(Someone once told me that “history” is called “history” because it’s HIS story, meaning God’s. Dunno if that’s true. But if it is, then my own personal story can be called “mystory.” In this case, I’m writing about the story of my stories, so that’s … “mystories”? But I digress. Ridiculously.)

I am a writer; in fact, I am a novelist. I get to call myself that, even though I do not have a single book published by a trade publisher, because I have been writing novels since I was 13ish. I’ve self-published five in various forms, and people read them, review them, and otherwise interact with them, so I figure that I’m doing what novelists do, and that’s good enough to claim the title.

In fact, this past week I finally finished a trilogy I have been working on for nearly ten years. In 2001 or thereabouts, I wrote a book called Worlds Unseen, which told the story of a handful of people who were curious enough — and gripped by longing enough — to explore beyond the boundaries of the world-as-they-knew-it and discover the truth about their history and future. As in our world, the truth is obscured by the machinations of evil. If discovered, it will set people free — but only if they’re willing to side with the ancient King and cast off the “safe” life they’ve always known.

Worlds Unseen helped me break through a few personal blocks as a writer, and I followed it right away with a sequel, Burning Light. I knew the story was supposed to be a trilogy. But back then I didn’t do outlines, and the third story wasn’t readily to hand like the first two had been. I was out of steam and content to let it rest.

So I did. Someday I would write a book called The Advent and finish the trilogy. Maybe.

In the meantime, I wrote a bunch of other books and became published as a freelance writer for various online and print magazines. In 2006 I entered the exciting waters of POD-enabled self-publishing, and in 2007 I looked fondly at Worlds Unseen and Burning Light and thought, why not? I have moved on to pursuing publication for other books. I could get these out into the world and start building readership. To the printing press!

This will have applicability to you shortly; keep reading . . .

Well, I did publish Worlds Unseen and Burning Light, and they began to accrue fans. They opened doors for me to get into all sorts of discussions with people about books and writing and my faith. They collected some good reviews. Worlds Unseen in its Smashwords-ebook form has been downloaded over 13,000 times.

But there was trouble. You cannot publish the first two books in a trilogy without eventually, someday, somehow, finishing the series. Readers made that clear. The third book needed to come out. And it didn’t want to.

The Advent turned into my life’s worst case of writer’s block. Dogged and determined, I wrote it. Hated and scrapped it. Wrote a different story with the same title. Scrapped most of it. Changed its name to Coming Day and kept going. Seven or so almost-complete rewrites later, I finally, finally wrote the book that finished the trilogy appropriately and in a way I could be proud of. It was like pulling teeth the entire way.

But now it’s done. I’ll be making it available to the world just as soon as the cover art is finished. And I can move on to new adventures, new worlds, new stories, and of course, marketing.

I share this bit of mystory with you because it highlighted two lessons for me.

1. Even when you think you know the cost ahead of time, anything you do will require commitment. Writing stories, like pulling a tooth or doing ministry or navigating a tricky relationship, requires a commitment that transcends how we feel at the moment. The upside of this is that commitment eventually yields fruit, and the fruit likewise transcends how we may have felt during the process.

2. Publishing, in any form, creates relationship and responsibility to readers. Don’t take that lightly. Like any relationship, it will cost something. It will require work and follow-through. And it will also create its own rewards. We are all, writers and readers both, engaged in one great conversation that truly impacts lives. And that is the best reason to pursue publishing in the first place.

I’d love to hear more about yourstories. Anybody?

P.S. If you’d like to read more about my trilogy, the website is www.worldsunseen.com.

The award-winning team blog, Novel Journey held a year-long contest they called Out of the Slush Pile. They featured a different genre throughout the year and named a monthly winner. Then in January 2011 they’ll put all the winners into the mix and choose a grand prize winning entry.

The month of November was Round II for Speculative Fiction. I’m happy to announce that Sally Apokedak, soon to be a guest blogger here at Speculative Faith, was the winner. You can read the first chapter (ignore the pictures) of her completed fairy tale stand-alone The Button Girl, then leave Sally a comment here, at Novel Journey, or at her own blog.

To whet your appetite, here’s the opening:

The Button Girl
by Sally Apokedak

Sorrow crouches quietly
at the heart’s door,
awaiting the perfect moment to spring.
– Lawful Atwood III, in the first year of the captivity

Chapter 1

Repentance Atwater sat still as a rock, clenching her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. Staring at herself in the reflecting wall before her, she attempted a happy expression, but only accomplished the terrified look of a rabbit caught in torchlight.

Her mother stood behind her, gently raking her fingers through Repentance’s freshly washed hair. She hummed a lively buttoning tune, obviously unaware of the pain that would come with the night.

A weeping and a wailing.

There would come a weeping and a wailing. Repentance had been to plenty of failed button ceremonies. She knew what it felt like to stand helpless before the overlords as they loaded up the slave carts.

Mercy Atwater began to plait Repentance’s hair. All the button girls wore braids to keep their hair from frizzing in the humid air.

Repentance closed her eyes, trying to focus on the tune her mother hummed, but she could not shut out the sound of the steady drip from the fog-drenched trees. Even sitting in the back of the cave, through thick stone walls and two leather curtains drawn down, she could hear the incessant drip, drip, drip.

A weeping and a wailing.

She didn’t want to be the cause of it. But what could she do? Inside she’d been weeping and wailing all her life.

Fairy Tales As a Sub-genre of Fantasy, Part 2
by C. S. Lakin

My introductory post discussed the power of fairy tales and the way fairy tale structure is different from other fantasy sub-genres. The key point is that the traditional fairy tale structure mirrors the reality of our existence—the tale centers around an impossible happiness that is contingent upon a simple but often inexplicable requirement.

And that’s what is so fantastic—that the same rule applies to restoration. Just as our first parents’ happiness rested on an incomprehensible condition (you must not eat of the fruit…), our eternal happiness rests on one simple condition: Whoever believes in the Son of God will be saved. God doesn’t make things complicated—we do. He gave Adam and Eve a simple, clear condition. Had they obeyed, they wouldn’t have lost God.

So, we see in true fairy tales, the hero or heroine off on a journey where they have to make a choice. There is always a choice, always free will. The choice will involve some incomprehensible reward of happiness, yet will rest on some incomprehensible condition. When we read, for example, how Frodo must enter into Mordor against all odds and destroy the ring in the fires of Mount Doom, it is an incomprehensible task. It is a simple one, but nearly impossible. Yet, all the happiness of Middle Earth depends on his accomplishing this task.

Fairy tales are filled with impossible tasks, yet it is the celebration of the human spirit—of dignity, honor, resolve, love, and often sacrifice—that sends the hero out on a journey to tackle that task head on. This is our history. The story of God becoming man and setting out on a difficult journey to fix what was wrong. It cost him pain, humiliation, sorrow, suffering—facing a seemingly impossible task, but he did it and declared, “It is finished.” The huge, long, epic fairy tale that began in the garden of Eden finished at the cross. Everything once scattered and lost was now gathered and found.

This is what inspired and fired me up to write these fairy tales. I wanted to take traditional fairy tale elements that are deeply ingrained in our memories and hearts and weave them into new tales for all ages. Tales that deal with high concept, with epic themes, not just be entertaining stories. The characters in these books struggle internally as well as externally. They question their place in the world, their dreams, their hopes. Well, they are a lot like us. And they have to overcome their fear and human frailty, trusting in some inner strength and help from heaven to succeed in the end.

What I love most about writing fairy tales is being able to use metaphor and imagery. In The Wolf of Tebron, the themes of waking and dreaming are explored from all angles. Joran, in his search for his wife, held captive by the Moon, realizes he is a dream in the mind of the One who dreams all existence into being. And that he learns he can live his dream while wide awake. In The Map across Time, the kingdom is under a curse that makes men do evil. If this curse isn’t counteracted, hope is lost. This is the metaphor for our lives under sin’s curse. And blood is used heavily as a symbol in this book to tie in with redemptive and saving power. In The Land of Darkness, the symbols of light and darkness are explored. People wander lost in the Land of Darkness, but they don’t know they are lost. And they don’t know they are in the dark. A perfect metaphor for our existence. Only by crossing an invisible bridge—one that can only be seen with eyes of faith—can our heroes get out of the Land of Darkness. I won’t give any spoilers here—you will just have to read the book to learn what the bridge really is.

I have presently completed the fourth fairy tale—The Unraveling of Wentwater. I got the idea from Chesterton, from that line in Orthodoxy where he says “a word is forgotten and cities perish.” In this tale, an entire village unravels one word at a time, as every word in existence begins to disappear and, along with it, the objects they give meaning to. The theme of Wentwater has to do with mercy versus justice, and explores the futile pursuit of knowledge that leaves mercy behind. “The wisdom of the wise perishes”—literally!

The title of the series relates to the seven “gates of heaven” that are set up in different locales in this fantasy world. Heaven places these stone structures on earth to prevent evil from getting a stronghold into the world of men. Keepers were assigned to watch over the sites, but over time, the sites have been either abandoned or torn down or destroyed. Evil, then, had free rein into the world. Each book of the proposed seven-book series features a different “gate” in a different locale, where the story interweaves with this structure. Just picture Stonehenge and you’ll have an idea of what these look like.

I’m excited to continue the tradition of C. S. Lewis and Narnia. I feel there is a void left in his wake, with so many yearning to read fairy tales that give hope and inspire and work on many levels of symbolism. Hopefully, The Gates of Heaven collection of tales will fill that void and brighten the hearts of readers for a long time!

Three ways to love a fiction “legalist” — that is, a Christian who opposes fantasy or fiction, or more often simply considers them pointless, useless and unnecessary to Godward growth:

1. Part 1: Ask pointed yet gracious questions about what Biblical reasoning exists to reject even “secular” fantasy such as Harry Potter, such as: are we sure we’re not avoiding “magic” with beliefs that themselves are based on mysticism and not Scripture?
2. Part 2: Remember that we all lapse into legalism — even while we are trying to avoid being legalistic! Enjoying fantasy or fiction, while condemning someone who simply doesn’t as legalistic, could be more of the same problem.
3. Part 3: How best to love a fiction legalist? Share our own stories of how God used fantasy to sanctify our own lives, grow us in holiness and joy, and glorify Himself.

So who do I know best, besides myself, whose life was truly changed by fantasy and fiction? My very own wife, Lacy. In fact, I can directly say that were it not for the oft-cited Masters, J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, we would not have met on a message board — NarniaWeb — and continued a long-distance courtship into marriage (as of May 30, 2009).

Naturally this topic frequently recurs in our conversations. And Monday morning, we brought it up again, this time recorded and specifically for this column. With questions and often devil’s-advocate input from me, Lacy shares how God used Lord of the Rings to draw her to Himself.

Lacy’s story

Lacy: I was ten to eleven. … And I was saved when I was five; I said the little prayer when I was five, all that fun stuff. And I really believed.

… [Mom] started with The Hobbit, which was fun. … When we got to The Lord of the Rings, it was — I don’t know, it’s kind of hard to explain. And in fact, a lot of times when I talk about this, I’m kind of worried that what I say will taken wrong.

Stephen: Mm. Certain Christians might say, “You don’t believe in the sufficiency of Scripture!”

(Whilst drinking her morning coffee, Lacy has a hilarious reaction to that potential objection.)

Lacy: Yeah, certain Christians would. But that’s not what it was at all.

Stephen: You did believe in the sufficiency of Scripture.

Lacy: As much as my ten-year-old self could grasp that concept! But I think, honestly what happened was that … it opened my mind to bigger things, to things outside myself and what I could see — creepy as it sounds, the spiritual world. And then there were so many of the characters that personified, not Christ Himself, but qualities of Christ, that oddly enough, made Him, with fantasy, more real to me than He had been before.

For a kid, you know, I’d read the Bible stories over and over again. This was a fresh take on Who Christ was. Gandalf’s sacrifice, the returning King motif, that kind of thing. …

And even then, I realized this is not an allegory. That was just stupid [to think], even for ten.

Stephen: So it wasn’t introduced to you by your mom or your dad — same thing with Narnia — like, “Here is an allegory, of the Bible, and Aslan is Jesus, and Gandalf is Jesus, and Frodo is Jesus, everybody’s Jesus! — except for Sauron, who is Satan.”

Lacy: No, no. In fact, my mom — I don’t remember her even speaking about the Christianity of it, at all. It was just a good story. She just wanted us to read it.

Stephen: But you started picking up on it. … Were you an abnormally smart little ten-year-old who could see the secret messages?

Lacy: No, I was kind of a dumb one. So they had to be pretty good to hit me over the head like that.

Stephen: So even self-professing “dumb” children could see these motifs and these messages that were written in the book, without having a giant list of study questions at the end, or [the book] introduced with the proper evangelical setup.

Lacy: Exactly. In fact, the very fact that it was outside the evangelical setup, all the things I’d heard before, [helped.] … Not that those were bad, [only unhelpful] at that time in my life. …

It made me want to read the Bible more. It made me want to find out more. … Like, “Oh, obviously this is like Jesus. Well, where does that come from in the Bible?” It actually ended up pushing me toward Scripture rather than pulling me away from it.

Stephen: So you didn’t come out believing that, “Well, compared to the real-life Bible, which is boring, these fantasy stories are amazing.”

Lacy: No way. I went back to the Bible thinking, “Wow! This is what was in there all along. And I was missing it.” Probably not articulated at all in my ten-year-old brain, but nevertheless, that’s when I really started reading the Bible and wanting to have a more personal relationship, if you will, with Jesus, because — wow, He is pretty darn cool, just like this!

Plus I had the images. I had images in my mind, rather than just the Bible story images — which were kind of lame, quite honestly, the kind that you’re fed, most of the time, in Sunday school. I had this powerful white-robed, bearded person, standing on a bridge and doing damage to a demon! … And this enigmatic, charismatic king, who’s coming back to his throne after years and years … especially given the way people treated him, the utter reverence that was there. … It opened up my mind to the reality, even though it was a fantasy.

And usually when I tell people that, they look at me and go, “Yooou are crazy, aren’t you?”

Stephen: That leads to the next point. No one’s saying, or no one should be saying, that you have to go through this phase, or otherwise you’re not going to see the Bible as amazing. But for you, that’s the way God decided to work. That was your sanctification stage.

Lacy: I’m very glad He did! And I don’t go back to Lord of the Rings to get more spiritual insight. … I read it often because of the memories associated, because it’s just a good story. But I never [had this particular phase of spiritual growth] more than once. … I do still enjoy the allusions, and it is encouraging. … I enjoyed searching for those and being encouraged by those. But it only ever had to happen once, the sudden — whoa, like that!

Stephen: Why do people think that’s crazy? [Others] go off about how “God led me here” or “God told me this.” And for all we know, maybe that did work for them; it’s just not the same for every Christian.

Lacy: And for most Christians, it’s not fantasy that does it.

Stephen: It just doesn’t sound very spiritual to say that “Lord of the Rings opened my eyes to things beyond the earthly grind.”

Lacy: Exactly, and it’s not connected at all with Scripture in any blatant way. So it does seem almost wrong. So people don’t understand. Not that that’s a horrible thing, but they just don’t. That’s never happened to them in that way, like you said, the epiphanies.

Stephen: We would need to try to come to a mutual understanding that God works in different ways. So if it’s not explicitly forbidden by Scripture, it’s okay.

Lacy: I think too … there’s that stigma with fantasy. … “Really? God could use that?”

Stephen: God could use something [“secular”] and not just some super-spiritual thing.

Lacy: If you’re going to say anything, you expect the owl-stare-thing going on, and the, “Oh, that’s nice.”

Stephen: So what … having a little bit more background, having analyzed it and read from the masters about the way myth can convey truth, what would you say to somebody giving you that owl stare? Because those are the readers we’re trying to reach, beyond those who already agree with us. What would you say to a fiction legalist?

Lacy: It would be difficult to say, “Give it a chance,” because they would be like, “Yeah, right.”

Stephen: “Give witchcraft a chance!” it may sound like to some people. Or just “Give something completely useless a chance.”

Lacy: But realize that God is not limited by our — this is going to sound awfully postmodern — by our prejudices against things that aren’t sin. That it’s always good to do your research. And that it doesn’t have to happen to you to be true.

Stephen: Guided by the Word. And something outside the Word may or may not be un-Biblical.

Lacy: And praise God that His Gospel is getting out, and go on with life. And be open to the fact that that might open your eyes … not to experience, but to truth.

Stephen: There is some bad [fiction] out there. … But a Christian who’s grounded, who knows what truth is, who’s studying and who has the right heart attitude and motivation — delight in Christ and thereby get rid of anything that’s going to displease Him — they’re going to even read the bad stuff, and be able to sort through it, and find the good stuff if it’s there, a la Harry Potter. Nobody’s going out planting mandrakes — or no Christian would.

Lacy: And you worry about your kids? Sure, be careful. But don’t try to put God in a box … that He doesn’t put Himself in.

The Season of Perpetual Hope

Tis  the season: Christmas specials, movies, performances, novels, homework assignments (nothing is sacred), debates on the use of holiday (re: holy day) v. the use of Christmas, Salvation Army employees outside stores, and open season at the mall.

Yeah…I’m not a mall person. I am a Christmas person. Jesus and I were born only 2000 years and two days apart. Ha. 0=) I like the entire holiday season and all the insanity that goes with it. For real. I’ve a list of favored movies and books, and they must be acknowledged frequently. Mom starts playing Christmas tunes around September.

And before you read any further,  this post is most definitely not about materialism/consumerism. That’s its own beast. So that’s not where I’m  going.  I like Santa. I like presents. I  like reindeer and I  like Jingle Bell Rock and Silver Bells.

At any rate, of late I’ve developed a bit of an aversion  to particular aspects of Christmas without really knowing why. It took the movie Elf to clarify the problem for me. For some reason, I’ve never really gotten on the Elf bandwagon.

I’m not really one of those people who thinks we should not buy Christmas presents, decorate the house, or catch sales (hey, if you’re gonna spend money, spend smart), or thinks we should only play “religious music.”

I am, however, a  stickler on keeping the spirit of the whole thing.

Most people understand the basic spirit of Christmas: Hope.

But…hope in what?

Glory to…Whom?

It’s here that the whole thing gets weird. Most movies involving Santa at all make Santa into almost a divine figure. Santa is the god of the holiday season–from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. It’s immediately after the Hallowed Eve of Candy. But check this out:

–Elf: Buddy practically worships Santa. In fact, the world depends on faith in Santa. The evil Central Park Rangers, in true Ringwraith fashion, are devilish.

–The Santa Clause:  An odd combination of humans becoming the godlike Santa Clause.

–Miracle on 34th Street: Santa can make dreams come true, including matchmaking and baby-bringing. In the new one, anyway. I don’t remember if the line is in the old one.

Anyway. I could name more, where, in their intended spirit of making a statement  in favor of keeping “the reason for the season.” Hope. Magic. Miracles. Honestly, in the end they’re more about hope in man or in the Santa deity.  Even my beloved Muppet Christmas Carol, I think.

With whom God has found favor

And like I said. I like a good number of the movies on the list.  But I expect Hanukah to be inherently religious for Jews, and I expect Ramadan to be inherently religious for Muslims.  So, yes, when we strip away all the bright, pretty things…I expect a clear statement of “Hope in God.” You know, the Messiah. The Anointed One, the Creator of the universe bundled in human flesh, born that man no more may die; born to raise the sons of earth; born to give them second birth.

The fickle, karma-based Saint Nick just doesn’t do it for me. He’s fun, no doubt. But he can’t offer hope.  He can’t offer the peace and favor of God. And he certainly can’t bring salvation.

Charms, Tokens, and Other Symbology

I know, I know: What the blazes does this have to do with speculative fiction? I’m going to completely steal an answer from Karen Hancock regarding Elhenu in her book Arena: He is the god of the Arena.  And in that vein, I’ll say that Santa is the god of those particular stories.

There was this book I was reading for review, and it’s honestly the only book I’ve ever read that so totally offended and manhandled the reader that I had to decline to review it. On a religious level, I hated it. On a professional, writer’s level, I hated it. ( No, I’m not disclosing the title.)  To mention it brings bile to my mouth and a series of absolutely disgusting images.  I mention it now only to make this point: You can abuse symbolism.

This book, for all purposes, was inherently religious. I didn’t read The DaVinci Code, but it seemed about that level: Agree or not, accurate or not, the symbols and extra-biblical material require a serious treatment of the particular religion (no, it wasn’t Christian).  The problem is, from what I could tell, it was done with a severe atheist or agnostic bent and winds up mocking everything that should be serious about it (despite the entire plot hinging on religious tradition). It’d be like making National Treasure in such a way that the movie wound up being anti-American and mocked everything about American culture.

One of my fellow reviewers put it this way:  “Dan Brown would have gotten it wrong, but he’d have respected the symbolism.” This particular writer…did not.

And so we’re back to Christmas. Christmas, in name, tradition, and essence, is Christian. (No,  I really don’t care if you call it a Christmas tree or a Holiday tree.  Stick to the point.) And no, I don’t think we should only play the “religious” Christmas songs (although I tend to like them better) or watch The Santa Clause. I will probably watch a plethora of Christmas movies before this season is over. Not the point.

I just think that, maybe, in our endeavor to not appear “preachy” we shouldn’t sacrifice the inherent nature of the thing we hope in.  I know most of us can keep Santa and Jesus separate in our heads – but it’s because we understand that  the star in the east and the jingle of sleigh bells are completely different symbols and point to two very different people.

To Raise the Sons of Earth

So when we talk about hope, remember Santa can’t offer it. When we talk about redemption, Neo can’t bring it. When we talk about righting the universe, Luke can’t do it alone. Characters can be dead wrong in their beliefs, and that’s fine. I have one who thinks if he sins he will die and God will reject him; I have another who thinks God works on a karma system. I have another who thinks God abandoned him.

And that’s my thought, I suppose.  Whatever symbol you use, use it wisely. If a story centers around a religious ritual, ceremony, or principle, then don’t castrate it. Don’t abuse it or change it or mock it, because you’re mocking the very thing you need to make the story work.

And Christmas is about the birth of Christ and the beginnings of the Invasion of Heaven. It’s about God declaring peace and his good will and favor toward man.

Not how wonderfully sentimental we mortals are, or how jolly a holiday deity is.

I love Hobbits. I loved them before I became a writer, and I love them more now. In my way of thinking, the ultimate in creativity is to concoct legend, starting with legendary creatures. Hobbits are just such beings, springing entirely from J. R. R. Tolkien’s imagination.

Among Christian fantasy writers today, there are other writers who are in the imaginary creature creation business. Donita Paul comes to mind with her seven high races and her seven low races. Another such writer is Jonathan Rogers, he of The Wilderking Trilogy (B&H Publishing).

This month the CSFF Blog Tour is featuring his The Charlatan’s Boy (WaterBrook), a story set in the same world and featuring his delightful creature creation, the feechies.

In thinking about how an author goes about creating an entirely other race, I see several components that both Tolkien and Rogers did. First, hobbits and feechies both have something distinct about their physical appearance.

The former are quite short, averaging three and a half feet in height, and they have curly hair covering their leathery (no shoes necessary) feet. They live long lives, somewhere around 130 years.

Feechies, on the other hand, are known “to be wiry and sinewy” according to Dr. Rogers. They have one long eyebrow that runs almost from ear to ear. Their ears stick out from their heads and their chins are weak.

Unique physical appearance, while necessary, is not the most significant part of these legendary creatures, however. Habits, habitat, and culture are more important.

Hobbits, for example, are known for their love of food. They are homebodies, living when they can, in holes in the side of a hill, and prefer to keep to themselves. Family lineage is quite important, to the point that clannish rifts develop.

Feechies are primarily denizens of the swamp, though there have been known to be beach feechies and mountain feechies. The key is that they live away from civilizers. Their lives are free from the restrictions of city life. They might best be known for their love of fighting.

Tolkien gave his hobbits unique traditions such as birthday parties thrown by the one who is celebrating. Rogers gave his feechies a unique voice. Their conversation is coarser, more honest, lighter, as evidenced by their feechie love poems that hold a prominent place in the Wilderking Trilogy. (For Dr. Rogers’ feedback in connection to the Feechie Love Poem Contest, visit Sally Apokedak‘s site.).

Interestingly, both hobbits and feechies have their own system of governance, not so different from human forms, and both are susceptible to outside forces that wish to harm or undermine their way of life for some greedy purpose.

Perhaps those are the only similarities. If I had to summarize each people group with a single word, I’d probably say hobbits are staid while feechies are wild.

That I can think of a single word to characterize these imaginary beings is a testament to the creative powers of their respective authors. May feechies become as well known in the years to come as hobbits are today. (For more information about feechies, visit the Feechie Film Festival).

I’d also like to invite you to visit other bloggers participating in the CSFF Tour for The Charlatan’s Boy

Sally Apokedak
Amy Bissell
Red Bissell
Jennifer Bogart
Thomas Clayton Booher
Keanan Brand
Beckie Burnham
Jeff Chapman
Christian Fiction Book Reviews
Valerie Comer
CSFF Blog Tour
D. G. D. Davidson
April Erwin
Andrea Graham
Tori Greene
Katie Hart
Bruce Hennigan
Christopher Hopper
Becky Jesse
Cris Jesse
Jason Joyner
Julie
Carol Keen
Shannon McDermott
Allen McGraw
Matt Mikalatos
Rebecca LuElla Miller
Nissa
Donita K. Paul
SarahFlan
Sarah Sawyer
Chawna Schroeder
Tammy Shelnut
Kathleen Smith
James Somers
Donna Swanson
Robert Treskillard
Fred Warren
Phyllis Wheeler
Nicole White
Elizabeth Williams

C. S. Lakin is the author of the new fantasy series The Gates of Heaven published by AMG/Living Ink. Book One, The Wolf of Tebron, released this fall and will be the early January feature of the CSFF Blog Tour

– – –

Fairy Tales As a Subgenre of Fantasy, Part 1
By C. S. Lakin

Allegorical fantasy is a powerful way to convey themes using symbolism and metaphor. Many people scoff at fantasy and find no interest in it. But as a culture, as a world of people, we only have to look at most of the top-selling novels in all of history. Nearly all of them—from Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan to The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter—are fantasy. Why is fantasy such a powerful medium, and why does it have such staying power?

My answer may surprise you. Many have heard of Joseph Campbell’s study on the power of myth. Myth is deeply entrenched in our culture, in our psyche, in our past. And it’s our past that intrigues me. Because of the mythic elements that make up our past, our true history is hardwired into who we are and casts shadows on our place in the universe.

What compelled me to write fantasy was not just my love for the genre (and I have been reading fairy tales and fantasy books since grade school). It was because I came across a small book written in the late 1800s by the famous G. K. Chesterton called Orthodoxy. Chesterton devotes an entire chapter to the merits of fantasy and particularly fairy tales. He calls this chapter “The Ethics of Elfland.” There are many types of fantasy styles and genres, but only the fairy tale follows specific rules that mirror our true existence in this world. And this is why I believe fairy tales resonate to the deepest part of our souls.

One benefit to fairy tales, according to Chesterton, is their ability to wake us up and make us look at the magic and splendor that is our own existence. He says the strongest emotion fairy tales induced in him was “that life was as precious as it was puzzling. It was ecstasy because it was an adventure; it was an adventure because it was an opportunity. It was good to be in a fairy tale. The test of all happiness is gratitude. And I felt grateful, though I hardly knew to whom.”

Here’s the point that really opened my eyes. He spoke of the great principle of fairy philosophy: “I will call it ‘The Doctrine of Conditional Joy.’ The note of the fairy utterance always is, ‘You may live in a palace of gold, if you do not say the word cow.’ Or ‘You may live happily ever after with the King’s daughter, if you do not show her an onion.’ The vision always hangs upon a veto. All the dizzy and colossal things conceded depend upon one small thing withheld. All the wild and whirling things that are let loose depend upon ONE thing that is forbidden….In the fairy tale an incomprehensible happiness rests upon an incomprehensible condition. A box is opened and all evils fly out. A word is forgotten and cities perish. A lamp is lit and love flies away…and . . .” (This is the kicker!) “…An apple is eaten and the hope of God is gone.”

Of course, we know Adam and Eve didn’t eat an apple, but they did eat a piece of forbidden fruit. Do we really get his point? Our entire existence, our purpose in life, the reason we are here, now, in this world, which is in this mess, is all because of this doctrine of conditional joy—a doctrine God invented and imposed upon us. This is why fairy tales are so powerful. Our lives are all wrapped around this one truth—that a condition was given, and when it was overstepped, we lost God. And now we are spending our lives trying to gain back what has been lost. We have been created to search for God, to look for what has been lost, and to discover what the one condition is that will restore all things to perfect balance.

(will be continued in next weel)

Are we free from legalism so long as we don't look like this guy?

Two weeks ago, reader Bethany asked, quite fairly, how come I used the word “legalist” to describe Christians who oppose either a certain fantasy series, like Harry Potter, or all fiction.

That made me grateful I started this series saying I hoped it would be more a conversation than simply exposition of my thoughts on fiction-legalism. Yet before using such a term, it still would have been better to offer a definition. After all, legalism has many different meanings.

Some people believe any standard, supposedly based on Scripture and applied to all claiming to be Christians, is “legalism.” That notion rejects many Biblical truths; it’s not my definition here.

Rather, legalism includes two main forms: the work-to-get-saved variety (which is common to all religions, even beliefs labeled “Christianity”) and the once-you’re-saved-you-must-follow-more-rules-to-be-more-spiritual variety. All Biblical Christians will reject the first kind of legalism — but we are all vulnerable to the second. That is the kind of legalism these columns address.

Or are we all vulnerable? Some Christians limit their definition of legalism only to the first kind: well, I don’t believe I have to work to get my salvation, they reason, so I’m not a legalist. But silently they may lapse into the second kind: I’m more spiritual than the Christian who does X.

For example, consider this reply to a homeschooling-oriented website’s warning about fiction:

Dear keepers of the faith,

Thanks so much for your article on C. S. Lewis and the article on fiction. We have always felt this way which is rare! Most people think we are legalistic; but we are not. […]

That denies what author Michael Horton calls the “default setting” in human nature: we all, to some extent, lapse back into trying to earn God’s favor, or take His gifts and dismiss the Giver.

[O]ur default setting is that we reject the gospel. That’s where we must start from. Even as Christians, we face this problem. We are always wrestling with our tendency to self-reliance. Even the Apostle Paul faced this issue (2 Cor 1:9). Our default setting is that we are naturally moralistic therapeutic deists. We are Pelagians at heart. We don’t get rid of that tendency when we first become Christians; that is the spiritual sewage that has to be flushed out of us every day until we die.

So for any Christian to think, much less stand up and claim, “I’m not a legalist and I’m utterly free from that sin,” is naïve at best and dangerous at worst.

That applies regardless of how a Christian behaves on the outside. Like sin itself, which comes not from external sources but the sin-shrapnel in one’s own heart (Mark 7, Romans 6), legalism can infest us regardless of how we appear. A beer-drinking, R-rated-movie-watching Christian can be as much a legalist as any denim-skirt-wearing homeschooler. And a Harry Potter reader can be just as much a legalist as a Christian who, even for wrong reasons, decides to avoid the books, even if he or she loves great stories and would probably enjoy them.

Anti-legalism legalism?

So it would be horrible if — along with making justifiable pleas for anti-fiction or -fantasy Christians to consider if their reasons for rejection are truly Biblical — any Christ-loving fiction reader or writer began behaving more like a legalist than any of them.

That might even be worse, because it doesn’t look like legalism.

It may have been just this year that I realized the bizarre paradox that one could legalistically oppose legalism. And it wasn’t until this column by Pastor Tullian Tchividjian that I heard this very concept articulated the most succinctly:

It’s simple: we can become self-righteous against those who are self-righteous.

Many younger evangelicals today are reacting to their parents’ conservative, buttoned-down, rule-keeping flavor of “older brother religion” with a type of liberal, untucked, rule-breaking flavor of “younger brother irreligion” which screams, “That’s right, I know I don’t have it all together and you think you do; I know I’m not good and you think you are. That makes me better than you.” See the irony?

In other words, they’re proud that they’re not self-righteous!

From Spurgeon.org's 'Emergent Motivational Posters'

Conclusion: if I — reacting to the “Keepers of the Faith” website maker, or the Potter critic who sadly hadn’t shaken off un-Biblical approaches to sin and discernment, or anyone else — got sick of “older brother religion” and threw Harry Potter or other fiction in someone’s face, as if I have this anti-legalism thing down and all who disagree are legalists, what have I become?

Yes: a legalist myself, and worse, because it doesn’t look like legalism; it looks like “freedom.”

But it would be an imposter of real freedom, not Biblical, and void of love for my brothers and sisters in Christ, whether they’re “weaker” (Romans 14, 1 Corinthians 8-10) on this issue or not.

Love in action

Thus, all those questions and Biblical truths I suggested last week about Potter or fantasy — they’re best asked in love. And that will optimally be in the context of a caring relationship with someone founded in the truth and grace of the Gospel at its center. I’m still learning this the hard way, often, which itself proves again that anyone can soar right over Biblical truth — such as that Christians must love one another in Christ — in order to overemphasize other truths.

Along with love is true humility: God does not change, but He works differently with His people. Neither fantasy readers nor fantasy critics can claim to be free of legalism or other sins.

Yet so far the question remains: how can Christians who do see how God has helped us grow through amazing fantasy that honors Him (or at least some of His truths, as Harry Potter does) help others see that — and without judging them un-Biblically or adopting similar legalism sins?

I think I’ve found a central “way,” which fits perfectly in the whole idea of translating truth into stories in the first place. That concluding column should come next week.

In all the speculation about the soon-to-come Voyage of the Dawn Treader movie, a few people have expressed their hope that the filmmakers will not do to Edmund what they did to Peter in Prince Caspian — sap him of his nobility. Peter in that unfortunate interpretation was not the hero I remember in the books or even in the BBC movies; he was pettier, perhaps more relatable, but not nearly so much of a hero. I missed him.

I’m partial to heroic heroes. They’re one major reason I’m drawn to fantasy; this genre suits them. I love characters who have high ideals and principles, who will fight for their beliefs, and who, when challenged, don’t fall. I love men who are men and women who are women, and I love characters who are so good they are larger than life and they make want to be good too. I love characters in whom I see glimpses of Christ.

Last year a new editing client of mine was writing a book about young teen boys who get trapped in a cave-in. She was writing the book to tie in with a character curriculum, so she wanted to use the story to teach particular character qualities. A potential editor had informed her that in order to be believable, the characters couldn’t be so mature and principled. They had to be whiny, call each other names, fight more, disobey their parents, et al. She was really concerned about this. I told her that it wasn’t so; that in order to be believable, they had to struggle. But that didn’t mean they had to fail in their struggles.

I know that there are no truly good people in this world. I know that there is no perfection but that which we see in the face of Christ. But that is why I want to see heroes in fiction. They comfort my heart, they inspire me, and they remind me of who I’m supposed to be. They teach me to love holiness, for they show me that holiness is beautiful.

So bring on the heroic heroes, no matter how the world may scoff. This reader loves them — and I suspect I am not alone.