E. Stephen Burnett: As the release date of Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice approaches, it would be great to co-write a conversation/article about what Man of Steel was trying to be and why folks keep misunderstanding it.

(Please note: This article and the complete Badfan v Superman series will include gratuitous wanton spoilers.) 

As I’m writing this the internet is all a-flutter about a video someone put together titled, “What if Man of Steel was IN COLOR?“¹ That video release, after the release of the first Batman vs. Superman trailer and quite a lot of fan hubbub, convinces me that some fans are:

1. Unconsciously going along with negative media narratives about Man of Steel (2013).
2. Being a bit naive about how media narratives in general can co-opt our response to a popular story or song.
3. Accepting some myths about “what Superman (or superhero stories in general) are Supposed to Be,” similar to some people who still believe Sherlock Holmes always said “Elementary, my dear Watson,” or who believe Kirk always said, “Beam me up, Scotty.” For example, I’m not even a comic book fan, but I know enough about the character to know that the friendly, idyllic, Richard Donner version of Superman is only one possible interpretation … more about that later.

Austin Gunderson: I would love that [conversation]. It’s a subject about which I have strong opinions.

Stephen: Same here. We could split the opinions and do an outlined two-parter, or have a conversation we know will be used later for the article, or co-write one or two articles. Plenty of time before 2016 of course.

Austin: Cool. The conversation option sounds fun (and more conducive to my natural tendency to think faster in response to others’ ideas than when conjuring up my own).

Stephen: Oh, I’m looking forward to this.

I’ve written some thoughts on the trailer at ‘Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice’ Trailer Debuts. I have a sneaking suspicion that you and I are about to be vindicated that the overwrought destruction of Metropolis was actually meant to do this all along. Someone very, very smart could have said, especially after criticisms of “Superman Returns”: Okay, all the fans complained that they wanted to see Superman beat people up, so let’s 1) give them what they want, 2) remind them that they may not exactly like it.

Also I recall I wrote this too: Man of Steel, Heart of Flesh. Ah, I’d forgotten my point about how Superman in either version of “Superman II” turns quite selfish and jerky, surrenders his powers, and goes a-fornicating.

Austin: Mm. And I would say that while Supes’ clothes-nabbing and semi shish-kabobing in Man of Steel are indeed illustrative of his imperfect state (mitigated by the fact that the clothes were being donated and the semi belonged to a man Supes very deliberately refrained from maiming), his destruction of Zod was both carefully calculated and supremely moral.

If Superman hadn’t snapped Zod’s neck in that moment of truth, I would’ve lost respect either for him (were he too weak or stubbornly idealistic to do what was necessary) or for the story-world that he inhabited (were he able to sidestep the problem by magically incapacitating Zod).

And yes, the storytellers forced him into that situation. Of course they did! But it’s not as though the situation’s unusual. Millions of human beings have faced the exact same dilemma since the dawn of time: is it moral to take life in order to protect life?

The answer, in many cases, is a resounding “Yes.” But this isn’t because human beings are strong or just or righteous enough to know when it’s best to kill; no, rather, the fact that we must sometimes put others to death is an indictment of our weakness, our ineffectuality, our fundamental lack of control.

“Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord,” but we often can’t afford to wait. When a foe stronger than us threatens our lives, our need to destroy said foe is contingent on our inability to contain him peacefully or otherwise manipulate him into quiescence.

And that’s why it was so important to demonstrate Superman’s powerlessness. It’s why the destruction of Metropolis was a necessary evil.

Read part 2, Super-Nostalgia Knockdown, in which E. Stephen Burnett challenges the objection of why Man of Steel isn’t like all those great classic Superman films.

Back in 1865, US President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated, the Civil War came to an end, William Booth founded the Salvation Army, Franz Schubert’s “Unfinished Symphony” premiered, and Charles Lutwidge Dodgson published Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland under he pen name, Lewis Carroll.

For many, Alice’s visits to Wonderland are the stuff of great fantasy. For me, not so much. In fact, I hate to admit it, but I’ve never actually read the full story. As a child I read a condensed version, probably put out by the Little Golden Books, but maybe by some other source. At any rate, I was less than enthralled. The story seemed absurd and nonsensical, and I really didn’t like any of the characters. The Cheshire Cat came closest, I think, to someone with a modicum of decency. But none of it had a purpose.

Although some praise the book as the first portal fantasy, and many find it imaginative and creative, I am . . . primarily bored. Alice has no goals and no real purpose for being in Wonderland beyond following the White Rabbit down his hole. Nothing there follows any set of rules, and therefore the plot points feel entirely arbitrary.

In addition, the story ends with the entire adventure being nothing more than a dream—the kiss of death to a story in today’s publishing climate.

But perhaps I’m taking issue with other readers’ favorite book (see for example this review at Fantasy Faction). I mean, the story is a classic. I assume there is a reason, but I haven’t discovered it yet.

When I encountered Lewis Carroll’s poem, “Jabberwocky,” (which appeared in Through The Looking Glass) I felt vindicated in my thoughts about his little children’s book. I mean, here was a poem that did all the right poetry things when it comes to rhyme and rhythm and other devices like alliteration, and yet it was nonsense:

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!’

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought —
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One two! One two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

‘And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

(Public Domain, posted at PoemHunter. Note: spell check had a field day with that one.)

Clearly there is some sort of story which the poem relates, but so much else of poetry is missing—particularly the emotionally evocative quality that makes a poem resonate in the soul.

And yet, there is much to praise, too. Words that are not, take on meaning. In contrast to the current trend which turns nouns and adjectives into verbs, Carroll turned a verb into an adjective (beamish) . . . I guess. It’s rather difficult to tell because some of his other nonsense words seem to suggest something familiar and still others have no apparent connection with reality at all.

In may ways “Jabberwocky” is Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland in a nutshell. Inventive? YES! “Brillig” in its own way!

And yet, who cares? So Alice had a dream in which illogical things happened. So the beamish boy decapitated the Jabberwock. Are we readers to go and do likewise? In other words, what do either of these works reveal about human nature? In the case of Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, at least, that should be a fair question because fiction seems to carry that requirement.

Is the great achievement of this work the fact that Carroll opens up the world of the imagination? That he allows for the magical and mysterious, and does so apart from God?

In fact, Carroll’s fiction falls into a category known as Literary Nonsense:

In literary nonsense, certain formal elements of language and logic that facilitate meaning are balanced by elements that negate meaning. These formal elements include semantics, syntax, phonetics, context, representation, and formal diction. The genre is most easily recognizable by the various techniques or devices it uses to create this balance of meaning and lack of meaning, such as faulty cause and effect, portmanteau, neologism, reversals and inversions, imprecision (including gibberish), simultaneity, picture/text incongruity, arbitrariness, infinite repetition, negativity or mirroring, and misappropriation. (Wikipedia)

If only I’d understood as a child that the story wasn’t supposed to make sense, maybe I would have liked it better.

At any rate, I found it interesting that the analysis of Literary Nonsense draws a clear line between it and fantasy:

Nonsense is distinct from fantasy, though there are sometimes resemblances between them. While nonsense may employ the strange creatures, other worldly situations, magic, and talking animals of fantasy, these supernatural phenomena are not nonsensical if they have a discernible logic supporting their existence. The distinction lies in the coherent and unified nature of fantasy.

As for me, I’ll stick with the coherent and unified. Still, I can’t help but give Lewis Carroll a nod by noting the fact that Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland has lasted so long and continues to spark the imagination of other writers. For this reason, if for nothing else, I’d say speculative readers and writers alike have much to be grateful for regarding this little children’s book. Happy birthday, Alice.

So where do you as a reader fall in the Alice In Wonderland love/hate spectrum? Have you read the book, or some condensed version of it? Did you watch the recent TV spin off of the story? Do you prefer fantasy to Literary Nonsense, or the other way around?

Last time I talked about how my research into the Amish led to my friendship with Dutch Wolfe, a bona fide Amish romance writer. I touched on the lucrativeness of his genre and its aversion to sex, both overt and implied. In part 2, I examine the reception to Amish Vampires in Space and speculate about the current state of Amish fiction.

Thankfully, my publisher didn’t care about sex.

Ahem … I mean, he didn’t see the Mary Salter vamping scene—the one that could turn off the typical Amish romance reader—as a problem.

Those readers weren’t really our market, after all. Amish Vampires in Space was a science fiction story with Amish characters. Not the reverse. I pressed on.

But who holds the reins?

The purity requirement in Amish romances is primarily driven by readers, not publishers. Who are those readers? Generally, they are the same women of childbearing age who frequent Christian bookstores. Their influence is also why science fiction and fantasy is difficult to find in those same stores. And since Amish romance operates as such a cash cow for the Christian Booksellers Association (CBA), it is fiercely guarded.

This is something I didn’t fully grasp until I experienced it firsthand. I believed AViS was an interesting mental exercise. I allowed me to explore meaningful themes while trying to make the implausible, plausible. It was speculative fiction! That’s what I do!

The announcement of AViS didn’t just raise eyebrows, though, it raised hackles. Some couldn’t see past the title and cover. Anyone who put “Amish” and “vampires” in the same book must be evil and dark, right? And “what fellowship does light have with darkness”? ¹ One of my speculative author friends had someone become angry at her just because we shared the same publishing house.

In the minds of the enraged, I was either outright evil, or picking on a people group. Consequently, they justified their ire as “defending the Amish.” One Amish romance writer repeatedly mocked the concept on social media, then attacked me personally. She said I shouldn’t have written about the culture unless I had Amish background like she did. I was exploiting the Amish!

When I mentioned this encounter to Dutch, he said that everyone who writes about the Amish exploits them to a degree. They’re all using another culture for personal gain.

Raising their barn

Beyond the taboo on sexuality, the typical buggy-and-bonnet romance paints a picture of Amish life that is simply untrue. Their “Amish” are near-mythical beings, living in harmony with God, earth, and man. They are the epitome of Christian behavior, in the same way the glammed-up models on the covers suggest physical perfection. ²

As a writer, I can’t help but wonder if that portrayal is healthy.

With my earlier DarkTrench trilogy I speculated about a world under sharia law. The premise grew from the fact that there are some in the world who would like to see that very thing happen. Whether my particular vision of the future could realistically happen or not isn’t important. The place of speculative fiction is to take an idea and extrapolate, to breathe it into life within the pages of the novel. To see what that version of the future might look like. One of the criticisms leveled against that series, however, was that I painted the culture as too bleak. That the denizens of this future sharia world were all bad or evil.

In the case of Amish fiction, though, we have the opposite scenario. We have a real culture being portrayed in a fantastical, near-utopian way. It seems to me (donning my speculative hat again) that there could be at least two unanticipated and unhealthy consequences of such a thing.

One is that the unreal portrayal could create a standard that no real human, Amish or not, could ever obtain. How does the typical reader of Amish fiction judge her/his spouse when compared to Jebediah the chaste and holy?

The other, possibly more worrisome, result is that the culture could be seen as so pristine that real problems that happen within the real Amish community could be overlooked or dismissed.

Are these speculations real concerns? And if they are, should Amish romance really be such a large part of the Christian market? I don’t know, but I think it is something that bears discussion.

Back to the sci-fi

With AViS and my recently released sequel Amish Zombies from Space, my intent was never to exploit or offend. I simply wanted to tell stories. And with Dutch’s guidance, I endeavored to write Amish characters as real people, not as caricatures of spiritual perfection. They are just as flawed and conflicted as their non-Amish counterparts.

I hope I’ve done them justice.

And I really hope Dutch gets to write his own speculative novel someday.

So it begins¹—the response, particularly for some Americans this Independence Day weekend.

“What, exactly, will I be celebrating this Independence Day?” one internet acquaintance asked. “… There will be fireworks and music—an atmosphere that is certainly celebratory. But I can’t help but think that this experiment has reached its end.”

Here I will suggest that the United States is like three things: my dead dog, deep-dish pizza, and fantastical stories. Read to the end and you’ll hear what I mean.

If this July 4 weekend you feel uncertain what to celebrate,² you have at least three potential responses:

1. Keep calm and carry on. Just don’t think about it. Celebrate like you always did.
2. Throw a tantrum. (Tosses flag and corn dog) “Well if that’s how it’s gonna be, I quit.”
3. Utter spiritual platitudes. “Well, this whole representative republic thing was all well and good, but some people idolized it, and anyway, our citizenship is in heaven.”

My own reactions have been a combo move of all three during more than a few Fourths that followed nasty news. But this year I’m trying something different.

No, I don’t want to celebrate a fantasy America with its illusory blend of fifes, blue jackets, and funny three-point hats as well as white picket fences, pastel baby carriages, and black-and-white gentlemen with pipes. Nor would I celebrate a place where many people have done great wrong against other people and against our God.

But I will celebrate, and for this reason: I believe the United States could last forever.

No, I don’t mean the nation in its present form with all the nasty parts—the materialism, disposable culture, depravity, false religions such as radical-right-ism or progressivism.

But I do mean the United States of ideals, colorful flags, songs, stories, cookouts, human diversity, and natural wonders, that have made this place feel just a little bit like Heaven.

Could it be that all these things were only a shadow or copy of the true United States?

The Bible never promises eternity will be some satire-spawned cloud-land where people get bored, or some vague spiritoid dimension ater all that is good about the old world was nuked into nothingness anyway. Instead the entire Story arc of Scripture—the arc so often ignored by Christians on either side of our marriage debates—promises this:

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. 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.”³

Beyond all end-times debates about beasts and persecution, beyond sin, and beyond any interim “millennium” however you interpret it, lies this Afterworld—a restored paradise born from the union of New Heaven (the Church, like a dazzling bride) and New Earth.

And who and what journeys from these heaven-glorified lands into this heaven-sent city?

By [the city’s] light will the nations walk, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. … They will bring into it the glory and the honor of the nations.⁴

If “the nations” will be there, remembered as distinct nations, why not the United States?

If “kings of the earth” will be there, why not voters, city council members, mayors, state representatives, congresspersons, cabinet members, delegates, and presidents?

If the nations’ “glory and honor” will be there, why not the glory and honor of the United States? What is this glory and honor? Not imperialism, intolerance, false religions, or any gift of God corrupted by man’s sin. All that will have been purged by the fires of judgment (2 Peter 3:10). Instead this glory and honor includes things the Old Testament promised:

For the coastlands shall hope for me,
the ships of Tarshish first,
to bring your children from afar,
their silver and gold with them,
for the name of the LORD your God,
and for the Holy One of Israel,
because he has made you beautiful. …

Your gates shall be open continually;
day and night they shall not be shut,
that people may bring to you the wealth of the nations,
with their kings led in procession.

For the nation and kingdom
that will not serve you shall perish;
those nations shall be utterly laid waste.
The glory of Lebanon shall come to you,
the cypress, the plane, and the pine,
to beautify the place of my sanctuary,
and I will make the place of my feet glorious.⁵

All that is sin-corrupted in this world—including the nation and kingdom that does not serve God—will perish. But all that is good about the world—ships, trade, silver, gold, wealth, fine wood (from cut trees!) help make God’s sanctuary, His home on Earth, glorious.

Or as Professor Kirke tells Lucy and the other Friends of Narnia in The Last Battle:

“[The old Narnia] was only a shadow or a copy of the real Narnia which has always been here and always will be here: just as our world, England and all, is only a shadow or copy of something in Aslan’s real world. You need not mourn over Narnia, Lucy. All of the old Narnia that mattered, all the dear creatures, have been drawn into the real Narnia through the Door.”⁶

This is why in the New Earth the United States may be reborn. And those of her redeemed residents may bring her glories into the heavenly city—the stars and stripes, the marching bands, the corn dogs and the sparklers, the banners, the symbols, and the freedoms.

Notice I said may. And with that I return to my opening comparison. Why is the United States like my dead dog, deep-dish pizza, and fantastical stories? Because God would not need to bring these back to New Earth to make that place a paradise that glorifies Him. Of course not. Yet He did promise the restored world will have “worldly” things like these.

Therefore, after the great melting of the elements and the purging of all impurities,⁷ the United States, my dog, pizza, and stories may just last forever.

And that possibility is worth celebrating.

Racial issues and tensions have always been a part of our world, but they’ve been getting a lot of press recently. Allegations of police brutality, riots in the streets, and a deranged white supremacist slaughtering churchgoers at a Bible study have turned up the heat and sent the American melting pot into a feverish boil. And since what happens in the real world is also often reflected in the worlds of our imagination, race and racism have also been showing up in popular entertainment. Several comic characters have had their ethnicity adjusted, to the delight and mortification of fans. These instances get media coverage because comics (and their TV and film adaptations) are hot tickets right now.

What about the speculative universe as a whole? It’s quite obvious that the realm of fantasy draws heavily on white European lineage because that setting inspires most of the stories. But what about science fiction, with its intergalactic tendencies? Is it as diverse as it should be? How diverse is “diverse enough” and who gets to say what the standard is? Should this even matter to readers?

Full disclosure: I am a white, middle-class American male and I can only speak from my own perspective. However, I spent my childhood in inner-city Queens where my family was one of the few white families on our block. My wife is Chinese and we have two mixed-race children. My profession is an ESL teacher for international students at a local university. All of this does not make me an expert on race relations but my experience has been diverse enough to give me at least some idea of life beyond a white middle-class upbringing, and this is why I feel confident in approaching this sensitive issue.

I am not a voracious reader of science fiction but it is my preferred genre and I can honestly say that I can’t immediately recall any (human) protagonist who was not white. I know there are stories out there with non-white main characters, but the fact is that science fiction is largely as white as fantasy.

Exhibit A

It seems to me, again in my limited experience, that “racial diversity” in science fiction often means incorporating extraterrestrials into the story. The humans are white, and the non-humans are a different (and darker) color. The star of the story is usually a white male or female and the supporting cast will have an Asian and sometimes a black character (hardly any Indians, despite being the second-highest populated country in the world, or Hispanics, despite the fact that Spanish is the second-most widely spoken language in the world after Chinese).

Why? I can only speculate, but two major factors seem to be: A. the writers are white, and B. the readers are white. Writers create characters that reflect their own characteristics, and it’s not only white writers that do this. Look at books written by non-white authors and you’ll see that their protags are usually in line with the author’s own race. The psychology behind this is complex and ingrained, but that old adage – “Write what you know” – holds true here. Despite my racially diverse life experiences, all of the protagonists in my own books have been white. When I start a new book, it’s automatic in my mind that the character is white, and if he or she isn’t, I need to make a conscious choice about their race. I imagine it’s the same with most authors. No one should apologize for writing in line with their own race, but writers need to be aware of all aspects of a character and not take their race as a given.

Since the people who read speculative fiction are also largely white, writers and publishers are naturally going to cater to them. I saw a post on Facebook by YA sci-fi author Karen Bao. Her latest book features a female protagonist of Chinese descent, but the German publisher placed an attractive Caucasian girl on the cover. Did they think that audiences wouldn’t respond well if cover had shown an attractive Chinese girl, like the one in the story?

So what, if anything, should be done about this? Is some kind of literary affirmative action needed? Some people would say so, but that begs the question: how much? Should publishers stipulate a quota for non-white protags in books? You will find greater diversity in genres such as literary and historical fiction, but what about sci-fi?

Personally, I would love to see popular sci-fi stories set in places like the Middle East or Central America. South African writer/director Neill Blomkamp has produced some intense movies like District 9 and Chappie, both set in his native country, but those movies featured a largely Caucasian cast. How awesome would it be for a movie like City of God or Tsotsi to have a sci-fi spin? It would be great to see stories set in non-Western locations with local casts, but also be free of the cultural or religious statements that infuse most foreign stories that find their way to our shores.

Does a black or Hispanic or Asian reader browse the speculative shelves and lament the absence of stories about people like them? I’m sure that many do. Whose responsibility is it to give them these stories? No one’s. A writer should write the stories and the characters they feel compelled to write, but they should also be aware of the void that exists, waiting to be filled. Even though most speculative fiction readers are white, I do not doubt that they would also enjoy reading a story about a character of any race as long as it was well-written. We should not tip-toe around questions of race and diversity. We should celebrate the colorful identities God has given us, in our lives and in our books.

In the aftermath of the US Supreme Court ruling on marriage, the moderator of a Facebook group for Christian writers asked, “How do we as Christian writers show our support for true marriage, educate readers, and also show compassion towards people experiencing same-sex attraction?” The question got me thinking.

I suppose first I’m wondering, can fiction show support for true marriage without becoming “an issue” book or one that is preachy? Will a subtle approach sufficiently offer the Biblical alternative to gay pride? Can we show compassion in fiction toward people experiencing same-sex attraction without condoning homosexual behavior?

Following those thoughts, came the realization that fiction, despite what people may think, is about showing truth. So what truth should we as Christian writers show? Are we to write to the cultural issues of our day and place? I mean gay marriage is not an issue in Muslim countries and it has been a settled issue in places like Sweden for several decades. Wouldn’t writing to an issue that one country is currently dealing with, restrict the story to a narrow audience?

But should Christians ignore the issues of the day? Writers like Jonathan Swift, author of Gulliver’s Travels, intentionally wrote to expose foibles of his society. So did the muckrakers in America like Frank Norris (The Octopus) and Upton Sinclair (The Jungle) who challenged the practices of Big Business. George Orwell wrote Animal Farm as an allegory to expose the dangers of Communism. Then there was Harriet Beecher Stowe (Uncle Tom’s Cabin) who wrote an impassioned story to raise the awareness of the evils of slavery.

Without a doubt, the most important works of literature say something meaningful. And the more universal the truth, it would seem, the more significant the work.

Does writing to a limited subject like the meaning of marriage disqualify a work from being “universal” in its depiction of truth? Actually, no. Marriage and sexuality happen to be the bedrock of society, whether we like it or not. So writing to those points seems eminently significant.

I remember several episodes from the TV show Star Trek: Next Generation, which ran from 1987-1994, and Deep Space Nine, which ran from 1993-1999, that were actually “about” gay rights. One show featured a genderless society and the “sin” in their eyes of assigning gender to a particular individual. Another dealt with a symbiont named Dax whose host had once been a man, but whose current host was a woman, still attracted to a woman she had known when she was a he.

Sounds very current, but twenty years ago these issues were not topics on the nightly news. Rather, they were imbedded in stories that had an impact on the belief system of countless viewers.

The question today, however, is this: now that gender identity and marriage definition are front and center in the consciousness of a portion of western society, can Christian writers still address these topics in fiction with the necessary subtlety to make the point without burying them so deeply they won’t register with readers?

And should we try?

Is it more important to write about sin and redemption than about marriage and gender identity?

I guess the more fundamental question comes down to this: what impact on society should the Christian novelist have? Granted, we can’t lump all of us together. Some are writing to Christians. Others are writing to the general market reader. But to what end are we writing?

Is it OK for us to write to either group “purely for entertainment”? Or should we aim to make an eternal difference through what we write?

When we write for Christians, should we purpose to edify the body of Christ or is it OK to write a self-validation story that confirms what we already believe? Would the latter serve as encouragement, a sort of keep-on-keeping-on reminder that what we believe is true? Is that a worthwhile goal for an author to undertake?

And for the general market, what should we aim to accomplish? What are the truth claims that we ought to concern ourselves with? What are the issues of our day which we should be addressing? Ought we to be reacting to what is, or looking ahead and determining what the next great societal challenge might be?

I think I’ve been clear about my position in the past: the sub-genres of speculative fiction are the best means by which a writer can convey relevant truth without being preachy. Perhaps there is no more significant time for us as speculative writers to step up and address matters that matter.

Ohio’s Amish Country is roughly two hours from the farm where I grew up. During my teen years our family took our first family outing to “The A.C.”

Since I came from a rural background, it probably wasn’t as big of a culture shock as it would’ve been for some. There was the feeling of stepping into another world, though. The way the plain folk dressed, the buggies we passed along the way, the shops full of handmade furniture and pastries—it was like riding a time machine to the days of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House series.

But when I started writing Amish Vampires in Space—a genre mashup in which the only comedy is the title and premise—I knew my incidental exposure wouldn’t be enough.

Threshing Amish culture

The plot needed authentic Amish characters, and that would mean lots of research. Unfortunately, my favorite research tool, the Internet, didn’t have much to say about the Amish. The Amish don’t own computers, nor do they blog or tend their Wikipedia page.

So I muddled through using what little I could find. I knew some details might need to change before the book was released, but I felt confident about the main plot points. Enough Amish theology and customs were available to make an educated guess.

Following the first round of revisions, my publisher felt the Amish portions still “weren’t foreign enough.” He suggested we find an expert.

Enter Dutch Wolfe.¹

Dutch is a bona fide Amish romance writer, with over a dozen published novels and Amish friends he can contact when necessary. He was the ideal person to help a displaced science fiction author like me. A real asset.

Dutch worked through AViS a few chapters at a time. He suggested changes here and there, but generally the plot stood as written. We both were surprised by how close I’d gotten to real-life Amish culture. Maybe those childhood trips helped? Not sure. But the only section that required more than a line or two was one concerning a shunning ceremony. I had it written as a more private affair than it typically is.

My interaction with Dutch gave me more than a better novel, though. It gave me a glimpse into something truly fantastical: The world of Amish romances.

This is where the money is!

The Shunning (1997) kicked off the modern Amish fiction genre

The Amish romance genre has been lucrative for many years. According to Newsweek, the total combined books sold by the top two authors “since they began publishing Amish romance in the late 1990s, is closing in on the 30 million mark.” Those top two authors—Beverly Lewis and Wanda Brunstetter—sold more than 200,000 copies in the past 12 months alone.

My friend Dutch isn’t one of those top two authors, but his books do well for him. Writing romances is his sole occupation and provides comfortably for him and his family. When I mentioned how difficult it can be to be a speculative author, Dutch encouraged me to consider writing Amish romances.

“You already know enough to do it,” he said. “And the genre needs male writers.”

Despite its accessibility and profitability, many Amish romance writers would love to be writing something else. A few weeks into his read-through of AViS, Dutch confessed that he wanted to write speculative fiction. Part of his reason for helping me was to connect with authors in my genre. Amish fiction pays the bills, but it isn’t what he feels called to write.

The genre is the CBA ² version of golden handcuffs. And while we’re talking about restraint …

The Amish don’t have sex!

No, not the actual Amish. They generally have large families. I’m talking about the Amish in Amish romances.

The books are sanitized reading. They rarely hint at sex, and romantic kissing is out, even between married couples. And while Amish romances are read by the Amish themselves, they don’t demand the same level of sanitized content as non-Amish readers.

In a Nov. 3, 2014 USA Today article, author Kelly Long recounts how an encounter with an Amish man changed her focus.

“I asked Dan if there was anything missing from the book or that I’d misrepresented. Dan was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, ‘Kelly, I have thirteen children. How do you think I got them?’ I laughed, but he didn’t. He said, ‘Don’t neuter my people.’”

Dutch has told me similar stories.

As a sci-fi writer, I don’t have a ton of mushy stuff in my books. My first written kiss, in A Star Curiously Singing, came at the behest of the publisher. So, imagine my surprise when Dutch called me with a bit of trepidation in his voice.

“The section around page 230? The one with Mary Salter?”

“Yeah … ?”

In AViS, Mary Salter is a young Amish woman who becomes a vampire and appropriately “vamps” for some men. The dialogue is playful, and there is no physical contact or implied nudity. It is flirtatious at best.

“That spot right there is where all the traditional Amish romance readers will stop reading,” he warned.

“But she doesn’t do anything,” I said. “She has all of her clothes on! Some of them are ripped a little, but—”

“Doesn’t matter. The implication is enough.”

“Well, that’s just crazy.”

He chuckled. “I recommend you remove it,” he said. “There’s a large market for Amish stories out there, Kerry. A large market. But that section will lose them….think about it. Seriously.”

Talk about foreign! What was a sci-fi writer to do?

Ask my publisher, of course …

Lately I’ve found that we American evangelicals, bless our hearts, may have managed to set a cultural trend. Unfortunately I’m not sure we can take pride in this accomplishment.

I’m referring to the phenomenon of including content disclaimers called “trigger warnings” or “content warnings” before a story, article, or other bit of culture that has words, ideas, or other elements that an individual or group—real or imaginary—may find objectionable.

From what I’ve read, content warnings are becoming quite the fad, not just among authors who want to show compassion to victims of abuse but among groups, institutions and writers who are merely finding a hipper-sounding way to enforce what was once called “political correctness.” It’s not just therapists doing this, but believers in progressivism.¹

How do I cast tongue-in-cheek blame on Christians for this? Because if I didn’t know better I would say that some of our movie-review sites, with their well-meant yet infamous counts of cusswords and other Objectionable Content, started this whole notion in the first place.

Evangelical content warnings are based on popular-culture stories and songs, usually TV and movies. We send out specially trained reviewers (sometimes assuming their level of spiritual maturity is unattainable by Average Joe Christian) to analyze movies’ worldviews, count cusswords, and determine whether the film is age-appropriate or “family friendly.” Reviewers at sites like Plugged In are much better at this. Reviewers at MovieGuide will sometimes surprise you with their astuteness, but still reduce a movie’s “worldview” and content to a series of literal engineering-like secret code letters like “EvEv” and “AcapAcap.”

Progressivist content warnings are found in more nonfiction contexts such as articles, speeches, and now apparently academic transcripts of panel discussions about free speech. While evangelicals say things like “[includes] many references to mother nature and environmentalism,” progressivist believers warn impressionable readers against “ableist slurs” or even cautionary references to violence against particular ethnic groups.

What do these two different styles of content warnings have in common?

Here I must be careful, not to avoid “triggering” readers but to avoid alarmist conclusions.

First, it may be the case that the silliest instances of these “warnings” are rare and overblown by often-alarmist clickbait websites that have often-political profit motives.

Second, many people intend content/trigger warnings for good reasons. For example, in the Christian community I’ve seen articles that describe in some detail instances of sexual or spiritual abuse. These are absolutely necessary to root out potential abusers, but also require disclaimers because true victims should absolutely take care before reading.

Assuming the best, both are intended to keep weak people from getting hurt. That’s good.

Evangelical application: We do need help within the church (local church first, and then organizations) to help us honor God and pursue holiness in our story and song choices. Usually we’re weak in certain areas. Children should not know about sex before certain (variable) ages. You may be able to watch Game of Thrones and fast-forward past the porn parts, while I don’t want to go near the thing because I would be tempted to gaze. By all means, let’s have content warnings for these stories and songs to keep us from stumbling into temptations we’re not yet mature enough to handle. That’s part of being Christ’s body.

Progressivist application: Why assume we’ve nothing to learn here? I think it’s fine to respect some of the impulse behind non-evangelical content warnings. We do need to be aware of how our words (or certain symbols, like flags) can hurt others. Who do need to take care lest we “trigger” people who have suffered abuse or violence. If that seems odd to us, we can consider (this is a very tame example) being afflicted by nausea and having to listen to someone discuss greasy Philadelphia cheesesteak sub sandwiches or something.

But we cannot stop after only saying content warnings are “well-intended.” We must be firmer about the purpose of content warnings—and flagrant deviations from that purpose.

Content warnings are at best temporary safeguards for those who may be hurt by content. So why in the world does anyone—Christians and progressivists alike—pretend that our content warnings are a permanent solution? Why do we delude ourselves into believing we can create “safe spaces” either in our evangelical homes or in cultural common areas?

For evangelicals, we act like content warnings about pop culture apply to all Christians at every age of maturity, especially children, without even bothering to ask about whether a certain word or content would actually tempt a person to sin and thus actually hurt them.

For progressivists, they also act like content warnings are a permanent safeguard against sins such as racism (or non-sins like certain disagreeable competing religious faiths).

In neither case is the chronically-permanent content-warner actually trying to help a victim or weak person grow beyond the need for the warning in the first place—for actual victims, to help them clean out the wound, fight infection, stimulate new cell growth, heal the deep gash, and finally remove all the bandages—and for (I’m afraid this will be very unpopular) “victim” wannabes, to politely tell them it’s time to quit picking at their own shallow scabs.

That’s my diagnosis: Content warnings serve a purpose, but they are not permanent. And if we delude ourselves into pretending they can fix culture or victims, we’re under a delusion.

So at the risk of repeating a “slur” myself, how can we resolve the madness?

More, next time.

I decided that, in honor of Father’s Day, I would compile a list of memorable fathers in speculative fiction. Before I wrote a word – in fact, as soon as I actually began to think about it – I encountered the main obstacle to such a list.

Slim pickings.

This is, after all, the genre of the orphan, of emancipated minors and tragically separated families. Parents are usually cut out of the picture in short and ruthless order, whether by death or by somehow becoming separated from their children – either involuntarily or voluntarily, for noble or ignoble reasons. Memorable fathers are thus relatively few.

And yet still existent. Here is my list – and yes, we are counting talking animals.

King Triton from The Little Mermaid. Yes, I know: He was close-minded, bad-tempered, and destroyed Ariel’s awesome collection. But unlike the merely comic fathers of some Disney films, and the absent fathers of many other stories, he had the dignity of being a strong, crucial presence in the story. Not wholly positive, of course: Who can overlook his role in Ariel’s foolish bargain? But he mattered. And in taking his daughter’s place as Ursula’s slave, and later in giving her her happy ending, he proved not only vital but good.

Gaffer Gamgee from The Lord of the Rings. I wanted to do Elrond, as father of Arwen and foster-father of Aragorn (raised apart from Arwen, to prevent oddness). But that draws too heavily from the appendices, rather than the story proper. I also thought of Denethor, but that was depressing, and I frankly don’t feel like talking about it. So: Gaffer Gamgee. Important to the story? No. But unique and certainly memorable, through a curious secondhand presence that he had through other people’s words – principally Sam’s (“My old dad would take on so”), though Gandalf got into it, too (“Many words and few to the point”).

Marlin from Finding Nemo. And here we get to the talking animals. Few heroes have been so defined by fatherhood, let alone a fatherhood that was fearful and yet loving and ultimately brave – because his love was greater than his fear. Not in any way extraordinary, not even funny (and he was a clownfish!); just a dad who could be, when his son needed it, heroic.

The Panther Master from Starflower. The Eldest, leader of his people, such as they were, and a father of two daughters – in a culture where that was a disgrace to be wiped away with blood sacrifice. It’s a remarkable thing to rebel against your society when it has crowned you king. The portrayal of the Panther Master was one of the most interesting and one of the most powerful portrayals of fathers I have encountered in fiction.

The fathers from the live-action Cinderella. The fathers of both Cinderella and the prince received unexpected attention in Disney’s second re-telling, being made sympathetic even in their mistakes. The relationships between them and their children were tender, and exceedingly well-portrayed; one of the most moving shots of the entire movie was the prince curling up, like a little boy, by his father on his death-bed.

Darth Vader from Star Wars. Few characters are as memorable as Darth Vader, and his famous “I am your father” declaration transformed Star Wars. The father-son dynamic not only became the dramatic center of the story, it deepened the hero and the villain and, with them, the whole Star Wars saga.

What fathers would you add to the list?