t enough, a group of shepherds crowded into their quarters to worship her baby. Angels, they said, had told them about this child—where he’d be born and how they could find him and how they would know him.

Then there were the two people she encountered in the temple when she and Joseph went to present Jesus according to the law. First was Simeon who said strange things: that her son would be a light to the Gentiles and a glory to Israel. Then in his blessing, Simeon added that her son was appointed as sign to be opposed. Simeon concluded with some confusing personal prophecy about a sword piercing Mary’s own soul.

Then there was the prophetess Anna who thanked God for Mary’s son and talked about him to everyone who was looking for the redemption of Israel.

All this came on the heels of her cousin Elizabeth—her barren cousin Elizabeth—getting pregnant. The angel had told Mary that would happen, too. And it was then he made the whole astounding series of events make sense: “For nothing will be impossible with God.”

The bottom line, and the only thing a person actually needs to believe in order to accept the astounding things we read about connected to that first Christmas, is that truth which Mary accepted. When the angel made his declaration about God’s greatness and power and limitless ability, Mary submitted to God—to His plans for her, His capacity to accomplish what He’d made known to her through His messenger.

She got it—that God was bigger than the laws of nature and that He was the Fulfiller of prophecy. She ought not to be a mother, but she was. The shepherds ought not to have known about her son, but they did. Simeon and Anna ought not to have declared a poor baby born to an unwed mother in a manger to be the Messiah, but they had.

Indeed, God can do the impossible.

That’s really the truth that separates people today as believers or unbelievers. If God can do the impossible, then He could take on human flesh and be born as a baby. If God can do the impossible, then He could die, once for all, the just for the unjust. If God can do the impossible, then no sin is too great for Him to forgive, no person so far from Him than He can’t reach them.

One of the worst kings in Israel’s history illustrates that point. Manasseh

erected altars for the Baals and made Asherim, and worshiped all the host of heaven and served them. He built altars in the house of the LORD of which the LORD had said, “My name shall be in Jerusalem forever.” For he built altars for all the host of heaven in the two courts of the house of the LORD. He made his sons pass through the fire in the valley of Ben-hinnom; and he practiced witchcraft, used divination, practiced sorcery and dealt with mediums and spiritists. He did much evil in the sight of the LORD, provoking Him to anger. Then he put the carved image of the idol which he had made in the house of God (2 Chron. 33:3b-7a).

A hopeless case, right? Idol worship, child sacrifice, witchcraft. Evil. But God didn’t turn His back on Manasseh.

The LORD spoke to Manasseh and his people, but they paid no attention. Therefore the LORD brought the commanders of the army of the king of Assyria against them, and they captured Manasseh with hooks, bound him with bronze chains and took him to Babylon. When he was in distress, he entreated the LORD his God and humbled himself greatly before the God of his fathers. When he prayed to Him, He was moved by his entreaty and heard his supplication, and brought him again to Jerusalem to his kingdom. Then Manasseh knew that the LORD was God. (2 Chron. 33:10-13)

Impossible! But no. God “was entreated by him.” God forgives. God redeems. God reconciles.

The Christmas story is both the proof that God can do the impossible and the declaration that the God who is Lord of the impossible accomplishes the miraculous.

And speculative fiction expands readers’ thinking so that we can more easily come to grips with this truth.

By Divine Right

The Darkwater Saga: A Novella
By Patrick W. Carr

Introduction

A free ebook novella introducing The Darkwater Saga. Book 1, The Shock Of Night, released in November.

Willet Dura ekes out a living as an assistant reeve in the city of Bunard, the royal city, investigating minor and not-so-minor crimes in the poor quarter. Ever since a terrible battle, Willet’s been drawn to the dead, and has an uncanny ability not only to solve their crimes, but even to know when one has been committed.

When a gifted musician is found dead in the merchants’ quarter of the city, everyone assumes by the signs that the old man simply died of a stroke, but Willet’s intuition tells him better. When he learns that this is the second death within the last month of one of the gifted, those with a rare inherited ability, he begins to suspect that something more is afoot, and he soon finds himself chasing a mystery that could bring down the very kingdom of Collum.

Excerpt

The unaccustomed fatigue that weighted my arms and legs and filled my head with sand should have warned me, but I didn’t yet suspect I’d already been in the city that morning. I stepped out of the small windowless room I shared with Gareth into early dawn in the city of Bunard. The view from my vantage point in the watch barracks of King Laidir’s tor would never compete with those higher up, but even so I looked down on most of the city. Only the towers of the four cathedrals at the north end of the nobles’ quarter rose above me.

A hint of orange, like the first tentative swipe of a painter’s fire, lit the sections of the city divided from each other according to station and income by the broad gray flows of the Rinwash River. Farthest south, I could just make out the poor quarter, a warren of wooden buildings in a constant state of disrepair populated by those whose livelihoods it was my duty to curtail.

A hint of movement, perhaps a cart hauling vegetables across one of the massive arched stone bridges spanning the Rinwash, drew my gaze north to the lower merchants’ quarter. The sprawl of modest homes was filled with simple tradesmen whose lives were defined by the goods they provided to the city of Bunard and the kingdom of Collum it ruled. Somewhere down in their crowded midst lay the home that had birthed me, but not the family. Only stone and wood endured.

Closer to the tor still, came the upper merchants’ quarter. The houses were still quite close together, but they commanded more space, and if lights burned in them at this earl hour it would be by the servants’ bidding, not the owners. The master merchants, those who often held partial gifts, had amassed fortunes large enough that their owners almost wielded power on a level with Laidir’s nobles. All they lacked was a title.

I began my descent, unable to avoid catching sight of the nobles’ quarter, closer to the tor than any save the cathedrals of the four orders, their estates here in the city only slightly less massive than their keeps perched high on the hills and mountains of the lands governed by the king. In Bunard, each estate sat on an acre or more of land, separated from its fellows by suspicion and high granite walls.

Directly below my perch I looked almost straight down to the wide stretch of the Rinwash that separated Laidir’s seat from all others, a thousand-year-old reminder of the continent’s divine order. I descended the tor and set my feet toward the guardroom, where my superior, Jeb, would be waiting to give me my duty assignment for the day.

I nodded to the guard at the door.

“Going back into the city, already, Willet?” Actus asked.

I squeezed my eyes shut and groped for a response that would conceal my ignorance. “Drawing double duty always makes me wonder what I did to displease Aer.”

“Agreed.” The answer came in a clear tenor that didn’t match the grizzled face and graying hair that went with it. “I didn’t know you had drawn it as well.”

Oh, Aer, where had I been? I nodded without answering and moved past Actus into the domed rock cavern at the base of Laidir’s tor that housed the city watch and the prison cells justice demanded.

I stopped to check my clothes for blood once I’d passed from Actus’s view, pulling my cloak around to examine the edges before I rolled my wrists to check my sleeves. I breathed a silent prayer of relief. They were clean.

“What’s the matter with you, Willet Dura? a voice called. “Hurry up. You’re late.”

I straightened myself and my clothes and reported. The question, like so many from the captain, didn’t require an answer.

Jeb looked me up and down, his huge hands flexing as they always did whenever their owner was in thought. Like the rest of us in the watch, Jeb bore scars from the last war with Owmead nine years prior. What made him different was that all of his scars seemed to be on his flesh, a fact that made me jealous enough to dislike him on a regular basis.

“You’ll be with me, Dura, since you’ve already seen the body. Congratulations—you don’t have to sneak around on this one.”

I nodded, trying not to look surprised, before I demurred. “Shouldn’t someone else go, Captain? I’ve never investigated a killing before.”

Jeb barked, a sound meant to convey amusement, but only a deaf man would call it laughter. “No one said anything about murder, Dura.”

A shock of fear went through me as I realized my blunder. As quickly as I could, I blinked and shook my head as if trying to clear the cobwebs of too little sleep.

“Someone’s dead and you’re going out. I just assumed . . .”

“Willet Dura, you are a reeve,” Jeb said. His face wore the smile of someone enjoying the opportunity to provide correction. “You can’t afford to assume anything, and you wouldn’t be investigating this if it was a murder. He died because he was old. You’re there to talk to the priest. I don’t like priests, especially from the Merum order. All those robes and chants annoy me.” He clenched a scarred fist with knuckles that had been forged from something harder than bone and the sound of popping crackled in the air.

I shook my head, not understanding. “Why does a priest need to be there?”

Jeb’s long face, his lantern thrust forward, registered the faint disgust a teacher might wear with a slow student. “Because he was gifted, Dura.”

As we left the watch, fear banished the remainder of my fatigue. Jeb didn’t know yet that the old man had been killed, but as much as I tried to deny the knowledge myself, I knew otherwise. For nine years—along with countless others both within the king’s watch and out of it—I’d born my share of wounds from the last war. Some spoke seldom and regarded strangers with suspicion. Others were assaulted by memories so real that they took up weapons to fight phantoms from the past, their war cries high and plaintive and alone. The responses to the horrors of war were as unique as the men who waged it.

But some few were like me—night-walkers, men who left their beds without thought or volition to wander the streets of the city and return before awareness dawned. Most tried to deflect the attention it brought behind jokes or offhand comments regarding sleeplessness, or even admission, but we all shard the fear that came with knowledge that our minds were in some fundamental way broken by the war.

Even there I felt a twinge of jealousy, wishing my night walks were simple enough to afford me some camaraderie with my fellows. But the morning after every night walk there would be a report of a killing in Bunard, and sometimes there was blood on my cloak or sleeves.

– – – – –

By Divine Right is a free ebook novella.

Bonus points if you know which movie the title comes from! 

I’ve been reading Adverse Possession from Jess Hanna over the past few weeks and it’s given my imagination a lot to chew on. The premise is pretty straightforward – a normal family moves into a new house and supernatural strangeness starts happening. The haunted house story is hardly unique but Hanna goes about it in a way that’s different from other stories in the genre. The creepiness is subtle and not as nightmarish or sensational as, say, Richard Matheson’s Hell House. It’s pretty clear early on (even from the title of the book) that demonic possession is the root of the horror, but it’s not thrown in our faces in the same way as Peter Blatty’s The Exorcist. Hanna’s horror is more muted and chilling and, most importantly, realistic enough to worm its way into the reader’s brain.

I am not a huge fan of outright horror but I like my dishes smothered in a dark, creepy sauce. This is easy to see from my own writing. One thing that has always struck me when I’ve picked up a horror story is how well (or poorly) the writer relates the horror to me, the reader. I’ve never knowingly confronted a demon, I’ve never been chased through the woods by a monster, I’ve never cowered in a dark basement while hiding from a serial killer. I have a vivid imagination that is able to visualize what it might be like but I don’t have firsthand experience in these situations. Personally, I have found that horror I can relate to is often far more terrifying than anything my imagination can cook up.

I’ve only read one book by Stephen King – Pet Sematary. There was supernatural scariness in abundance, but the part that I couldn’t get out of my mind was *spoiler alert* the son being killed by the truck. I’ve never had to deal with zombie cats or Wendigo in the forest, but I have children and I cannot imagine how horrific it would be to lose one of them in an accident like this. King latched onto a fear that most people in the world share – the death of a child – and used it as a springboard for the more far-fetched screams to come.

This, in my opinion, is excellent use of horror. Everyone has things they fear – painful death, crippling injury, spousal infidelity, bankruptcy, abandonment, etc. Two things that I am especially fearful of are blindness and my house burning down. A good horror writer will pry the splinter under these fingernails and then lead your already-panicked mind into dark places that you never considered.

Books don’t have the same horror advantages that movies do. A book needs several words to describe a hideous face suddenly popping up out of the dark, but a movie can give you all of that in a fraction of a second. Books don’t have jarring music to make up scream and jump out of your seat (and if a book has made you do that, you’re a sissy). A good book will use your imagination against you, making you create the horror instead of just watch it.

And it all starts with something close to home.

Attention, readers and fans of fantasy. A new world awaits your voracious reading appetites.

A world of magic and approaching doom, of darkness and corruption, of intrigue and treachery. A world rich with the vibrant colors of cultures and characters that are diverse, unique, and captivating.

The world of the Five Realms.

Chances are, you’ve heard of Jill Williamson, Christian author extraordinaire. I loved her Blood of Kings Trilogy, so imagine my thrill upon discovering she has a new fantasy series in the works. The first slice of that epic pie is available starting today.

Darkness Reigns is the first part of what will be the massive tome King’s Folly, the first book in The Kinsman Chronicles. Each of the book’s three parts, starting with Darkness Reigns, will release in ebook form between now and April, when the paperback makes its debut.

This brings to attention a trend I’ve been noticing. Serial stories. Popular in the time of Dickens, they’re experiencing a resurgence. Amazon has a series of serially published books, and I’ve seen several authors take this track.

Here’s the explanation on the series page for the serial releases:

The Kinsman Chronicles is a nine-part epic fantasy series that will release in both nine ebook parts and three paperback volumes from Bethany House Publishers. This will allow fans to keep up with the story on a more timely basis, rather than having to wait a full year between books.

The story takes place in the same world as Blood of Kings, but in another era, with a decidedly different feel and tone. In that sense, it’s cool to know there’s a connection and imagine how the threads tie the two series’ together.

You should check out Jill’s website, where you can browse through worldbuilding elements like runes, sigils, family trees, and more. Oh, and my personal favorite—a map. Because every fantasy story needs a map.

She’s also been doing a countdown to the release day. Each day’s post digs a little deeper into the story, which I think is cool.

That’s Not All

Now for the best part.

Darkness Reigns is FREE!

Let the trumpets ring out with joyful clarion call.

There are a few places where you can download the ebook:

• Amazon
• Jill’s website, which has links to several online sellers

I’m fortunate enough to be on the launch team for King’s Folly. I read Darkness Reigns last month and let me tell you, as a fantasy fanatic, I devoured every virtual page. It emblazoned a bold checkmark in all my boxes.

• A rich setting, with plenty of room for further exploration
• Entertaining and intriguing characters
• Hints of large-scale danger
• The feel that this piece of the story is but one small cog in a vast, ticking clock
• Inventive magic systems
• Layers of culture and custom, flavored with the salt of the familiar and the exotic spice of the new

Basically, if you read fantasy, this book needs to be in your life, and how can you go wrong with a free story? Something to note: it’s not squeaky clean. Darkness does reign…corruption, harems, concubines, arranged marriages, human sacrifices. Yet it’s handled with tact and skill, and never once felt gratuitous. Just something to keep in mind.

One last thing. To celebrate the official release, there’s going to be a Facebook party tonight, starting at 9 pm EST. It’s taking place at Jill’s Author Page. I’ve been to a few release parties before, and they’re a blast. You may know what I’m talking about, and if you don’t, you should head over and join the fun.

Darkness Reigns is but the first few steps upon a long journey, one that—based on what I know—will prove to be entertaining, epic, and powerful. Fantasy at its best. I’m excited to see the story unfold. Are you?

What’s your opinion on the serial release format? Do you see it growing in popularity?

Much speculative literature, Christian or otherwise, is marked by mayhem—a violent disruption to life and/or to society. Often mayhem shows up in the form of an actual battle.

J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit ends in the dramatic Battle of Five Armies, for example, when old animosities between dwarfs and men are subsumed in the conflict against the army of goblins and Wargs. Geroge Lucas’s Star Wars IV: A New Hope is set in a universe suffering mayhem because of the civil war between the Federation and the Rebels. Similarly, Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis takes place in the middle of a conflict between the Old Narnians and the Telmarines who have taken control.

Other stories with grand battles that come to mind include The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by Lewis, The Black Cauldron and The High King by Lloyd Alexander, Return of the Guardian King by Karen Hancock, From Darkness Won by Jill Williamson, The Door Within trilogy by Wayne Thomas Batson, Daughter of Light by Morgan Busse, and Patrick Carr’s A Draw of Kings, third in his The Staff and The Sword trilogy.

Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy might be the benchmark for grand battles, notably in the battle of Helm’s Deep in The Two Towers, the Battle of the Pelennor Fields and the Battle of Bywater in The Return of the King.

Not all mayhem is the direct result of an actual battle. Much occurs as a result of the threat of battle or from the efforts to escape a superior force. Certainly Book 1 of Fellowship of the Ring makes the most of the disruption of Frodo’s life and plans by the arrival of the Black Riders and their subsequent efforts to hunt Frodo down. The ultimate confrontation takes place following a skirmish on Weathertop as the wounded Frodo escapes on the elfen horse and reaches the Ford of Bruinen, barely avoiding the ambush of the nine Black Riders.

Another similar near miss took place in episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation as the crew of the Enterprise sought to evade the Borg. Then too, in The Hobbit Bilbo discovers the One Ring in the goblins’ tunnels as he tries to avoid capture. He must then escape Gollum as well.

Not all mayhem comes from attempted or actuated assault. Some is the result of corrupting influence. In The Two Towers Wormtongue, for instance, nearly handed the men of Rohan over to Saruman because of his poisonous council to King Théoden. Saruman himself turned traitor and held Gandalf captive, preventing him from meeting Frodo when he’d promised. In Lewis’s The Last Battle, Shift duped Puzzle into pretending to be Aslan, throwing Narnia into confusion. In The Silver Chair an enchantress held the true prince captive by a spell that made him forget who he was.

Some of the most powerful and effective mayhem results in defeat of the forces of good, at least for a time. The White Witch killed Aslan on the stone table, Gandalf fell to his death in the Mines of Moria, Captain Picard in an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation is captured by the Borg and turned into one of them, and the orcs kill Boromir in the opening of The Two Towers. Shannon Dittemore’s Angel Eyes, a contemporary Christian supernatural young adult novel released in 2012, shows the mayhem of evil appearing to win against forces of good when main character Brielle’s best friend is murdered.

Why does mayhem play such an important role in speculative fiction? The clearest and best explanation is that these stories reveal the great struggle of the world—the struggle between the rebel Satan and God. All of creation is aligning with one or the other. The skirmishes, the battles, the sacrifices in speculative fiction are echoes of God’s great triumph over sin and death and His yet-to-take-place final judgment over those who stand against Him.

While stories in the general market are not intentionally reflecting this spiritual reality, they nonetheless reveal the truth that the world is not as it should be, that there are forces of evil, seemingly insurmountable at times, against which forces of good must strive.

Mayhem in speculative fiction also shows that the struggle isn’t just external. Mankind struggles against that part of ourselves that seems bewitched or entrapped or bound to a chair.

It also shows that the conflict has consequences. If left unchecked, evil spreads, but even when it is resisted, people die and the world changes. Still, hope infuses most speculative fiction, and ultimately Lewis showed it best when his characters didn’t leave Narnia but went further up and further in.

What are your favorite battles in speculative fiction? What other purpose might they serve besides showing the ultimate battle between spiritual forces?

Minus a few additions, this post first appeared here at Spec Faith in September 2012.