(Author Marc Schooley explains why he believes the Church has over-entangled itself in politics. Yet he agrees much with his fellow Marcher Lord Press author Kerry Nietz’s perspective about how stories and authors touch on politics.)

Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, not nations of all disciples…

Politics may be necessary in life and fiction. Yet how should they inform stories and authors’ profiles?

Many Christians live in America, but America is not a Christian nation. I know this theologically: Old Testament Israel was the only theocracy instituted by God, and Christ declared that his kingdom was not of this world. Nevertheless, all one need do is glance in the direction of the historical evidence to know this.

A Christian nation — assuming there could be one, for argument — does not found itself upon continental-scale genocide of indigenous peoples, indulge itself in slavery, expand its territory through conquest, fling its armies to the four corners of the earth, abort fifty million unborn, stockpile enough nuclear weapons to kill everyone on the planet, spend trillions more than it can pay, consume twenty-five percent of the world’s resources while half the world starves, or wantonly desecrate the environment.

More could be added, but consider our culture. Can we really be said to be a Christian nation based on what we produce for movies, music, TV, and comedy? Is the philosophy we produce Christian? Our universities?

(Don’t yell at me … I realize that America has good things about it as well. For instance, Texas.)

It is the Christian church that has largely promulgated Christian Nation Mythology. I have spent a good portion of my word count thus far criticizing it, because it is this myth that has enticed vast portions of the church to entangle itself in politics under the false premise that thereby the church may legislate America into virtue. Immeasurable resources have been donated by Christians to this cause: immense stores of time, talent, and treasure.

Take a look around … it has not worked. Nor shall it, for the church does not belong in the political realm. Instead, the church should return to its mission: the worship of God, the proclamation of the gospel, the teaching and preaching of the Word, the training of disciples, administration of sacraments, and care for the poor, widowed, orphaned, the alien, and all those in need.

Moreover, it seems to me that the apostle Paul clearly teaches that all authorities have been established by God:

Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God.

Romans 13:1

A vote has secondary causal power, but it will not override the sovereign will of God in choice of leadership and authority.

Of course, this makes sense … just think of the schizophrenia involved with half the church praying for Obama’s election and the other half praying for Romney. In the case of Christians, what voting most accomplishes is division, discord, strife, and distraction within the body of Christ. We have better things do to, especially in light of Paul’s insistence that our citizenship is in heaven (Phil 3:20).

But, the argument goes, the church’s abdication of politics will lead to a debased society. I argue, instead, that we’re already there, and the church’s entanglement in politics is a significant cause, as its forfeits its moral voice.

Secondly, there’s a warning: if the church loses political power, it will be persecuted. However, Paul in Romans 13 goes on to say that we ought have no fear of the authorities that God has instituted:

For rulers hold no terror for those who do right, but for those who do wrong. Do you want to be free from fear of the one in authority? Then do what is right and you will be commended. For the one in authority is God’s servant for your good.

Romans 13: 3-4

It’s a matter of faith; the church should leave the politics to God — after all, He knows better, right? — and return to its mission. Is it just possible that one reason we are in the fix we’re in is this very reason? That the church is entangled in politics, rather than its true mission? That appears to be what Paul says: Consequently, whoever rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves.

I’m not your Holy Spirit, and I won’t presume to determine your conscience for you. Nevertheless, it seems to me Scripture is clear on this issue, and on a personal note, I have not voted this century, and have never felt better spiritually or accomplished more with my faith. I encourage the reader to try it out … no better time than now, with the looming election.

Politics in speculative stories?

I agree with Kerry. Politics are an element of any fiction world-creation. Are there possible worlds that do not contain politics? Yes, but very few are likely to make a good story. Try pitching a premise where everyone’s perfect, or there are no people. Michener can get away with chapters about rocks and the land before people, but I wouldn’t recommend the aspiring author to try it right off. 🙂 Anarchist stories come the closest, perhaps, but even there politics arise in a rash, barbaric, or sort of proto-political sense. (For what it’s worth, I’m currently studying anarcho-syndicalist communes. 🙂 )

So, yes, I concur with Kerry in keeping the author’s personal politics out of the story, as a general rule. I say general rule, because some of my favorite novels are undeniably one big authorial political intrusion. For instance, I dearly love Animal Farm. But, as Kerry indicates, nothing kills story faster than authorial intrusion of political views … unless the reader agrees with it! Ayn Rand and Alan Drury (not saying these are favorites of mine) seemed to do well, as does Stephen King, among others.

Frankly, I’m just not that deeply versed with Christian fiction to speak authoritatively on it, but I will die with the words A Star Curiously Singing is a fabulous book on my lips, and it’s plenty political. I’m not even sure I agree with its politics — maybe I do, maybe I don’t — but it makes me think. Along with a great story, that’s a winner.

Nonetheless, I suspect that the Left Behind series is highly politicized. Though I’ve not read it, what I do know about it suggests to me that it would be impossible to write without certain political views, envisioned as forthcoming political realities extant within our (and the world’s) system today. I fail to see how this is a problem. It is important to note that a highly controversial eschatology is required as well, and Left Behind eschatology seems inextricable from political views inherent to the series’ plot. Based on its sales and reception, I can only conclude that its authors made the correct choice to write it. 🙂

Refraining from inserting my personal political views — yes, as a human (yes, I’m human, I think), I have them —  in my own novels is fairly easy, since I preach an apolitical stance for the church. As far as I’m aware, I’ve never, nor shall I intentionally, advocate any position along the political spectrum.¹ What you will detect in my stories is the struggle by the kingdom of man to assert itself in defiance against the kingdom of God, roughly equivalent to the thought set forth by Augustine in De Civitate Dei, or that of the Garden of Eden, Tower of Babel, Romans 1, and all points between and after, which is yet another data point that argues for the church to divorce itself from like behavior.

Roughly, this translates to my fiction as follows. It can be seen in König’s Fire as Hayner — the villain — defiant in the face of the judgment of God: “This is the day of men. Hold fast meine Brüder!”… The kingdom of men had refused the final offer of harmony from nature. Or, poignantly, I hope, in Charles Graves’s struggle to make sense of his sudden conversion in The Dark Man.

Ironically, now that E. Stephen Burnett’s insightful and probing questions goad me, Charles’s father is a U.S. Senator, whose Ill-fated compromise of spirituality and politics has disastrous effects for his entire family. This theme undergirds The Night Riders (July 2013 from Marcher Lord Press), in which a cast of cowboy vigilantes attempt to right wrongs in the name of God through less than godly means. There just seems to be an unquenchable lust of humanity to either set ourselves up as God, or oppose evil in a manner other than God has instructed us. Rare are those who walk through the world as Christ: surrounded by evil, accosted by it, but only about his Father’s business.

Notably, Christ is the only one of us who has the ultimate power to do something about it, and apparently, he thought the will of the Father more important. Every ill that we face and assault politically was there at the time of Christ. After all, they wanted him to be a political messiah.

Politics in an author’s profile?

I hope I have Kerry’s heart on this. Respect. No shouting. No buffoon name-calling! I could not agree more; as always, “knowledge puffs up, but love builds up” (1 Corinthians 8:1).

I should be good to go on this one. As far as I can see, no one knows my political views publically, nor shall I make them known, except to suggest quietly that I suspect none of us has all the right answers, at least not in any of the standard political ideologies. To the best of my knowledge, I do not recall advocating for or against political positions, politically. Moral positions, as Kerry rightly insists, are another thing altogether.

However, with regard to the church, for better or for worse, I’m on record publically, exhorting the church to disentangle itself from politics.

Is this a bad or ill-conceived path for an author to walk? Perhaps. But I do it for love of the church and the gospel, despite the personal or authorial repercussions, if any. The cynic may here choose to call me a martyr, or fool, or misguided, or attention seeking … well, okay, so be it. But nearly every Christian author I know of takes stands such as these as they see fit. This is simply one of many—one that in my judgment is one of two or three issues that threatens the church more than any other foe, inside or outside its walls.

Feel free to educate me out of this madness. 🙂

Or, perhaps, join your voice with mine … I’m just getting started in this and I’d love to have your support.

At any rate, a hearty thanks to E. Stephen Burnett for this opportunity. I look forward to a healthy and Christ like discussion. Ain’t it just like us to mix religion and politics!

God bless.

Marc Schooley

Soli Deo Gloria

Years ago, I was being interviewed on some Christian radio program or another when a question caught me off guard: “Who are your favorite novelists?” I rattled off a few from the sci-fi universe (Arthur C. Clark, Ben Bova, etc), a few from the action-adventure neighborhood (Clive Cussler, etc); some from the tech corner of the world (Michael Crichton and others), and — oh, yeah — one from the Christian market (Jack Cavanaugh). That’s when it hit me: I read more general market stuff than Christian.

Oddly, all of my 40 or so books have been published in the Christian market. Why didn’t I have a longer list of Christian authors? Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had read a bunch of Christian titles and still do, but when asked my favorites, I defaulted to the secular end of the spectrum. This demanded some inner noodling.

So noodle I did.

I thought about many things. I grew up reading general market stuff. As a child, I read what was in the library. As a young adult I feasted on sci-fi. As I grew older, I added action-adventure and tech stuff like what Michael Crichton used to write. So, general market fiction had been my diet for decades.

During that time, I read one or two Christian-themed novels. Christian novels were new and rare, at least in the genres I consumed. Both books were horrible. Badly written. Poorly edited. It left a nasty taste in my brain so I restricted myself to the tastier fare from the other side of the aisle.

It was sad, really. Why couldn’t there be good novels with Christian protagonists? Well, Christian fiction was still new and just learning to walk away from its crib. Since then, the quality and quantity of such novels has increased. Today, we can read fiction by Christian novelists that are on the same level or superior in craft to what is found in the general market. To be fair, there are many well-written secular novels. There are some real craftsman penning stellar work. And there are some stinkers too. Such is the world of books.

Secular novels were my mentors. When I first determined to take a few tries at writing fiction, I studied the best writers in my genre. Most were on the secular side of the fence. Hence my answer to the interviewers question.

The secular market blessed me with more than some good reading, but also with a pattern of writing from the best craftsman. Today, I can say the same is true on the faith-based side. Authors like Steven James, James Scott Bell, Jack Cavanaugh, and scores of others, have raised the bar and done so in short order. For that we can be thankful.

I’m also thankful for those who write on the secular side. They’ve forced me to think, to reassess, to challenge my reasoning. In the end, my faith has been enhanced by books that have nothing to do with Christianity.

This is the value of reading. Every reader brings something to the table of communication. Few are those who can read a novel and not filter it through their life experience. Books, fiction and nonfiction, are there to entertain, instruct, and yes, argue with, and by arguing, exercise our thinking.

Alton Gansky

I recall reading a series of mysteries about a rabbi. Nicely done, sensitive, and instructive. I learned a great deal about reformed Jewish thinking; I also learned how misunderstood the Christian message is. The rabbi — in some bit of dialogue — would say, “You Christians believe this, and this, and this . . .” To which I would respond, “No we don’t. I’ve got a couple earned degrees in this field and I’m pretty sure very few Christians believe what you describe.”

There’s a lesson there. It taught me that the Christian faith is often misunderstood and misrepresented. I needed to know that. It made me sensitive to the assumptions held by non-church folk. It also gave me a desire to show what Christians believe and how they behave, and what better way to do that than in my novels?

I still read secular work and enjoy it very much. I have much to learn and reading is a great way to learn it.

I am a story pragmatist. If a fantastic story that is either “Christian” or “secular” isn’t helping me do a certain thing, I have little interest in it.

What do you hear when I say that?

This is what I might think:

He has a utilitarian view that a story is no good unless it tries to accomplish some other end. That’s still a prevalent notion among many Christians. They believe a story must do something besides be wonderful. Rather it must Promote Morality, Be Clean, or Push Spiritual Agendas such as evangelism, beliefs, or denominations.

That is indeed what I used to suspect. But no longer.

Now I believe that Reading Is Worship, “worship” as briefly defined in part 1 of this series.

Over five parts I’ve overviewed ways this worship is misdirected. We may use stories to idolize personal experience, a Cause of story-promotion, the craft of writing, or even fringe “weirdness” itself.

In the Sunday-school classes my wife and I teach, we often make “idols” out of aluminum foil or Play-Dough, and smash them. So far it seems I’ve run out of idols to smash.

Thus, part 7 marks a turning point.

It’s inspired by the great discussions in part 5 and part 6 about why we love stories at all.

How do we worship God as we’re reading fantastic stories? What does “worship” mean, especially when we hear different definitions? Doesn’t a great story have intrinsic worth?

The ‘point’ of painting

In chapter 9 of The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis imagines a painter from the slums of Hell, visiting the open borders of Heaven. (Lewis later says these are allegories of today’s real-world choices). The ghostly painter, rendered lightweight and nearly transparent by the solidness of Heaven, is awestruck by the sights. “I should like to paint this,” he says.

Yet a redeemed human Spirit, apparently another artist, discourages that impulse.

“That sort of thing’s no good here. […] When you painted on earth — at least in your earlier days — it was because you caught glimpses of Heaven in the earthly landscape. The success of your painting was that it enabled others to see the glimpses too. But here you are having the thing itself.”

(Read a more-complete excerpt of this scene in this blog comment.)

“I think every artist and musician should read that once a year, at least!” one blogger wrote. And though I would add “reader and writer” to that sentence, I agree. Because this, in the form of a beautiful story, gets at the heart of what I mean in saying I am a story pragmatist.

• What people may hear: “story pragmatism” means “whatever works” … to push beliefs and messages about evangelism or social policy or moral exhortation.
• What I intend: “story pragmatism” means whatever works to glorify/worship God according to how He has revealed Himself and about how He is glorified.

By this definition, pragmatism points not only to a technically truthful story, but a truthful story that is well-told. It includes not only truth but beauty and goodness. It insists on skill in craft, not only content. It proclaims that God is glorified not simply in basic repetitions of Biblical doctrine truths, but in the celebration or fleshing-out of truth in beauty. For “truth” without beauty is near-deception, and “beauty” without truth is near-ugliness.

What is the chief end of story? “Story’s chief end is to glorify God and help us enjoy Him forever.” More at Beauty and Truth 4: The Chief End of Story.

By contrast, the concept of pragmatism — “usefulness,” God-glorifying-ness, worship, purpose, or any synonym — is hijacked. It has been poorly and deceptively defined.

That may be the very reason Christians react by endorsing stories that have little purpose, and for that reason lack enhanced beauty in their craft.

If a fantastic story that is either “Christian” or “secular” isn’t helping me do a certain thing, I have little interest in it.

Yes, that “certain thing” is worship. That is what makes a good story “more than a story.”

This does not enslave us to false “whatever works” pragmatism for false ends. It does not limit creativity, reading audiences, or sacrifice beauty to a false-god version of “truth.”

Rather, knowing that a story is “more than a story” improves its quality.

We know the beauty’s source — God Himself. We know that He is glorified in more ways than overt “spiritual” activities (yet these are also vital). We also know He endorses stories, not in some sense for their “own worth,” but because they point to Him as ultimate Author. Only when we do that can we find true story enjoyment, and can better craft our own.

After all, as the spirit says, challenging the belief that true worship requires no painting:

“I don’t say that. When you’ve grown into a Person (it’s all right, we all had to do it) there’ll be some things which you’ll see better than anyone else. One of the things you’ll want to do will be to tell us about them. But not yet. At present your business is to see. Come and see. He is endless. Come and feed.”

What do you hear when someone says “all things should glorify or worship God”?

Is that inner definition Biblical? If not, from where did it come?

Do you suspect that claiming a story must have higher “purpose” somehow cheapens its quality? Or do you agree this actually makes stories more truthful and beautiful?

How do you strive daily to “come and see … come and feed” of the Artist, before “painting”?

So here we are, folks. We’re about a month into the new fall schedule on TV. And I have to admit, my viewing habits haven’t changed that much. I’m still a diehard Castle fan (although I temper that by reading Lee Lofland’s insightful reviews after every episode). I have a regular Sunday night TV watching date with my wife to see who the latest team to be eliminated from The Amazing Race is (Go rockers!). And I still indulge in my guilty pleasure, namely America’s Next Top Model. Go ahead and leave my well-deserved mockery in the comments below.

But I did decide to add a new show to my repertoire, namely NBC’s Revolution. Maybe it’s because I’ve become a dystopian junky in the last year or so. Maybe I wanted to see if this would turn out to be a Hunger Games knock-off. At any rate, I’ve been watching the first few episodes with . . . well, tepid interest might be the best way to describe it. My socks have not been blown off yet. I’m not exactly emotionally invested in the characters. The one thing that keeps me coming back is the mystery over why the power went out. At first, I thought it would turn out to be an EMP, but the facts aren’t backing up that theory right now. If that question ever gets answered, that might be my last episode. We’ll see.

And yet, there are some things that are poking at my thoughts and mind. One of the characters has kind of caught my attention and has been stirring my thoughts. But before I share those, I wanted to talk about one thing that happened a few weeks ago. If you haven’t seen the show, don’t worry, it’s not all that spoiler-y.

Let’s get caught up, though. Something has shut off all the power in the world. As a result, civilization has pretty much collapsed. At one point, the characters are traveling through a larger community and they happen to pass by Hollywood Christian Cliche #126, the fire-and-brimstone street preacher. Some dude was standing on a crate and spouting off about how God sent the blackout to punish everyone for their many sins.

This infographic sums up my reaction when I heard that:

Now I get why they did that. There would undoubtedly be some Christians who would react to a massive disaster like that. After all, in recent years, we’ve heard a certain Christian pundit spout off about how Haiti asked for the earthquake that killed so many people and how “the gays cause hurricanes.” It makes me wonder how many people have the pages of Luke 13 in their Bibles stuck together.

Let’s take a peek at Luke 13 for a moment:

Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. Jesus answered, “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.” Luke 13:1-5 (NIV)

Here Jesus talks about two big disasters in His day. The first is a group of Galilean pilgrims who get killed at some point. Sadly, we don’t have any references aside from this that might explain what happened. We do know from the historical records that the Galileans tended to have more than their fair share of revolutionaries and troublemakers in their midst, so it’s entirely possible that some of those revolutionaries did something that caused the Romans to kill them.

What I find interesting is what Jesus had to say about their deaths. Were they worse sinners than everyone else? Not at all. The same thing is true for the tower in Siloam. Were they worse sinners than everyone else? Once again, Jesus says they weren’t.

What’s lurking behind these questions is the rather common belief that God zaps sinners. We do something wrong and BANG! We get hit with something to punish us. It’s a very karmic view of the universe and it creeps into everyone’s thoughts from time to time. But by asking and answering these questions, Jesus is pointing out that God doesn’t work like that. He doesn’t reserve horrific punishments in the here and now for the worst offenders. God doesn’t work like that. So would God send a fictional blackout to punish a group of horrible sinners? Nope. Did He send the earthquake or the hurricanes to punish the worst of sinners? I would hope not, or He’d be sending much worse after me. And after you too, don’t fool yourself.

So where do these bad things come from? They come from sin. People do bad things to one another because they are sinners. Bad stuff happens in this world (like collapsing towers, earthquakes, hurricanes, and so on) because we live in a world broken by sin.

And that’s why Jesus adds a call to repent after each answer. He’s not calling for repentance so that people can avoid the bad things that happen in this world. Instead, it’s His way of saying, “In this world, you face danger at every turn. You need Me.” God doesn’t cause the disasters, but I think He uses them to get our attention and get us to come back to Him.

So what do you think? Let me know in the comments.

From the Travel Guide: If you think you’ve seen all that Oz has to offer, think again! Our Insider’s Tour reveals the Oz only a select few will ever encounter. You’ll venture beyond kitsch-filled tourist markets to witness the devastating impact of the Wizard’s autocratic rule: decaying infrastructure, gulags filled with political prisoners, and collective farms where enslaved Animals no longer dare speak their names. Shudder at the profligate nightlife of the wealthy elite! Meet in secret with dissident leaders! Learn the true story of the suppressed rebellion and its tragic visionary Elphaba, who stood alone against tyranny, only to be defamed by the regime as “wicked,” then brutally murdered by a foreign assassin. Here is the real Oz, the Oz behind the rainbow!

No, this isn’t your grandfather’s Oz, not by a long shot. In Wicked, Gregory Maguire turns the conventional narrative on its head by delving into the backstory of the Wicked Witch of the West, and asking a rather intriguing, if obvious, question: How did she become wicked…and a witch?

So, he begins at the beginning, and we learn a lot more about her, starting with her name: Elphaba. Along the way, we also learn a lot about Oz itself. It’s a long and winding road. You may want to top-off your coffee cup now.

There are enough spoilers ahead that I suppose I should tip my hat to John Otte and pull out a ‘zilla. Here you go.

Dogzilla hates spoilers.

Elphaba is born one stormy night in the eastern province of Munchkinland, into the family of Frex, a circuit-riding preacher married to a local heiress, Malena. Frex is a devotee of the Unnamed God, one of the three primary religions in Oz (more on that later). The baby is normal in most respects, though she arrives with a full set of sharp teeth—and green skin.

This gives her parents, and the attending midwives, some pause. Is the child cursed? Is she even human? They shrug their collective shoulders and carry on, keeping Elphaba out of the public eye as much as possible and giving her the care they would have provided an ordinary child, though her parents aren’t particularly attentive. Frex is often away at his other parishes, and Malena’s bedchamber has, so to speak, a revolving door—another factor making Elphaba’s legitimacy questionable. A second daughter is conceived a couple of years later, though some herbal medicine taken to forestall another green-skinned offspring turns out to be the Ozian equivalent of thalidomide, and little Nessarose is born without arms, though beautiful in every other way. Unlike Elphaba, her parents dote on her.

Elphaba’s childhood is unremarkable, though she seems precocious—and pathologically averse to water. One day, a strange clockwork puppet show arrives in town and puts on a satirical comedy that displays much-too-much intimate knowledge of their little community’s private affairs. It fatally undermines Frex’s pastoral authority. He endures public ridicule for awhile, then packs up his family and heads south to the boggy Quadling lands as a missionary to the aborigines there.

Some years later, we find Elphaba at college, just north of Emerald City in the town of Shiz, though her primary role is caretaker to her charming little sister, who continues to receive the lion’s share of affection from her parents and everyone around her. Their father sends Nessarose a pair of beautiful, possibly magical, silver shoes he acquired on one of his journeys, and Elphaba secretly covets them as a symbol of her father’s love, which she desperately longs for.

“At Pascal, well, I’m number one, do vector calculus just for fun…”

The green girl is still a misfit, but she’s grown up tall and strong—even beautiful, in her own way. Her passion and intelligence bloom at Shiz, and she becomes an avid student of the sciences, encouraged and mentored by a distinguished professor, Dillamond, who also happens to be a Goat. Sentient Animals are common in Oz, though their rights as citizens have eroded under the ruling Wizard’s regime, which is quietly moving them into rural farms to labor with the ordinary beasts. Dillamond is outraged at this treatment of his fellow Animals and outspoken in his opposition to it.

Elphaba also forms friendships with several of her peers, including Galinda, a wealthy northern girl who at first finds her odd and provincial but gradually warms up. They share an admiration for Professor Dillamond and find they have more in common than appearances might indicate. Just as things seem to be looking up for our heroine, the professor is found brutally murdered in his laboratory, and the crime is covered up by the local authorities. Elphaba and Galinda travel to the Emerald City to appeal directly to the Wizard regarding their beloved teacher’s murder and the treatment of Animals in general, but the Wizard brushes them off, though he seems intrigued by Elphaba. Galinda figures she can’t fight City Hall and returns to school, but Elphaba won’t let this miscarriage of justice go unchallenged. She joins a resistance cell led by one of her college chums, Fiyero, a young prince of the western Winkie nation, and begins participating in various insurgent acts against the Wizard’s authority. She falls in love with the prince, but unwittingly leads the authorities to his hiding place. He’s killed on the spot, and Elphaba flees into a self-imposed exile, burdened with guilt over her lover’s death.

She journeys westward, toward Fiyero’s homeland, delivering a son somewhere along the way. She enters the Winkie palace and takes up residence there as a refugee and miscellaneous helper for the royal family—including the prince’s wife, whom he wedded before college in an arranged marriage. Elphaba longs to confess her affair with Fiyero and her role in his death, but can’t bring herself to it. Instead, she becomes a hermit, building up a store of anger, resentment, self-loathing, and despair.

Not the flying monkeys she created.

She buries herself in arcane studies, continuing Professor Dillamond’s research and investigating a mysterious manuscript she recovered from his laboratory. It’s written in a strange, alien script, but she finds she’s able to decipher some of it, and she mixes the magical incantations with her biological experiments, creating, among other things, winged monkeys.

In her absence, Elphaba has literally become the face of the rebellion. The Wizard demonizes her as the embodiment of evil and the proper focus of his subjects’ loathing: the green, poisonous, Wicked Witch of the West. Meanwhile, Nessarose has returned home and taken rulership of their mother’s family’s eastern fief in Munchkinland, which she rules with an iron devotion to the moral prescriptions of the Unnamed God. Her disgruntled countrymen take to calling her the Witch of the East.

Years later, a mysterious whirlwind appears over Oz and flings a small house to earth, crushing Nessarose, who was uncharacteristically in the wrong place at the wrong time. Elphaba isn’t so much dismayed at her sister’s demise as elated at the opportunity to seize the silver shoes, an obsession that has consumed what is left of her life. She travels to the eastern lands, only to discover that the occupant of the flying house has made off with the shoes and is headed toward Emerald City, at Galinda’s urging. This adds insult to injury—Elphaba’s former friend is now just another cog in the Wizard’s tyrannical machine. Elphaba hurries off in pursuit of the Kansas farmgirl who stole the silver shoes. The rest, as they say, is history.

This is a bleak, dreary story about the influence of nature versus nurture, the battle of will versus destiny, and the trajectory of human corruption. It shows how labels like “Wicked,” “Good,” and “Wonderful” can obscure truth and mask hypocrisy. In an interview earlier this year, the author called it a “meditation on evil.” There’s an element of social satire in its portrayal of the religion and politics of Oz. However, Wicked doesn’t seek to whitewash the Witch’s story so much as explain it. It also doesn’t absolve her of responsibility for her fate. Elphaba is dealt an unfortunate birth and a neglected childhood, but for a few shining years, she has a window of unlimited possibilities thrown open before her. There’s a sense of tragedy over what might have been but perhaps could never be. She is intelligent, but not wise. She becomes a victim of her own passions, makes poor choices in the pursuit of noble aims, and ultimately succumbs to despair and obsession, claimed by a destiny she could not run fast or far enough to outrun. Her soul is obliterated long before Dorothy thoughtlessly tosses that corrosive bucket of water on her.

Daddy Issues: Elphaba longs for her parents’ love, and particularly her father’s affection. His frequent absences and perpetual befuddlement combine to make him oblivious to his daughter’s plight. The harder she tries to please him, the less he notices, and his neglect is made manifest by the birth of Nessarose, whose handicap demands close attention and whose winning personality is everything Elphaba’s is not. Elphaba is jealous of Nessarose, but can’t bring herself to hate her, even as she lusts after Frex’s gift of the silver shoes.

There is No God in Oz: Maguire spends considerable time developing the three religions of Oz, which are alike in their impotence. The Unnamed God offers little beyond a set of rules and regulations. Though most Ozians claim to follow it, most are, in practice, adherents of the Pleasure Religion, which provides few rules but many opportunities to throw an orgy. The third option is the cult of Lurline, an innocuous pagan fairy-goddess whose story is intertwined with the creation mythos of Oz but is viewed primarily with nostalgia—a naïve fable of interest only to children and the elderly. Elphaba, though brought up in the Unnamed God tradition, finds none of these faiths satisfying and espouses atheism during her college years. This makes her seem reasonable and clear-headed by comparison to the other denizens of Oz, but when her world collapses around her, she has nowhere to turn for help or comfort. She is completely and unequivocally alone.

Pay Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain: Near the end of the story, Elphaba encounters one of the caretakers of the clairvoyant clockwork puppet show that destroyed her father’s reputation, and she discovers the true force behind the recent history of Oz. The manuscript she’s been struggling to decipher is the Grimmerie, a magical artifact from another world. Our world. It was sent to Oz centuries ago for safekeeping, as its secrets were deemed too dangerous for mortal men to possess. The Wizard came to Oz from Earth to find it and harness its power. The book has a mind and will of its own, though, and it has been actively working since its arrival to preserve itself—this is its sole motivation.  Everyone and everything, including Elphaba, is expendable in pursuit of this purpose. The puppet show is one means of its influence. Bottom line, Oz is irredeemably corrupt, and Earth is the cause of it all. There’s one more shattering revelation at story’s end…well, perhaps not so shattering, as it’s telegraphed more than once…but I won’t spoil that one for you.

The Number to Call is BR549: What about Dorothy Gale, our usual star? Well, she’s a bit player in this story, an amiable hayseed a couple bushels short of a harvest who destroys everything she touches, despite her vacant niceness. Her companions are no better—two failed magical experiments and an escaped laboratory Animal. She kills Elphaba by accident, trying to be helpful.

Wicked is thought-provoking, and even challenging in some ways, but it’s not light reading, and it’s not for children. This Land of Oz contains nothing merry or funny or uplifting or lively. Vices abound, and some particularly ugly ones are on display. I found one scene in particular both offensive and gratuitous. It involved tertiary characters, did nothing to advance the plot, and disengaged me from the story. As a metaphor, it failed by offering an image that overwhelmed the underlying idea.

In sum, Wicked‘s mood is overwhelmingly hopeless, its one brief moment of sunshine quickly and decisively squelched. It seems to frame an existential worldview, though I can’t say for certain if this is a reflection of the author’s own view of life. The story’s primary virtue may lie in illustrating the utter misery of a universe absent of meaning and focused on self. In an interview last year, Maguire said, “… the understanding that our choices have consequences, even in worlds in which magic has some sway, is the signal (sic) most important element to include in any novel.” Wicked portrays this prescription admirably.

There are three other novels that follow in this series: Son of a Witch, which reveals the fate of Elphaba’s orphaned child;  A Lion Among Men, the life and times of the Cowardly Lion; and the soon-to-be-released Out of Oz, in which civil war sweeps across Oz, and Elphaba’s legacy may yet be vindicated.

Next week, we’ll see one final twist on the story of Oz, as we take in the lighthearted, candy-coated spectacle of Wicked, the Musical, otherwise known as Elphaba and Glinda, the College Years. My teeth hurt just thinking about it. Be amazed as Broadway takes the story I just described and converts it into “family entertainment!”

Agent and writing instructor Donald Maass has a new book out entitled Writing 21st Century Fiction: High impact techniques for exceptional storytelling. He isn’t dealing specifically with Christian speculative fiction, certainly, but what he says about stories at large ought to matter to those who of us who write it.

First we need to decide if we do, in fact, aim to write “high impact fiction.” Maass describes this type of fiction:

Commercial fiction is thought to be candy for the masses, but the truth is that the masses are responding in huge numbers to something else entirely.

And what is that? That is the subject of this book. High impact comes from a combination of two factors: great stories and beautiful writing. High-impact novels utilize what is best about literary and commercial fiction. They embrace a dichotomy. They do everything well and as a result sell astoundingly. The publishing industry has a convenient term for these wonder books: literary/commercial fiction.

Great stories and beautiful writing. What more can a Christian author aim for? Why wouldn’t we want to write high-impact fiction?

But if Maass is right, high-impact fiction sells. In fact, this is the kind of writing that editors and readers in the 21st century are looking for. And buying.

What does that say about Christian speculative fiction? Could it be that our stories are too thin or unoriginal? That our writing is too colorless or pedantic?

We rarely talk about this aspect of our genre, but I wonder if we aren’t doing ourselves a great disservice to avoid the topic. Rather, it seems to me as if too many of us are walking around with a (varied-sized) chip on our shoulders, looking for someone to blame for the lack of publishing opportunities and/or sales of the books we write.

My real question is this, can great writing and compelling stories really be marginalized?

Ever since 2006 when Stuart Stockton and the rest of us original founders of Spec Faith started this endeavor, I believed that the primary need for the Christian science fiction and fantasy genres was promotion. If readers only knew about Karen Hancock’s books, for example, they’d eagerly buy them. And once they did, publishers would be only too happy to put out more of like kind.

What I discovered in the ensuing years has me wondering if I’ve missed something important. Too many writers seem weighed down by chips on their shoulders, saying in any number of ways that editors, awards organizations, blog tours, and writing organizations all discriminate against our genre.

The solution, rather than promoting one another, encouraging one another, working in concert to bring about the changes that could really make a difference, has seemed to be to alienate others and fragment further.

If, as some claim, writing Christian speculative fiction is trying to fit the square peg of speculative stories into the round hole of the niche evangelical Christian community, then breaking down that community into a smaller niche seems counterintuitive. Unless, of course, we are content to write only for a small, closed set of people.

If we are content to do so, then we should shake off the shoulder chip and admit we have made the choice to write for a specialized group.

If instead we are aiming to write high impact fiction, then I think we should put our energies into (a) learning how to write compelling stories with beautiful prose and (b) supporting others who have made the attempt to do the same thing.

In either case, I don’t see how keeping a chip on our shoulders helps further our aims or the aims of others who write something similar. We might all benefit by checking our shoulders to see if we’re carrying a chip without realizing it. Who needs the extra baggage.

The winner of the Spec Faith Fall Writer Challenge is

Eugene Black

Congratulations!

Special thanks to all of you who voted in the poll or by giving your thumbs up in the earlier round, and to you who braved the Spec Faith Challenge waters by entering your writing.

My walk across campus seemed unusually quiet that morning. There was a reason for that, and it had everything to do with where I was going. The event was scheduled to start at 10:30 am. It was a quarter after, but already I could hear muted cheers from Anderson Arena ahead of me. That wasn’t uncommon for Anderson. It was BGSU’s basketball stadium, after all.

The flock of law enforcement officials that protected the building was unusual, though. This was no ordinary sporting event.

“I’m really late,” I thought, frowning. “Maybe I should’ve skipped class.”

I rarely did, though. Almost never. The first time I had, in fact, was earlier that same week—to get tickets for the event. I had to wait outside for hours.

Thanks to a Logic professor who refused to cancel class, though, my ticket might be almost worthless.

“We have a test every Wednesday,” he’d said. “This week will be no different. If you study, you’ll finish in time to attend the speech…for those that want to.”

I didn’t think much of his attention to the schedule then, aside from the inconvenience. In hindsight, though, I wondered if he hadn’t had ulterior motives.

For those that want to…

I reached the Anderson entrance and showed the police officer what I was carrying: A pocket camera and a mini-cassette recorder. “Okay to take them in?” I asked.

He answered with a “Sure!” and waved me on ahead. I was happy for a moment.

I reached the interior of the stadium. They had the arena configured in a U, with one end of the court set up as a podium, and seats on the floor in front of that. I entered from the opposite end, where the stands were still extended. The place was packed, and extremely loud.

I skimmed the section nearest me. Not a single opening anywhere.

There were a handful of people in a similar position. Stragglers that, for whatever reason, had to come late. “I really should’ve skipped class.”

But it really would’ve hurt my grade.

I walked aimlessly, just taking it all in. There were lots of political signs, lots of students.

A few of those nearest me were dressed in suits. A little odd. One of them approached me and a fellow straggler, with a sign in his hand. “You guys need seats?” he asked.

We both nodded.

He held up his sign. “If you don’t mind holding a sign, I’ll get you seats.”

The suit was wearing a pin that identified him as being with a college political party. The one organizing the event.

I shrugged. Guess I can trust him. Though I hope it doesn’t mean I’m joining anything…

The suit led us straight to a section of seats near one of the locker-room entrances, the place where the team would normally enter from. It wasn’t front row, but it was closer than I was expecting. A lot better than standing at the back.

I was grateful. Both to the suit, and to God. It was a gift, not having to stand. Being able to see.

A few moments later, we heard the sound of a helicopter descending. The crowd’s rowdiness increased. The excitement. My neighbor waved his sign.

It wasn’t obvious where the speaker would enter from. I assumed it would be up near the front somewhere. Near the podium.

The people to my left, those closest the locker-room, began to move toward that entrance. I glanced at my new friend, and with a mutual shrug, we shuffled that way too. We took positions right next to the railing that overlooked the entrance. We kept looking forward, though. Toward the podium.

Then there was movement in the entrance below us. I glanced down and saw police officers, along with men wearing dark suits and sunglasses. Things in their ear.  The crowd got more excited. Then I saw…

Ronald Reagan. He was right there, below me. I was so startled, I didn’t even stick out a hand. I just watched as he smiled and shook the hands of those around me.

The president. Right there!

I couldn’t help but smile.

And I came in late.

A Biblically informed political outlook?

Democrats that know me probably think me a diehard Republican, but I’m really not. To me, politics extend directly from one’s morality, from their core beliefs. I have the maturity to realize that there are honorable and dishonorable people in both parties. That both are capable of good or bad behavior, and that for some things, reasonable people can disagree.

If pressed, I’d most likely call myself a conservative. But in actuality, I’m an issues person. I think the Bible has given us clear precepts for beliefs and actions, and by definition those precepts have to affect how we view issues—and as a consequence—determine the candidates we support.

For instance, abortion is an important issue for me. That derives directly from the Biblical precept that life was originally designed by God (Genesis 1:27), that the process of life is still maintained by God (Psalms 139:13), and that he has a vested interest in each and every person (Jeremiah 29:11-13). So, by applying precept to issue, I would always error in favor of life.

That application of biblical precept extends to what candidates I vote for. I think how someone defines life, defines them. If they see innocent life as having been given by God, and therefore in need of protection, then I can be certain that in other, less important issues, they will be more likely to make the right decision.

Why? Because there is a moral framework in place. If a candidate is pro-life, I know that he or she believes in—or at least respects the concept of—God, and therefore doesn’t think of himself (man) as the determiner of all truth. That also means that he or she views rights as having come from God, not from government, just like the framers of our Constitution declared.

We hold these truths to be self-evident…

If the value of life is negotiable, than anything is negotiable.

So, issues from precepts, morality fuels politics, and politics is all about earthly governance.

Politics in speculative stories?

Politics are a necessity in speculative stories. Whether it is charting the demise of the Dark Lord Sauron, or chronicling the rise of a Messiah King in Dune, there is always a political aspect to the worlds we create. Humans operate within the bounds of societies, and societies always have a form of governance. That governance may be in the shadows, but it is always present—even in the context of a small village hidden in a forest somewhere, even in total anarchy.

Wherever a group exists, there is always a jockeying for position, or a push for autonomy. People need leaders, and some people just need to lead. Epic stories arise directly from political situations: A King trying to regain his kingdom, a slave trying to achieve freedom, and empire that has to fall.

So since there are always politics in stories, then the direct interjection of personal politics into stories should be okay, right?

Well, no, actually. In fact, it might be a huge mistake.

Wait. What? You just said all stories have politics. So why can’t I talk politics?

I said all stories have politics, that doesn’t mean they are soap boxes for author bloviating.

Click for the complete DarkTrench Saga science-fiction trilogy.

Just like with voting, storyshould be about precepts and issues.  Don’t think about right versus left, think good versus evil. Freedom versus slavery.

The DarkTrench Saga is, in many ways, controlled by political questions: What if the world was under sharia law? What if those seeking an Islamic caliphate achieved their goal on a global scale?

Yet my books are primarily driven by issues and precepts: Are all beliefs the same? What distinguishes Christianity from other belief systems? Where is God when it seems all hope is lost?

Such questions transcend the current political climate, whatever it is. (Though they certainly could be brought to the surface by it.) They aren’t right versus left questions. They are human questions.

Too much rhetoric in a book not only makes it preachy, it diminishes its potential significance. It takes it from epic, to trite. From transcendent, to temporary.

We all should seek lasting significance.

Politics in an author’s profile?

Should an author share his political leanings publicly? What face does he present to the world? Is he activist, or political man of mystery?

I’ll admit, it is a sticky wicket. On the one hand, authors are all about beliefs and ideas. We write because we are moved, and we write to inform. Our souls are split open and displayed for all to see. So can we really hide anything?

It is all about nuance, my friend.  Nuance and respect.

I try to keep political discussion to a minimum—at least on my author-specific outlets. Given the subject matter of my books, of course, it is difficult. Many of the decisions being made today, politically, appear to be tipping the scale either towards freedom, or away from it. Plus, I think people who have read my novels expect some discussion on beliefs, world events, and the uniqueness of the gospel.

On the other hand, I’ve seen authors (and entertainers) abuse their platform. I know of a fairly famous writer, in fact, who routinely uses one of the social networks as a place to spout liberal pomposity. In the times I’ve tried to engage him, or even offered an opposing opinion, I have been belittled or attacked. Furthermore, when I’ve pointed his demeanor out, I’ve gotten little to indicate that he even sees it as a problem. It is a problem, though.

Now, I’m sure in his mind he feels he’s educating people, so his behavior is justified.

Wrong! First rule of public discourse: Don’t assume the other guy is a buffoon! In our polarized society, there is no better way to lose friends—or as an author—cut your potential book sales in half. Much better to let your beliefs play out naturally in your stories. Yes, there will be people who don’t agree, some will be deeply offended even, but you’re writing fiction. You’re dissecting the great “What if?”

Not shouting on Facebook at someone you’ve never really met.

More than anything, though, be respectful of others and their opinions. They might be wrong, but they are still God’s special creation, and should be treated that way.

Plus there’s always a possibility that you are wrong too.

Our God is big. It is okay to be wrong once and awhile.

And as my opening story shows, it is certainly okay to be late.

(Next week, Sunday, Oct. 14: The Dark Man and König’s Fire author Marc Schooley offers his own view of politics and social policies in fantastic stories.)

When I started out in publishing I’d never once heard the market divided up into the two very specific categories of Christian and Secular. Genres, yes, but not Christian or Secular.

I’ve been involved with publishing for nearly seven years now. My work has appealed to a market I never knew existed as well as my target audience of general market readers. I can honestly say that after seven years I now “get” the distinction. Hopefully you’ll “get” it too, once I’m done with my guest column here at Speculative Faith.

As with any writer, those things that shaped me as an individual show up in all my stories. That’s the defining difference from novel to novel in my opinion. You get a grand story and a glimpse at the person writing those stories.

My debut novel Never Ceese was very much a personification of some things I know a lot about. My granddaddy was an ordained Southern Baptist minister. He ordained my brother. I grew up Baptist and knew everything about “being” Baptist. Ergo, my vampire and werewolf are the offspring of a Baptist missionary.

Writing what you know about. That makes the job easier. Not so much research to get things right so you can concentrate on the story.

Straight away and especially after Never Ceese made the Bram Stoker Preliminary Ballot in 2007 for Superior Achievement in a First Novel, I began to hear from readers who favored work put out by Christian publishers. Even Eric Wilson, best-selling author of Fireproof, and published by the number one Christian publisher Thomas Nelson, left a favorable review of Never Ceese on Amazon. (The review mysteriously disappeared sometime last year, but has been re-posted with all my other reviews of Never Ceese on my website at SueDent.net.)

Never Ceese was even allowed to tour at CFBA (Christian Fiction Blog Alliance) in spite of it not being published by a sanctioned CBA publisher. It was shortly after this when I learned first hand about Christian publisher’s “highly” targeted audience. When I went back to CFBA with the sequel to my debut novel, Forever Richard, to tour, my new Christian publisher (not sanctioned by CBA) and I were told “no.” Only CBA-sanctioned books would be allowed to tour from now on or at least books that were openly “evangelical” in nature.

After my publisher and I heard this, we actually felt silly for asking to tour. If we’d known the tour was for that “niche” market only, we would’ve never asked. The same thing happened when my publisher at the time approached the CSFF (Christian Science Fiction and Fantasy) blog tour. And no debate was welcome. We weren’t sanctioned so there was no guarantee the work would appeal to that “target” audience they’d set themselves up to serve.

Now back to the original theme: Christian verses Secular, and Sue Dent’s novels.

I don’t write for the “niche” market that chooses to use these two labels to define the publishing industry. I did tour CFBA with great success but that was by accident, apparently. No non-sanctioned work is welcome there any more, to the best of my knowledge.

I was also once a member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, the ACFW, until I realized their only purpose is to help aspiring writers find a home with a “sanctioned” or “evangelical” publisher who will completely re-write any manuscript until it fits what they’ve determined their “target” audience will buy. And I often jump right in on Christian publishing forums to help bring understanding to writers who ask questions of me in relation to my experiences in the publishing industry, an effort that is about as productive as using a tablespoon to fill a pool with water — with the drain open. That would almost classify as counterproductive, so I know longer make that offer.

So Secular or Christian?

Neither and both depending on your definition.

A random website did vote Never Ceese as the #1 Christian Horror Novel. Ironically, most of the other authors on the list were CBA-sanctioned authors such as Ted Dekker and Frank Peretti. Just don’t look for Never Ceese in Christian Bookstores because it’s not put out by a publisher sanctioned to appeal to Christian bookstore visitors. Forever Richard was long-listed for British Fantasy Award in 2009 and Electric Angel got high marks from the BFS as well. “Simply Brilliant,” was the initial review scrapped for being too short.

All in all though, a writer needs distribution, and the only way to successfully get sales is to have a publisher with that kick-tail distribution already. The larger Christian publishers, much like the larger general market publishers, do have this.

So if preach-to-the-choir fiction is what you want to write, you go right ahead and connect with one of those fine publishers. I write to be read by as many folks as I can appeal to. Niche markets are not the way to go for that, but I already knew that. I just didn’t know that Christian publishing was a niche market until I landed in the middle of it.

I really don’t mind if a reader chooses to call my work Christian Fiction based on their opinion. But if you’re inclined to do so, and you’ve read this column, I would love for you to add, “but not that kind of Christian Fiction.” Believe it or not, it does help readers understand.