Before I launch into a reasoned, seasoned defense of speculative fiction, a little truth-in-advertising: I am a sci-fi/fantasy geek. Not the hard-core, dress-up-as-a-storm-trooper-at-Comicon type of geek. But from my earliest memories as an independent reader (that would be after the stage where my mother read Winnie the Pooh and The Odyssey to my brother and me, but before, say, grad school), I have nurtured a deep and abiding love for fictional worlds that are radically different from my own.

After I had conquered Ramona the Brave and the other Beverly Cleary books in 6^th and 7^th grade (I had a slow start as an independent reader), I remember plowing straight into the Penguin Classics 2 volume edition of Le Mort D’Arthur by Sir Thomas Malory. I spent hours with Ged traveling to the edge of Earthsea in Ursula Le Guin’s trilogy (it’s a quartet now). Ray Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles and Something Wicked This Way Comes warmed my heart and chilled my soul. Arthur C. Clarke, Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, Frank Herbert, Stephen R. Donaldson, I loved them all. And worse, I was an avid, no, rabid RPG gamer (mostly Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, but also I remember putting quite a lot of time into an obscure post-apocalyptic RPG called Aftermath!).

So when I say sci-fi/fantasy geek, I do have some street cred.

“I Wish I Could Open My Chest and Let the Snow Come In,” 2010, acrylic watercolor by the author’s daughter, Claire Elise Turnau, when she was 15.

So perhaps it will come as no surprise that someone like me would weigh in heavily on the side of speculative fiction. But why? Why do we love them so? Why are these fantastic worlds so magnetic? What do we find there? And what does this tell us about how Christians are to relate to culture, especially literary culture?

There are some Christians who believe that there is nothing of value to be found in speculative fiction. Though not as common an attitude as it used to be (thanks in no small part to Lewis and Tolkien, the canonized saints of Christian literature), you can still find a deep bias against science-fiction and fantasy. It’s not, you see, real literature. That is, it is not the kind of literature you’d find in The New Yorker, not populated by wan, nihilistic upper-middle class people with failing marriages and self-destructive tendencies.

In the late 1990s, the British bookstore Waterstone’s, the BBC, Nestlé, and several British newspapers ran a series of polls of the reading public in Great Britain. They asked them who they thought was the most influential (or their favorite) author of the century. Tolkien placed first in nearly all of the polls, coming in second only in the Nestlé poll, and that was to the Bible.¹ There was, predictably, much snarling and gnashing of teeth among academics about the waning influence of “proper literature” (Christians among them). How could a silly book filled with elves and dwarves be considered true literature? Is not such fiction simply escapist? Does it not simply serve as a way of avoiding the real world?

So here, in brief, is my reply about why speculative fiction is worth loving, even (especially) as a Christian.

First, speculative fiction gives the writer much more space to work in.

Some speculative fiction is utopian: it envisions a bright future of realized possibilities. Some is dystopian: it envisions a dark future of dashed hopes and dreams. And some is, for lack of a better word, paratopian: it envisions a world that isn’t necessarily better or worse, but different, with different rules, different cultural cues, different outcomes.

But the surprising thing about this increased space for storytelling is all the worlds end up populated with people. Not necessarily human beings. They could be aliens, or animals, or floating orbs of light. But they are all, to some extent, anthropomorphized. They are human beings spun different. And that is telling. As a Christian, this tells me that our shared humanity, our shared image of God, runs deep. So deep, in fact, that it can never quite be shook off. And that makes fiction of any kind a sort of moral and spiritual laboratory, as literary theorist Paul Ricoeur noted.²

In fact, it seems to me that speculative fiction’s increased space for storytelling makes it more effective as a moral and spiritual laboratory than the cramped quarters of “realistic fiction.” Just as a hadron collider needs miles and miles of territory to get really interesting results, the space afforded by speculative fiction allows authors and readers to explore imaginative territory not otherwise available. And if learning something about human nature is one of the reasons we create and read literature (and one of the chief reasons Christians should be interested in literature), then speculative fiction can do that at least as well, if not better, than more conventional modes of storytelling. The elf or alien may uncover human reality better than the Wall Street banker.

Second, the imaginative worlds of speculative fiction are enchanting. And that is no small thing.

The whole purpose of storytelling is to project imaginative worlds that invite the reader to come and dwell there, to learn to live and breathe and see and feel as an-other. And for my money, the more “other” the better!

This is not (simply) escapism. Rather, the very otherness of speculative fiction is a marker, a pointer to a simple fact about reality that often remains obscured in realistic fiction: the quotidian is not all there is.

The post-Enlightenment West has spread the myth far and wide that the physical world is all, and that the totality of what we may expect out of life is work, food, money, shelter, sex, vacations, and death. This is a lie, a demonic reduction of human life to its most mundane and trivial. We were made for so much more. We were made for glory, for basking in the reflected light of grandeur. Is it any wonder, then, why we gravitate towards epic narratives full of magic (whether wizardly or technological), full of heroism, full of ultimate significance?

Ted Turnau in Popologetics: “Popular culture, like any other facet of society, is a messy mixture of both grace and idolatry, and it deserves our serious attention and discernment.”

If our stories deny this in order to maintain the standard, fashionable bland atheism/nihilism, that hipness-unto-death that counts as “realism” in fiction, who then is truly being escapist? Give me otherness, give me magic swords and sorcery and aliens and ray guns and unleashed hope and terror that reaches beyond the bounds of this world. But don’t call it “escapism.” Call it, rather, a reminder of the real. Not all otherness is spiritually enriching, of course, but otherness as such (the very thing that offends the defenders of real literature) is a necessary ingredient for the Christian imagination. It reminds us of our true home, of the true nature of the battles we fight, of the victory we hope for.

There are probably other reasons I could adduce (not least of which would be the “Dr. Seuss Defense,” namely, that “These things are fun, and fun is good”).³ But I think these two – the space given to explore human nature, and the resonance of otherness – should suffice. Christians should not be ashamed to engage in flights of fancy, to enjoy fantastic worlds. In so doing, we can learn about ourselves, and remember our true home.

Ten years ago this summer Bethany House Publishers released my first novel Arena into a literary world of petticoats, bonnets and buggies. This explains its original pink and purple cover, an attempt perhaps to mitigate the fact that it was a significant departure from the usual run of Christian fiction. While Arena does include an element of romance, at heart it is an allegorical adventure with sometimes dark and violent scenes.

I’ve received a full spectrum of responses to it, from, “Fabulous!” “Best book I’ve ever read!” “Changed my relationship with God,” to the inevitable “This book is neither good nor Christian…” and “…contains much graphic horror and implied sexual abuses… not recommended as a positive experience for anyone seeking to grow closer to God.”

I understand that some readers are made very uncomfortable reading “graphic horror and implied sexual abuse,” but does that mean neither can ever be acceptable elements in Christian fiction, regardless of the purpose they might serve in that fiction? Should Christian authors of speculative fiction – or any fiction – refrain from putting “dark and violent things” into their novels as a matter of principle, out of consideration for these “weaker brothers?”

I say no. For one thing, no one can force someone to read a book. If you don’t like what you’re reading, stop reading it. If you don’t like what a particular author did, don’t read any more of that author’s books. It’s as simple as that.

Perhaps this sounds unkind, but in my view the purpose of writing fiction is to shed light on the human condition, with emphasis on how Christianity affects that condition. This won’t happen if we bar ourselves from actually presenting the human condition as it is.

We live in a fallen world, with fallen people and even as Christians saved by grace, we retain that old sinful flesh which sets itself against the Spirit and on occasion gets the better of us.  A single moment under fleshly influence can turn a good man into a murderer, and a good woman into an adulteress.  I can’t imagine why we should not write of such things, if only to warn others of how easily we all can be pulled down.

This is so, not merely because of our own weaknesses, but because we have enemies: unseen spiritual beings dedicated to blinding the minds of the unsaved and getting the saved distracted, confused, entangled, indifferent and defeated.  All of us, whether we know it or not, are engaged in an ongoing battle that won’t end until we die.

It is this battle I have been called to write about in allegorical form, and so, for me, portraying violence in my stories, sometimes graphically, goes with the territory. My allegories come in the form of action adventure, action that often involves violence.

Though some may object to this, I stand on the Bible’s teaching that violence is not wrong in and of itself. That, in fact, the use of righteous violence is necessary for the protection of our freedom from those who would take it through the use of evil violence.

Our unseen enemies, the fallen angelic host, have throughout history provoked the leaders of pagan nations to amass great armies in an attempt to invade and conquer first the nation of Israel, and later the succession of predominantly Christian nations that have arisen since the coming of Christ. Without a military force to stand against these invading armies, no one would be free to believe in Christ, to gather in worship, or to evangelize.

Crime, the domestic side of evil violence, has a similar effect if uncontrolled, thus, both hostile foreign nations and home grown criminals threaten the freedom of a country’s citizens.  Which is why I thank God for the soldiers and police officers who are even now defending our freedom to worship; and I’m grateful I live in a country where if it came down to it I would have the right to defend my own life with violence if need be.

Because ultimately the only way the evil violence in this world can be stopped or held at bay is through the use of a corresponding righteous violence.  I greatly enjoy stories of courageous men and women who are called to this sort of action.

A second area of prohibition in fiction concerns sexual sins. Is it really okay to have one’s characters sin in this area? Why not? People are sinners. Sinners sin. Why should sins of guilt, worry, judging, criticizing, arguing, arrogance, and whining and moaning about one’s lot in life be acceptable, but sexual sins out of bounds? To me it’s how the incident is handled, and what this particular sin’s purpose and place in the story is. Does the plot or the character’s spiritual growth (or backsliding) hinge on this failing? Will it ultimately serve to illuminate God’s grace? If it does, then it belongs in the story.

In the case of my second novel The Light of Eidon, that was very much the situation. My protagonist, who had formerly been an acolyte in a false religion, had to break every vow he’d made by the time he met up with the one true god Eidon. He had to have nothing left with which to win Eidon’s approval. I didn’t realize this at the first, however. And when I wrote the sequence of events leading up to the moment of sexual temptation, I fully intended for him to abstain.

But then as we got to the middle of it, knowing who he was – still an unbeliever at the time — and what he faced, I realized there was no way he’d choose abstinence. I also began to see just how many elements not only led into this action but away from it and in the end I knew I had to let him do it.

Even so I kept asking the Lord for another path; there would be readers who wouldn’t like what I’d done. He only made it clearer this was the way. So that’s how I wrote it and hindsight has only confirmed the rightness of my decision.

Finally, what about those nebulous “dark events?”   Well, if you’re writing a book about battling evil, where you must define it and in fact translate the invisible to a visible representation for the sake of a story, you’re going to have dark events.  The cool thing about darkness is that it’s the place where we can best see the light.

When we’re in a pit of despair, or fear, or hatred, or disaster… and God comes into these things with His light, His forgiveness, His power … we sit up and take notice. Sin and dark situations illuminate the need for God’s grace and power, and the fact He’s got both. We see it. We remember it. We learn from it in a deeply personal way.

We can also learn by reading about the experiences of others, even if those others are only make-believe.  Sometimes the darker the journey, the brighter the resolution and the more powerful the lesson.

Now should young children read books with all or even some of these potentially objectionable elements in them? Probably not. Most young children have no frame of reference for such things, particularly in the area of sexuality – in which case the first line of defense and information is the responsibility of the parent.

But when they do have the essential frame of reference and are old enough to understand what’s going on, why wouldn’t you want to reinforce the matter in fictional form?  What a fantastic opportunity to discuss what was done, why the character chose to do it, why it was wrong, what the consequences were in the story itself, and finally, to remind them of the ever available grace of God, no matter what the failing.

There is, then, a proper way of viewing and handling all three areas of potentially objectionable content – sex, violence and the so-called “dark events.”   I am convinced they have their place in speculative stories in particular, and can be used to great advantage to illuminate truth and teach it. They can also be used for the wrong reasons and serve the side of darkness; it depends on the message.  But they are not by any means something that should never appear in Christian fiction.

I would submit that they are in essence essential to my own interpretation of speculative fiction and my storytelling passion.  For in the end, God uses the wrath and failure of man to praise Him. Sin, evil violence and darkness will not stand before His  everlasting grace and righteousness and glory. In the end, they will all pass away, the final battle won, and we who have believed will live in the Light forever.

– – – – –

Karen Hancock writes Christian fantasy and science fiction. Her first novel, Arena has just been repackaged and re-released in paperback by Bethany House. She is currently working on her seventh novel, a science fantasy set on a distant planet whose underground civilization embodies the kingdoms of light and darkness as they vie for the allegiance of its citizens.

She has won Christy Awards for each of her first four novels–Arena and the first three books in the Legends of the Guardian-King series, The Light of Eidon, The Shadow Within, and Shadow over Kiriath.

Karen graduated from the University of Arizona with bachelor’s degrees in biology and wildlife biology. She enjoys sketching, blogging, reading, playing with her dog and making greeting cards. She and her husband reside in Arizona.

For discussion and further information, Karen invites you to visit her blog and her website.

It’s not our main mission, but here at Speculative Faith we spend a fair amount of time debunking myths (and sometimes plain lies) that Christians believe about stories. So it’s almost refreshing to have one kind come along that I can whole-heartedly condemn.

Moreover, I don’t even need to work hard at the condemnation.

Don’t be such a legalist. Come on in. The “water” is fine.

Why are big-city bookstores putting displays of overt immorality up front? Even they don’t do the same for magazines or videos featuring naked people. Why did I see a copy lying face-up, unhidden, on a woman’s desk in a professional office environment? No man would leave similar material on his work desk or computer screen. Why the double standard?

Furthermore, why are professing Christian readers, mostly women, reading and enjoying the pornographic novel Fifty Shades of Grey, and are overtly defending this practice?

This is worse than Harry Potter hysteria or angst over supposed witchcraft in stories. And it’s not even a slightly trickier issue, like a TV series such as Game of Thrones or a movie such as Titanic that does show naked people but also have other things going on. It’s not even a “romance” novel that merely contains sex scenes. The book I’m talking about is plain sin, impure and simple. That’s its only intent. What’s so difficult about discerning it as such?

First, Scripture itself refutes the lie that any practice is by default “neutral”:

[…] Whatever does not proceed from faith is sin.

Romans 14:23

Note: this applies even to things that are, by themselves, not sin-causing! How much more does this apply to something utterly un-redemptive!

[Paul quotes the equivalent of Corinthian advertising slogans] “All things are lawful for me,” but not all things are helpful. “All things are lawful for me,” but I will not be dominated by anything. “Food is meant for the stomach and the stomach for food”—and God will destroy both one and the other. The body is not meant for sexual immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body. And God raised the Lord and will also raise us up by his power. Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ? Shall I then take the members of Christ and make them members of a prostitute? Never!

1 Corinthians 6: 12-15

Note: Paul, inspired by the Spirit, never condemns us being exposed to violence or swearing or false beliefs — he only condemns exposure to sexual immorality.

Again I can cheat, by quoting the Biblical wisdom of friends, other bloggers, and Christian reviewers who have challenged this disturbing trend. It also helps that they’re women.

From fantasy novelist (and Speculative Faith contributor) Morgan Busse:

What makes a book filled with descriptive sex any different than pornography? Both are visually stimulating. Both contain graphic content. And both are addictive.

[…]

I write this post as a call to Christian women. For some, it is a warning about books like these. I stumbled into these kinds of books when I was a young girl and wish I had never opened the covers. I had no idea books with graphic sex existed. I had been taught that to look at naked people in photos was wrong, but not about books with naked people. So as a fellow Christian woman to another, I am warning you now that these books exist, and to be careful with what you read.

[…] Reading books like these is no different than your husband sitting down with the latest Playboy. How would you feel if you saw him do it? How do you think he would feel about your book?

From homeschool mom and anti-unbiblical-“patriarchy” advocate Karen Campbell:

There are other reasons Christian women are reading and recommending this series of books without thought to how they are opening the door wide open for husbands to look at porn and children to allow “naughtiness,” ie, fornication and perversion, into their own lives. In a sex saturated culture where commercials for hamburgers and back to school clothing at Penny’s threaten the purity of the marriage bed, lust is never satisfied. Perhaps the simple beauty of a married and committed one man, one woman relationship seems boring if not antiquated but we are foolish to think so.

From Dannah Gresh at TrueWoman.com:

Fifty Shades of Grey is classified as erotic fiction. According to one online dictionary, this genre of literature is defined as that which has “no literary or artistic value other than to stimulate sexual desire.” I’ve been studying what God says about sexuality for fifteen years. According to Him, there is only one who should stimulate sexual desire in me: my husband. Since that’s God’s plan for my sexual desire, anything other than my husband creating arousal in me would be missing the mark of God’s intention. (Translation: It is sin.)

We could end the discussion here: It’s sin. Don’t do it.

Someone might say, and the thought has also occurred to me: “Being tempted isn’t a sin, only following that temptation. So I could read this, take the good parts, and not really sin.”

That’s fine, just so long as I could also enjoy some porn movies, take the “good parts” and “not sin.” Wish me and other Christian men good luck, because that’s all the good we’ll have with that — God’s goodness and glory wouldn’t be the aim of such debauchery. Also, women can see through such stupid excuse-making a mile away. Let’s be consistent here.

Apart from that, during a recent discussion, friend and SF contributor Adam Ross helped clarify the difference between temptation and sin, relating to pornographic fiction:

I’m reading an awful lot here that confuses temptation and sin. […] Looking at porn is not the temptation but the sin. The temptation is the desire or thought of opening up a browser window and typing in an address. When you do that, you’ve crossed over into enacting the temptation. This confusion clearly illustrates the pressing need to address temptation in the Church, I think.

Much tastier and with fewer contaminants (that is, unless the replicators glitch).

Finally, perhaps the best commentary on the subject comes from my friend, Christian:

I’d prefer Fifty Shades of Earl Grey.

“Tea. Earl Gray. Hot.” That’s a kind of heat anyone (tea lovers, anyway) can appreciate with pure motives.

Now for questions.

1. What are your thoughts about this book and “erotic fiction”?
2. What story or kind of story have you read and later regretted?
3. What books or even genres do you, right or wrong, consider irredeemable?

(Note: because of last Saturday’s cancellation of the live Reading Group at my church, that series will continue next week.)

Break out your Greek lexicons, y’all!

Today, The Legend of Intaglio comes to its astonishing resolution. You will be amazed, or relieved. It would behoove you, dear reader, to do a quick review of Parts 1-6 lest the in-jokes and other references to earlier scenes and characters sail over your head and be lost forever.

Or, you might have forgotten what this story is all about, since it’s dragged on so long.

Anyhow, when we left our intrepid hero, Intaglio, the animated, authorial marionette who’s “got no strings to hold him down,” he had been swallowed by a gigantic marine monster (a sea creature, not a member of the Corps) during an ill-fated attempt to escape the deceptively-named Total Freedom Island by swimming back to the Italian mainland. He swirled down into darkness, his fate uncertain.

And now, the conclusion…presented without accompanying illustrations in the electrifying three-dimensional brilliance of Your Own Imagination!

———————–

Intaglio drifted in and out of consciousness. He was in a dark, damp place, and voices echoed above him against a background of strange clacking and whooshing noises.

“I hate this. I was nearly dried out, and now I’m soaked again.”

“On the bright side, I think I’m getting better at holding my breath.”

“Speak for yourself. How is he?”

“I don’t know. Ah, he’s coming around. Intaglio? Intaglio, can you hear me?”

His waterlogged wooden brain found the voice familiar, and hung onto it for dear life. “Wha? Who? Papa Giuseppe?”

“Yes, it’s me, my boy. I’m so happy to see you. I’ve been searching for you ever since the University sent word that you hadn’t arrived.”

“Oh, Papa, I’ve been such a fool. I’ll find a job and pay back every cent of my tuition, I promise.”

“Don’t worry your little wooden head over that. The Chancellor is holding your place in next year’s class. He said it would be a shame for you to miss Rush Week, whatever that is. I thought you’d gotten lost on the way to school, or worse, but you’re safe now.”

Intaglio was wet through and barely able to move. He was lying on his back in a broad chamber shrouded in darkness. Faint illumination was provided by some phosphorescent material encrusting the walls and a small circle of light overhead. “You call this safe? Where are we?” His eyes began to adjust, and the silhouettes hovering over him came into focus as two worried faces. “Marge, is that you?”

“Yes, and I don’t call this safe either. This thing wrecked my raft and swallowed me. Giuseppe was already inside.”

The old cabinetmaker nodded. “You see, I heard a rumor from some orphans in Milan that you were searching for this awful island. I couldn’t afford the price of the ferry, so I borrowed a dinghy and rowed here myself. I’d no sooner passed the harbor breakwater when this contraption gobbled me up, dinghy and all.”

“Contraption?”

“It’s a clockwork mechanism in the shape of a whale. Something like a gigantic bathtub toy. I’m still trying to figure out how it works. The movement is simple enough…a spring-powered bellows pushes air through a series of pipes, making it move and pumping the water out whenever the jaws open. Can’t for the life of me understand how it knows there’s something nearby to eat, though.”

“It’s magic,” Intaglio murmured with awed reverence.

“Yes, it has to be magic,” said Marge. “There’s no other possible explanation.”

Giuseppe scratched his head. “But how does it stay wound? It would take a giant the size of a house to turn the key or whatever winds it up.”

“Magic,” Intaglio and Marge whispered in unison.

“Yes, well, anyhow, it seems to patrol the harbor continuously, swimming in a large circle. If someone comes to collect whatever it’s swallowed, we haven’t seen them yet.”

Marge shivered. “We need to get out of here before they show up. I’m not going back to that island.”

“Me neither,” said Intaglio. “I’m just glad we escaped before they turned Marge into a wombat and me into a tourist attraction.”

“And I almost didn’t make it out in time. I’ve got gray fur growing on my legs. I’ll have to shave every day if we ever get out of here.”

Intaglio struggled to sit up, but failed. “It was too late for me. My joints are nearly frozen, and it’s getting harder to think. I wrote too many lousy pre-formatted stories. I betrayed the Writing Fairy, and now I’ll never become a real writer. I’m nothing but a stupid, vain puppet who didn’t appreciate the gift she gave me.”

Giuseppe squeezed his hand. “Don’t give up hope, Intaglio. We’ll get out of this somehow, and I’ll fix you up myself. You’ll always be my son, no matter what happens.”

“Maybe we could ride out on the dinghy when the whale opens its mouth again.”

“There’s no way to know when it will open its mouth, and besides, we tried that last time.” Marge sighed. “The current rushing in is too strong.”

“What if we could make it stop swimming in circles? Is there a way to steer it? Make it go where we want?”

Giuseppe thought for a moment. “It’s possible. I think I understand the clockwork well enough to make the necessary adjustments, but we have no way to steer. We can’t see what direction we’re going. “

“What about the round opening up there?”

“That’s the air intake. It’s too small to fit through, even if we could reach it.”

“Use my head.”

“What?”

“Use my head. Unscrew it from my body and lift it through the opening on a stick. It’s small enough to fit.”

Giuseppe’s eyes widened in horror. “No! Your head wasn’t designed to come off. I’d have to break your neck. It might kill you.”

“I’m nearly dead already. We have to get you and Marge to safety. Just do it. I’ve taken off my arms and legs lots of times. I’ll be okay, at least until what’s left of the life within me runs out. There’s not much time, and this is our only chance. You have to hurry.”

So, Giuseppe and Marge did as he asked. Marge lashed Intaglio’s severed head to the makeshift mast left over from her shattered raft and hoisted it through the hole. As Intaglio shouted instructions, Giuseppe fiddled with the air valves, gears, and cables that drove the clockwork whale’s tail, and they returned to the mainland and the decrepit port of Lucretia in record time. A few grizzled eyebrows lifted among the stocking-capped, striped-shirted seadogs sprawled about the dock when they emerged from the whale’s gaping maw (which Giuseppe had figured out how to open on command) and tied it to a convenient mooring post. After that, it was a simple matter to catch a ride back home to Giuseppe’s little village on a passing merchant’s wagon.

But Intaglio’s life was nearly spent by the time they arrived. Giuseppe carried him into their cottage, and Marge arranged him on the sofa as best she could. He was battered and twisted, and his head didn’t quite mate up with his neck.

“Wow, he looks like ten miles of bad road this time.” The cricket was perched on a nearby credenza, grooming his antennae. The observation was less than helpful.

As Giuseppe knelt before the broken puppet, tears streaming from his eyes, a blue glow flooded the room, and the beautiful Writing Fairy appeared in all her glittering glory. “Intaglio,” she sang out in a voice melodious as a choir of flutes, “You have been brave, selfless, and true. I will fulfill my promise and make you a real writer.”

He could barely manage a groan. “But…I betrayed you. I wrote…all those awful stories…trying to get rich. I didn’t… stay true…to the stories you gave me. Like I promised.”

“Oh, that? Intaglio, every writer produces more failures than successes. It’s all part of the creative process. There are many false starts, plastic characters, trite conflicts, and ill-considered plots. Sometimes you must write your worst to appreciate your best. I gave you life so that you might become a writer, and a writer you shall be.”

The Writing Fairy waved her wand over the jumble of parts that had been Intaglio. The blue light surged, and then vanished just as it became unbearable, punctuated by a puff of white smoke.

Intaglio felt an electric jolt of life surge through his body. He blinked and looked down at himself. His limbs were straight, and his joints felt like new again, but something was very wrong. “Hey!  I’m still made of wood! You said you were going to make me a real writer!”

“And so you are. Did you expect me to make you human? Flesh and blood? Oh, Intaglio, you silly little puppet. Even magic can’t do that. Perhaps you can write a story about it. You have a wonderful imagination, if I do say so myself. Ta, ta!”

“Hold on! Wait a minute! My head’s still separated from my body!”

It was too late. The fairy had already faded away, leaving behind a wispy cloud of twinkling blue dust that set Marge to sneezing.

“Sheesh. Fairies. I always thought that one was a little flaky.” The cricket hopped to the vestibule of Giuseppe’s cottage and wriggled under the door. “Back to the lettuce patch for me. See ya around, puppet boy.”

Giuseppe picked up Intaglio’s head and straightened his little alpine cap. “Now that you’re not on the brink of death, I can fix this with five minutes on the lathe and a little glue. You’ll be good as new, son.”

“Thank you, Papa. Wait…what’s a lathe?”

Giuseppe ignored the question, which was probably just as well. He gave Marge a hug. “And what about you, young lady? You’re welcome to stay—I’m in need of an apprentice, and woodworking pays well.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’ve still got a writing dream of my own. I have a couple of cousins in Venice. Maybe I can find some inspiration there.” She turned to Intaglio. “Come visit me someday. My cousins don’t know diddly about writing, and they have no sense of humor.”

“I will. Goodbye, Marge. Thanks for everything.”

Marge gave Intaglio a little kiss on the cheek and went her way, closing the door gently behind her.

Intaglio stared at the door for a few moments, then squared his shoulders and looked up at Giuseppe. “Papa, I’m going to be your apprentice.”

“But what about your writing?”

“Even if I’m successful, writing doesn’t pay very much, so I’ll need a day job. Besides, I know a little something about wood already, and I’ve got the best craftsman in Italy to help me.”

“Very well, but you’re still going to school next September. Any apprentice of mine must know how to conjugate his verbs, backward and forward.”

And so, they all lived happily ever after. Most of them. Intaglio earned his Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree and became both a master woodworker and a master wordsmith. He wrote about the adventures of a group of children who traveled to a wondrous land of talking animals via a magical chest-of-drawers, and gained wide acclaim, though he had to write under a pseudonym because the world beyond Northern Italy wasn’t prepared to accept the idea of a living puppet. Most people assumed he was a semi-retired Professor of Medieval Literature and didn’t worry much about it.

Guiseppe got the son and protégé he’d always wanted, and they traded off writing his newspaper column, which gave him more time for his secret passion, fishing.

Marge eventually gave up writing altogether, and made a fortune in the cabbage market. She founded a charitable organization to encourage orphan authors and remained good friends with Intaglio and Giuseppe her entire life.

The children-turned-wombats recovered from their affliction once they stopped receiving the Coachman’s evil potion. They went on to become remarkably humble and circumspect members of society.

The Coachman was arrested by the Carabinieri and hoist on his own petard, so to speak. He spent the remainder of his life in the Naples Zoo as “The World’s Largest Wombat.”

The Sardinian gold miners took up musical theater and found it a much more satisfying pastime than reading fairy-tale mash-ups written by exploited children.

The ferryman still carries passengers between Lucretia and Total Freedom Island, which is now known as Wombat Island. It’ll cost you two gold ducats for a ride, what with the state of the economy. Hey, even a ghostly apparition has to make an after-living.

The cricket was last seen decimating the lush lettuce fields of the Po River Valley with his lovely wife and 6000 offspring.

Despite a year-long manhunt, Little Vinnie and Big Guido were never found, but it’s rumored they stowed away on a tramp steamer to Australia and founded a vanity press there.

The Writing Fairy heard about the broken carnival attraction in Sicily and brought all its puppets to life. They staged a revolution, escaped the carnival, and spread across the world, writing the most wonderful stories.

Including this one.

————————

Writers are interesting people. Now that readers have more access to them, as Lyn Perry pointed out in his guest post last Friday, we aren’t satisfied with enjoying a good book; we also want to know about this fascinating person behind it.

From time to time, then, I hope to introduce various speculative authors to the visitors here at Spec Faith, starting with Nathan David Wilson. Publishing as N. D. Wilson, Nate writes middle grade fantasy for the general market, including the well-loved Cupboards Trilogy. His most recent release is the much acclaimed The Dragon’s Tooth, first in the Ashtown Burials series, which received starred reviews from Publisher’s Weekly, Booklist, and School Library Journal. The paperback edition is due out next month.

Nate was a middle child and only boy, born to “Jesus People hippies” who over time became Presbyterians. Through “accidental” circumstances, his father took on the role of pastor, one he maintained, and eventually was instrumental in starting a school with an emphasis on classical education. Literally Nate grew up listening to C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien while sitting in his highchair.

No surprise, then, that he writes fantasy undergirded by Scottish legends and G. K. Chestertonian humor.

Are his stories “Christian fiction”? I suspect he would be quick to say, No.

My religious beliefs are part of who I am, so they influence everything I do. But I wasn’t setting out to write a religious story. I wanted to write a good one. Of course, what I think is good is informed by my beliefs. (from “My Interview with N. D. Wilson” by Robin D. Fish)

Nevertheless, he has strong opinions about what he hopes for his stories.

Christians believe that this world is so much more than a mechanical soulless machine. And yet, we tend to tell our children stories that (we hope) will only speak to their intellects. We want to give them a list of facts to tick off… We feed their souls sawdust and are surprised when they drift away to other cooks (with different tales about reality).

Kids (and adults) don’t just need the truth in their heads — they need it in their bones. (from “Stories are Soul Food: Don’t Let Your Children Hunger,” N. D. Wilson)

Although his novels are children’s books, Nate recognizes that a good portion of his audience is adult, and he’s comfortable with that. His hope regarding children is that his books will be a part of their process of discovering the wonder of this world, something adults may need as well:

I write kids’ books because I can tell the Truth, and the Truth is that The Real is throbbingly fantastic… I want to paint a picture of this world that is accurate (if impressionistic), and I don’t want a single young reader to grow up and look back on me as the peddler of sweet youthful falsehoods. I want them to get a world vision that can grow and mature and age with them until, like all exoskeletons, it must be cast aside—not as false, but as a shallow introduction to things even deeper and stranger and more wonderful. (from “Children’s Books, Truth, and Adultish Readers,” N. D. Wilson)

Besides fiction, Nate has written various pieces of non-fiction, including a controversy-stirring article “Why Hunger Games is Flawed to Its Core” for The Gospel Coalition six weeks ago.

In 2005 he received national attention for announcing in a Books & Culture magazine article that he had made a near-duplicate of the Shroud of Turin. His “experiment” which called into question the authenticity of the relic “caused some uproar in the Shroud of Turin world.” (See Wikipedia)

When he’s not writing, and I suspect, even while he is, Nate plays the roles of husband and dad. He’s married to Heather, “a surfer girl from Santa Cruz, California,” and they have five children who benefit from private sessions of his story telling.

In 1999 he graduated from New Saint Andrews College, then two years later attained a Master’s degree in Liberal Arts from Saint John’s College in Annapolis, Maryland, where he served as a lecturer before becoming a Fellow in 2004. Later he joined the faculty of New Saint Andrews College as the Fellow of Literature and Professional in Residence.

Besides his novels and non-fiction articles, Nate has a book of apologetics (Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl, Thomas Nelson), several spoofs, and as reported by Justin Taylor has been “tapped as the screenwriter for the film adaption of C. S. Lewis’s classic The Great Divorce.”

In his interview with Taylor last year, Nate addressed the issue of representing Lewis’s story faithfully:

Any nervous fans out there should know that I’m as dog-loyal to Lewis and his vision as any writer could be. Where I’m adding and expanding and shaping, I am constantly trying to check myself against Lewis’ broader imagination as represented in his collected works—not simply this little volume. (from “An Interview with N.D. Wilson on Screenwriting The Great Divorce,” Justin Taylor)

As if that wasn’t enough, his own novel 100 Cupboards is currently in its own development for movie production.

You can learn more about Nate by visiting his web site and blog, by finding him at Facebook or following him on Twitter.

If you have friends or family who might be interested in learning about N. D. Wilson and his work, please share this article on your favorite social media venue. 😉

Last time we explored two extreme views of discerning stories: setting up fuzzy, arbitrary boundaries that are based on tradition, hearsay, and legalism/moralism, versus setting up few to no boundaries. In part 2 of this new series, we’ll delve deeper into the assumption behind those extremes — and notice I said assumption. Despite the fact that these views seem opposite, there is a common view underlying them both. And it’s not a Biblical one.

All Christians may agree that we live in an evil world. In the midst of this evil world, parents long to protect to their children from evil influences, and rightfully so. Yet how do they do this? Often by choosing between those two sincere, but unbiblical extremes:

1. Always or usually shelter.
2. Never or rarely shelter.

Here’s what I mean. Some Christian parents try to shelter their children. They believe they can protect their children from this evil world by enacting boundaries, extremely limiting their children’s interaction with the world around them. Other Christian parents believe children should be free to explore this world — free to fail, but free to choose good as well.

But although these two beliefs seem to be opposites, they are merely two fruits of the same presupposition: The Christian parent who always shelters and the Christian parent who never shelters both believe their children are innocent, good, or neutral.

The “over-shelterers” long to protect their children from outside evil because they believe the “garbage in, garbage out” maxim — that if they put evil into their children, they will see evil coming out. The “under-shelterers” long for their children’s freedom because they believe their children are wise or good enough to make the “right” choices if uninhibited.

The answer for both extremes is not to take a little from one and a little from another, or to overcorrect for one or the other. The answer is to correct an unbiblical presupposition.

Buying the serpent’s lie

These truths should be familiar to Christians, but it’s vital to review if we hope to clean out the “garbage” we have believed about our children’s — and our own! — real problem.

The Bible does not teach that children are born innocent, good, or neutral, but that they’re born sinners (Rom. 3:23), who need a Savior (John 14:6). God  always meant man to be dependent on His Word, even before his Fall into sin (Gen. 2). Though God created Adam and Eve perfect, He never meant them to be independent of Him and His guidance.

That’s how mankind fell into sin — not by hearing Satan, and not by eating a wicked fruit, but by desiring independence from God. The Serpent told Eve, “For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” (Gen. 3:5). But Eve, and later Adam, believed the Serpent’s words and wanted to be like God themselves. This was their desire. And if one is “like God,” then one no longer needs God.

Thus, parents who either believe they can shelter their children without the Word of God, or who believe their children can make godly choices apart from the Word of God, have both bought into the Serpent’s lie: “[Our children] will not surely die” (Gen. 3:4).

That’s the lie many of us have bought. Now for the truth that comes from God’s salvation.

Believing the Scripture’s truth

Instead of assuming our children can have life apart from God’s Word, whether through our supposedly perfect protection or their own supposedly perfect “innocence,” Christians should pursue a middle path. Here, we do “shelter” children, based on the Word and their levels of personal discernment, only until they are able to completely fend for themselves.

As children grow in discernment, parents must gradually provide them freedom, preparing them to be a discerning Christian adult.

Christian parents must also remember: parenting is the process of raising adults, not the process by which we coddle children. Christian parenting’s goal is to raise future citizens — husbands and wives, fathers and mothers — not prolong adolescence.

In Deuteronomy 6, God was clear about how Israel would continue in multi-generational faithfulness. He said parents must teach their children God’s Word from sun-up to sun-down. The same is true for His Church. Our answer to our children’s sin-problem is not completely sheltering them from outside influences, or giving them complete freedom to exercise “innocence.” Instead we must encourage their utter dependence on God, His Word, His Son’s finished work, and the Holy Spirit’s application of these truths in our daily lives.

To raise one’s children to be Christian adults, parents must gradually transition their children from child-like discernment to adult/Christ-like discernment. This is a transitional phase, a process that leads from more “sheltering” to less, based on the child’s maturity.

But let’s not wrongly conclude the growing child is therefore not sheltered at all! Instead, we trust God Himself to protect the maturing child — just as He protected you and me, teaching us His lessons in His sovereign plan and even through our failures, when we began to drive, or went to college, or started our families.

How might this work in practice? Scripture is not silent in answering, though often we must practice wisdom in applying God’s general guidelines — true Gospel fruits — to our specific children and situations. We may also find wisdom in classic education methods, which are based on Scriptures that encourage mind-renewal transformation (Rom. 12: 1-2), and eating solid food so we may possess “powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil” (Hebrews 5:14). We’ll continue exploring that, next time.

(Editing and additional writing by E. Stephen Burnett.)

“Speculative Fiction with a Spiritual Thread” – edited by Lyndon Perry

In this new world of e-publishing, self-publishing, and the like, there is exciting news for readers: greater access to new and favorite authors.

Sports business owners know something about increasing the popularity of their franchise. If you want to build brand loyalty, then you need to allow fans to meet and greet their favorite players. Whether you pay extra to schmooze with the stars or stick around after the game for an autographed baseball, knowing you can ‘reach out and touch’ your favorite player is a thrilling experience. And a franchise that encourages that personal touch builds good will within a community, extends the fan base, and fosters long term interest in the home team.

Writers, too, want loyal fans and long term interest in their projects.

Often, writers forget that they are in business for themselves. Writers are “employing” agents, editors, and yes, even publishers to move their product to their fans, the readers of their books. They need to reach out to the ones who are spending their hard earned cash and build or maintain that loyal fan base. This new world of publishing and social media can help facilitate all this.

Now blockbuster authors typically needn’t worry about such things. As long as they don’t embarrass themselves too publicly, readers have come to expect that traditionally published authors are basically inaccessible to them. Readers will buy their books regardless. Their name brand has power in and of itself. Sadly, many readers have bought into the myth that legacy published authors are special. Don’t touch. Don’t approach. Admire from afar. Oooh.

That’s ridiculousness, of course. Writers and readers go together like an alien-human symbiot. We need each other. And here small press or self-published writers have realized they are at a big advantage over big-time traditionally published authors. They must interact with their fans if they want to earn enough to eat. This is an advantage, really. It provides a huge motivation for writers to interact with those who, fingers crossed, will buy their books.

The “Indie” Advantage

The new world of publishing has opened up amazing opportunities for reader/writer interaction.

• Accessibility – Fans can “meet” writers online and connect with their favorite authors on a more personal level.
• Feedback – Writers get energized when fans compliment, praise, and review their books.
• More Books Faster – Gone are the days when you had to wait a year or two between books in a favorite series. Fast writers (people who can pen 500 to 1000 words a day! yes, that’s considered fast) can release a novella or shorter book every month or so. This is great for fans and great for writers as it means more potential income.

What other advantages can you think of that social media and electronic publishing has brought about?

Tips to Fans

Of course, this unprecedented connectivity with writers is something to protect and should be handled with care. Here is some basic Miss Mannerly advice.

• Be Patient – Social media doesn’t mean instant response. Don’t get mad if a writer doesn’t tweet you back within 30 seconds. She’s writing!
• Be Positive – Have something beneficial (and substantive) to say.
• Be Polite – If you disagree with something on their blog, or point out a typo in their manuscript, do so with grace.
• Don’t Stalk – In other words, don’t stalk.

Can you think of other tips for readers when interacting with a writer?

Tips to Writers

If you’re a writer and you want loyal, long term fans, here are some ideas.

• Answer your dang emails. I’ll email other writers/publishers and they blow me off. There are just too many writers out there trying to build a fan base for this to happen. If I can’t “connect” with you, I’ll just move on. I don’t need to read your book.
• Respond to comments. You have a blog, don’t you? Then take time to read and reply.
• Update your blog. If you’re in the middle of a project, let people know about it. Many writers have progress bars in a sidebar so readers know how close they are to finishing the next novel. Fans love that. They want to know if a new book is on the way.
• Don’t over-promote. Write more, tweet less. Which can be one disadvantage to all this connectivity. More fan interaction may take away from writing time, which is why writers have readers in the first place. It’s a conundrum. I guess writers will just learn to deal with it.

What other tips would you suggest?

It is a brave new world of publishing out there. All the better for readers and writers alike, in my opinion.

– – – – –

Lyndon Perry writes a variety of speculative fiction, from SF and fantasy to mystery and spiritual thriller. As a middle school Language Arts teacher, he encourages (okay, requires) his students to read at least 25 books during the school year and to write in their journals daily. He hopes to keep up with them!

Perry is also the founding editor of Residential Aliens, a magazine of spiritually infused speculative fiction online at ResAliens.com. He is also the editor of Fear & Trembling Magazine, an online venue of spiritual horror. As the owner of ResAliens Press, his goal is to publish stories that, while not necessarily religious, are truthful to the human condition and touch on themes that are eternal. Visit Lyn at Residential Aliens, Fear and Tremblings Magazine, or his personal blog; friend him at Facebook or Goodreads, and follow him on Twitter.

Ever wish someone made a method for specific, temporary amnesia? That was my thought when C.S. Lewis, introducing Aslan, said “none of the children knew who Aslan was any more than you do,” but of course I did — and wish I could read this again for the first time.

Re-reading chapter 7 again with my wife, I also realized this obvious truth: at some time, in the past, there was only one Chronicle of Narnia. Imagine that. For us, the stories are simply there. They’ve grown in place, like a volunteer maple tree whose origin we missed. And in the years since the Chronicles have seeded countless other fantasy stories.

Moreover, Lewis’s classics have contributed to many readers’ understandings of Aslan — the supposal, as Lewis said, of how Christ would work in a world like Narnia, if it were real.

Chapter 7: A Day with the Beavers

1. Ever notice how some chapter titles give away what happens in the material? Thinking about it, would you (if you were younger) be grateful for this “spoiler,” or disappointed?
2. Lewis describes how each of the children felt upon first hearing the name “Aslan” (page 67). What is your reaction to their reactions? What does each reaction show about the character — beyond perhaps the clearest example of Edmund’s “mysterious horror”?
3. It’s difficult to explain this kind of reaction, Lewis says, yet he gives an example from the world of dreaming. Does that help you imagine it better?
4. Notice how Lewis takes us inside each of the children’s minds. How is that similar to other books in which the author is “omniscient”? How is it unlike other stories in which the author is only limited to one person’s thoughts or perspectives at a time?
5. Lewis spends a lot of time describing the land through which the children walk, the frozen river, the Beavers’ house, and especially the dinner they prepare. Why so much time? Do you feel like you want to move on past parts like this and get to more of the plot itself? Or do you like “relaxing,” in a way, and imagining the world and its food?

Chapter 8: What Happened After Dinner

1. For the second time, we hear that the Witch can turn creatures and people into stone. Why do you believe this is the Witch’s power? Why not turn them into snow or ice, or simply kill them? What do you think it would be like to be turned into stone? While it’s not a pleasant thought, how does picturing that nastiness “raise the stakes” of the story?
2. Why do the children want so badly to hear about who Aslan is (page 78)?
3. Why does Mr. Beaver assume the children would already know about Aslan?
4. Here’s a vital question for this series: who is Aslan? Is he the same as Jesus Christ? Is he an “allegory” for Jesus Christ? Or is Aslan something else entirely? Who would we ask?
5. I have read the opinions of people who don’t like the fact that Aslan spends time away from Narnia, and only just now returns after the land suffered 100 years of winter. Do you think they have a point? Is that similar to, or unlike, how Jesus works in our world?
6. Mr. Beaver is confident the White Witch can do nothing to stop Aslan. Is he right about Aslan? Is this another way in which Aslan of Narnia is similar to Jesus of our world?
7. Mr. Beaver’s line about Aslan (from page 80) is famous: “Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” Later we learn that it’s said Aslan is “not a tame lion.” Is this true, or false, or a mixture? How might we know?
8. Some don’t like the idea of Aslan being unsafe. They’d prefer him being a “tame lion” who stays near to help with their problems. Is that a right view? Do you feel that way?
9. After all this great theology, we run into something very strange (on page 81). Mr. Beaver says the White Witch “comes of your father Adam’s … first wife, her they called Lilith.” What in the world does this come from? (Answer: Jewish mysticism about Adam having a wife before Eve, called Lilith.) Why doesn’t the author say this is incorrect?
10. Or is it incorrect? We now know the White Witch comes from a land called Charn, but that doesn’t mean the “Lilith” lineage notion is untrue. How do you interpret this?

http://wedgwoodcircle.com/news/articles/sometimes-fairy-stories-may-say-best-whats-to-be-said/