I just returned from a long work trip, so writing time is in short supply as I catch up on all the stuff that piled up while I was gone. Rather than submit a story or a piece of original commentary this week, I’d like to direct you to an interesting discussion I stumbled across at Schlock Mercenary, a webcomic written and illustrated by the talented Howard Tayler.

Schlock Mercenary is a space opera, a Star Trek-ish story of the adventures and mis-adventures of a band of spacefaring soldiers of fortune. You can read my review at *this link.* It’s been nominated for a Hugo Award the past couple of years, and Tayler is a popular guest at SF&F conventions worldwide.

He also happens to be a Mormon, an active member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and though there’s no obvious Mormon content in Schlock Mercenary, Tayler’s perfectly comfortable acknowledging and talking about his faith community. The other day, he addressed a question he gets with some regularity: Why do so many Mormons write genre (speculative) fiction?

Here’s part of his response:

This may be the wrong question. It’s probably better to ask “why does it seem like Mormons are better represented among genre-fiction writers than are other denominational demographics?” That question is one that a good statistician can start digging up data on, and it’s possible that the data will yield facts like “Mormons are NOT better represented, but they’re more visibly denominational.”

But that’s not where most people like to go with this question. Most people like to hypothesize that something in the nature of Latter-Day Saint beliefs, something intrinsic to Mormon doctrine makes an authorial career in one of the escapist genres appealing. Some folks suggest that after having wrapped their brains around the acceptance of modern-day prophets and golden books of scripture, Mormons are somehow better at writing Science Fiction and Fantasy than the average person.

It is not difficult to find this hypothesis offensive. Occasionally non-Mormons present it in a condescending manner, as if to say “you’re already a little crazy, you might as well make a career out of it.” More than a few Mormons present it rather self-righteously, as if to proclaim that anyone adhering to a set of teachings purporting to enable exaltation in the eternities must needs be really good at world-building here in mortality.

Please, please, please read the whole thing at *this link,* and also the background article he cites at *this link* before engaging in discussion, and please stick to the high road…I’m not after a critique of Mormon doctrine here, I’d like to hear your thoughts on this issue of whether there is a Mormon advantage in writing spec-fic, and if so, what’s its source, and is there anything we could learn and apply from Mormon writers? Just like in sports, when you scout the competition, you come away not only with a better idea of their weaknesses, you usually pick up a few plays you’d like to try yourself.

Anyhow, I think it’s an interesting issue to examine, given the prevailing level of angst in our community about writing and publishing Christian fiction, and the perceived lack of understanding/support/enthusiasm for spec-fic on our side of the fence.

Turning the corner slightly, I want to move from how a writer writes (see “Good Versus Mediocre” and “Another Look At Good Versus Mediocre”) and how a reader reads (see “Readers, Writers, And What Each Understands”) to what a reader reads.

Once again the question about speculative fiction, specifically science fiction and fantasy, in the Christian market has raised its head. The “speculative fiction doesn’t sell” mantra has slipped into several blogs, but this time it’s accompanied by the question, Why do so many writers write in this genre when it doesn’t sell? The suggestion was that somehow speculative readers must all turn into writers, so the appearance of many readers is false because there isn’t a “normal” writer-to-reader ratio.

I have to say, I see this “answer” as an incredible stretch. Ironically, in one Christian writers’ group I’m in, there’s currently a discussion about including ghosts in stories. Granted, “ghosts” would most likely fall into the “supernatural suspense” arm of speculative fiction, but I see the discussion as an indication that writers know the genre has captured readers.

In addition, agent Rachelle Gardner recently asked her blog visitors, among other things, to comment about what genre they read. At the time I posted, a quick search revealed a third of the commenters read fantasy of one variety or the other. I didn’t do a search for science fiction or for any of the euphemisms we use to refer to the genre as a whole, so I assume the number of her visitors reading “visionary” fiction, as the Christy Awards name the category, is higher.

Over at my site, I’m running a poll (you still have a week to participate if you haven’t voted already) asking what genre readers read. Not surprisingly, speculative fiction is leading the way. (But you might be surprised by what is coming in second).

I say “not surprisingly” because I’m a fantasy writer, and therefore probably have visitors prone to read speculative fiction.

What I find most interesting, though, is that many people at my site and Rachelle’s say in the comments that they really don’t care what genre they read as long as it’s a good story. Most, in fact, report reading in a variety of genres. I do myself. In fact, until I became a writer, I would have said I had no preferred genre.

My conclusion in all this is that once again, story proves to trump all. A good story matters more to readers than artistic writing or genre or even the reputation of the author.

Regarding this last, I suspect readers will give some writers a pass if one novel doesn’t deliver a good story. These writers would be ones who have delivered good stories in previous books. Readers are willing to forgive, I believe, when one novel fails to deliver the level of story they’ve grown accustomed to. They won’t desert the author because of that one less-than-stellar story. If the next one doesn’t deliver, however, fans may start to fall away.

I maintain that a good story can become a great novel if the writing is great. But I don’t think a poor story will become a great novel even if the writing is great. At the same time, I think a great story with poor writing might become a best-seller. It will not, however, become a great novel or move into the “keeper” category.

What do you think? Is story more important to you than genre? Than artistic writing? Than the latest by a well-known author? Is anything more important to you in selecting the fiction you read than whether or not it’s a good story?

In this, the last of my posts on the now-complete Auralia Thread, I have the privilege of interviewing author Jeffrey Overstreet. With no further ado …

Rachel: Before we even start, let me say thank you for an extraordinary reading experience. In The Ale Boy’s Feast especially, I found myself reading a story that not only enveloped me in its world and characters, but caused me to look at my own life differently. I’ve been challenged to pay more attention to the beauty that surrounds me and think about the realities it might be pointing to—and to stay faithful to the dreams God has given me, knowing that ultimately they will lead me to Him. That might not even be exactly what you were trying to say, but I appreciate the message!

Jeffrey: Thank you so much, Rachel. I wanted to tell the best story I could, given the time and resources available to me.

I knew that my job was to pay attention to the characters, their decisions, the consequences of those decisions, and the textures of the world in which all of this took place. As for any “messages,” well… I wasn’t going to worry about that. I believe that a storyteller should focus on bringing the story to life, and messages will emerge on their own. If the storyteller stops and concerns himself with delivering messages, than the storytelling suffers and becomes heavy-handed.

So I’m delighted to hear that the story meant something to you. I learned a lot from following these characters around, and if readers learn lessons of their own, that’s an extra blessing.

Rachel: The Auralia Thread’s most obvious theme is art, and the power of art to call us beyond ourselves. But it certainly isn’t the only theme. What other themes were in your head when you began, and what themes have arisen in the writing process? Have any surprised you?

Jeffrey: It all started with the question, “Why do most people reach an age where they fold up their imaginations and put them in a closet? Why do most people decide that make-believe is just for kids?”

But later, that led to questions about what leads people to lose their curiosity about the truth, and to set up camp in a particular church denomination or a particular political party or a particular academic discipline and to toss away the lenses that might help them see the truth more fully.

I think that almost any theme I could highlight would be a theme that surprised me. I didn’t go into the story to explore themes. I went into the story because a question inspired a picture in my mind—an intriguing picture of a society that made imagination illegal. I wanted to step through that picture frame, explore that society, and get to know the broken-hearted character who was so grieved by it.

As a result, pretty much all of what transpired surprised me. I didn’t start with an agenda to fulfill or a lesson I wanted to deliver. I was curious about characters whose stories are still teaching me lessons.

Rachel: Speaking of surprises, what other aspects of the series have surprised you?

Jeffrey: Many of the relationships of the characters changed considerably over the course of the series in ways that really surprised me.

For example, I never anticipated that Tabor Jan would become conflicted, his affections divided between two women.

I didn’t anticipate that the two old thieves, Krawg and Warney, would become separated and have two separate but world-changing adventures.

Nor did I anticipate that Krawg would become a storyteller, or that his stories would become prophetic. Those developments began as simple cases of “What if?” Then they picked up speed and took me to some exciting places that were not part of the original outline.

There are some big surprises in the epilogue of The Ale Boy’s Feast that were not part of the original plan either, but when those possibilities presented themselves, I was thrilled. It felt like opening Christmas gifts that are absolutely perfect, and you can’t believe that you didn’t guess what was in those packages ahead of time. But I can’t talk about those surprises.

I also didn’t know, until I got to the fourth book, if the mystery of the ale boy’s real name would ever be solved, or what would ultimately happen to King Cal-raven. I entertained all kinds of possibilities. Then, one day, I suddenly knew what to do about both of them. I still don’t know how the ideas came to me. It felt like sitting on the beach, hoping to see whales come to the surface, when you’re not even sure if whales swim in this part of the world. You wait and wait for months and months, and then suddenly, there they are!

Rachel: One theme I have noticed and appreciated more as I’ve read and reread the books is that of the meanings we impose on what we see around us—as Scharr ben Fray says, the stories we choose. Some hit on the truth, and it leads them home. Others—Ryllion, the mages of House Jenta, the Defenders of Auralia, even Cal-Raven for a time—hit on falsehood, and their own false meanings have the power to destroy them. You’ve done a powerful job of showing, through various characters and cultures, that what we believe has powerful consequences in our lives.

Jeffrey: Thanks, Rachel.

This is a good example of how storytelling can lead you into unexpected places. I never intended to explore themes like those you describe, but these characters took me there anyway.

When I wrote Auralia’s Colors, Scharr ben Fray seemed likely to become one of those typical fantasy wizards—like Gandalf or Obi-Wan Kenobi. But the more I encountered him, the more strange and suspicious he seemed to me. I could sense that he wasn’t going to fit the mold of the All-Knowing Guide. In the closing chapters of The Ale Boy’s Feast, when we learn what he’s really about, well… he ends up being quite different than anything I’d anticipated.

Cal-raven faces a difficult choice near the end of this series. Should he abandon the summons that he heard as a child, which he thought was coming from The Keeper? Or should he go on answering that call, even though the truth of its origin is more mysterious than he thought?

As I wrote about his struggle, I realized that this was, in some ways, the story of my own life. So many ideas that I had in childhood about right and wrong, good and evil, imagination, and God evolved considerably when I was in high school, and they evolved even more when I was in college.

As we grow up, we throw out clothes we’ve outgrown, or we give them to younger people, and we going shopping for new clothes that fit. Then, we do it again. It’s that way with our vocabularies for so many mysterious things. In Raven’s Ladder, Cal-raven thinks he has the world all figured out. Then he sees something that bursts the seams of his ideas. So he’s caught between two possible responses—he can despair, or he can open himself to a bigger idea, one that he’ll have to struggle to “put on.”

We’re all trying to fit the truth into our heads and our hearts. But our heads and our hearts are cracked. We can only catch pieces of the truth here and there. Those cracks and imperfections should keep us humble. We have to assume that our current understanding is probably insufficient.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I’m not saying there’s no real, absolute Truth. But when we treat Truth as something we can obtain, own, and manipulate for our own benefit, we’ve missed the point, and we start to lose what little wisdom we’ve gained. The truth isn’t a list of the “right answers”; it’s not a puzzle we can solve or a property we can purchase. It’s a living entity, inviting us into a relationship. If we apply ourselves to the daily discipline of loving it, we can enjoy its rewards. But when we decide that we’ve “got it,” and that we’ve become an authority on it, we’ve lost it.

In that sense, the Truth is more like a magazine than a book. It’s a subscription that never runs out, so long as you’re willing to keep reading. There’s always more.

Rachel: Your writing style has a poetic denseness to it that’s really rewarding to dig into—but also makes speed reading an exercise in futility. That’s one of the most rewarding things about the books, in my opinion. They have to be read slowly and thought through and savoured. But obviously, not everyone reads that way—and I’ve noticed some pretty blazing misunderstandings being showcased in Amazon reviews! Have you found any of these particularly frustrating—or amusing?

Jeffrey: I’m disappointed when I see that the primary audience I had in mind as I wrote The Auralia Thread has yet to discover the books.

Mostly, the books have been read by people who read only Christian Fiction. And that’s a shame, because my books aren’t Christian fiction. They’re fairy tales, fantasy novels, meant for everybody. I didn’t write a religious allegory, and when readers use only a Religious Allegory lens when they examine the book, they’re missing a lot.

Only a few reviewers like yourself have looked closely enough to recognize some of the main themes I discovered as I wrote the stories. But there’s nothing I can do about that.

Some reviewers were upset when they encountered characters who were fools or criminals. That makes me ask, “What kind of books do they like to read?” My world is full of fools and criminals, and I’m one of them. So I’m interested in stories about people like that. And I grew up reading The Bible, in which even the heroes of the faith are adulterers, murderers, liars, drunkards, thieves, and worse.

I’m amused when I read that some readers thought that character names like “Scharr ben Fray” were too difficult. They must not read much fantasy. They should stay away from Star Wars, where they’ll have to deal with a guy named “Obi-Wan Kenobi.” And most who claim that The Ale Boy’s Feast confused them will also tell you that they didn’t read the first three books in the series. If I skipped The Hobbit, The Fellowship of the Ring, and The Two Towers, and started reading The Return of the King, I’d be confused too. That wouldn’t be Tolkien’s fault.

I’m glad, Rachel, that you enjoyed the challenge of The Auralia Thread.

Books that can be ready speedily are like milkshakes. Milkshakes taste good, but they don’t require any effort, and they don’t provide a lot of nourishment. You probably aren’t still thinking about a milkshake the day after you drink it.

The books that have meant the most to me are feasts that I can’t stop thinking about, feasts I want to go back and experience again. They made me do the hard work of reading closely, thinking them over, re-reading them, sharing them, and discussing them.

And my favorite books are about more than just “what happens next.” They’re memorable for their form as well as their content. They have a music in their language, and their characters and events are interconnected in ways that only become evident to the most observant readers. I want to learn to write like that.

So as I wrote The Auralia Thread, I tried to be attentive to details in a way that would slow readers down and give them an experience for their whole imagination. I want storytelling to be like deep sea diving, not splashing around in the shallows. You might find some loose change in the shallows, but you might find a buried treasure chest in the deep—and not only that, but you’ll be stronger for having to swim so far below the surface.

Rachel: You’ve accomplished something really wonderful with this series, but I know it’s sometimes been frustrating to work under publication deadlines and constraints. Looking now at your finished work, do you have any regrets?

Jeffrey: Well, the deadlines were very motivating. I won’t complain about them, because I agreed to them. And the whole publishing endeavor came as an unexpected blessing, so even though I had to rush to the finish line, I’m just grateful I got to participate in the race at all.

Having said that, though, The Auralia Thread is a case of “What I Could Manage.” Eight months is a very short amount of time in which to write a novel, especially when you’re working a full-time job. I don’t have regrets, but I did learn a lot about my own writing process, and what I need in order to achieve something that feels finished.

I’m determined to write my next novel before I sign any contracts. I want to give future stories more time to mature before I hand them over.

Rachel: And finally, the classic interview question—what’s next for you?

There are a lot of characters living in my head. Many of them haven’t been introduced to an audience yet.

My favorite character lives in a very different world from Auralia and the ale boy. I think it’s time for his story to get a fresh coat of paint, and then I’ll see if a publisher would be interested in delivering him to an audience. That would launch a whole new series—something much more whimsical and action-driven than The Auralia Thread.

I also have two other books, quite different from anything I’ve done before.

One is a non-fiction project about the power, possibilities, and dangers of unstructured time. It would be like a work of archaeology, where the site of the dig is Childhood, and the treasures are stories and ideas we’ve forgotten as we’ve grown up.

The other book is about some historical figures who I’ve never seen as the lead characters of a fantasy novel before, and I feel compelled to write that book before somebody else does.

But for a little while, I’m just going to rest, spend some time with Anne, and spread the word about her first book of poetry, Delicate Machinery Suspended, which is being published this summer. I want to read a stack of books, see a bunch of movies, clean up the piles of debris from the last five books that are stacked around my study, and rediscover the joys of writing with no deadlines and no agenda.

Subtitle: “Secular” stories can be just as preachy as Christians’ stuff.

Well, that was an interesting discussion, after our interview with Star Wars: The New Jedi Order and Firebird author Kathy Tyers. And though it has temporarily lapsed, it has ended up being (so far) the lengthiest exchange after a column in Speculative Faith 2.0’s history.

And by seeming coincidence it also helped to confirm something I’d suggested in last week’s column: that when some readers critique Christian fiction, there’s more behind their dislike than mere honest appraisal of a novel’s inappropriately preachy content. Rather, we have crucial disagreements over definitions: What is preachiness? What is Christianity?

My definition of poor fiction “preachiness”: inauthentic and hollow (even if true) spiritual content that has little to do with its actual story. (But should we correct bad “preachy” fiction only with even more preaching about how bad that is? The Gospel targets the deeper issues.)

Part 1 dealt with other objections to Christian fiction, which themselves may need clarifying.

Now we come to the end, returning to the “preachiness” subject — yet limited to addressing certain critics, who seem to fault only Christian novels for being “preachy” only because they do uphold and even advocate specific views about Life, the Universe, and Everything.

I wonder if these critics are fair enough to recognize preachiness elsewhere. Or would they, when pressed, admit to buying into this notion: All that Other Stuff is just Neutral, and it’s only some Christians who are preachy and need to stop? And other critics, while professing Christianity, would go so far as to say that Christians must only do Good Deeds and be like Jesus, rarely talk like Jesus, while everyone else gets a free pass to propagandize in public.

As with the other poorly clarified fiction criticisms, these beliefs are based on more wrong assumptions about Christianity itself, and who Christ was and how His people imitate Him. But it may not be necessary to delve into all that to show the inconsistencies. Secular stuff can be just as preachy — and sometimes it’s even worse than creative stuff by Christians.

Exhibit A: Avatar (the James Cameron CGI-and-mocap-blue-people one, not the much-better epic animated series)

There's paganism preaching behind that sparkly face. But how come Christians managed to enjoy "Avatar" despite its anti-Christian preachiness?

I haven’t yet seen Avatar. Yes, reviews praised its great landscapes and three-dimensional realism, but I can get those from a sunset. Other reviews said the story was shallow, and yes, preachy — and that made me lose interest. Secular preachiness often irks me, especially the clichéd stuff about how white wealthy industrialists are always Bad Guys (with very rare exceptions) and poor natives are always toned and sensuous and At One with Nature^®.

Becky mentioned this in her column about who first “owns” a novel: its author or its reader: “Some movie-goers embraced the panentheistic movie Avatar as ‘Christian,’” she said.

So could I appreciate Avatar for its other merits? I suppose I could — and those merits could include the latent Christian-esque stuff that seeps into almost every story, including even the Greeks’ altar To The Unknown God, as told in Acts 17. And of course the patron saints of Christian visionary fiction — St. Lewis and St. Tolkien — wrote much about how all truth is God’s truth; ergo some truths, such as the Sacrificial Hero, may leak into pagan mythologies, even while the only sure source of truth is the “true myth” of Scripture and Christ’s coming.

But was that the intent of Avatar’s script author? Nah. Parts of it may have been splashed with a little Christianity-scented cologne — Essence of Vaguely Christlike Sacrificial Hero™. But he’s said he’s into the Be At One with Nature^® thing, Resisting Greed, etc., and has oddly enough preached all that only with the help of high technology and big corporations. Ha ha!

Exhibit B: The Simpsons

From what I can tell, this show has dropped off most boycott-minded Christians’ radar.

Do preachy Christian characters offend readers more than “Christian” spoofs like Ned Flanders annoy actual Christians?

But it’s still out there, trying hard to be snarky, and often succeeding, and often at Christians’ expense. The popular — and well-liked! — Christian character, Ned Flanders, is still just as goofy-evangelical as ever, even while doing good deeds for the bumbling Homer Simpson.

And lest any of us assume that the program’s writers exaggerate Christians’ fundie fears — well, that’s what I thought too, after Flanders was shown having a mystical fear of any food labeled “devil’s” something. Then I read this (‘ware images), and unless pop star Katy Perry was also embellishing some Christians’ beliefs, I had to recall: yes, they’re still out there.

So Christians might learn from The Simpsons about how non-Christians perceive Christians.

But while Flanders can be funny, I am still wondering: why the devil is Christianity the only religion that gets spoofed in the show? So far, among the worst and least funny Simpsons episodes are those that refuse to have a little fun with other beliefs. I turned off the one about Wiccans, which not so much exalted them as absolutely refused to make any joke about their religion a la Flanders (instead opting for the highly original Salem Witch Trials, Oh Aren’t They Bad clichés). And I didn’t even try to get through the one that was meant to help us all have a little fun while knowing how not all Muslims are crazed radical terrorists.

Look. You Simpsons writers, you’re perfectly fine with spoofing Flanders, Rev. Lovejoy and other silly Christians. So how come spoofing other “spiritualities” never occurred to you?

One answer: Secular preachiness. Everybody does it. And some better than others.

And maybe it’s many Christians who’ve actually learned to put up with secular preachiness — while it’s some non-Christians (or even professing Christians?) who can’t stand hearing real Christianity repeated in a work of fiction, even authentically and with artistic excellence.

So perhaps non-Christians need to grow a thicker skin. Don’t recoil from “preachiness” as if you were a vampire who can’t stand the sight of sunlight (which, by the way, just reinforces that whole Christian idea of darkness hates light anyhow). You guys are adults; you can put up with it, just as easily as many Christians put up with Avatar and The Simpsons, and even great series like Star Trek and Doctor Who, with their frequent anti-Christian themes. Be open to learning at least about the millennia-old faith that has helped build Western culture. Try challenging your mind with the best creative stuff that Christians have put out, instead of stereotyping it all as shallow and poorly “preachy.” Yes, some of “our” stuff can indeed be preachy (and we complain about it). But so is “your” stuff. We can enjoy it anyway. Can you?

Lord of the Time Lords

Just by way of recap, in my previous entry I surmised that even the Time Lord answers to a higher power–whatever that power may be. My post had more to do with seasons 1 and 2, as at the time I hadn’t watched 3, 4, or 5. It’s one of those shows that, despite its strong humanistic undercurrents, still has plenty worth gleaning, as others have also posted about. My contention was…and is…that even the Time Lords answer to someone/thing beyond themselves. I’ll get into this more in  a later post about the Doctor himself,  but as a whole the show doesn’t answer the question.  He serves Time. He serves Humanity.

When I originally wrote this, I was halfway through season three.   I’m a newcomer to the show and started with the new series at the suggestion of a friend. Once my fellows realized I was watching, we began dialoguing, and ultimately I realized I could get a post out of it. That post was Lord of the Time Lords, and through the energetic and fun flurry of comments that resulted, I realized I had a whole list of directions I could spin the Doctor.

So, here it is:  My seasons 1-3  take on the Time Lord.* Mostly the 10th Doctor, you’ll notice, even though it really was about halfway through season 1  that I really began enjoying it.

Time Lord Companion’s Notes

1. Yes, watching five seasons in a matter of months is information overload. It’s pretty much the only show I was watching.
2. I probably knew too much going in. Just knowing three people have played the Doctor’s role was a bit too much.  But that was okay, because I still didn’t/don’t know when or how. Or why.
3. I loved having running dialogue with  my group of friends. On the other hand, I also think it altered my perspective prematurely. It is what it is. No one’s fault, really.
4. I’ve noticed a general pattern that all seasons follow. It’s a very odd thing to notice, but hey. I watched a lot of Doctor Who at once, which was an insane thing to do.

Moving on. Be patient with me; there’ll be plenty of time later to cover anything I don’t in this post. I have three or four more planned after this, not counting a podcast  with Stephen, his wife, and myself.  So it’s going to be a total geekfest for the Whovians. 0=)

Positives:

• The combination of sobriety and humor, dark episodes and fun ones
• A consistent rise and fall of events
• The characters’ genuine affections for each other, their ability to love and trust
• Some sense of moral compass (I know none of us agree with all of it, or even most of it, but nine times out of ten they stick to the principles they’ve laid down)
• The depiction of human nature (more later)
• Miscellaneous commentary on society (good and bad, intentional or not)
• Where one element might fail (plot device, villain, dialogue), another shines, thus saving the episode from total disdain
• Surprise element
• Creepy factor (more later; I  prefer creepy over supposedly scary monsters)
• Characters learning over time instead of having the info dump
• Violence isn’t the first option
• The Doctor doesn’t carry a weapon. I find that fascinating.
• Some of the best episodes have no bad guy, and they’re usually the ones that creep me out the most.

Negatives:

• At least one episode has fallen flat per season, at least for me.
• Some of the aliens are a bit goofy looking.  But at least they stay away from oversized insects and slugs for the most part.
• Weird ideas on what qualifies as ‘romance’  (which I think is my real problem with the “I believe in Rose Tyler” thing, and it comes back up in Gridlock).
• Occasionally stretching the limits of the audience’s ability to suspend disbelief).

Faith in…not gods.

There’s one place the show seems to really waver on , in my estimation: at times brazen and confident, others  incredibly uncertain. And maybe that’s par for the course. Fred Warren  had some good points about the Doctor’s faith, and I’m going to hit on that in a later post on human nature. (I know, putting Time Lord nature and Human nature in one post is weird, but it’ll make sense later.)  After Fred’s comments,  I don’t know that it’s a horrible thing. It’s okay to have characters that don’t know what they believe.  I think it’s weird that after nine centuries you’re unsure, but Fred still had a point. 0=) So that’s coming. Now, I guess 900 years can jade you, and losing everything ten times over can certainly splinter the foundation of who you are.

But the Doctor’s doctrine (say that three times fast)  aside,  it’s the show’s approach that strikes me as odd, something I mentioned in a comment last time. I couldn’t get a bead on the show.  Generally speaking, religion becomes myth and superstition and the church pretty much fades out as an institution (to quote season five, “the Church has moved on”). (Again, it’s an anthropocentric show.) Sometimes, religion is non-existent. Others, it’s tolerated or patted on the head like the unicorn. Others, it almost seems to create its own religion.

The first real mention is in the end of season one, where Rose makes her big speech after looking into the heart of the TARDIS.  Her comments about saving the Doctor from false gods was intriguing to me.  That theme is later repeated in the Satan Pit (season two): He goes up against a devil and comments he’s fought and defeated false gods a hundred times over. (And the cat nuns are another story, crazies who  infect a few people with every disease known to the universe to destroy illness.)

Season three was the bizarre one for me: The Gridlock episode has plenty of people with “faith and songs” (thanks, Martha), but…little else. I don’t mind the use of a hymn or two, but Old Rugged Cross would have been a bizarre choice for that episode even if it were written by Billy Graham.  I wasn’t sure if I should’ve been offended, amused, or mildly disdainful.  As it was, I was mostly confused and distracted.  Really, whatever: you want a flawed ‘Christ figure,’ fine. But the Doctor isn’t (more coming; I’m spending a lot of time on that later), and doesn’t want to be. You want to use well-known, understood religious symbols and typology, go for it. But don’t be confusing.

Sidenote leading to this point, I couldn’t find the video again, but there’s this Joss Whedon talk where he’s commenting  on Buffy and his use of a Christ typology because “it’s the mythology we’re most familiar with.”  I never watched Buffy, but the point is that it’s possible to have a humanistic view of the world and still have some understanding of  the elements you’re using. And that’s where I felt like things got muddled, like the writers couldn’t decide how to treat the subject and wound up all over the map, from  an active war against false gods to  the passive (meaning, philosophical instead of physical) stance against foolish myths.

I suppose that can work two ways: Optimistically, as we’re seeing the world through the Doctor’s eyes, the inconsistencies could well reflect his own uncertainty behind a mask of confidence. Less optimistically, they could also reflect author intrusion.**

Hope in…something

So,  assuming this is skewed main character perspective and not author intrusion,  we can follow the idea of a need for faith in something, for hope.  But if everyone should believe in someone, have someone they can love and trust unconditionally, and cling to some sliver of hope, the question still remains: In who  or what?

It’s a little ironic: a storyworld that doesn’t play nice with foolish myths (including  the human race’s worship of the ‘pagan Santa deity,’ btw), vain philosophies, tyranny, oppression, or cruelty simultaneously generates its own myths and occasionally relies on them to make the storyline work. Faith is a requirement. Love (and by default mercy, grace, forgiveness, peacemaking, healing and restoration) is a requirement. And hope, by the end of it, is the only thing the Doctor has to stand on, wherever it might be lodged.

*Footnote: I’m deciding how the rest will go. I have at least one on human nature and one on season five impressions. I also want to pick up the discussion on the Human Nature/Family of Blood episodes.

**Footnote: Amendment here – I’ll discuss the season four ending in the next entry, I think. This post is long enough.

Christian writers are often accused of being tone-deaf on popular culture, behind the times, and generally out of touch. We take years to catch on to ideas that used to be paradigm-busters but are now hopelessly passé.

Fear not! I’m here to tell you about a trend that is, if not red-hot, at least respectably warm: The Literary Mash-Up.

The basic idea is to take two dissimilar forms of literature and mix them together, sort of like getting peanut butter on your chocolate. Or chocolate in your peanut butter. Now, I seem to remember Jeff Gerke of Marcher Lord Press talking about an “Amish Vampires in Space” novel, but that doesn’t count–it’s more than just crossing genres, it has to be based on a work with some literary gravitas. Stories like Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and Android Karenina have rocketed to the top of the bestseller charts. People love ’em.

So, why haven’t we yet seen a good Christian Spec-Fic mash-up yet? The simplest answer is that we haven’t noticed this opportunity, and even worse, none of us will think to do one for another ten years yet if the idea isn’t gently brought to everyone’s attention. It’s almost like we’re tone-deaf on popular culture or something.

Well, I’m here to help. I’ll provide a few ideas based on a body of work we’re all familiar with, C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia, then we can all set to work writing our bestsellers.

Kings and Queens of Narnia…Forever!

Thrill to the breathtaking adventures of the Pevensie siblings as they battle the forces of evil during Narnia’s Golden Age! Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy gallop into action from the towering fortress of Cair Paravel under the watchful eye of their mysterious mentor, Aslan, the Immortal Lion. With uncanny powers of Greatness, Gentleness, Justice and Valiant…ness, they fight alongside Narnians both mundane and mythical in their neverending struggle against the White, Green, Purple, and Chartreuse Witches of Lantern Waste. Feel the roar!

The Twilit Lands

Jill Pole was a misfit–a shy, solitary girl, mercilessly tormented by bullies at school. She spent her afternoons weeping alone, her tears falling heedlessly onto the cold stone wall behind the gymnasium. Now, a twist of fate will draw her through a magical gateway into Narnia, a strange land of vast, primeval woodlands bordering an endless sea. Far to the north, an enchanted prince suffers in silence, underground, wandering in caverns deep beneath the mountains, where phosphorescent moss creates a gloomy, unending twilight. Can Jill break the curse and bring her pale, lonely prince back into the sunlight, or will she sacrifice everything to join him for eternity…in the Twilit Lands?

Digory Kirke and the Magician’s Rings

Young Digory Kirke is in dire straits–his mother is dying and he’s under the care of his abusive Uncle Andrew, who dabbles in the Dark Arts. In a desperate bid for freedom, Digory steals Andrew’s magic rings and enlists his friend Polly Plummer in a journey across time and space to find a cure for his mother’s illness. He takes a wrong turn in the Wood Between the Worlds and awakens a monstrous witch, “She Who Must Not Be Awakened,” who relentlessly pursues him to the newborn land of Narnia. Digory and Polly will need all their courage (and a winged horse!) to defeat the witch, save Narnia from her corrupting power, and bring home a rare and wonderful fruit that contains the secret of eternal life.

*Note: Technically, you can’t mash two young-adult magical fantasy adventure stories. It’s like mixing peanut butter with peanut butter.

My Desert Prince

Forbidden love! Dark, dangerous, dashing Rabadash of Calormen aims for the conflicted heart of Narnia’s elegant Queen Susan. Can Rab’s offer of lavish wealth and an ivory tower commanding the windswept dunes of Calormen melt her icy defenses, or will courtly intrigue erupt into the ravaging flames of war, separating them for all time? Their fate rests upon the shoulders of a ragged orphan charging across the desert on a stolen horse–and carrying a message that may change their world forever.

Left Behind: The Shack

These are the last days of Narnia. War rages as the forces of a counterfeit Aslan and the demon-worshipping hordes of Calormen converge on the handful of faithful Narnians who remain. A small community of dwarves huddles in an abandoned shack and waits for the end, fighting desperately to resist the diabolical voices whispering through the walls, claiming to be Aslan, baiting them with promises of a paradise that awaits them outside the shack, luring them to what they know must be certain death. Will they recognize the true Aslan when he appears to judge Narnia and create the world anew, or will they be…left behind?

**Another Note: C.S. Lewis’ stories can’t legally be used as the foundation of a literary mash-up because they aren’t in the public domain…yet. Personally, the idea of spending a lot of quality time with British lawyers gives me hives. I suppose you could float the idea to Douglas Gresham if you’re really determined to try.

A (lengthy) discussion broke out this weekend prompted by Friday’s interview with Spec Faith’s special guest, Kathy Tyers, author of Firebird. Much of the conversation centered on one commenter’s view of Ms. Tyers’ implied hatred of Jews in the Firebird series.

Of course, Jews per se do not appear in the books. Nevertheless, this reader assumes parallels and reaches this conclusion:

I frankly found Firebird one of the most unconsciously anti-Semitic works I’ve ever read.

In contrast, several (myself included) commented on Ms. Tyers’ skillful ability to write from her Christian worldview. In answer to the anti-Semitism charge, I responded:

How can you call this work anti-Semitic (and I’m giving you the idea that Ms. Tyers intended these different people groups to represent believing or unbelieving Jews) if there are “good” ones?

In truly anti-Semitic Germany, there was no such thing as a “good Jew.”

Clearly, in Ms. Tyers’s work, whatever treatment the “bad Jews” received, was a consequence of their badness, not their “Jew-ness.

Notice, to make my point, I acceded to a critical issue, one the discussion depends. Did Ms. Tyers intend to write several of her alien people groups as representative of Jews? If not, the entire discussion is spurious.

Unless …

Does a piece of writing — any writing — belong as much to the reader as to the writer? In which case, our commenter who found Firebird so offensive is right in his estimation because he personally read the book as slanted against Jews.

Undeniably, past experiences and expectations affect readers. Our own worldviews may serve as filters through which we understand what an author says.

Consequently, some movie-goers embraced the panentheistic movie Avatar as “Christian.” And to this day, believers who are critical of Love Wins believe the equally universalist The Shack was a wonderful work of fiction showing God’s love.

Does the author’s intention no longer matter? Is the key to reading (or viewing movies or TV programs) that which the recipient believes about what he reads (or watches)?

It would seem this view is becoming the popular one in our culture. The problem with this approach, as I see it, is that communication is under attack. No longer does the written word convey the meaning of the author to the reader. Rather the reader communicates his own thoughts to himself.

Interestingly, this is exactly what any number of professing Christians are doing with God’s Word. No longer do we search the Bible (a self-interpreting work) for the meaning of a scripture, but we contemplate what particular passages “mean to me.” The reader, then, supplants the author, and truth becomes “my truth.”

Until fairly recently, most Bible-believing (what some refer to as “literalists”) Christians would have viewed such a way of approaching God’s Word as erroneous. Today, however, any number of people who claim to believe that the Bible is God’s revelation also believe that it is a fluid document, taking meaning from the reader in his varied cultural “situatedness.”

Clearly, the latter view calls into question the idea that Scripture is authoritative.

Which brings me back to fiction. Do books belong to the author or to the reader? And if to the reader, are those who view the Bible as a fluid document right in their assessment?

If, on the other hand, the Bible is authoritative, an unchanging revelation of God’s person and plan, does that mean that books belong to the author, not the reader, and that part of a reader’s job is to suss out what an author is actually saying?

Here’s a third possibility. Since the Bible is the only inspired book, given through a Spirit-breathed process that used human writers, does it alone belong to the Author, and all other books belong to readers?

I’m looking forward to reading your thoughts on this one.

Visionary author Kathy Tyers is best known for her Firebird trilogy of futuristic novels — Firebird, Fusion Fire and Crown of Fire, set in another galaxy where a Savior has not yet come. Recently the series was re-released by Marcher Lord Press as The Annotated Firebird, including not only all three novels but the author’s own notes about the stories’ creation. Now in this interview with E. Stephen Burnett, she shares more about her books and learning, and what’s ahead in the Firebird world.

ESB: Many readers are well aware of your contributions to the limited field of Christian sci-fi, but for those who may not, let’s start with a recap. You got started with the first version of your Firebird novels and other SF books, then went from unpublished Star Wars fanfiction to Star Wars novels, then later, revised versions of the Firebird series with a Christian publisher. How did you get here — not only because publishing is so difficult to break into, especially for speculative stories, but because many women are more into other genres?

Kathy Tyers: Is it OK to thank you first, before I plunge in? You’re running an interesting, entertaining site and I appreciate being included.

Yes, Firebird was my first book, and I was thrilled when it was published by Bantam Books. It was followed by the sequel Fusion Fire, then two stand-alone novels, Crystal Witness and Shivering World. Then my Bantam editor, Janna Silverstein, invited me to write a licensed Star Wars novel. At that time – and maybe still – all Star Wars novels were written by invitation. I wrote One Mind’s Eye for Bantam and then jumped to Bethany House Publishers, with the help of BHP editor Steve Laube, who wanted to give SF a chance in the Christian publishing market. And as for Star Wars fanfiction — well, I did write a novel-length fan manuscript before publishing my first novel. However, as soon as I finished it, I rewrote it completely, without using any of George Lucas’s copyrighted material. In The Annotated Firebird, I’ve pointed out a few lingering similarities between Firebird and Star Wars, besides the fact that they’d both be considered “space opera,” which is an adventure-romance laden sort of SF.

As for being a woman – some my favorite SF authors are women, stretching back to Zenna Henderson and forward to Lois McMaster Bujold. Statistically, though, you’re right. There are fewer of us.

The Firebird Trilogy, as published by Bethany House (2004)

ESB: I first read Firebird in 2006, after hearing about it for years — I’d found the big three-in-one version at a Christian bookstore. Reading all the novels back-to-back, I was stunned at the depth of both characters and God-centered theology. What do you think contributed to that?

Kathy: Thanks! These characters really did come to life for me. Everything a novelist experiences becomes writing-fodder. Every aspect of real life can be reflected in fiction, if the author pays attention. I did try to give the whole cast plenty of depth, including some inner compulsions that didn’t seem obvious at first. One example is Firebird’s sister Phoena. Her role in the first draft was simply to be “the enemy.” As I took the book through dozens of rewrites, I realized that Phoena too had reasons for her behavior—even when it was very bad behavior.

Bringing forward the theological themes in Firebird, when I re-wrote it for Bethany House, was satisfying. Firebird always had been a cultural conversion story, and this was a chance to show that there’s more to human culture than the purely secular. Roughly quoting C.S. Lewis, what an author is will turn up in his writing whether or not he makes a conscious effort to put it there. Bringing forward the theological aspects of Brennen Caldwell’s pre-messianic culture let me apply my understanding of the universe to some of the big questions of science fiction.

Firebird (1987) as published by Bantham Books

ESB: What images and concepts do you think inspired your creation of Firebird’s characters, story and world — especially the later themes of a world in which a Christ-figure is still to come?

Kathy: Science fiction writers often start writing with a “what if” question. “What if” the Messiah hadn’t come before people went to space? That was a good starting point, but it led to more questions. What if the chosen people had dabbled in genetic engineering? Could God use that as part of his plan for them? Here’s another “what if” that underlies Wind and Shadow and Daystar:  What if one young Galilean woman had not had the courage and reverence to say “Be it unto me…”? There are lots of other “what if” questions that I enjoyed playing with, not trying to give definitive answers, but simply creating some entertaining and hopefully thought-provoking possibilities.

ESB: When Firebird was republished by Bethany House, what was the reception from Christians and other readers? How many told you similar reactions to those felt by many of us (Yes! Someone actually made it! God-glorifying sci-fi in actual print form, and it’s fantastic)?

Fusion Fire (1988), as published by Bantham Books

Kathy: Wow, thank you again! Yes, I had some warm responses. There were cold ones, too. One that stuck in my mind (authors really shouldn’t read their own amazon.com reviews) savaged the Bethany House Fusion Fire and said that the previous version was much better. Generally, though, the responses that reached me were very positive. Best of all: occasionally, I hear that someone has connected with Christ after reading the Bethany version.

ESB: Since that re-publication, your life has changed a lot. You became a widow (I’m so sorry; and my mother-in-law was widowed in 1998), went through much hardship, then finally returned to school — Regent College in Vancouver, B.C. — to study theology. I’m curious how God has been working in your life through all that, and how it may have affected your writing since.

Kathy: My late husband’s last years pretty much took the life out of me. I needed a rest and a recharge, and I chose to attend Regent College because it looked like a place where I could grow deeper in my faith in the company of supportive, creative, well-educated fellow believers. It was all that and more! Regent’s emphasis on honoring God as both creator and redeemer means that the arts (as our own sub-creative activity) are highly respected, seen as ways to honor and follow our marvelously creative God. Regent’s “Christianity and the Arts” option was satisfying, grueling (not much of a rest), liberating, and enriching. Imagine studying Systematic Theology under J.I. Packer! And since I knew from the get-go that I would have to produce a full-length piece of art in my chosen genre before I could graduate, I was able to punch out of my creative funk and write the first fiction I had attempted in many years. That project became Wind and Shadow.

After I came back to Montana, I started work on a contemporary rural fantasy, Holy Ground. In that book, several characters wrestle with some of the issues I faced during my late husband’s decline – and they also must learn to work together cross-denominationally, which was another vital issue at Regent College. People come to Regent from all over the world and a broad denominational spectrum. I loved that place!

ESB: I haven’t heard of a whole lot of Christian authors who’ve written a novel as part of studying theology. As a doctri-nerd, that thrills me — I think God-centered theology, always mindful of personal application and delight in Him, can only improve whatever art Christians attempt.

Kathy: Regent was a wonderful experience. The Integrated Project in the Arts and Theology was available in both six-credit and twelve-credit options, depending on the length of the project, and I did the twelve-credit option. I had to produce not just the book but a theological paper exploring how my time at Regent impacted the themes I explored (creeping Gnosticism was a big one). I also had to do a public reading, then get publicly questioned by my thesis advisors – like any master’s degree thesis defense. Some folks might find Wind and Shadow a little doctrine-heavy, since that’s where and why I wrote it, but I do hope there are also people who’ll especially enjoy those parts.

ESB: “Don’t make writing your top priority. … Your relationship with God comes first.” You said that on your website. What made you want to say that, especially while others might think that would be a given for a Christian writer or artist?

Kathy: Over and over, writers are told to make writing their top priority, to write every day, no matter what. I’m not an argumentative person, but I did want to speak out on that topic. I had also made the agonizing decision, back in the 1990s, to give up reading and writing SF entirely because of that priority. In the hope it would help my late husband with his personal struggles, I laid my career at the foot of the cross and said “Lord, if you ever want me to write science fiction again, you are going to have to make that crystal clear to both Mark and me.” God did just that. I wrote about it in The Annotated Firebird – how’s that for a plug?  Sadly, it didn’t help Mark turn the corner—but I am glad I made the effort.

Balance Point, a Star Wars: The New Jedi Order novel (Random House, 2001)

ESB: “If we’re trying to write ‘The Christian Answer To [whatever secular novel we happen to not like],’ we’ll probably end up producing a pale echo instead of something that stands strongly on its own.” You said that here, and I say: amen times ten. Why is it, perhaps, that Christians do tend to issue reaction-based echoes, instead of following the rich heritage of honoring God through in-depth truth and imagination as many Christian artists and writers have in the past?

Kathy: There are marketing factors at work: if the original sold well, folks might believe that an imitation will sell well, too. Also, there’s a tragic polarization in US society, creating a crazy cross-melding of faith, politics, and lifestyle. Maybe some of the “Answering” books—the fact that they’re written, marketed, and purchased—can be attributed to a growing tendency to consider everybody outside one’s own tribe as enemies and fire “answers” back at them. Maybe. I’m still thinking about that.

ESB: Many writers we know, including several on this site, enjoy discussing whether Christian fiction is too limited and whether or how it needs to become more “edgy.” In one interview you said there are some ideas, events and words you refuse to include in anything you write, even if they’re supposedly realistic or marketable. What might you avoid and why? And were there elements you considered for Firebird or other books that you ultimately didn’t use?

Kathy: I leave alternate human sexualities alone. And though I’m a show me, don’t tell me writer, I choose not to show particularly detailed or graphic violence or sexuality when there are other ways of letting the reader know what’s up. For instance, in the rewrite of Fusion Fire, I deleted scenes that showed the evil Shuhr forcing their children to murder each other, as part of their training process. I felt that the story was just as strong, and the Shuhr just as evil, without forcing those details on the readers.

ESB: What are some differences between the first version of Firebird, the second and the third?

Kathy: Here are a few; there are more! In the second version, instead of simply imagining a space-opera scenario, I started with the assumption that Brennen’s people were still waiting for the messiah. As I just said, I also toned down some aspects of the Shuhr. For the annotated version, I pointed out some of my inspirations and bits of the writing process. I also took time with Crown of Fire to add a little more description. When I wrote the original I simply ran out of time, since I was concurrently writing my second Star Wars novel! My Regent College thesis advisor urged me to make all my writing “thingier,” with more cultural and creational details. I especially enjoyed tweaking the choreography in the ballroom scene after taking some dancing lessons.

ESB: It seems like not many series would have that varied a transition: from secular publisher to traditional Christian publisher, then to an indie publisher like Marcher Lord Press. Yours is the first of several book series it plans to republish, after their runs at traditional Christian publishing houses. How did you come to come aboard Marcher Lord?

Kathy: I read some of Marcher Lord’s recent releases, and I knew I would be in good company with these gifted new authors. Also, I wanted to see my books in electronic editions, and this is one of Marcher Lord’s strengths. Several people who left messages in my website’s guest book asked specifically for e-books, and I did pay attention!

ESB: At least two more novels are coming in the Firebird saga: the first called Wind and Shadow, and the second Daystar, you’ve said. Can you share a little more about these, their themes, perhaps their relation to the first three installments, and perhaps when they’ll be releasing?

Kathy: Wind and Shadow is a story of Firebird and Brennen’s twin sons, Kiel and Kinnor, as well as a young woman of Shuhr ancestry. Kiel and Kinnor were so different from birth that I knew they could carry a next-generation story. I’m writing Daystar to keep a promise that I think I’ve been making my readers ever since I wrote that Brennen was an heir to ancient prophecy. It is taking a bit of chutzpah—I never would’ve even tried this before Regent—and it definitely keeps me in prayer. You can hope to see Wind and Shadow in late 2011 and Daystar sometime in 2012.

ESB: Thanks so much, Kathy. I know it’s not just me who anticipates where the story now goes.

Kathy: Thank you!

Subtitle: Christian novel “preachiness” may be greatly exaggerated.

Last week’s column had questions for critics who say Christian fiction isn’t as violent, realistic, creative, (presumably) sexy or Edgy™ [citation needed] as it should be.

This sequel addresses a related accusation: Christian fiction is too preachy.

As with the previous common criticisms, I’ve often uttered this one myself. I’ve read some Christian books that I would call preachy, and not in a good way. Yes, some Christians seem to think a writing ministry is only God-honoring if they include the whole Gospel call in the novel someplace — regardless of whether the story is based on direct redemption themes.

This may result from confusions over vocation more than anything else, as if direct Scripture quoting with calls for repentance and faith (as vital as that is!) is the only way to glorify God.

At the top of Speculative Faith is a rotating quote from Phillip Graham Ryken (from his book Art for God’s Sake). “The way in which a Christian who makes cars glorifies God is not by painting ‘John 3:16’ on the hood,” Ryken writes. “Similarly, the artist glorifies God by making good art, whether or not it contains an explicit gospel message.”

Direct preaching is vital. But that doesn’t mean that if you’re in a situation where direct preaching would not be apt, someone’s “blood will be on your head” if you don’t witness. Not even Scripture itself proclaims the full Gospel message in every single chapter, page or book.

But other critics who say “that’s too preachy” may mean something very different than that. Those kinds of critics may be impossible to please, and Christians shouldn’t try.

1. What do they mean by ‘preachy’ anyway?

Tomorrow will bring to this site an interview with Kathy Tyers, author of the Firebird series and many other futuristic novels in both Christian and non-Christian markets. Firebird was a groundbreaker with an interesting origin: it began being published by Bantham Books, a “secular” publisher, then transitioned as Extended Editions to a Christian publisher. That, it seems, annoyed some fans of the “secular” versions, as shown by this Amazon reviewer:

I must say I was very excited to read Fusion Fire after having read the 1988 version of Firebird. I was aware that Firebird was redone and that its sequals were writen to follow the new format aswell, but I was unprepared for the differences in the book. I had been warned that Tyres preaches, and that this book is better left to those who wish to read such, but as one who respects but does not choose to folow that doctrine, I found that at times I felt alienated or better yet, uncomfortable. [Sic, sic, sic, sic.]

Fusion Fire (1988), as published by Bantham Books

Those who, like me, have read and enjoyed Firebird as among the best God-glorifying novels available will now be vexed at that — because unlike so many Christian Products, Firebird is not at all annoyingly preachy. So what does this critic really mean?

He must mean: Any Christians who act and speak like it = bad “preachiness.”

And if that’s the case, Christians might as well get used to the accusation and not pretend as if they’re even able to please these critics while also being who they truly are.

Such critics don’t just understandably object to some cheap tacked-on proselytizing, but the very nature of Biblical Christians who include their worldview in all that they do, including writing. Tell me your great story if you have one, they say, but don’t honestly draw out the story’s underlying truths or themes. It’s an impossible request, a catch-22.

This is like many critics of the Church who would only “come back” if the Church quit being what it is. Many valid criticisms of the Church are out there, and I would agree with many of them, but stop being so preachy is an even more ridiculous demand when applied to the Church. You might as well demand the Salvation Army stop being so generous or even an atheist to stop being so Godless. It’s what they do. And preaching is what the Church does.

And preaching, yet in varying forms, is what every individual Christian is also called to do.

Therefore Christian authors should not be falling all over themselves to appease these critics, any more than Christian church pastors or members should be craving approval from those who will only approve if a local Christian church ceases to be what it is.

As author/pastor Kevin DeYoung notes, many Christians should absolutely stop being so happily adversarial, while they revel in the world’s persecution, real or imagined. But:

[… F]or most Christians, there is another danger, the danger of thinking that if we clean up our image, smooth out the edges of our faith, change a few songs, do a few good deeds, then we can get people to think well of us. Sometimes we act like God has promised that if we do the right thing, with the right heart, and say things with the right attitude, then the world will stop choking on the church.

But God makes no such promise.

2. Trying so hard to be ‘not preachy’ could make Christians even worse.

I’ve read Christian novels that were wrongly preachy. But I’ve also read novels that weren’t nearly preachy enough, which made me wonder what the heck was spiritually going on. Nothing about those novels could honestly be called Christian apart from sporadic prayers, references to God or morality or going to church,  or maybe exhortations to Have Faith.

Similarly, this past weekend for Easter, many churches (and “churches”) did everything they could to yell about how their church is hip, cool, awesome, amazing and Not Your Momma’s Church — giving away cars, video-game systems and their own sanities. (See figure A, and scream.)

Ministries like Way of the Master (and founder Ray Comfort, here) do great overt-evangelism work. Yet Christians do have different gifts, vocations and ways of witnessing.

It’s best if Christian authors can be who they are. If they are annoying preachers who force specific Gospel calls into every conversation — and feel guilty if they don’t — then that will show. But if that’s the case, their real problem is their theology behind their storytelling, not just their stories. That’s where they should start: by remembering that even God Himself has often been more subtle in telling His own story of the Gospel. And it’s also okay to “preach” in their own way, when they’re wearing the “hat” of storytelling and not of overt evangelist.

3. All Christian novels are too ‘preachy’ — really?

Even critics with a more-fitting definition of “too preachy” may fall for this generalization. But no one can persuasively prove that accusation is true for 100 percent of contemporary Christian novels. For any inappropriately preachy novel whose “spirituality” is artificially tacked on, or in which religious ranting replaces quality, I can show a novel that does it right. So if these critics persist, perhaps gentle reminders are in order: you sure you don’t just need to get out more? I’d say the same to Church critics who act as though all churches that don’t lean emergent/hipster/liberal are “legalistic” based on their limited experience.

These critics should clarify that they mean most of Christian fiction is too preachy. But even if so, what is the requisite percentage of non-preachy novels in order to lessen complaints?  Any art field, genre or subculture will have its more-overt contributors. The same is true for non-Christian stuff. Do it’s-too-preachy Christian fiction critics recognize that also? Or do they pretend as if only Christians are disallowed from including their worldview in stories?

More on that next week.

So what are the bad and good kinds of preaching that you’ve seen in Christian novels? What are the differences? And do you discern between honest critics and the catch-22 critics who do (perhaps without knowing it) really only want Christian novels to stop being Christian?