Okay, so my last post two weeks ago probably made me sound a little . . . haughty, maybe? A little stuck up? I’m sorry. My bad. It’s not that I don’t like Christmas. I do. But for a pastor, […]
Okay, so my last post two weeks ago probably made me sound a little . . . haughty, maybe? A little stuck up?
I’m sorry. My bad.
It’s not that I don’t like Christmas. I do. But for a pastor, Christmas is usually a stressful time with lots of extra (let’s put it simply) work. Most people count down to Christmas. I usually count down to when it’s over.
But that’s not to say that there aren’t things I find amusing. I have a tradition that, every Christmas season, I have to watch two very specific movies: MST3K’s Santa Claus Conquers the Martians and MST3K’s Santa Claus. While they’re both wonderfully ridiculous, the latter is probably my favorite of the two. I mean, you can’t beat a Mexican kids movie where Santa Claus fights the Devil. Seriously. If you can, check that out. It’s a classic.
I also have a soft spot for silly songs. And my early Christmas present to you are a few of the silliest I’ve found in recent months.
Since I’ve already brought up MST3K, let’s start there. In their classic episode, Santa Claus Conquers the Martians, Joel and the ‘bots write a new Christmas carol based on Patrick Swayze’s movie, Roadhouse (which had just been released shortly before the episode was filmed). In honor of MST3K’s 25th anniversary, a choir performed the song in all of its glory. Just a word to the wise, there is a bit of salty language in it:
And you may have seen this one already, but I have to share it anyway:
In all seriousness, I may be a week early, but I hope you all have a very blessed Christmas.
Unless you’re the Doctor. We all know what kind of Christmas you’re going to have.
The first science fiction book I read as a young teen was Lester Del Ray’s novel, The Runaway Robot. A fun and enjoyable read, even as an adult. A few years ago, I discovered Lester didn’t really write that book. It was ghostwritten.
That revelation changed how I viewed the book. I still love it, but some of the luster dulled in the feeling of having believed a lie.
Of late, accusations of plagiarism by Evangelical leader Mark Driscoll have turned toward accusations of using ghostwriters. This has spread to other leaders who are suspected of the same. At first, I wondered what the big deal was. Ghostwriters are an accepted part of the publishing world.
People are responding as if this is new.
Christianity Today back in March of 2002 ran a reprint of an article that originally ran in September of 1982. The subtitle tells the story, “The evangelical world is being plagued by ghostwriters in the sky.” The big difference is that article doesn’t name any leaders, using fictional characters to illustrate the story instead.
The problem is for non-fiction, especially Christian, it often has the person’s name on the cover because they are perceived to have some expertise on the subject. People buy his book because they want to hear what the expert has to say on the subject, not an unknown person he hired.
But what about fiction?
If a ghostwriter can match the author’s voice and style, what does it matter? As long as it is well written and a good story, does it matter?
We’ll, there’s that pesky “Thou shalt not bear false witness” commandment (Exodus 20:16). Then again, that’s not the full commandment, which adds, “. . . against thy neighbor.” Ghostwriting would be bearing false witness against yourself.
However, we could all find Scripture verses to support not lying about such things. I’m sure some of you will quote a few in the comments. There are plenty to pick from.
What I’m more curious about isn’t just whether it is a sin or not on the part of an author to attach their name to a book they didn’t write (a solid case could be made for that point), but what you, the reader, feel when you suspect or discover a particular book you like or love was ghostwritten? Especially a speculative fiction book.
I’m re-posting the entries below in the order in which they were originally posted (alternating font color to make it easier to identify the beginning of each entry). As before, you may like (vote for) as many as you wish
Apparently Spec Faith has experienced some sort of mysterious attack on our thumbs because they disappeared, leaving me with no way to identify the top three Spec Faith Winter Writing Challenge entries. I see no recourse but to redo the initial voting, this time using a poll.
I’m re-posting the entries below in the order in which they were originally posted (alternating font color to make it easier to identify the beginning of each entry).
As before, you may like (vote for) as many as you wish (entries identified by the user name of the author), but you’ll only be allowed to vote once, so you’ll want to look over the entries before you click on the vote button. Round 1 voting will end midnight (Pacific time) December 22.
Feel free to add additional comments if you’d like. Thanks for your patience!
– – – – –
notleia
December 2, 2013 at 9:46 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices. Almost no point in leveling up, especially with the reassignment, but the pay raise was nice. Higher quality vintages for the large wine slushie she planned on making for herself once this was over.
âSo whatâs this about?â she said unceremoniously as she was escorted into the command tent, with rows upon rows of monitors and sensors and communications.
The commandant looked her down and up from the ferrule of her cane to the âTOO OLD FOR THIS SCHEISSâ on her T-shirt.
âIâm in research,â Gem said, sounding defensive even to herself. âTake it up with the Council that they use this rock as a retirement pasture.â
âYouâre qualified for portals?â the commandant asked.
âThoroughly. Is it smuggling?â
The commandant pushed her glasses up her nose. âAre you qualified for portals beyond the Pale?â
Gemâs grip on her cane tightened. âHow much damage was done? Did they use standing rings or focus diagrams?â
âUnknown. Readings indicate that the source is also beyond the Pale.â
Gem took a breath. âIf I didnât know better, Iâd say you were lying.â
– – – – –
Literaturelady
December 3, 2013 at 10:39 am
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices. And for the unveiling of a statue, especially one of Lady Crystolite, a sage must be present. This custom merely flaunted the sages in the Ladyâs service, for one who could afford these elite guardians for ceremonies was wealthy indeed.
Gem shook back her cavernous sleeves and beckoned a messenger. He sprang to her side. âLearn what delays Lady Crystolite. Do it quickly.â
The messenger ignored this last command. Gem surveyed the field of glowering faces, tapped her foot, and watched from the corner of her eye the path to the marble-pillared mansion.
âWe wonât wait!â a man burst out. âThis has lasted long enough!â The dam broke. Shouts swept the crowd like a windstorm. Gem flung out an arm. No one heeded. Probably, she thought as she seized her quartz staff, because the sleeve swallowing her fingers ruined the signal. She smashed the staff onto the platform, and the hollow boom overpowered the noise and settled it.
âWaiting for her is the least you can do,â Gem snapped. âYou owe your lawmaker honor.â
âIf you believe that,â a woman called, âthank her Ladyship publicly for her precious leadership!â
Gem flinched. That was a sacrifice indeed.
– – – – –
Bethany J.
December 3, 2013 at 4:09 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices.
Blasted superstitions! She thumped her lexicon onto the table and skimmed the pages, pushing a frizz of hair behind her horns. Surely the book had a description of a storm-appeasing ritual she could muddle through â anything to prevent discovery now, right before her long-awaited opportunity.
âA quiet night at home? With a storm coming?â Farro chuckled from his armchair at the other side of the cave, his furred hooves crossed before the fire.
Gem glared. âYouâre no help. If they realize Iâm a fake, do you think theyâll let you go unscathed? Clearly weâre working together.â
Her fuzzy ears pricked to a distant sound â the clash of cymbals and wails of temple-satyrs audible over the howling wind. âFarro, theyâre coming up the trail.â
He peeped through the curtains and looked impressed. âFancy that.â
âI canât do this,â Gem breathed. âWhatâll happen now?â
âTheyâll string you up. Food for the phoenixes.â
Despite his hyperbole, Gemâs heart jumped. She shook the lexicon at his suave figure. âThey might! Even if we both escape with our headsâŚâ Her mind rang with panic. âThis will destroy any chance of infiltrating the academy and finding Mia. Please! Are you going to help me or not?â
– – – – –
Leanna
December 3, 2013 at 11:16 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices.
âIâm sorry,â she murmured to her six month old son, âmama has to leave again.â Bouncing him gently, she carried him to the main room where Leif was building a fire.
He took one look at the flashing tattoo on her arm and resigned disappointment appeared in his eyes. He wiped soot from his hands onto to his tunic. âHand him here,â he said.
Gem bent over to do so and took advantage of the closeness to kiss her husband. âIâll be home by dawn.â
âThatâs what you said last time.â He hadnât turned away but he hadnât kissed her back either. âYou should send a message to your sister in case whatever crisis the Council is in takes longer. The bridge has to be finished before snow sets in, I canât stay home tomorrow.â
âVery well.â She pulled free the black quartz marking her rank from within her robe. It swirled with red fire like her tattoo of summoning. She tossed the stone into the fire pit and the fire sparked blue-black. âFarewell.â
Icy cold enveloped her and then she stepped out of the Sacred Flames in the Council Hall into a puddle of blood.
– – – – –
Thomas C Booher
December 3, 2013 at 11:23 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices. The snow had begun to fall. The street lamp caught the flakes falling topsy-turvy, much like the way she felt right now. Mr. Sohnberg would be there, for sure, eyeing each of them through that absurd monocle. Jason, too. At least there would be something to look forward to. They would need him to access the box behind one-eyeâs desk to get to the real box that was causing this stink. She had seen it only once, three months ago, when she was first called up. Horrid looking thing, she remembered, black and oily and smelly too, like an outhouse in a fish market. They said it was the worldâs hope. That was three months ago.
– – – – –
Kessie Carroll
December 4, 2013 at 6:22 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices.
So when someone pounded on her front door at 2 AM, she rolled out of bed without even swearing. She grabbed her official black robe and pulled it over her pajamas, ran a hand through her bristly black hair, and rushed into the living room. âThis had better be important.â
She peered through the doorâs peephole. After all, this was Phoenix, Arizona, and there was no point in getting mugged.
A dragon stood on her apartmentâs doorstep.
She heaved a sigh and closed her eyes, composing herself. At least it wasnât a mugger. She pulled the door open.
A young man stood there, clad in a tattered t-shirt and denim shorts, despite the chilly desert wind. Heat rolled off his body, and his eyes glowed yellow. âAre you the Arch-Sage?â
Gem forced a polite smile. âYes. How may I help you?â
The dragon-man grimaced. âMy sisterâs been kidnapped.â
– – – – –
Kristen Stieffel
December 5, 2013 at 2:37 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices. So she let her mother in.
âUpper-level sage!â Mama moaned as if Gem were doomed. âYouâll have to move to the capital.â She threw her cloak over the chamberâs lone chair. âWeâll never see you again.â She dabbed a handkerchief at nonexistent tears.
Gem hung the cloak on a peg near the door.
âHundreds of miles, across the mountainsâŚYour fatherâs poor health will prevent his ever making that trip.â
âTrue.â
âYou wonât be permitted to leave, either.â
She nodded. Papa was fading fast. It pained Gem to think she wouldnât be there at his end. But sheâd worked fifteen years toward this advancementâhalf her lifeâknowing what it entailed. The arduous journey to the capital, the rest of her life in the kingâs employ.
A suite in the palace instead of a tiny room at the abbey. Days on end of pure study. No more kitchen chores, no moreâŚ
âHow can the king take away my child?â Mama wailed like a mourner.
Gem patted her shoulder. Gemâs superiors required that she spend her last night in the abbey with Mama. For the chance of escaping to the capital, Gem gladly made that sacrifice.
– – – – –
Shannon McDermott
December 5, 2013 at 6:09 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices.
She counted steps as she ascended the staircase that looped the tower walls in slow, great spirals. Chill, empty air filled up the tower, from its roof to the floor far below. No rail guarded the staircase. The Echelon was not for those who stumbled, nor for those who feared.
At the hundredth step, she stopped and glanced behind her at Metal. The gray of his robe would have melted him into the gloom, but for the glints of gold, like captive rays of sun.
Above Gem stood Water, her resplendent blue robe flowing into a train behind her. Beyond Water, Earth gripped his wooden stave.
Across the tower, Air perched on the wending stairs. The white hem of her robe spilled over the staircase to sway in the currents of cold air.
If Gem were to crane her neck, she would catch a glimpse of Fireâon the highest stair, draped in his red and gold.
But she did not look.
Gem held still, adding her silence to that of the others. The days of privilege under the bright sun, of power in the city, where no door dared close to herâshe paid for those days, in nights like this.
– – – – –
Zac Totah
December 5, 2013 at 8:49 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices.
The door to her cottage banged open, admitting a gust of snow and a tall man wearing a fur cloak. âYou have been summoned.â
Gem swallowed. So soon? What did they want? Biting her lip, she donned her coat and followed her escort into the night. Not surprisingly, he took her to Leronâs quarters in the Hall of Reckoning. He nodded at the door and stood aside as if to prevent her from escaping once she entered. After reciting her favorite verse of poetry to calm herself, she strode in.
A roaring fire warmed the room, but she shivered. Leron heaved his balding frame from his chair and cackled. âIâm glad to see you havenât gone against custom.â
âI live to obey.â But did she?
âGood. Obedience is your only chance.â
His words stung her ears, and she suddenly became aware of the shadows lurking in the corners. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldnât respond.
Leron circled her, gaunt eyes gleaming. âTwo kinds of people reach the rank you attained yesterday. The ones who die because they canât keep secrets, and the ones who sell their souls to stay alive.â
He stroked her hair. âWhich one are you?â
– – – – –
heididrukortman
December 6, 2013 at 2:42 am
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices. Too bad the sacrifice included the sole of her left boot. Its condition was a measure of the majorâs disdain for sages since the scientist from Racor had come to town. Heâd cut sage wages twice, to pour funds into an improbable sounding super weapon. She pulled the split boot over her heel and let it fall to the rushes.
The coin pouch she hid in the wall flapped like the wattle on a turker, and the two bellen pips inside slid against one another. Not enough to mend the boot. Gem triggered her torch to inspect the damage. This time, glue wouldnât do.
She threw the boot into the corner. âUp the flank of the volcano,â she said, as she shook her head. âAny three-year-old has more sense,â any three-year-old, but not the majorâs niece. Nine hours sheâd scrambled across fractured obsidian searching for the undisciplined chit.
The witless girl had protested her rescue during the entire descent. âI ought to have let her slide down face first.â Gem let the other boot drop. âFoolâs errand. Kajeeri fern hasnât grown there in a dragonâs ageâitâs overrunning my garden.â
– – – – –
Krysti Kercher
December 6, 2013 at 2:47 am
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices. In the small hours of the night, her new medallion vibrated with a priority summons from the Lord Steward of Jirin.
Closing the Book of Lives, she stood and pushed the small button pinned to her tunic collar.
A window opened in the air before her, revealing the lord of Jirin standing in his workroom before an enhanced view of the desert night.
âMy lord?â
He indicated two clumps of glowing specks moved across the viewer, drawing toward him. âA group of Plainsmen seek the chasm gate pursued by dragon warriors.â
âHow soon will theyââ
âBefore dawn. Master Giles is with them.â
Giles! Sheâd missed his ugly face for the past five years, but the city had been barred to the Plainsmen for over five hundred. He wouldnât enter without them. Without refuge, their pursuers would have himâand them!
âMy lord, what do you intend?â
âIâll stop the dragon warriors. Youâll give the Plainsmen sanctuary.â
Her stomach did a flip. Break the cardinal law of Jirin! âDoes the prince consent?â
He gave her a look. âNo.â
She swallowed. âVery well, my lord.â For Giles, she would risk the princeâs wrath.
– – – – –
Teddi Deppner
December 6, 2013 at 1:18 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices. Nobody mentioned that the sageâs bond-vessel would be required to make them, too.
Gem sighed as she hurried to her masterâs chamber door. Was this really better than living on the streets? Warm fireplace, thick blankets, stew in her belly, yes. Yes, it was. And it was definitely better than being burned at the stake.
She cleared the frown from her face and the irritation from her mind and knocked at the door, sending her thoughts past the door and into the mind of her master, Revick. Master, wake up. A messenger from the Council. Will you see him?
The Council! A sharp burst of fear, and then eagerness, poured into her from Revick. Already! Prepare yourself, girl. You must receive all that you feel from me without giving it away on your face. Do it right this time!
Yes, master. Gem sighed again.
A minute later, Revick swept from his room, smoothing the long folds of his robe and looking her over with narrowed eyes. He scowled. âI told you to cut your hair.â
âI was going to do it in the morning.â
âThat does us no good if the Council sees you tonight!â
– – – – –
Audrey Sauble
December 6, 2013 at 3:13 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, maybe even some tea and that new book on light heraldry, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices. She had made it as far as her front stoop, though, before she felt the buzz from her chain calling her.
With a sigh, Gem flicked back the latchâanyone with basic telekinetic training could break a regular lockâand pushed through into the warm hallway.
The buzz repeated, and Gem turned to her cabinet. As the door swung back for her, the mirror inside flashed static, and Gem touched one finger to the lower corner. Her supervisorâs face appeared.
âSirââ Gem started to say.
âYou didnât have permission to leave, Inspector. Somethingâs come upâa crisis with the mines. They want to talk to you.â
Gem frowned, but her supervisor was already reaching to deactivate the mirror. âBe quick, will you? I canât leave until you come.â
As the glimmer faded, Gem closed the cabinet.
Then she stood a moment, before crossing the hall to the bathroom. The mirror on the back of the door was dark, but when she touched it, the rim began to gleam. No one, Gem thought, had ever bothered to check a bathroom mirror for transmission signals. It was too obvious.
– – – – –
Suz
December 6, 2013 at 3:34 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices.
Collapsing back into her ivory chair to await judgment, she was grateful her chair was made comfortable by the fur lining of her first hunt. This was a luxury afforded few in her newly acquired position, and she pushed off with one green foot, swiveling around and around, letting her signature, silver and white streaked hair fly around her until with a jolt, it came to rest on one shoulder as she slammed her feet down on the cold, glass floor, her long, thin tail coming to rest alongside her agile body.
Who were these sages anyway?, she thought, gazing down through the transparent floor beneath her to the brown, stained, downtrodden masses below, so unlike herself yet, of whom she had been an integral part of since being found as a newborn along the river Korinder.
No one ever saw these creatures of power. She, like every other serf, spent her life in blind obedience out of fear and habit, knowing only they did not wish to disappear as seemed to happen when anyone had an independent thought, however small.
The crystal had saved her and she knew not why or how, only she was grateful for a new life, another chance beyond the first one granted by her rescue. A sudden high pitched whistle left her grabbing her hair over her ears in an attempt to lessen the volume, as she was summoned to the arena.
– – – – –
Henrietta Frankensee
December 6, 2013 at 10:36 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices.
Her molecules regathered and reacquainted themselves with electromagnetic force â distinguished themselves from the seat cushions of her favourite chair. Assembled air hissed from her lungs. A brief foray into the 10 053 savage minds sharing her world on this portentous night revealed mass hysteria.
The eclipse of their beloved sister planet by two moons threatened supernatural evil that must, of savage course, be countered by bloody sacrifice. Gem had given up explaining about gravity and tides and the resilience of their worldâs atmosphere. Let them run amok! She had more important things to do.
âDossep.â She touched the navigation wand to her feet. Mistakes with molecular transport had cost dearly at the beginningâŚFor eons measured only by the Creator she traveled the celestial zephyrs with the Host, surfing the wake of Dark Matter and extrapolating the myriad dimensions with sister and brother âhigh-levelersâ.
After her conversionâŚher arrival in alien form she struggled with coalescing molecules and the segregation of her thoughts. Whoever arrived tonight would gain from her experience.
Searing agonyâŚ
CatastrophyâŚ
Low trembling through her consciousnessâŚmoaning.
Fundamental Emotion bombarded her thrashing particles.
Dispersion!
EternalâŚ.
Bliss.
âA quiet night.â she dreamed.
âAt Home.â smiled the Beloved.
– – – – –
Mirtika (first entry)
December 7, 2013 at 4:04 am
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices.
Sheâd given up hometown, first love, and fertility for rank. Now, her treasured privacy awaited death at the hands of this boy filthy as the gobgoats feasting on the trash heaps of Sagekeep. Standing outside her doorway, he disturbed her peace with defiant eyes.
âMy new apprentice, you say?â
The Proctor of Wisehall nodded and shifted away from the youth rank with sweat and ill-repute, homeless since his masterâa mid-levelâwent mad.
Gem initiated sagethought. Ponder: nature of event. Assessment: punishment, warning. Options: none but obedience.
Sheâd sworn to Mastermage that, in return for her unprecedented promotion, her upstart powers would sleep for six moonsâa small sacrifice for a large reward.
Miscalculation.
Corrective: turn the tables. Method: misfit magic. Tool: the brat.
Sheâd use well the six months to shape him into her sharpest dagger. Gem prayed for the rumors to be true. Be ruinous, bedraggled boy.
âApprentice Geeter, you enter only after I accept your vow to obey all I command, by mouth and by pen.â
The boy, crossing his bony arms in an unseemly fashion, smirked. âI vow nothinâ. You got no choice but to be lettinâ me in, High One. Stuck with me, ainât ya?â
– – – – –
smaelquil
December 7, 2013 at 6:38 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices. Not that she wasnât used to making sacrifices but too much was really too much.
Why had Celeste been called in the middle of the night without Gem? Sages never left their familiars behind.
Gem padded back and forth in front of the door, anxiously listening for her mistressâ foot steps. Gemâs nose itched. She reached with her paw to lick and swipe at the insistent irritation. Her nose warned of something amiss but, with the door closed, she couldnât venture out to investigate.
Glancing around the room, Gem noticed the cloth on the table by the corner move where it reached the floor.
Creeping to the movement, Gem sniffed. Cool air and the sent of wood burning from the fireplace in the main room.
Edging closer and peering around the end, she spotted a broken board in the wall. Yes! Gem dashed through and burst into the hallway, crossing in front of a guard standing by the door.
âHey! Stop! Come back here!â
Gem meowed and dashed down the hall, following Celesteâs scent. Nope, not stopping.
– – – – –
Mirtika (second entry)
December 8, 2013 at 12:04 am
âAll Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices. Nightly sacrifices, without fail, during this period of the sister moons, lest the powers of the twin shadows rush out of control.â
The two inquisitors, Valden and Elda, loomed over Gemâs corpse, silent and attentive, as Goffrid testified to the nightâs events. The Sacristy of Sages had recorded no homicides since the depraved era of the Heretic Regent. They would prefer to keep the record pure.
Goffrid continued, his voice as lifeless as Gemâs body. âShe delegated the evening sacrifice to me, entrusted the implements and the map to the wandering stones. I warned her. I had only watched, never performed the mysteries. It was her duty, not mine. But she insisted.â Goffrid âs tears fell on the carpet and on the corpse of his superior. âShe was weary of the blood rites. ThenâŚâ
âThen?â Elda asked.
âI made a mistake.â
Valden spoke. âHow does a sword mistakenly strike off the head of a sage?â He instantly regretted the note of sarcasm that violated his training. But Gem had been his nursery mate. Self-controlâthe prime requirement of the inquisitor, moreso than perfect recallâcame hardest with tears forbidden, yet begging to flow. âRespond, suspect.â
âI called the wrong god.â
– – – – –
Emerald Resonance
December 9, 2013 at 8:19 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices. So she bundled herself in her heaviest cloak and made her way to the small stone listening hut on the hill above the village. Perhaps spending the night listening for the buzz of strange minds beyond the village wall was better, after all, than only barely sleeping, thinking about tomorrow and what she wanted to say to Marianne as she sent her off.
Gem opened the door of the hut to find a small fire already lit in the center, with Marianne kneeling on the other side. The young woman smiled up at her as she entered.
Gem raised an eyebrow. âYou ought to be in bed, young lady â tonight of all nights.â
Marianne chuckled. âThe prefect sounded jumpy in his message. If something is afoot, I donât want you up here alone tonight.â
Gem knelt next to Marianne.
âAnd,â Marianne continued, her tone softening, âif this really is my last night as your apprentice, Iâd rather spend it with you than alone in my bed, not sleeping.â
Gem blinked back tears, reached for Marianneâs hand, squeezed it tight. âIs it selfish of me to say that Iâd rather send my right arm to Renvale than send you?â
– – – – –
Paul Charvet
December 9, 2013 at 11:31 pm
All Gem wanted was a quiet night at home, but sheâd been warned that upper-level sages would have to make sacrifices⌠and her brother would become a master sage that night, the note jammed under her windowsill had further reminded. She needed no masterâs wisdom to grasp the anonymous warning: what better sacrifice for Jerek to prove his commitmentâŚ?
Gem pulled a black cloak from the closet and wrapped it over her shoulders. A careful check in the mirror confirmed that it hid the two lines, crimson and blue, that traced intricately from shoulder to wrist down her left arm. She vaguely remembered Jerek coming home with those marks, his first visit after he had become a noviceâŚ
Her mistressâs permission to visit home must have been planned, a way to take her quietly away from the towerâs other novices. And as long as her parents didnât know of the warning, of her escape, surely they wouldnât be harmed.
She snuffed out her bedroom lamp and clambered out the window. Pack bouncing between her shoulder blades, she slipped into the darkened alleyway behind the row of cramped houses.
With each step, her fear grew. It was too simple.
A hand descended roughly on her shoulder. She bit back a startled gasp, and looked up into Jerekâs dark, cold eyes. âRunning, sister?â
Connie Willis is the most-awarded writer of science fiction ever, with seven Nebula wins and eleven Hugos. Crazy, right? Three of those Hugo wins are for her novels in the time travel series.
I sometimes get the feeling that the science fiction community can be hostile toward spiritual things or even anti-Christian. Certainly, there are books (even award-nominated works) that are firmly atheist or anti-theist.
On the other hand, there are some spectacular Christians at work in the genre, both in the traditional science fiction industry and in the Christian book genre. The author who has received the most lifetime Nebula and Hugo awards is a devout Christian named Connie Willis. She attends the United Church of Christ (Congregationalist). And her most popular work, the so-called “time travel series” is a scarcely disguised series of stories and novels about God’s interaction with human beings.
I’m sure many of the readers here at Speculative Faith are familiar with Willis’s work, but a brief introduction for those unfamiliar might bring some interesting conversation for all.
Connie Willis is the most-awarded writer of science fiction ever, with seven Nebula wins and eleven Hugos. Crazy, right? Three of those Hugo wins are for her novels in the time travel series. What you need to know about the story, basically, is this: Time travel is useless for commercial endeavors and has become the realm of scholars who travel back as historians. The prevailing theories say that time travelers can’t change any significant event in the past because “the time stream prevents it.” Try to go to the Battle of the Bulge, and you’ll end up a hundred years too early or two hundred miles away.
The first full-length book of Willis’s that I read (and, as it turns out, my favorite) is the Hugo and Nebula award-winning The Doomsday Book. On the theology side, it’s a meditation on the question, “Why does God allow suffering and injustice?” A young historian travels back in time and accidentally lands in the center of the Black Plague. Our protagonist tries desperately to change things, knowing that she can’t, and watching as the plague ravages the town she is in. It’s about history, fate, God, suffering and beautiful acts of selflessness. A key character is a priest who labors on in the face of hopelessness, bringing beauty and comfort to the sick, and radically impacting our time traveler.
To Say Nothing of the Dog also won the Hugo. This is an odd book, more comedy of manners than time travel book, and it veers suddenly into cozy mystery (or satire of cozy mystery?) part way through the book. Basically, a time traveler accidentally brings a cat back from the past (thought to be impossible) and the time travelers clumsily try to reverse the damage to the time stream, causing more paradoxes and problems as they traipse along. The book is funny, but also an exploration of free will and predestination, and again the time stream is a character in the book, making maddening “choices” that seem to reveal that although our characters have free will they are acting out pre-determined roles.
Lastly, Willis’s Blackout and All Clear (really one novel broken into two) won both the Nebula and Hugo awards. It’s the story of a band of time historians in London during World War 2. In this book, everything we know about time travel from years of reading Willis’s books is challenged. The possibility that the “time stream” is actually God Himself is directly addressed by the characters. What if, they wonder, the time stream actually responds to moral intent on the part of the historians?
A few thoughts and observations. One, these books are wildly different from one another and in some ways are almost historical fiction. The time traveler functions as a “modern voice” allowing the reader to note the strange things about the time period. Beyond that, the time travel device is used for two purposes: one, to build suspense (i.e. “Will we make it back to the future? Have we damaged the time stream? Etc.) and two, to discuss spiritual questions without overtly saying, “And now we will have a conversation about Jesus, predestination, and suffering.”
It’s fascinating to me that the science-fictional elements are the precise ones used for the spiritual conversation, and is one of the great advantages for Christian science fiction writers: since SF is primarily a literature that asks “What if” questions, it’s wide open for spiritual reflection and exploration.
It’s fascinating, as well, that a series of books with such slight SF aspects and such central spiritual discussions is so well regarded and heavily awarded. If nothing else, it should give Christian SF writers and readers hope that there is a place for spiritual work both in Christian SF and in the mainstream SF community.
What do you think? Have you read much of Willis’s work? What can we learn from her? What might we want to do differently?
– – – – –
Matt Mikalatos is the author of several books, including the forthcoming non-fiction book The First Time We Saw Him. You can interact with him on Twitter, check out his blog or listen to his podcast, the StoryMen. (You may be particularly interested in a recent interview with Stephen R. Donaldson.)
We come to it at last â the eve of The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaugâs U.S. release date.
This chapter, as far as I can tell, will be the last the film covers. It makes sense; after all, The Hobbitâs first film went up to chapter six, so the second may cover six more chapters. That leaves seven chapters covered by a third film, evenly dividing the book into three parts.
But I might be wrong. The second Desolation of Smaug trailer seems to show Thorin, Bilbo and the rest actually together in the now-vacated Smaugâs cave. Will the film continue into chapter 13? If so, Iâll simply release another one of these next week. What do you guess?
Chapter 12: Inside Information
Read chapter 12 in its entirety.
There it is: dwarves are not heroes, but calculating folk with a great idea of the value of money; some are tricky and treacherous and pretty bad lots; some are not, but are decent enough people like Thorin and Company, if you donât expect too much. (page 200) Again, this is what sets The Hobbit apart from other fiction: its heroes are not like traditional heroes, and here Tolkien directly admits it. How is this different from other stories you may have read, especially in this genre? How is it like or not like the Bibleâs heroes?
More imaginative suspense fills the tunnelâs dark air as Bilbo, 200 pages into the story, finally descends into the beastâs lair. If you can recall reading the story for the first time, did you expect him to confront Smaug alone? How do you feel going down with him?
⌠You can picture him coming to the end of the tunnel, an opening of much the same size and shape as the door above. Through it peeps the hobbitâs little head. ⌠Rising from the near side of the rocky floor there is a great glow. The glow of Smaug! To what style has Tolkien shifted? (Present tense.) Why has he done this â almost like a screenwriter?
From what you can recall, did it surprise you that Bilbo simply stole a cup and fled?
âWhat then do you propose we should do, Mr Baggins?â (page 207) Why are the dwarves seem so trusting of Bilbo now â at least when theyâre not blaming him for missteps?
(Do you believe the film adaptation will include both Bilboâs journeys, or only one?)
How does Bilbo think of himself as he comes to the dragon? How do you feel watching?
Now for the long-delayed confrontation with Smaug. How familiar are you with dragons in fantasy literature? How is Smaug different or like those other famous dragons? What makes him so terrifying to Bilbo (and to us), besides the fact that he is large and mighty and can fly and breathe fire? That is, how does the dragonâs cunning and manipulation exploit Bilboâs own fears, perhaps doing him far worse harm than a physical attack?
âAs for your share, Mr Baggins, I assure you ⌠you shall choose your own fourteenth âŚâ (page 216) Thorin assures Bilbo that Smaug is wrong. Knowing what we do about dwarvesâ love of gold, but also sense of honor, do you believe him? Or might doubt linger in our minds about the dwarvesâ intentions? What do you think Bilbo thinks?
Speculative fiction is sometimes defined as a fanciful story based upon a what-if scenario. What if there was intelligent life on other planets? What if mankind could travel through time? What if dragons were real? Of course all fiction involves […]
Speculative fiction is sometimes defined as a fanciful story based upon a what-if scenario. What if there was intelligent life on other planets? What if mankind could travel through time? What if dragons were real? Of course all fiction involves a certain element of speculation (what if a body were found in the Louvre along with a secret message?), but the genres that stroll beneath the Speculative umbrella usually step a little farther past the borders of mundane than others.
I know this is a sheep, not Reepicheep or Balaam’s donkey. But I couldn’t find a picture of a donkey talking. Use your God-given imagination.
Fans of Christian speculative fiction like to point at some of the fantastic stories in the Bible as examplesâand sometimes as justification, if a fellow-Christian condemns these literary flights of fancy. Itâs true, the Bible does deal in supernatural happenings. But the difference between the talking animals of Narnia and Balaamâs donkey in Numbers 22:28-30 is obvious: Reepicheep is purely imaginary, whereas that donkey really did speak, just as Moses truly did part the sea, Elijah actually called down fire from heaven to ignite a soaking-wet sacrifice, and Jonah was, in fact, swallowed by a monstrous sea creature and vomited up three days later. Not everyone believes it, but this stuffâs not fiction. Even the wild scenes in the New Testament record of Johnâs Revelation are actual events, but indescribable ones, imperfectly explained as best John could.
It surprised me, then, to run across an example of genuine speculative fiction in the New Testament. Iâd read the passage many times, and I expect you all have too, but I never thought of it in terms of fiction before. Itâs found in Mark 12:18-27 (with a parallel in Luke 20:27-38).
A number of Sadducees (an ultra-conservative group that, among other things, rejected the concept of an eternal soul and the afterlife) came to Jesus with a speculative story and asked him to supply a logical ending for it based on his understanding of spiritual realities. Mark 12:18 and Luke 20:27 suggest that they intended to demonstrate the ridiculousness of any sort of resurrection of the soul. The scenario they spun was, to their minds, a fairy tale. Imagine their surprise when Jesus took it seriously.
This doesn’t hold water either, but for a different reason.
He explained that, though it wouldnât happen the way they told it, the resurrection was no fantasy. Moreover, he said the reason their story didnât hold water was because they didnât know the scriptures.
These guys were priests â lifelong students of the Law. Theyâd memorized massive portions of it, for crying out loud. How dare Jesus say they didnât know the scriptures? He explained his reasoning at the end of Mark 12:24: they didnât know the scriptures because they didnât know the power of God.
Whoa, what was that again? Take careful note: They knew the words of scripture, but they didnât know the scripturesâthat is, recognize the truth behind the familiar wordsâbecause they didnât know the power of God.
Many modern scholars make the same mistake. They try to interpret the Bible according to human understanding, forgetting that itâs Godâs word, the record of Godâs working in the world. Take the power of God from the Bible, and youâre left with a collection of fables. Such stories might be entertaining, but theyâre irrelevant. If you accept the Bible for what it is, though, its truth can change lives, as the early church in Thessalonica demonstrated (1 Thessalonians 2:13).
I get the impression from this Q & A session between the Sadducees and Jesus that God isnât fond of imaginings that fail to take his truth and his power into account. When we speculate about things that contradict the scriptures (say, for instance, ancient gods and goddesses joining forces with Jehovah, or people performing miracles through powers of their own), we betray our ignorance of Godâs truth and invite his censure. Christian fiction should illustrate and glorify the truth, not draw our minds away from it.
Snake in the grass speaks with forked tongue.
Eve ran into trouble when she listened to the serpentâs question: Did God really say if you eat of that fruit, youâll die? She allowed her mind to speculate: Did God really say that? Yes, he said it; but what did he mean? What might really happen if I taste it? Eve may have known the letter of Godâs word, but she didnât know the power of it. She didn’t acknowledge the authority of it.
I donât mean to suggest that reading fictional scenarios that donât jive with the Bible is quite on a par with eating forbidden fruit. I do think, though, that it might not be the wisest use of our time (Ephesians 5:15-17). Our imaginations are God-given, and I imagine God expects us to use them. But whatever we do, whether eating or drinking or reading or writing, we should do it with an eye toward Godâs glory (1 Corinthians 10:31). And he isnât glorified when his truth is sidestepped, distorted, or ignored.
(Staring vacantly at nothing, then looks up and realizes thereâs an audience.) Oh! Donât mind meâIâm just talking to myself here.
Christian fiction runs the risk of creating a fictional Christianity.
This risk is not unique to Christian fiction by any means. But whether it is an author, a theologian, or a popular pastor/speaker, filtering Christianity through one person’s theological lens tends to create a warped view of the Faith once delivered to the saints.
. . . knowing this first, that no prophecy of scripture is of private interpretation. For no prophecy ever came by the will of man: but men spake from God, being moved by the Holy Spirit.
(2Pe 1:20-21 ASV)
Consequently, in creating Christian fiction, we risk creating elements of fictional Christianity. The danger for the Christian reader is, especially with fiction, it is easy to simply accept something as truth unexamined. Reading fiction can bypass the analytical processes of the brain unless you are slapped in the face by a concept.
This happens in churches all the time. There were times as a pastor I would say things that I feared I’d get some disagreement on. No one would question me on it. Though I have no way to know how often my sermons were the subject of discussions around the Sunday lunch table.
Like Michael W. Smith’s song, “Wired for Sound,” so many don’t follow the example of the Beroeans, who tested teachings against the Scriptures. (Acts 17:11) Instead, if it sounds right and they like the speaker, many will not blink an eye and drink the koolaid.
How much truer for fiction when we turn off our minds to get lost in a fictional world?
Beyond whether any specific character is acting in a non-Christian way, whether they cuss or not, etc., is what primary themes does the story teach? Are they Biblical? Is their interpretation confirmed by other reputable sources?
By way of example, last week I started reading Kevin Anderson’s book, Hopscotch. Granted, this isn’t a Christian book, and I have no idea whether Kevin claims to be Christian or not. It is a science fiction story, based on the premise that in the future, people will learn how to move their souls or essence from one body to another. So a husband could switch bodies with his wife for a time, or a co-worker.
I’m currently about two-thirds into the book. So, no spoilers in the comments, thank you. As it stands now, it presents a very Gnostic way of looking at the body. Not that the body is evil, but it is disposable. Not important to who you are. Sexual morals are also non-existent, indicating a non-Christian understanding of marriage and sex.
However, I’m not done with the story yet. There is some indication that one’s identity is tied to the body by one character that lost hers. It could be the full story shows the emptiness of this type of reality, if it were true. It may reveal how free sex ends up degrading the person rather than benefiting them. I’m curious to see where the author goes with this story.
Even as we read for pleasure and to relax, we should not unquestioningly accept every “truth” presented. Not to judge the spirituality of the author, but to use fiction as iron sharpening iron, rather than a tool of judgment and legalism. To do that, you have to be more than a sponge, especially when absorbing your fiction.
What fiction have you read lately that highlights this concept?
Today is the last day to post an entry to the 2013 Spec Faith Winter Writing Challenge, but it is not the last day of the Challenge. For the sake of entries coming in during these last few days and hours, I want to provide ample time for readers to consider and/or critique those pieces as they have the earlier entries.
At midnight tonight (Pacific time) we’ll close the entries but continue to count any thumbs up throughout the week (be sure you click on the thumb and don’t simply say “thumbs up” in a comment.) Then at midnight, Sunday, December 15 (Pacific time) we’ll stop counting any further thumb responses.
The three entries which have received the most thumbs will advance to the final round–a vote by poll–and from those, the winner will be chosen by readers.
I must say again how impressed I am with the quality of entries. Not only is the writing engaging, but the concepts are so varied. There are some really clever ideas: twists, original worldbuilding, surprising intrigue.
For anyone who has not yet read the entries, you can find them by scrolling through the End-Of-The-Year Winter Writing Challenge comments to those in blue. Feel free to mark as many entries as you like with a thumbs up. You may also wish to give a short critique saying what particularly you liked about an entry.
Thank you to all the writers who have taken the time to enter and to all the readers who are giving feedback. I can say from my standpoint, there are some challenge entries I wish were published books because I’d like to keep reading!
Feel free to tell your friends and fellow writers to stop by and give their input, though I’d much prefer if we avoided the “vote for me” kind of campaign. I’d like to see writers get some sense of whether or not readers are engaged by their entry as opposed to which writer has the most friends willing to come over and click on a thumbs up for them.
At any rate, I hope you have as much fun with the challenge as I have.
This holiday season brings a surprising blowup of attention for Christian fantasy and sci-fi and everything else related. For now it seems readers â readers who are notwriters writing about writing for other writers who write about writing â these readers are paying more attention to these genres. Can we say: âMerry Christmasâ? âYour fandom is not in vainâ?
Does-what-it-says-on-the-tin title. But straight-up serious story.
Iâll pose that question to Kerry Nietz, unwitting participant in this heightened attention thanks to his genre mashup Amish Vampires in Space â that novel counting as âparodyâ only in the concept and title and possibly cover art.1 Weâll also explore the controversies.
ESB: Kerry, can Christian fantasy fans say, âMerry Christmas; your fandom is not in vainâ?
Kerry Nietz: Yes, I think if buzz is what the average Christian spec-fic fan wants then theyâre getting that, though probably in a way they never suspected.
One common misconception is that the list is primarily about design. Yes, design is one key piece of our evaluation, but this project is primarily about Christianity and marketing, about covers as a representation of the full book (including titles, concept and categorization of the book, as well as design). This is why Amish Vampires in Space topped our list. Yes, of course, by any technical specifications, it had a professional and relatively well-designed cover (and especially in contrast to some of the other books here that decidedly did not). But what drove this work to the top of our list was its mere existence, the absurdity of the way in which it baldly mashed up popular genres in a single book.
My rebuttal is here, challenging the writer for baseless assumptions about how culture âshouldâ supposedly be based in region and not âmarket forces.â But what say you?
Kerry Nietz: First, I want to say that I couldnât be happier with what Kirk DouPonce designed. I mean, seriously. The title is Amish Vampires in Space and the cover depicts an AMISH lady, who appears to be drinking blood like a VAMPIRE and sheâs on a SPACE ship. What more could we ask for from a designer?
It is terrific work, and obviously helped generate interest in the book. (Unlike many artists, Kirk actually reads the books before he creates their cover.) I donât think I shared this before, but my reveal post of the cover art was seen (according to Facebook) by nearly 13,000 people. Thatâs a record for anything Iâve ever posted, times a hundred.
Second, I probably should thank the folks who created that âWorst ofâ list, because âyou intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done.â Iâve been watching Twitter since AViS first released. That list produced as many tweets as any other media event that has happened regarding AViS. And lots of sales, as well.
Win and win.
ESB: At the risk of endzone-dancing, what media outlets have lately mentioned AViS?
Kerry Nietz: The big one was the Washington Post article that highlighted both AViS and Rob Stennetâs new serialized Amish vampire book The Living and the Undead. Apparently, between the two of us, weâve started a trend that caught the attention of journalist Bob Smietana of Religion News Service. He contacted us both for interviews.
Funny thing is, I had no idea that Bobâs article could be picked up by the Post. I assumed it was just another interview for a (albeit larger) website.
Then a few days later my Google alerts told me differently. âIâm in The Washington Post,â I said, staring wide-eyed at the screen. I repeated that sentence all day long. đ That article was picked up by lots of other papers and sites. Generated lots of tweets.
Other major events have been two mentions by Publishers Weekly (here and here), two by Library Journal (here and here), and the Dave Barry mention, of course. Iâve also set a new personal record for radio interviews. Three so far and the possibility of a national show as well. I maintain a list of interviews here.
ESB: And what are the oddest sorts of assumptions about the bookâs nature or purpose?
Kerry Nietz: The biggest assumption on the bookâs purpose is that it is meant to mock the Amish. Thatâs something I deal with in some detail in my âhardballâ interview with Mike Duran.
The typical assumptions on the bookâs nature, is that it is high camp, or genuinely an Amish romance. It is neither, of course. Like all my novels, it is solidly in the science fiction realm, with a little humor and some authentic Amish folks and vampires thrown in for good measure.
I touch on both those content assumptions in Mikeâs interview too, and in my newest interview for A Flame in the Dark.
ESB: One media mention also wrongly stated the title was being optioned for a film version.
Kerry Nietz: That was a little over exuberance on the journalistâs part. There has been some movie talk, but thatâs about as far as it goes. Just talk. More news as it happens.
ESB: How has AViSled to shared awareness of fantasy novels by Christian authors? For example, I can confirm that itâs already led to boosted searches and hits here at SpecFaith.
Kerry Nietz: LOL. Yes, the information is there for anyone to see. Vox Day told me about a site called Alexa.com where you can track a websiteâs global ranking. Over the past three months SpecFaithâs ranking has gone up, and 47% of those searching are searching for âAmish Vampires in Space.â
My personal siteâs rank has gone up dramatically (nearly nine million) and the search 96% of the time is âAmish Vampires in Spaceâ.
Just as exciting for me, though, is the fact that Marcher Lord Pressâs ranking has improved by nearly 5 million ⌠and 65% of the time people are searching for âŚ
ESB: Whatâs in the future for your own storytelling? Any more titles such as AViS? You may share my concern, though, about popularity leading to only more goofy-title,-serious-story novels. For example, Iâd hate to leave Sandfly and his story back in that dusty land.
Kerry Nietz: Goofy titles? I thought it was…what did you call it? âWhat it says on the tinâ…? Truth in advertising?
[ESB: âTis true. âDoes-what-it-says-on-the-tin titleâ would have been better.]
Kerry Nietz: It has been a busy year for me. Two novels, the re-release of my memoir, two curriculum guides for the DarkTrench novels. Tons of interviews and marketing events. (Right now, in fact, Iâm involved in a 32-author scavenger hunt.) We also had a fairly major windstorm this summer that could keep me cutting wood forever. Really, really busy.
At this point, Iâm open to wherever the Lord leads. If it appears it is beneficial to do a follow up to AViS, I have ideas for where that can go. The worlds of the Mask or DarkTrench are also possibilities, as well. Or maybe something completely different.
I just need to find me some solid writing time again. đ
ESB: And if you could write some sci-fi about fantasy by Christians, at Marcher Lord Press and beyond, what developments might you risk to predict â or hope to help develop?
Kerry Nietz: Iâve always been a bit of a team player when it comes to this. I have many author friends who write quality stories that are both fantastic and encouraging. Most do so in relative obscurity. I want to help change that. I feel that most strongly for my fellow Marcher Lord Press authors, obviously, but the sentiment extends to the entire spec-fic community. Time to climb out of the shadows!
If my âgoofy title/serious storyâ books can help with that, then Iâll feel Iâve done what Iâm supposed to do.
As I write this more than a month before publication on SpecFaith, Iâm eight chapters into a very different kind of fantasy: Amish Vampires in Space. Iâm enjoying it for many reasons including this one: unlike many other books with even less flagrant âdoes what it says on the tinâ-style titles, the author is taking his time setting up an epic confrontation.1
Though the genres are slightly different, this is exactly what Tolkien does in this chapter. In fact, non-fans often charge The Lord of the Rings with being too slow. But The Hobbit seems immune to this criticism. Only in this chapter, Iâve found, is Tolkien taking his time.
Yet the chapter is not very long. Neither are my reading-group questions. By design, this is a prelude â little character development, little dialogue, just movement of Tolkienâs cast from point Lake-town to point Mountain-door. Thus I canât help but wonder which modern critics would say this is exactly the sort of material you should leave out of a story. Nothing is going on, theyâd say. Or: Too slow here. Insert some romance/action, or else cut it out.
However, how would The Hobbit sound, and what pictures would the story leave, without just this slow buildup to the very location to which the story has been leading all along?
People are starting to wake up and grumble about films that start too quickly on the back of a galloping horse, but then donât ever care to dismount for coffee and snacks around the campfire. I think the grumblers are right. Too many beloved, classic stories break this new âruleâ favoring constant story-starter action. Yes, they have their âhooks,â but then just as quickly they slow down to let audiences stroll about and breathe the airs of this new world.
Too slow. Put jet burners on that sandcrawler.
Star Wars famously starts with the iconic great-Empire-ship-blasting-rebel-ship scene âthen lands quietly on a desert planet to follow too slow droids and one normal young man.
The Fellowship of the Ring book begins with an encyclopedic introduction to its central species: âConcerning Hobbits.â Its 2001 film adaptation added some galloping Orcs and Elves and Men in its prologue, but then, like Star Wars, is happy to spend time in The Shire.
Last year The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey followed the same format, with elderly Bilboâs recollection of the Dwarvesâ history and Smaugâs arrival, then much time in The Shire. Fans loved it. Or rather, fans should have loved it. A few didnât; I fear they listened overmuch to critics acting like six-year-olds hopped up on sugar stix, who said: Who cares for the Shire? We want action! Stupid Peter Jackson just dragging things out to fleece audiences, etc., etc.
So I say: Critics suggesting the same about any faithful adaptation of chapter (Stop dragging and get to the  dragon!) can get shoved down the creepy tunnel inside Smaugâs cave first.
Chapter 11: On the Doorstep
Read chapter 11 in its entirety.
It was easier to believe in the Dragon and less easy to believe in Thorin in these wild parts. (page 189) Any meaning here â something about âbeliefâ? Or a coincidence?
How do you feel about âslowerâ parts of the story, as we find here while the Dwarves finally approach the Lonely Mountain? Do you grow impatient waiting for the story to pick up, or appreciate the slower pace of the story thatâs building to a finish, or both?
[Balin] looked both sad and grim as he said this: he had been one of Thorinâs companions on the day the Dragon came. (page 191) Having âmetâ Balin already in the book, and seen him differently in The Hobbit film(s), or even (spoiler!) having seen his tomb in The Fellowship of the Ring, how might this brief aside help deepen his character?
How do you feel, gazing with Bilbo and Balin on the entrance to the Dragonâs lair, seeing the steam and dark smoke and hearing the occasional harsh croak of a bird (page 191)?
Do you find it easy or hard to follow Tolkienâs descriptions of the door (on page 192)?
[Bilbo] had a queer feeling that he was waiting for something. âPerhaps the wizard will suddenly come back today,â he thought. (page 196) After the many times Gandalf has bailed out the Dwarves and the hobbit at the last moment, how does this strike you? How might that give the lie to the accusation (which some have made) that Gandalfâs earlier bailouts of the Dwarves are deus ex machina cheats? (Hint: the entire story does not have that ending, and the earlier âbailoutsâ make the finale more unexpected.)
In case you were wondering, this confrontation will be between Amish and vampires, in space. ↩