You know those infamous “clip shows” television sitcoms sometimes have, perhaps at the end of a season when the financial and ideas budgets are both running low? This will not be like that. Rather I present here a roundup of various blog clips plus commentary for your snacking and discussion enjoyment, as the newly regenerated Speculative Faith enters its second year.

Avoiding the ‘priesthood of artists’

Musician Derek Webb professes Christianity and more-“loving” beliefs, but both of those seem missing in a recent interview, in which he implies that those who disagree with his approach:

From Spurgeon.org's 'Emergent Motivational Posters'

1. are not loving, caring Christians concerned about their world;
2. are hopelessly stuck in Christian-subculture ghettos;
3. may not be as enlightened as the kinder, gentler, more-tolerant-than-those-other-bad-Christians-so-you’ll-all-like-us-now,-yes? strain of faith that Webb professes.

Moreover, Webb’s words remind me of the trap that any Christian, regardless of denomination or political preferences, can fall into: striving to Fix The Church’s/The World’s Problems more than Proclaim God’s Gospel and His Glories. This also involves considering one’s self part of an elitist priesthood of artists who can just, you know, think more and see things others cannot:

Part of the luxury of being an artist is that you not only can but kind of have a responsibility to think long and hard about things on behalf of those who might listen to your music. You can give them a jumping off point for subject matter that might be too tangled for most people in the busyness of their daily lives.

But musicians, novelists and any other artists, beware: we should not place ourselves above God’s gift of pastors, teachers and believers in local churches that emphasize the Gospel and secondly its fruits in our lives, while we also fellowship even with those who don’t “get” or enjoy our creative products or supposedly superior ideas. Otherwise, just as they might miss things we show in our artsy gifts, we might miss something others show in their Biblical teaching gifts.

P.S.: While I was writing this Wednesday, Frank Turk at Pyromaniacs was posting a firm yet gracious open letter to Webb, which also addresses potential artist arrogance, and other notes.

More on greater, God-centered stories

Last week’s column may have left some wondering: how do we define “God-centered” stories versus stories that are merely “God-including”? I suggested that mainly entails recognizing that in the real-life story of our world, we must recognize that it’s we who fit into God’s agenda, not vice-versa. But that brings up a few questions:

1. What about stories in which God or Christ is not a “character”? Must we always include Him directly to keep them God-centered?
2. Would it be inferior, then, to have a Christ-character-including story in which the Christ-figure barely appears? Must we spend most of the story following Him around or else risk making things too man-centered?

The best way of addressing this may be pointing to the “true myths” of Scripture itself. How should they be read? — especially when, sometimes, God does seem to manifest to help His people fulfill their Destinies, or He is hiding in the background.

Some great thoughts come from author/pastor Tim Keller, whom Novel Journey writer Noël De Vries quoted last week. I found the source of that quote and now offer more from Keller’s original column. His emphasis is for preaching pastors, but his thoughts of how to tell true-life accounts from Scripture have nearly equal applications for other Christian storytellers:

For example, look at the story of David and Goliath. What is the meaning of that narrative for us? Without reference to Christ, the story may be (usually is!) preached as: “The bigger they come, the harder they’ll fall, if you just go into your battles with faith in the Lord. You may not be real big and powerful in yourself, but with God on your side, you can overcome giants.” But as soon as we ask: “how is David foreshadowing the work of his greater Son”? We begin to see the same features of the story in a different light. The story is telling us that the Israelites can not go up against Goliath. They can’t do it. They need a substitute. When David goes in on their behalf, he is not a full-grown man, but a vulnerable and weak figure, a mere boy. He goes virtually as a sacrificial lamb. But God uses his apparent weakness as the means to destroy the giant, and David becomes Israel’s champion-redeemer, so that his victory will be imputed to them. They get all the fruit of having fought the battle themselves.

This is a fundamentally different meaning than the one that arises from the non-Christocentric reading. There is, in the end, only two ways to read the Bible: is it basically about me or basically about Jesus? In other words, is it basically about what I must do, or basically about what he has done? If I read David and Goliath as basically giving me an example, then the story is really about me. I must summons up the faith and courage to fight the giants in my life. But if I read David and Goliath as basically showing me salvation through Jesus, then the story is really about him. Until I see that Jesus fought the real giants (sin, law, death) for me, I will never have the courage to be able to fight ordinary giants in life (suffering, disappointment, failure, criticism, hardship). For example how can I ever fight the “giant” of failure, unless I have a deep security that God will not abandon me? If I see David as my example, the story will never help me fight the failure/giant. But if I see David/Jesus as my substitute, whose victory is imputed to me, then I can stand before the failure/giant.

With that in mind: when you read Lord of the Rings, even without a direct Christ-figure a la Aslan, which elements stand out? Frodo’s bravery, Gondor’s majesty or Middle-earth’s beauty (themselves not sinful!) or the grander sweep of the epic that includes all these elements, yet points to Someone greater and more transcendent? Does Scripture affect us in similar ways — pointing to what God has done, over and above (though not ignoring) what His people will do in response? Do the other stories we enjoy, or read, have similar echoes of His greatest story?

On flawed characters in fiction

Last week Kaci Hill linked to the column about God-centered stories, and in reply Amy J. Rose Davis offered:

I find it interesting that Christians are very willing to talk about how Peter, Abram, Moses, Saul, David, Samson, et al were sinners and very messy heroes, but suggest that we shouldn’t have similar characters in our Christian fiction.

One reason for this disparity: many Christians are stuck in the rut of feeling they must have good-clean-relatively-flawless humans to Emulate. While admitting the Biblical heroes are not perfect, they may nevertheless fail to draw the conclusion and make the connection: we don’t need to be those heroes’ public relations and clean up their images, and the reason God chose those people despite their wretchedness was to glorify Himself even more to His people!

So when we strive to make Christian stories more Christ-centered, that sets us free to tell great stories while using flawed characters — like God does with us. Their failings not only reflect our own, or give them empathetic appeal, but point to Jesus as the only flawless and glorious One.

Loving greater stories for God’s sake

How do we avoid thinking too highly of ourselves as artists, seeking more God-centered stories, while keeping humans’ flaws in perspective? A possible twofold solution exists, and the first part is desiring to hunger for God-centeredness in all areas, while rejecting man-centered notions.

Amy Timco’s Dec. 16 comment summarized a Christian writer’s unique motive for seeking this:

I need to stop writing, stop trying to inject more artificial majesty and power into my character, and examine my personal theology. We can only create what we know, and if the Christ-figure in my novel is pathetic, my conception of Christ is pathetic. There’s no way around it. And the only way to fix it is to fix my theology. Everything flows from that.

For weeks I’ve also meant to credit and thank Becky Miller for her further thoughts on glorifying Christ as more than a “sidekick” in stories, instead making them increase our love for Him:

[S]tories that “till the soil” can be powerfully Christian. Such stories create the longing for the wholeness Christ gives, or for the acceptance His sacrifice made possible, or for the purpose His relationship frees us to achieve. I believe stories can show sacrificial love that is extraordinary and that will create a thirst for sacrificial love. I believe stories can show forgiveness that is pure and unmerited and it will create a thirst for similar mercy.

The second part of the solution: feeding that desire for Christ-centeredness, to know Him as He has revealed Himself, in ways that align as closely as possible with His Word.

Yet as the new year begins, it shouldn’t be too cliché to ask: is my desire growing? If not, what might I do to work out the salvation Christ has given me (Philippians 2: 12-13) and feed my hunger for His greatness, not just in the stories I enjoy or try to create, but in all that I do?

First: The Bible, of course. This year begins my wife’s and my attempt to read more of it, not just during occasional studies but with the whole read-the-Bible-in-one-year plan.

As previously discussed, however, there can be wrong ways to read the Bible, and the read-it-to-find-mere-moral-lessons method is very infectious. That’s why reading nonfiction books that point to Scripture can also be helpful, whether they are topical works about specific doctrine or books that clarify how God (and human authors) intended Scripture’s books to be read, mindful of context and original readers (How to Read the Bible for All Its Worth is a great introduction).

Not only will reading and rightly applying Scripture help us focus better on Christ, it will subtly change the emphasis of our stories — those we enjoy and those we may write — toward Him. We won’t need to run around and artificial inject more Jesus parts; those will embed naturally.

And as Marc Schooley reminded us, imagine all the new ideas for fiction we find in nonfiction?

There are billions of characters to be written around Christian doctrines and they apply so vividly and directly to us…because they derive from the truths of Christianity. If the truths of Christianity are true, and they are, what study could bring you closer to a character’s heart than Christian doctrine? What conflict, emotional involvement, or driving need could be closer to the human condition, and thus a reader’s heart, not too mention her own and most intimate thoughts and experiences?

[…] By basing fiction upon deep doctrine—pick any one you want—the symbolism of any story will force its way into the text. You can’t even prevent it from doing so actually.

Viva la resolution

Oh yes. That was a long one. Congratulations for making it to the end. And now that you are here, I wonder anew: what projects do you have coming in the new year? Resolutions™? Books to read? Books to write? Books that aren’t actually books yet, until God blesses you with a publisher? Do share. Also know that all of us thank you so much for reading and contributing to Speculative Faith 2.0. And be sure to thank even more the master Author for this new year.

I love the new year: not only is it time to plan and make resolutions, it’s also time to wrap up loose ends and launch new projects. This year is especially exciting because I am moving in the second week of January.

That, of course, necessitates its own brand of wrapping up. I am saying good-bye to books. I just don’t have room for them where I’m going.

Before my fellow readers go into shock over that, let me modify the statement: I am saying good-bye to some books. Books I bought second-hand because they looked interesting, but which I never actually read. Books from my childhood that no longer matter. Reference books that are redundant or obsolete. Books I enjoyed (many of them titles I received through review programs like CSFF) but just won’t read again.

It pains me to say good-bye to even a single one. Good books are like friends, and mediocre ones are like people you’re not really that close to but still feel an obligation to mingle with, inquiring after their health every now and again. I’m telling myself that getting rid of books is not really like reneging on real friendship; it’s more like unfriending people on Facebook who I don’t actually know and never interact with.

Secretly, I have to admit to a feeling of relief. The bigger the pile on the floor gets and the more air is created on my shelves, the more I feel like a weight is lifting off.

So that my feeling of relief doesn’t run away with me, I’ve created criteria for keeping or ridding myself of books. I will keep anything that:

1. I will read again. This includes many of the excellent spec-fic writers I’ve discovered in the past two years, including books by George Bryan Polivka, Jeffrey Overstreet, Marc Schooley, and Jill Williamson. It also includes childhood favourites that DO still matter. I will read books again because I want to revisit the story, learn from the writing, absorb the worldview, etc. It also includes series titles where I want to read the whole series.

2. I will reference. This includes much of the nonfiction I’ve got, plus anything that’s highly quotable or that I can use as examples when I teach.

3. I will shove at anyone who dares breathe the words “I need something to read” in my presence. This includes books and/or authors that I may never reread, but that I consider highly wonderful or helpful.

4. I edited. I can’t help it; I’m a proud parent (or maybe “proud midwife” would be a more appropriate analogy). Plus, some of these titles fall into the above categories as well.

Knowing that most book collectors actually feel strongly about their books, I’d love to know about your criteria for hanging on to titles. Have you ever had to weed out your shelves? What stayed and what went and why?

After this discussion today, I’ve even more convinced of it: some professing Christians, if they end up in Heaven and then the New Earth, may just become bored to tears. Why? Because there’s no one to fight.

Doctrine disclaimer: of course no one in Christ’s after-world will truly be disappointed. That’s clear from Scripture. But when some seem to have confused the means for the end — fight those unbelievers and (supposedly) compromising Christians! — I’m at least certain that when some believers enter Heaven, there will be plenty of D’ohs, wide eyes and slapped foreheads.

If today you have even the slightest dread that Heaven, free of all causes save Himself, poor people to feed or villains to fight, would be boring — you might want to re-evaluate.

“The letters in my name can be rearranged to spell ‘Satan.’ That should tell you something …”

That relates to how we perceive Christmas and various tenets thereof. I can’t help wondering, and wishing I could ask others, on the basis of existing relationships and Christlike love: does the concept of “fun” automatically sound suspicious? Do reflexive “we’re to be different” lines jump to your mind in favor of spiritual-sounding seclusion, and against enjoying God’s good gifts — including celebrating holidays and feasting, which Scripture is not dead set against? Do you feel even the slightest sense of offense when Answers in Genesis (an organization I greatly respect) publishes a list of Miscellaneous Misconceptions about Christmas, but can’t really say why AiG’s Biblical bases are wrong, and instead lapse into generic “avoid the world!” slogans?

Some quick reminders, perhaps for anyone else (or myself) to repeat later against such slogans. I’ve heard similar things said as well against fiction, epic storytelling and visionary novels:

“We are to be a called out people, not resembling the world.”

Chris (and others), I hear this a lot, but to conclude from this that therefore Christians shouldn’t celebrate Christmas (or enjoy a decoration, etc.) is both selective and inconsistent. I could just as easily argue that to use Facebook is to “resemble the world” and therefore you should get off now. Or I could say electronic devices altogether, or using English, or breathing, is to be “like the world.”

To say that “being called out” must mean avoiding a select series of Things is to use a logical belief System that may be internally consistent, but not consistent with the Bible — the same Word in which Paul gives much more complex advice about issues like “meat sacrificed to idols” than simply “avoid whatever is in the world.”

I’m still waiting for good answers about why Christians should supposedly hang back and wait for pagans to “take over” a Thing, and then simply accept the pagan’s word that the Thing is now evil and corrupt. Isn’t this a far worse compromise with pagan beliefs?

To act as though Things can be inherently corrupt is not a Christian belief. It’s closer to a form of Gnosticism that portrays only “spiritual” things as Godly, and [the material world] as given over to the Devil.

But along with warnings to discern rightly and put Him first in all that we do, God promises that when He makes a New Heavens and a New Earth, He will remove all things that fail to give Him glory and bring in, to His eternal Kingdom, Things that do glorify Him:

“… And I will shake all nations, so that the treasures of all nations shall come in, and I will fill this house with glory, says the Lord of hosts. The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, declares the Lord of hosts. The latter glory of this house shall be greater than the former, says the Lord of hosts. And in this place I will give peace, declares the Lord of hosts.’” (Haggai 2: 7-9)

If you can’t put up a Christmas tree or celebrate Christmas without worshiping the gifts more than the Giver, then don’t. But if you’re saying that certain Things inevitably lead to sin and therefore all Christians should behave as you do, and avoid the Things, that is not Biblically based discernment, but man-made tradition.

Now for some suggested applications. I still hoped to write about Santa Claus while Christmas is still technically in season, and with an extra column slot I get to do that.

My main question: if it’s true that the popular Santa storylines detract from Jesus and make Christmas “secular,” about getting gifts rather than glorifying the Giver, why should we feel forced to accept or reject the whole Santa concept based on what the “bad guys” claim?

I appreciate much of Mark Driscoll’s take on what Christians can tell their children about Santa:

When it comes to cultural issues like Santa, Christians have three options: (1) we can reject it, (2) we can receive it, or (3) we can redeem it.

[…] We tell our kids that he was a real person who did live a long time ago. We also explain how people dress up as Santa and pretend to be him for fun, kind of like how young children like to dress up as pirates, princesses, superheroes, and a host of other people, real and imaginary. We explain how, in addition to the actual story of Santa, a lot of other stories have been added (e.g., flying reindeer, living in the North Pole, delivering presents to every child in one night) so that Santa is a combination of true and make-believe stories.

We do not, however, demonize Santa. Dressing up, having fun, and using the imagination God gave can be an act of holy worship and is something that, frankly, a lot of adults need to learn from children.

Ultimately Driscoll does comes down on the safer “St. Nicholas was a real person” option. That I also appreciate — and will not judge as legalistic or licentious — but I also wonder: might we go further than this? While perhaps not lying to children (a whole other debate, that), might we redeem more of the popular Santa story? Yes, North Pole, elves, magic sleigh, reindeer and all?

As some may guess, I would intensely dislike the whole legalistic “naughty or nice list” concept. Why not instead think of Santa in terms of Biblical “common grace” (as in Matt. 5:45), someone who relays good gifts from God, even to those who reject Him? What lessons could Christian children learn about God’s forgiveness, when they know (as most know anyway) that despite how naughty they are, their parents love and want to care for them? Could Santa perhaps even join the ranks of Aslan, Gandalf and other imaginary characters who imitate Christ Himself?

Just something to consider and discuss. But even if you disagree, I don’t mind — just please consider the Biblical truths in Colossians 2:16 and Romans 14:5–6, encouraging Christians not to judge one another, un-Biblically, over how they celebrate holidays. Our imaginations, like our celebrations, can ignore God or give glory to Him. Either way, it’s about what’s in our hearts.

Being a slow reader and too poor to see a lot of movies and not being a big television watcher, I don’t have long lists of favorites. Consequently this is a limited selection of favorites. I’m picking my top three in three different categories all connected to speculative fiction.

Favorite Speculative Awards. Unusual, I know. (Do I care? 😉 )

Number three – ACFW Carol Award, Speculative Category. Formerly known as the Book of the Year Award, the first winner under the new name is Kirk Outerbridge’s Eternity Falls (Marcher Lord Press). This award, based on ACFW member judges scoring, carries some recognition. Hopefully it will gain more status and perhaps some perks for the authors.

Number two – The Clive Staples Award for Christian Speculative Fiction, Readers’ Choice. The 2010 winner, Bryan Davis’s Bones of Makaidos (Living Ink/AMG Publishers). I’m a fan of the award, certainly, and I especially like the fact that readers are picking the winner, but there are ways it can improve. I’d like to see readers AND judges select a winner. I’d like to see a sponsor step up and offer a cash prize. But I think the recognition is still excellent for the genre and the nominees.

Number one – The Christy Award, Visionary Category, Jill Williamson’s By Darkness Hid (Marcher Lord Press) taking the 2010 honors. This is the “granddaddy” of the awards for Christian fiction and is consequently the most prestigious honor.

Favorite Speculative Movies.

Number three – How To Train Your Dragon. Family friendly but artistic, too. A little like seeing an animated version of Avatar. Unfortunately the worldview was akin to Avatar, as well.

Number two – The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. I’m actually seeing this one this afternoon, so reserve the right to change my mind. I’ll edit this post later to give a bit more reaction. [Promised edit: the movie was properly touching, and I cried. I plan to do a full review, so will not say much more, but I definitely feel this one belongs on my list of top three speculative movies.]

Number one – Harry Potter. By far, this is the best in the HP movie series, with only the finale remaining. Well-written. And though it is only half of the last book, it ended at a good place so there was some sense of closure without destroying the anticipation of what’s to come.

Favorite Speculative Books. This was the hardest because I have more possibilities to choose from than I did in the other two categories. Nevertheless, I still haven’t read all the ones I would have liked. After some thought, the winners are

Number three – Imaginary Jesus by Matt Mikalatos (Tyndale). If you’d like to know more about this hilarious and spiritually thought-provoking book, you can read my review at A Christian Worldview of Fiction.

Number two – R. J. Anderson’s Wayfarer (HarperCollins). This YA fantasy published by by a general market publisher could easily move into the Number One slot, it’s that good. For details, see my review.

Number one – Jonathan Rogers’ The Charlatan’s Boy (WaterBrook). This is simply one of the best books, regardless of genre, you’re likely to read. To learn more, check out any of the CSFF Blog Tour reviews. A list is available here.

Now it’s your turn. What were your favorites in the speculative category?

Image courtesy of christmas-clipart.com

We are taking the “Eves” off, so there will be no guest post Christmas Eve or New Year’s Eve.

How much God do we find in our visionary fiction? Is it wrong if He’s not there?

Or if we do find Him or a Christlike character in our stories, how would He best be portrayed?

All kinds of fiction include different degrees of involving God in their plotlines. Though I’m sure overlaps exist, I suggest one can break these down into four overall categories, like this:

1. God-ignoring. This includes most secular stories, such as Star Wars, Harry Potter and most fairy tales I’ve heard. No one in these stories says “God does not exist”, but they also don’t affirm He does exist. Occasionally we might find story elements that seem to contradict the idea of God, such as The Force, but overall the story stays “neutral.”
2. God-hating. Very few stories fill this category. I can only think of Pullman’s His Dark Materials books, which include “god” as a character, but certainly twist His nature and authority, and turn him into an enemy to defeat.
3. God-centered. Unfortunately I suggest even fewer stories fit here, partly because many doctrine wonks who want to be God-centered aren’t the types of people to write fiction. By God-centered I don’t mean only including God by Name or as an active character, but also recognizing that He does all things, not just out of love, but to glorify Himself; He has his own agenda and even “destiny,” to which all other characters, destinies, quests, etc., are naturally subject.But most stories labeled Christian seem to fit better into this category:
4. God-including. This also includes many “secular” works such as Les Misérables, A Christmas Carol and Anne of Green Gables. Whether present as a parallel character in a fantasy world, or merely mentioned, God gets credit as an extra or even a supporting role. But who is the main star of the story? The human characters. In fantasy this often includes flawed people who must discover who they truly are, and often find the gifts/inheritance/talents/throne they’ve had all along. And any Christlike figure is there, mostly as a “sidekick,” to support this, with His own greater storyline not as important.

Please understand: I am not rejecting all stories that are mainly God-including. That’s because many Christians’ stories that are mainly God-including may drift into being God-centered. While all Christians have wrong ideas in their heads, the Holy Spirit may ensure true believers know and echo mainly truth even when they don’t know it. Similarly, I can enjoy God-ignoring stories for the truths their authors incidentally embed, whether it’s simple love-friendship-and-sacrifice, or more-direct hints such as Tolkien included (much of it by incident) in The Lord of the Rings.

For the Christian, the choice seems easy between God-rejecting and God-centered stories. But if I had to choose between stories that ignore God and those that (despite frequent hints of God-centeredness) most often include Him, I must admit I would prefer the God-ignoring ones.

“Edmund … I can make you my king. I love you and have a wonderful plan for your life.”

Why? Because at least God-ignoring stories are not claiming to represent Christianity. Whether showing through story or telling more directly, they are not saying “this is what Christianity is” and then bait-and-switching. That would exchange the God-centeredness of more-potent Christianity — “God does all things for His glory, giving His perfect self to save even those who hated Him” — for the watered-down, more popular yet Pelagian worldview of “God’s main goal is to love you and help you Fulfill your Destiny.”

Still this may come across as slamming any author or story that doesn’t proclaim the whole Gospel on every page. But as I mentioned last week, I recognize not even the Bible does that!

However, the Bible’s big story — God created, man rebelled, God saves, God will restore — is clear to see amidst all the subplots involving heroes, battles, kings and fulfilled destinies.

Stories like this are far more amazing than the God-helps-person-follow-his-own-dream tales. Moreover, this will not only bring us more-Biblical stories that glorify God better as the main (though often hidden) Character, but better stories, free to explore what happens when God is on His throne and man is in his subservient yet joyous place, worshiping and following Him.

At Novel Journey, Noël De Vries presented this beautifully, regarding a certain fantasy film.

There is an essential difference between moralistic and Christ-centered storytelling. Every Hollywood film, no matter its source, preaches some degree of morality. Sometimes it’s obvious. Sometimes the filmmakers are more subtle, and create a desire within the viewers to emulate the hero. But either way, it’s about us summoning up the faith and courage to fight the giants in our lives.

In this film’s story, Eustace is pulled into Narnia so that he can overcome certain character defects, to help complete a mission and save hapless lives. Just like Frodo. Just like Harry. Just like Dorothy and Luke Skywalker. In the original story, however, Eustace is drawn into Narnia for one great adventure: Aslan saving him.

The men and women behind The Voyage of the Dawn Treader focus on good deeds and green mist and summoning strength because that’s the way storytelling works within their worldview.

But for a tale to be more than okay, you must replace the moralistic center. Heroic deeds flow naturally and painlessly, even poetically, from a cast that is anchored by the character of Aslan.

How to persuade well-meaning Christians that this way brings far greater joy? Point to Scripture’s own meta-story, rightly read, and always act according to God’s grace. We might also tell our own nonfiction stories — similar to how God may use fiction to point us to Him — about how we began seeing the man-centered monsters, in beliefs and stories, and heartily rejecting them in favor of the greater stories, mainly the Gospel of God’s Word, and thus began better reflecting the light of glory from His perfect joy in Himself. And specifically for Christian fiction readers and writers: we can also show more of this truth in the newer, better, more God-centered stories we may find.

Politician, diplomat, Scotsman, Presbyterian, and writer of dozens of World War 1-era spy novels with occasional supernatural flair — that was John Buchan, who also, it seems, had a penchant for self-parody. That seems clear from this exchange early in his 1924 novel The Three Hostages, in which he satirizes thriller novelists who, he sarcastically suggests, are only employing cheap tricks.

It was a cold night and very pleasant by the fireside, where some scented logs from an old pear-tree were burning. The doctor picked up a detective novel I had been reading, and glanced at the title page.

‘I can read most things,’ he said, ‘but it beats me how you waste time over such stuff. These shockers are too easy, Dick. You could invent better ones for yourself.’

‘Not I. I call that a dashed ingenious yarn. I can’t think how the fellow does it.’

‘Quite simple. The author writes the story inductively, and the reader follows it deductively. Do you see what I mean?’

‘Not a bit,’ I replied.

‘Look here. I want to write a shocker, so I begin by fixing on one or two facts which have no sort of obvious connection.’

‘For example?’

‘Well, imagine anything you like. Let us take three thing’s [sic] a long way apart —’ He paused for a second to consider — ‘say, an old blind woman spinning in the Western Highlands, a barn in a Norwegian saeter, and a little curiosity shop in North London kept by a Jew with a dyed beard. Not much connection between the three? You invent a connection — simple enough if you have any imagination, and you weave all three into the yarn. The reader, who knows nothing about the three at the start, is puzzled and intrigued and, if the story is well arranged, finally satisfied. He is pleased with the ingenuity of the solution, for he doesn’t realize that the author fixed upon the solution first, and then invented a problem to suit it.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘You’ve gone and taken the gilt off my favourite light reading. I won’t be able to marvel at the writer’s cleverness.’

— John Buchan, from The Three Hostages

Right or wrong? Are writers who arrange story elements inductively, to be read deductively, really no big deal? Or is there a truly clever element to the craft that Buchan’s skeptical doctor hadn’t considered?

Why movie-makers don’t make a lot of movies with content written by a Christian or adapted from Christian stories is undoubtedly a complex issue. I’m going to offer one reason I think contributes. In short, I think the Christian market has become unforgiving.

Take the latest of the Narnia series as an example. Weeks before Voyage of the Dawn Treader released, I began to hear the rumblings—this part was changed, that scene was left out, those lines were altered.

Instead of joy and anticipation, enthusiasm and excitement, the mood seemed to be turning into one of skeptical show-me. Fans of the books didn’t want to go to a movie—they wanted to critique the job the movie-makers did.

And of course we should critique what we see, but I couldn’t help but wonder if we first shouldn’t actually see the movie.

I also thought maybe our expectations for this beloved story are too high. I have an idea that fans of Lewis would not be satisfied unless his story went to the big screen unaltered.

Except that’s unrealistic.

I think we’ve forgotten that movies are not books. Some things translate well from one medium to the the other and some do not. Especially with books like Narnia that employ an omniscient narrator, movies must find another way of conveying some of the information. To do so is not easy, and it often changes things.

I think we also may have forgotten how short the Narnia stories are. I question whether a full-length movie could be made without some addition to the original plot.

Then too, I think we may have forgotten that the movie-makers aren’t concerned with retaining Christian symbolism. They may not even be aware that some of the lines or scenes or even the character arcs they changed held spiritual implications.

Finally, I think we may have forgotten how storytelling has changed in the last sixty years. The books Lewis wrote don’t follow the nice, neat, three-act structure modern movies seem to require. Hence, the movie-makers did some “adjusting” apparently, to create what today’s stories need.

To be fair, other classics have not been rendered as well as fans of the original would like. Off the top of my head, I can think of Beowulf and Pride and Prejudice as two movies that didn’t meet fan expectations.

But it seems to me, we Christians may be harder to please than most. Some would say we are easier to please because we go to see amateurish performances of sweet and sappy stories that render the Christian life in two dimensions. Maybe that’s true when Christians make Christian movies. However, when Hollywood makes them, we are ready with our sharp criticism and even our suggestions that they Stop Making Our Stories Into Movies.

Say what?

Are critics, Christian critics, really saying they’d rather see more Lion King or Pocahontas than Narnia?

Here’s what I think we need to do after we’ve taken a deep breath.

1. Hold criticism until we’ve actually seen the film.
2. Judge the movie as a movie.
3. Resist the temptation to compare the movie to the book.
4. Re-read the book.

I think one of the very best things about the Narnia movies is the increased sales of the Narnia books. They’ve been reprinted any number of times, and I suspect another generation of readers has developed in large part because of the movies.

As for me, I want to see all seven stories made into movies. And I can hardly wait to see what they’ll do with The Last Battle. But we may never get there if Christians discourage people from seeing the latest Narnia movie by focusing on the negatives.

After all, movie-makers care about sales, and if Christian content doesn’t meet their expectations in dollars, they undoubtedly will stop making the Narnia movies—and other Christian stories, too.

This is the third and final post by author C. S. Lakin. Her second fairy-tale fantasy in the Gates of Heaven series, The Map Across Time, is due out early next year.

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Gems from Fairy Tales

by C. S. Lakin

There are thousands of fairy tales from around the world. Recently I’ve been going through the “color” fairy books of my youth: The Red Fairy Book, The Blue Fairy Book, etc. I chuckled the other day when reading Andrew Lang’s introduction to The Green Fairy Book—the third in the series. In it he writes, “This is the third, and probably the last of the Fairy Books of many colours . . .” Of course, there are so many that followed after that collection, I imagined he only stopped because he couldn’t think of any more names for colors!

And I came across this terrific, profound remark: “There are not many people now, perhaps there are none, who can write really good fairy tales, because they do not believe enough in their own stories, and because they want to be wittier than it has pleased heaven to make them.”

That greatly touched my heart, as I hear the truth in those statements. I believe in my tales with all my heart. In fact, I pour my heart and soul so much into my tales that it took me by surprise, when I finished The Map across Time, to realize I had written my characters to reflect the two deeply integral sides of my soul. What Lang is saying here is a good tale (be it fairy or otherwise) really needs to be a tale the writer believes in. We bring our passion, our emotions, our dreams, and our fears to our stories. The best stories capture those sparks and set aflame a wood blaze. You can always tell when a writer has done that, and when they haven’t. As the famous line from Rich and Famous goes: “If your writing doesn’t keep you up nights, it won’t keep anyone else up either.”

At first I was enthralled and surprised by the call to write fairy tales. Not fantasy, but quite specifically, fairy tales. The more I read them, the more I see so many layers. Most were written to impart morals. Many reflect faith, belief in heaven’s watch care and guidance. Some are a little over the top with extreme punishments, no doubt meant to serve as a scary warning to badly behaved children.

Lang claims many turn away from writing tales because they want to be “wittier” than a fairy tale will allow them to be. But, the sky’s the limit for wit and cleverness in fairy tales—perhaps even more so than in most other genres. Here’s a hilarious passage out of one tale in The Green Fairy Book that describes a king grieving the recent death of his queen:

“He shut himself up in a little room and knocked his head against the walls for grief, until his courtiers were really afraid that he would hurt himself. So they hung feather beds between the tapestry and the walls, and then he could go on knocking his head as long as it was any consolation to him without coming to much harm.”

If that is not witty, what is?