Well, we had to talk about him at some point.

And if you want to check out Kaci’s post about the Antichrist, it’s here.

It’s an even-numbered year, so it must be time for the youth of the world to gather in a major global metropolis to compete in the Olympic Games. This is a good thing, especially if you enjoy stories, because the Olympics are all about the stories. The World Championships of the various sports are of more practical significance in establishing the prowess of their most elite athletes, but the modern Olympics have from the very beginning been wrapped in a symbolism both individual and collective that transcends the rather prosaic act of bringing a bunch of people from dozens of different nations together in one place to play games.

People have lots of opinions about the Olympics, most gilded in moral, social, political, or religious imperatives that can be reduced to personal itches. Christians have been known to decry the perpetuation of a pagan festival idolizing physical perfection, while others view the Games as a global stage for Christian athletes to share their faith and display what used to be called a “muscular Christianity.” Many Londoners find the Olympics mostly a titanic inconvenience, which is perhaps the most honest, un-gilded reaction you’ll find anywhere, and not an unreasonable one.

One commentator believes we should be focusing more on the upcoming Mars landing and the Olympic-class feats of brainpower and mental agility that have made it possible, though paunchy, balding, middle-aged engineers in horn-rimmed glasses are a harder sell than ripped twenty-something athletes. Or maybe not.

Voldemort vs. Poppins? Brilliant!

Getting back to the stories, the opening ceremonies have evolved in recent years into a theatrical presentation of the host nation’s history and cultural distinctives. I enjoyed Danny Boyle’s whimsical little fairy tale of the evolution of England from bucolic agrarian paradise to gritty industrial powerhouse to enlightened social welfare state. Some folks noticed the production bore more than a passing resemblance to a certain epic trilogy of our acquaintance (thanks to Stephen for the link).

I won’t spend time here bloviating on the merits or demerits of the whole Olympic spectacle, other to say that I think most people get out of it what they bring to it. I like the Olympics, and will be spending a lot of time cheering for Team USA. I particularly enjoy the travelogue, a chance to watch some sports that get scant coverage at any other time, and the inspiring tales of individual athletes who have displayed remarkable courage in their journey to the Olympics and achieved victory in the face of impossible odds. That’s always a story worth telling.

The Olympics certainly aren’t an unalloyed showcase of high ideals and sportsmanship. I was a little disturbed today to read a news article featuring some comments by an American swimming coach skeptical of a gold-medal-winning performance by a young Chinese swimmer, who he suspects of blood doping. It wasn’t so much the allegation that bothered me–the Chinese team has been caught dabbling in performance-enhancing drugs on more than one occasion–but the knee-jerk assumption that because this young lady did so well, she must be cheating. This is the line that caught my eye:

Leonard rejected comparisons to Michael Phelps, who broke the 200m butterfly world record when he was just 15, back in 2001 because the American got “consistently faster every year on a normal improvement curve”.

I understand the man’s suspicion, but the underlying message is that it’s okay to improve as long as you stay on the curve and don’t improve faster than anybody else. To finish with a speculative element here, I’ll refer you to the story that immediately came to mind, Kurt Vonnegut’s scathing satire on enforced “equality,” Harrison Bergeron:

The year was 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren’t only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else.

So much for “Citius, Altius, Fortius.” Read the whole thing.

A smattering of this and that today.

First, regarding our First Ever Spec Faith Writing Challenge, I thought we had a good group of writers participate. I was hoping for more comments, however, so have decided to table the suggested part two of this particular challenge. I’m inclined to revisit a similar sort of activity in the future, however.

For fantasy lovers: the group of dedicated fans, led by author Robert Treskillard, who have created book trailers for Jill Williamson‘s Blood of Kings Trilogy (Marcher Lord Press) just released the third in the series–the trailer for From Darkness Won (see below).

Today Peter Jackson, followed by an official press release from New Line Cinema, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios, and Warner Bros. Pictures, announced a third film in what is now being referred to as The Hobbit Trilogy. Yep, you read that right–a third Hobbit movie!

Peter Jackson will make a third film in his upcoming adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien’s enduringly popular masterpiece The Hobbit . . .

Jackson, the Academy Award®-winning filmmaker behind the blockbuster “The Lord of the Rings” Trilogy, recently wrapped principal photography on what he originally planned to be a two-film adaptation of The Hobbit, which is set in Middle-earth 60 years before The Lord of the Rings.

Jackson stated, “Upon recently viewing a cut of the first film, and a chunk of the second, Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens and I were very pleased with the way the story was coming together. We recognized that the richness of the story of The Hobbit, as well as some of the related material in the appendices of The Lord of the Rings, gave rise to a simple question: do we tell more of the tale? And the answer from our perspective as filmmakers and fans was an unreserved ‘yes.’

And now, your views, in two parts.

First, what do you think of the idea of three Hobbit films instead of two?

Second, and completely unrelated? What, in your opinion, is the number one reason you would not finish a book? Have there been any of late (no titles necessary) that you have not finished?

Looking forward to your answers. Enjoy the aforementioned book trailer.

“Why did I like that story so much? Why did it stick with me?” Have you ever found yourself asking those questions?

When I was growing up I fell in love with thought-provoking and intellectually-stimulating books. I can remember the amazing feeling of first following Christian in John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress. From facing foes at home to foes in Hell, Christian overcame the challenges laid out on the narrow road because his eyes were fixed on the eternal prize.

Later, I read Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and found it just as timeless as Pilgrim’s Progress. I wanted to build a submarine of my own and live off of the sea, away from the turmoil of the industrialized world. I cringed when Captain Nemo sank a ship and left its passengers to drown, but I couldn’t help admiring him for taking action in what he believed to be a just cause.

Today we live in a technologically overwhelmed society. From television to movies, to the internet and video games, from cell phones to e-readers, and the list grows the more we examine our culture. Life has become impersonal and undisciplined.

It used to be that a young man had to discipline his tongue and his life so that when he encountered others, his words could be a reflection of his character. But today the young man sends a thousand text messages that are sent on a whim, without refinement or discipline. The art of relationships has been all but lost; they have become volatile.

These are some of the reasons that I chose to create an old world fantasy in The Sword of the Dragon series, rather than a contemporary one. Separated from technology, people are more easily exposed as good or evil. They cannot hide behind a curtain of flashing lights and images.

As readers, many of us desire to retrieve the positive elements of older cultures, such as their manners, their speech, and their discipline. But our society loves pleasure more than they love God.

In my Christian fantasy novels I seek to give the youths of today new examples of heroes and heroines that choose to surmount the odds. We need stories that encourage young people to be strong for God and to live lives that please Him.

The stories that I read while growing up inspired me to be a better person–to better follow God and to deal more rightly with other people. A good story isn’t just penned or typed; it grows out of the heart.

The emails and other feedback that I have received with regards to my novels tell me that many readers are encouraged by my stories. They have laughed and they have cried, but in the end it is the story’s spiritual journey that I hope empowers them for the future. The imagination is a powerful thing. It can be used for good or for evil.

Is this why we love stories that hearken back to days of old–of knights slaying dragons and seeking fair maidens in distress? We want to love the good and despise the evil. We want to be those heroes and heroines that may falter but never waver in their diligence.

Good old-world fantasy novels push us to be better individuals. The ancient realms are ours for the taking!

– – – – –

Scott Appleton is a freelance writer living in northeast Connecticut. He is the author of The Sword of the Dragon series and the anthology By Sword By Right. He frequently travels around the country, visiting schools and stores to promote his books. In his spare time he enjoys reading and spending time with his beautiful wife and children. Visit his blog , Website, and Facebook page.

This morning I realized: oh, great, I will be struggling during this Saturday’s LWW reading group at my church. Why? Because our two-chapter reading will end with Aslan’s death.

Embarrassing? Perhaps. Yet I’ve come to view emotional responses to the death of a story’s hero, particularly such a strong Christ-like hero as the Lion of Narnia, as acts of worship.

Have you ever been singing in church and suddenly become self-aware? You think: I like this song, I enjoy these people, I love the preaching, and I really should be more emotional in my singing to God, but I’m not. To me this happens more often than I’d like to admit. And one solution is this: thanks to Christ’s righteousness, I am overcome as a rightful response to His truth and sacrifice, maybe not during every church song, but by stories like this one.

How has Aslan’s death affected you, and how does it affect you now? (We will get to his resurrection and the story’s eucatastrophe next week, in the final installment of this LWW reading-group series.) How do other heroes’ deaths remind you of Christ’s ultimate death?

Chapter 13: Deep Magic from the Dawn of Time

1. The Witch says: “[Aslan] may not stay long. And then—we would fall upon the three [children] at Cair.” (page 135) After we’ve read of the Witch’s terror at Aslan’s arrival, do you think she truly believes Aslan will simply leave Narnia back in her hands?
2. “I would like to have done it on the Stone Table itself,” said the Witch. “That is the proper place. That is where it has always been done before.” (page 135) By now, what is she planning? How does this fit with our first glimpse of the Stone Table? (Do you recall the last chapter’s description of its ancient appearance and mysterious carven symbols?)
3. What ideas do you get about the Stone Table and its history and purpose? How is this way of discussing it better than saying something like, Now you see, the Stone Table had long ago been used for sacrifices, or whatever purpose you think it had in the past?
4. Quick silly question: Does anyone remember, in the BBC LWW film, the Witch saying “You!” to the Wolf, who (in dog form) looks up and immediately begins dog-smiling?
5. Now we hear the Witch describe the bad creatures. Among these, which seems scariest?
6. How do you feel, with Edmund, to hear the “whizz—whizz—whizz” knife-sharpening sound? Does the good creatures’ arrival seem expected or surprising?
7. At last Edmund is forgiven, after a conversation with Aslan to which we are not privy. What do you think Aslan said to him? Why does the author not show that conversation? And why do you think Aslan says “there is no need to talk to him about what is past” (page 139)? Who was Edmund’s worst sin against — his brother and sisters, or Aslan?
8. Now we immediately learn something new: Edmund has met Aslan and repented, but consequences remain. Edmund must be killed for his treason. Do you see the story progression: events go from bad, to good, to bad, to worse, to good, to even worse?
9. Mr. Beaver refers to the Witch as the “Emperor’s hangman” (page 142). Is this accurate? What about in our world — does God have a “hangman” or does He punish sin Himself?
10. Look up Hebrews 9:22. Then Romans 3:21-26. In our world, Who requires the shedding of blood as payment for sin? Now consider the Witch’s words, which Aslan does not deny: “… That human creature is mine. His life is forfeit to me. His blood is my property.” (page 142) How is this different from how and why Jesus died for people in our world?
11. “Work against the Emperor’s Magic?” said Aslan … (page 142). Is Aslan “limited” by this Deep Magic? Even if he is not, how does this all-powerful Lion come across in this?
12. When the Witch questions Aslan, how do you like his reaction? What kind of reminder does this serve, even after all the worrying and uncertainty about the Witch’s claim?

Chapter 14: The Triumph of the Witch

1. As the camp is moving, Aslan is unusually sad and distracted. He seems more “mortal” (or “human”) than we ever see him again in the stories. How does this strike you, when compared with Christ’s response to his forthcoming suffering? Can Christ be affected by emotions outside Himself? Is He vulnerable to them? What about God the Father?
2. Returned to the Stone Table, we find the hordes of evil creatures, many of which the Witch had mentioned earlier. Lewis names some and leaves others unspoken — “and other creatures whom I won’t describe because if I did the grown-ups would not let you read this book” (page 151). Parents with children: is that true? And for all readers: how does this whimsical line, amidst such evil creatures and events, strike you?
3. Earlier, Edmund deceived himself. In the last chapter, the Witch suggests Aslan would simply leave Narnia without defeating her. Here, the terrified creatures advance on Aslan, find him not resistant, and then gain a little more confidence, at least enough to mock him. “The cowards!” sobbed Susan. (page 154) Aren’t they also self-deceived?
4. In one sense, evil people crucified Christ. In another sense, we all killed Him. How does Aslan’s death on the Table show one side of this real-world truth, and not another?
5. Pretend this is your first reading. Does the Witch’s boast make it seem all hope is gone?

In stories, the scariest villains are not the ones who kill the most, leer the most, or have the worst weapons. Instead the scariest villains have spiritual impact on the main characters, or we as readers and viewers.

Yes, we know they’re wrong. We certainly support their defeat. But deep down, we’re still forced to wonder, to consider the horrible prospect: maybe they’re right.

Maybe we really should introduce a little anarchy.

Maybe there is no good and evil, only power, and those with the will to seek it.

Maybe sins can never be forgiven, and the only justice is unequivocal punishment.

You may recognize some of those quotes. The first is from The Joker of The Dark Knight (2008) fame. Many have remarked how The Joker compares with Bane, one of the main villains of the recently released The Dark Knight Rises film. That’s what gives rise to my thoughts today. Many have said that Bane doesn’t work as well as a villain, because The Joker was so iconically evil and Heath Ledger’s performance so unparalleled. Those could be two reasons. But I suggest Bane doesn’t work as well because he is not a spiritual villain.

Here is what I mean:

Great stories show good and evil for what they are, and the battle between them.

Greater stories make the strongest case they can for evil. Villainy is not simply “out there,” an external force in the antagonist. Instead it has a profound effect on either us, or the hero of the story, or best of all, both. Then, with that strong case made, evil is still defeated.

The greatest Story of all, of course, in Scripture and reality, makes the “best” possible case for evil across more than 2,000 pages and 66 books. Thus the final victory is even greater.

Now consider how recent film villains, and other stories’ villains, compare.

1. Bane, from The Dark Knight Rises.

I don’t intend to fill this column with TDKR spoilers, yet some spoilers about Bane may be necessary here. This powerful mercenary, who survives on painkillers and growls in a sing-song, cultured and throbbing timbre, is clearly shown as evil. At least one character even tells him so. (Spoiler.) Eventually Bane’s plan nearly comes to fruition: his terrorists attack Gotham City, taking it hostage, and nearly destroy the metropolis. (Heavier spoiler.) He also easily defeats Batman in battle, casts him into prison, and vows to make him suffer.

Never once did I as a viewer wonder, even for seconds, if Bane had the upper hand — not only physically but spiritually over Batman, and by proxy also over us.

Not once, even during French Revolution-inspired scenes (don’t compare it to “Occupy Wall Street” and so elevate that notion, or imply the story’s inspiration isn’t more timeless) did I even slightly suspect: You know, this sort of thing is inevitable. Maybe we should roll with it.

The Dark Knight Rises shows Bane’s evil, but doesn’t try to make the strongest case for it.

By contrast …

2. The Joker, from The Dark Knight.

The Joker is axiomatically evil. Unlike Bane, he has no backstory. As explored in this feature, he comes from nowhere, causes chaos, and wants only to “watch the world burn.” Beyond that, viewers may suspect that he is right. What can any hero do against such reckless hate? You can’t appeal to his motives, because his motive is chaos and anarchy. You can’t bargain or negotiate. You can only wage war, while also fighting that same instinct in yourself: the instinct that maybe it’s all for naught, the instinct that there’s no point in fighting.

(At least one person, as we tragically saw Friday, followed through with this evil desire — imitating The Joker while rejecting the theme of good triumphing over such evil.)

Unlike Bane, The Joker has a spiritual effect on viewers, making his defeat more significant.

3. The evil thing from A Wrinkle in Time.

Yes, I’ll keep reading Madeleine L’Engle’s works, because many have promised they do get better, in style if not in substance. But based on the first book’s evil thing (see, I can’t even remember the name of that villainous, Star Trek: The Original Series-like God-like Entity), I’m not expecting much more worst-case-for-evil, visceral villainy that is spiritual.

In Wrinkle, the evil thing did evil by controlling people, not by appealing to their evil inner natures. Again we spy the trope: “evil is mainly outside yourself, not within yourself.” Objection 1: that is not a Biblical concept. Objection 2: it makes for mediocre storytelling.

So when the Evil Thing is defeated, by the Power of “Love” — e.g., of sentimentality — the victory rings hollow. Only a malevolent Outside Source is put down. Our own evil lives on.

By contrast …

4. Lord Voldemort from Harry Potter.

The Dark Lord would not be nearly as interesting and spiritual a villain if he did not have such links with Harry Potter himself. I won’t go into spoilers, for those who haven’t yet read the series — and they really should, for Rowling, despite whatever faith she holds, fleshes out very Christian and redemptive concepts more powerfully than L’Engle in her Wrinkle-y theology. Yet by the end of the whole Harry Potter story, it’s revealed that Harry is not only fighting an evil villain outside himself, but is fighting a part of himself as well. Voldemort’s evil is not only external, but internal, with strong temptation: He could be right. Harry might give in. And we, fighting along with Harry, are forced to consider the same possibilities.

Voldemort is one of the best spiritual villains — even above other famous dark lords such as Darth Vader, or even Sauron. Yes, those are also evil, but you rarely suspect they have a powerful religious, philosophical case to make for their actions that could overwhelm us.

Lesser evils

Here I’m also thinking of Inspector Javert, from Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables. How do Javert and other villains, have spiritual effects on a story’s heroes, and/or us?

How else do other villains, such as Bane from The Dark Knight Rises, function mainly as external, non-spiritual and therefore not as evil or threatening antagonists?

Before ending my words in lieu of your own, I must say one more word about the Aurora, Colorado suspect’s shooting of 12 people, 20 minutes into The Dark Knight Rises’s midnight premiere. People keep wanting to make the “real” villain “external” — Hollywood, guns and gun laws, the Tea Party, Occupy Wall Street, etc. Why this insistence that all other Things must be villainized — anything except humans’ evil nature itself?

Apologies for my absence last week. Real life happened, as it does every so often. Anyhow, with regard to the survey I posted two weeks ago, it looks like a significant majority of our readers prefer posts that are educational, help them make informed choices about their reading/viewing material, and/or provoke discussion.

Tough cookies. You’re getting a story today. Who knows? Perhaps it will provoke discussion.

————————–

Welcome to the Quill and Scroll, a quiet little pub nestled somewhere deep in the misty moorlands of an anonymous author’s imagination, where his characters hang out when he’s asleep or otherwise not engaged in writing his current literary masterpiece-in-progress. It’s lit by flickering candles and lanterns suspended from the open-beam ceiling, and furnished with tables and chairs of rough-hewn oak. The walls are smeared with smoke-stained plaster. A colorful tapestry depicting a company of hunters stalking through the woods adorns one side wall, and there’s a dartboard on the other. Five darts are embedded in that wall, forming a rough circle around the target. At the far end of the room, there’s a bone-handled stiletto stuck a full two inches into the mantel of the crackling fireplace, below a row of pewter tankards. Nobody knows how or why the knife got there, and nobody has ever bothered to retrieve it.

A stout, black-robed man with glowing green eyes, a pointed goatee streaked with gray, and a jagged scar running diagonally across his face enters the tavern and waves jovially at the barkeep.

Greskarg: “Pint of dark ale, Dave.”

He takes a seat at the bar beside a muscular blond woman in chain mail and leather with a broadsword strapped to her back. On the stool next to her is a tall man with an aquiline nose whose generous crop of wavy black hair drapes across his shoulders. He’s wearing a jeweled crown and blue satin livery with a rampant lion embroidered on the tunic in gold thread.

Greskarg: “Melitia! So good to see you again. Is that a new riding cloak? And if it isn’t King Lawrence! You’re looking a mite battle-weary, your Highness. How’re you holding up?”

Melitia: “Hey, Greskarg. Back at’cha, and thanks for noticing. (pats Lawrence on the back) I think the big guy here needs some space tonight. He’s having a bad week.”

Lawrence (slumping over the bar): “The author hates me.”

Greskarg: “Why would you say that? I mean, the fellow’s a little eccentric, and I can’t follow his plot twists half the time, and his sense of humor is…unusual…but he created us. He created all of us. Why would he bother doing that if he didn’t care?”

Lawrence (focused on his drink): “I lose half my army in battle with the Skreeks, then I return home to find my capital pillaged by insurrectionists who are now holding my wife and daughter hostage. I’ve been a good king. I’ve done everything the author has demanded of me without complaining. I’ve treated my people with justice and kindness. What did I do to deserve this?”

Greskarg (takes a swig of ale and wipes his mouth on his sleeve): “Maybe he’s trying to develop your character. Make you more three-dimensional.”

Lawrence: “This sort of character development I can do without. A victory or two would be nice. Putting my family in peril does nothing for my morale. I’m tired, Greskarg. I wish he’d write me out of the story and be done with it.”

Greskarg: “Come now, good fellow. Surely you can’t be so deep in despair? You’re a hero. The author has a plan for you. Everything’s going to come out right in the end.”

Lawrence: “A plan? That’s amusing. The man’s a pantser. He’s always been a pantser. We never know what he’ll do next. Every time we think we have the plot figured out, he makes some unfathomable change.”

Melitia: “Tell me about it. I was almost clear of the Odorous Fen three days ago, then he throws in an encounter with the Bog Witch, and now I don’t know when I’m getting out of there. Do you have any idea how hard it is to deodorize leather once it’s exposed to Fen Stench?”

Lawrence (shifting his barstool a few more inches away from Melitia): “That explains the smell. I’d assumed Dave left an overripe plate of anchovies behind the bar.”

Melitia: “Thank you, your Majesty.”

Greskarg: “We may not understand where he’s going, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a plan, or that it’s arbitrary. He has your best interests at heart.”

Lawrence: “Hold on a moment. You’ve lost me. You’re a villain. You know what must be waiting for you at the end of our story.”

Greskarg: “I try to be philosophical about it. Yes, I’m going to die, eventually, and it probably won’t be pleasant, but I’ll be dying for a reason, just like everything that happens to you happens for a reason. It all makes the story more exciting and meaningful for the people who will read it. Thousands of them will bring us to life over and over again in their imaginations. We’ve all got the same stake in his creative process, my friend—immortality.”

Lawrence: “Perhaps he derives some perverse satisfaction from torturing his characters. Have you ever thought of that?”

Melitia: “He’s got a point, Gresk. If we had a civil justice system in our universe, I could have sued our dear author for sexual harassment more times than I can count. For example, in his original concept, this was a chain-mail bikini.”

Lawrence: “Thank heaven he came to his senses.”

Greskarg: “Well, I think it sounds rather disarming.”

Melitia: “Shut up, both of you. Sometimes I wonder if he plays favorites, too. Nothing bad ever happens to that goody-goody Princess Luminara.” (smiles and waves to a pretty young lady in a pink gown and tiara sitting near the fireplace) “Hiya, Luuumiiie! Love the dress!” (turns back to her companions) “Pink? Yeesh. She gives me hives.”

Greskarg: “I think we get the life we need. Would you be happy spending most of your time skipping through the Enchanted Forest, gathering flowers and chatting with squirrels?”

Melitia (fiddles with a broken link on her chain mail): “No, I guess not.”

Greskarg: “Besides, cruelty is totally at odds with his character. Admit it; it’s not all been bad. Melitia, you escaped from the Slavers. The Order of Arion took you in, trained you to be a warrior, and awarded you the Runic Sword. And Lawrence, what about your romance with Charilaine? And how you settled the clan wars and built that new capital city together? Then there was your child’s birth, and the celebration that followed. How could the author be a sadist when he’s brought so much joy into your lives?”

Lawrence: “Yes, those were wonderful times. I still don’t understand why you’re cheerleading for him.”

Greskarg: “Are you jesting? I get to use magic. I have an incredible fortress in the Wolftooth Mountains where I can go skiing anytime I want, and I have an army of two million Skreeks at my beck and call. Don’t pity me, Lawrence. I know my role, and I play it with gusto. I’m loving every moment of my disreputable existence. I also enjoy these conversations with you two on my off-time. Things could be worse.” (frowns for a moment, then gestures toward a group of skinny young men hunched over a table beneath the dartboard) I mean…I could be one of those pitiful fellows in the red shirts.”

Melitia (grinning): “So, you got an explanation for them?”

Greskarg: “Sadly, no.”

I remember the first time a writer asked me to post a review of their book on Amazon. I was terrified. Seriously! I mean, what did I know about writing reviews? And other people–strangers–would read what I said about someone else’s book? It was beyond intimidating, but I soldiered through.

These days I’ve grown comfortable writing reviews, and yet I realize there are other readers who are still like I used to be. Consequently, they keep their opinions to themselves. Others, perhaps, have never seen the need to write reviews of the books they enjoy.

Listening to writers (and any out there reading this, feel free to jump in and agree or disagree), I have come to the conclusion that receiving reviews makes a huge difference in how wide an audience a book reaches. Reviews, like blog tours, are replacing the back-yard buzz or the water-cooler chat that used to give one person a chance to tell others about the book they’d read and loved.

This is good news actually. In this era of the communication revolution, one person’s opinion reaches far more people today than fifteen, twenty years ago. In other words, stating your opinion has the potential to carry more influence than ever before.

Still, some people remain intimidated by the whole process. Since Spec Faith has added the review component to our library, I thought it might be helpful to look at writing reviews briefly, in the hopes that more readers will brave the waters of influence and post their thoughts here and elsewhere on the web.

First, what a review is not  (or ought not to be).

• A review is not a slam. A person writing a review should  not vilify either the book or the author.
• A review is not a sales pitch. At the same time, a reviewer is not a shill and should not praise the book for the sole purpose of pushing sales.
• A review is not generic. No one benefits from a review that could fit any book whatsoever.
• A review is not a novel. I admit I have trouble here, but the truth is, if a review goes on and on and on, people are less likely to read it–or read all of it. Consequently, it loses some of its impact.
• A review is not a synopsis. Generally what the story is about is available as part of the book description, so a detailed recap isn’t necessary. In addition, readers who don’t want to know the surprises or ending of a book may inadvertently learn more than they wish if a review simply retells the story.

Then what is a review?

• A review is an opinion, with reasons.

Yep, that’s pretty much it.

Of course, there are good reviews and there are … other ones. 😉

A good review, in my opinion, is balanced. Rarely are books all good or all bad, and yet one particular aspect of a story can color our views. Harry Potter is a quick and convenient example. Some people hearing that the stories were about wizards allowed that fact to color their view of the books, and they looked no further. So too for reviewers–there might be one aspect of the story or writing that caused them to feel strongly one way or the other.

I don’t think that’s bad or wrong or that a reviewer should shy away from telling such a fact. However, it’s good to be aware that not everyone will respond in the same way. Consequently, the kind of review that is most helpful doesn’t camp on just one aspect of a book–the one that caused the reviewer to love it or to hate it.

A balanced review, then, points out things that the reader liked and things they might have liked better: I liked the main character because she seemed real, but I would have liked the story better if there wasn’t so much description.

In my opinion, a good review also takes in mind for whom the book was intended. If a review said, “The story was juvenile” about The Three Little Pigs, he would, of course, be right. But being “juvenile” isn’t a bad thing for a story whose audience is, in fact, juveniles. 😀

Finally, a good review will give a reader recommendation. Who, in your opinion, will most like this book? It’s just the reviewer’s opinion, so there’s no right or wrong. But what a help for readers looking for the kinds of books they want to read!

Covers, titles, endorsements, back cover copy, even first pages can be deceptive, but if a review, and especially if multiple reviews, by readers who have finished the book, say it is perfect for a certain audience, then chances are the recommendation will sway those looking for that particular type of story.

So there you have it. Now what’s holding you back from submitting your reviews of Spec Faith library books? (I hope you’re saying, What, indeed? I need to write a review this very minute, so be on the look out for it! 😉 )

Last week I left open the possibility that we might add a second round to the first ever Spec Faith Writers’ Challenge, creating a poll for the entries that received the most thumbs up so that readers might decide which is their favorite.

I’m not closing the door to that possibility, but I realized that the entries posted later in the week need some time for readers to read them. After all, fifty-some comments are a lot to get through, and all the story-start entries deserve consideration. So next week I will either post the list of the entries receiving the most thumbs up or the poll where you can choose your favorite.

In the meantime, I hope you take a minute or two to read the challenge entries you haven’t looked at yet. Enjoy!