Past Watchful Dragons: Why One Christian Fantasy Author Chose To Write For The General Market
by R. J. Anderson

R. J. Anderson

All the years I was growing up, my father served as a full-time Bible teacher and elder in the open Brethren assemblies. My father was, and is, a wonderful godly man with a great love of Scripture, and thanks to him I received an excellent Biblical education. But he also read to me from C.S. Lewis’s Narnia books and the tales of Tolkien’s Middle-Earth, and slipped copies of George MacDonald’s Curdie books and other works of Christian fantasy into my Christmas stocking. I loved them all, and plundered my local library for more. By the time I was a teenager, I had made up my mind to write, and Lord willing one day publish, a fantasy novel of my own.

Yet even though I’d read quite a bit of modern Christian fantasy—like John White’s Archives of Anthropos series and Stephen Lawhead’s Dragon King trilogy—and thought I might be able to get a Christian publisher if my work was good enough, something about the idea of writing books that would only be found in Christian bookstores, read by people who shared my core beliefs and principles already, didn’t sit right with me. And the more I thought about it, and even prayed about it, the more I felt that the CBA market was not the place for me.

Among other things, I took encouragement from C.S. Lewis’s writings about the creation of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, in which he confessed that there had been nothing obviously Christian about the ideas that first provoked him to write the book at all. It wasn’t until later that he began to reflect on how a well-written fantasy story by a Christian might not only entertain the reader but also appeal to his soul and conscience—stealing past the “watchful dragons” of cynicism and unbelief, and enabling him to appreciate Biblical truths in a new way.

Lewis went on to say in an essay about writing for children, “The only moral that is of any value is that which arises inevitably from the whole cast of the author’s mind.” That resonated strongly with me as well. I didn’t want to craft my stories to meet the expectations of one particular type of reader, or to fit a theological checklist. I wanted to write a story that could be read and enjoyed by a wider audience, including and especially those readers who did not already share my beliefs. And I believed it was possible to write stories that would reflect my convictions as a follower of Jesus Christ, and still be published in the general market. After all, I’d read plenty of general-market fantasy by people of other faiths whose beliefs came through pretty obviously, sometimes blatantly, in the course of telling their stories. If Susan Cooper could write at the end of her THE DARK IS RISING series, “You may not lie idly awaiting the second coming of anybody now, because the world is yours and it is up to you,” and if someone like Philip Pullman could pepper his books with blatantly atheist sentiments, then there was surely a need for authors of Christian faith to speak out as well.

I believed that a Christian author could—and should—tell powerful, relevant, engaging stories that even readers indifferent or hostile to Christianity could appreciate. I knew that even without sermonizing, books by Christian writers could have a positive influence on the minds and hearts of those who read them. After all, hadn’t George MacDonald’s Phantastes caused the agnostic C.S. Lewis to crave holiness, and eventually helped lead him to Christ?

So when I wrote the manuscript that became my debut novel, I told the best story I knew how to tell, without worrying overly about whether it would turn out to be “Christian” or not. I trusted, and prayed, that something spiritually meaningful would come out of it anyway. And when the book was done, I started querying publishers in the general market, looking for an editor who would accept it. It was a long road, but eventually my book sold in both the US (as Faery Rebels: Spell Hunter) and in the UK (by its original title Knife). And since then—particularly since the publication of the sequel Wayfarer a.k.a. Rebel, which addresses Christian faith in a much more explicit way—I’ve received a number of letters and reviews to assure me that the spiritual and moral aspects of my books are being noticed and appreciated, not only by Christian fantasy readers but by some non-Christian readers as well.

I don’t consider it my mission as an author to save people’s souls. I don’t believe I could do that even if I tried. That’s the work of the Holy Spirit, and He uses any number of people, situations, and influences to accomplish His purpose. My mission is to be a committed Christian writing the best fantasy stories I can write, out of the heart and spirit and wisdom that God has given me, and trust that somewhere along the way, He can and will use my writing—even if it’s just one book, or even one line—for His glory.

And that’s why I write for the general market.

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Watch the KNIFE series trailer

This is a simple one…very simple. A slightly rambling meditation.

“I will sing of the mercies of the Lord forever; I will sing!

And with my mouth will I make known

thy faithfulness through all generations!”

“Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good,

for his steadfast love endures forever.

Give thanks to  the God of gods,

for his steadfast love endures forever.

Give thanks to the Lord of lords,

for his steadfast love endures forever…”

~Ps. 136.1-3

“What is man, that you are mindful of him,

The son of man, that you should care for him?”  (Psalm 8 )

“Am I only a God nearby, and not a God far off?” (Jeremiah)

“And for this reason I bow my head before the Father…”

And so we call the Master of the Universe….Daddy.

“His anger is for a moment; his lovingkindness for generations.”

He is not made uneasy or disturbed by our flaking emotions. He is secure enough in himself to endure even the most blistering accusations (Yancey).  He takes pleasure in us, delights in giving of himself to us. The Master of the Universe hears the words of a few  halflings–spirit and clay.

I  think I’d go to pieces if I didn’t have his strength.

“Be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, that you may become blameless and pure children of God.” “Do not let the sun go down on your anger, for the anger of man does not bring about the things God desires” (that’s a gross paraphrase).

At the end of the day, when I’m lost in my own frustrations, when all Hades breaks loose, when I’m exhausted, moody, depressed, exultant, overjoyed, or  too stunned to have an emotion, the bigger picture’s furiously simple: He is here.

He has seen.

He has heard.

He knows.

And he has come.

And not only come, but come to deliver.

I suppose that’s all I’ve got.

My prayer is that everyone’s doings this week are guarded by the right hand of God. My hope is that your days will be full of mirth and nothing unpleasant will befall you. But whether it is so or not: His love endures forever.

“May the Lord bless you and keep you;

May he make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you,

And give you peace.”

Let the Spirit guide you always. He’s a writer, too.

I first met Merrie Destefano at the Mount Hermon Christian Writers’ Conference. She initiated a gathering of speculative fiction writers where she gave each person an opportunity to share the premise of their work in progress. I’ll never forget the reaction of the twenty-five or so writers present when Merrie related hers—the premise of the book that would become Afterlife: The Resurrection Chronicles.

In this story, science has discovered the way to bring people back from the dead, over and over, up to nine times. Resurrection has actually become big business, but some are not content. They thirst for immortality.

As it turned out, Merrie ended up finding a publishing home for her novel with the general-market house Eos, an imprint of HarperCollins. Is her novel a “general market” story? Or is it “Christian fiction”? After all, when I met Merrie she was pitching her book at a Christian writers’ conference to Christian editors and agents who primarily work with Christian publishers. In fact, she signed with a Christian agent shortly after we met, and he sent her novel out to the main Christian publishing houses. Eventually Merrie went a different direction, and her book sold quickly.

Was it not “Christian” enough for Christian publishers? I can’t answer that question because I’ve not talked with any of those Christian publishing professionals who passed on the project. My guess is, they weren’t convinced their target audience would buy the numbers of copies they needed to sell.

Afterlife is dystopian science fiction though Merrie’s publisher is marketing it as urban fantasy which seems to be a hotter commodity right now. Christian publishers, however, apparently believe neither genre attracts their target reader.

Why, I wonder. The writing is stellar, the story thought-provoking and all but devoid of the two things that some Christian readers seem to think sully a book—graphic sex scenes and cuss words.

Are there “faith elements” in Afterlife? If by this phrase, a person means characters, conversation, plot points that make the reader think about spiritual things, then the answer is a resounding, YES! If instead the question means, has the author laid out a spiritual lesson consistent with Biblical principles, then, No.

The thing is, Merrie doesn’t “lay out” her theme but weaves it into the fabric of the story as a skilled writer should. The reader, then, is left to connect the dots, to ponder the issues, to ask the questions, and to seek for the answers, if he so chooses.

Interestingly, I found far more Biblical inferences and intentional questions about spiritual things in Afterlife than in many of the novels considered “Christian fiction.” In fact, the opening epigraph set the tone:

“Remember, death is a choice.
And I know you’ve all heard the latest rumor,
that One-Timers don’t really exist.
They say that everbody’s a First-Timer
and that when death comes, we all choose life.
I’m here to say that’s just not true!”
-Reverend Josiah Byrd, leader of the first pro-death rally

A reverend, leading a “pro-death” rally? Why would he do this?

I opened the book randomly and came across this opening sentence to Chapter Fifty—an example of how Merrie has dyed the fabric of her story in the language of the spiritual:

Silent as an empty midnight mass, the silver-and-black chopper thumped to a velvet halt, descended like light from heaven, landed on the roof of the Carrington Hotel.

And here’s a more specific passage, not alluding to a Biblical passage or using spiritual imagery, but actually raising questions about God:

“This thing, this guilt”—I paused uncertain how to express what was in my heart, especially when I knew that a black monster was swimming through the room—”it isn’t between you and the dead guy. Not really.” I thought I heard the swish of a reptilian tail. “It’s between you and God. He’s the one that you need to talk to.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” There were tears on his face now, glimmering in the darkened room. His own personal river of pain. “I feel like he hung up the phone on me. Like he isn’t taking my calls anymore.”

“Then let’s call Him together,” I ventured. I expected him to laugh and tell me to leave, to go back to my pretty little childhood while he drifted off into dark, unfamiliar streets. I expected black water to swell, to come to life, to swallow him whole right in front of me.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Instead Russ lowered his head and wept. Then he got off his chair and knelt on the floor. I suddenly forgot about the monsters and knelt beside him.

For the first and only time in our lives, my brother and I prayed together.

The scene continues and the story continues. This isn’t the climax or resolution but one of many inferences or suggestions or introductions to spiritual matters.

In reality, who can read a book about dying and coming back to life, and dying and coming back to life, without thinking about death and what happens for real?

Merrie’s debut novel, released in September, is one Christian readers will want to have on their shelves. It’s a great book to start a discussion with those who aren’t Christians. And it’s an excellent story by a talented writer, especially for those who enjoy dystopian science fiction or urban fantasy, whichever you choose to classify it.

Marc Schooley

The question put to us is why fiction authors should read deep-doctrine nonfiction. I merrily accepted the invitation to consider and discuss this dear-to-my-heart topic at Speculative Faith and thank my fellow six-pointer E. Stephen Burnett both for the opportunity and the engaging thesis.

Let’s modify our question a bit: I am only qualified to address Christian fiction authors, and even in that tangentially toward a Christian trajectory more so than to attempt inform the fiction author component of the phrase. I wouldn’t presume to offer anyone a roadmap to crafting fiction of any sort; it would only lead them to a kaleidoscope landscape where the paths all shifted underfoot and most of the red octagonal signs read go.

But that underscores the import of deep-doctrine nonfiction, doesn’t it, and why Stephen has seemingly attached a deontological epistemic duty to it—that all (Christian) fiction authors should read it? I think so. I agree with him, at the peril of inserting words in his mouth, that there’s a duty involved, one that’s mandated in Hebrews 5:12 to 6:1, for instance. In this, then, our first distinction appears: all Christian fiction authors should study deep doctrine because all Christians should study deep doctrine.

It’s simply a matter of Christians acting as their faith dictates. Christian fiction authors, as a subset of the larger set of Christians, ought to possess a firm grasp of the truths of the Christian faith, beginning with the perspicacious, necessary foundations and progressing to those things we as Christians often argue over.

With regard to fiction, and to offset the somewhat heavy-handedness of this post thus far, this habit, developed by the Christian author, will yield great benefits in fiction, especially as compared with watching Desperate Housewives or even reading Gone With the Wind. Here are some reasons I think this…

Truth is stranger than fiction/plot—we’ve all heard the cliché, but perhaps we could rephrase it as truth is more interesting than fiction. We as Christians hold certain truths as true. These truths will inform fiction in a manner more interesting than fiction itself, just as the cliché holds; they provide a framework that undergirds a fiction story, no matter the setting, plotting, or characterization, and provide a verisimilitude that endows a story with interest. Any world created by a Christian fiction author who studies deep-doctrine and consistently applies it would naturally have this feel. Though I disagree with its doctrine vociferously, in no small way was the success of the Left Behind series independent of this application of Christian doctrine into a Christian fiction.

Characterization—what’s more important to successful fiction than characterization, Christian or otherwise? Plot, of course, but that’s another post. (See how easy it is to rile the character-firsters in our midst? They are an emotional lot, after all. J) Regardless, imagine the inexhaustible wealth of characterization available to Christian writers within their own deep-doctrine! Let me, at the risk of shameful self-promotion, give some personal examples. In The Dark Man (attack helicopters!), Charles Graves is tormented by the sinful nature, a concept directly lifted from Christian doctrine, and all characters in the book are knowingly or unknowingly contrasted against it. Likewise, in Konig’s Fire, Sascha Konig confronts his sinful nature, and, as an academian, is tormented by the Problem of Evil:

If God is willing to prevent evil, but is not able to, then He is not omnipotent.

If He is able, but not willing, then He is malevolent.

If He is both able and willing, then whence cometh evil?

If He is neither able nor willing, then why call Him God?

Could you not find a novel’s worth of characterization in those lines? Or, in a current work-in-progress, I’ve begun to explore the lovely Vivian’s loneliness, alienation, and human fallenness and sin-separation against the backdrop of redemption, adoption, forgiveness, and love of God: all concepts derived directly from the study of deep doctrine.

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?

Symbolism & Theme—get your symbolism and theme right here folks. 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. In a sense, it will necessarily Pierce the Darkness or follow/guide John along his quest in A Pilgrim’s Regress.

Preventing/Combating Error—anyone read The Shack? ‘Nuff said. No, I retract that—the ‘nuff said part, anyway. The church is hemorrhaging in our day in part from a refusal on the part of Christians to study and profess sound doctrine. Now, I’m not suggesting that Christian fiction ought to be preachy and dull—it must entertain—otherwise, it would be a married bachelor of sorts, so to speak. Nor do I suggest that Christian authors insist on divisive points of doctrine—although they can be utilized well for humor. That’s the realm of the polemic and the theology text, not the pages of fiction. However, it’s not too much to ask that its authors be sound in their underlying doctrine, orthodox in their beliefs, and to construct their worlds accordingly. In fact, not only is it not too much to ask, based on our first distinction above, it’s required.

These are four good reasons, I believe, why a grasp of deep doctrine informs Christian fiction in a positive manner, and since many more exist, I’ll leave it as further discussion or thought how good doctrine may positively affect our writing. The most important reason, however, is still our first distinction. The Christian walk requires two legs: doctrine and application. The latter is the performance of the former, and the Christian will limp through this Christian life without both fully functioning members. It should be obvious what one needs to do to actually run the race that the Apostle Paul is so fond of mentioning in Holy Scripture.

Marc Schooley describes himself as “a Christian and a Texan … in that order.” While not working in the U.S. space program in Houston, loving his family or going to church, he enjoys studying theology, writing stories, and is completing a second Master’s degree. His first novel, The Dark Man, was published by Marcher Lord Press in spring 2009; his second novel, Konig’s Fire, also from Marcher Lord, released last month.

This column doesn’t seek to give all answers to the question, but to seek answers. The fact is, most Speculative Faith readers have already wrestled with many fiction-related issues: the magic, worldviews, portraying sin without tempting others (such as the Bible does), and so on.

Yet how do such readers discuss these matters with our brothers and sisters in Christ who have very different views?

For example, tonight at midnight, thousands of viewers will flock to theaters to see the latest film installment about You-Know-Who, and I don’t mean a Dark Lord: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part One. (I will not be among them, only because I need to work on Friday — my wife and I will likely see the film on Friday night.) Many have long since settled their beliefs about Harry Potter, with good and bad reasons offered on either side. But then there’s this:

On July 8 at midnight, bookstores everywhere were stormed by millions of children to obtain the latest and fourth book of the series known as “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.” These books were taken into homes everywhere with a real evil spirit following each copy to curse those homes. July 8th was also the 18th day (three sixes in numerology) from the witches’’ sabat of midsummer. July 8th was also the 13th day from the signing of the United Religions Charter in San Francisco.¹ is called ‘the nameless one,’” (just like Voldemort, she suggests), why should we believe the bad guys? Theirs is a made-up religion. And even if they do get this from the Devil, he is a deceiver. He makes things up — such as claiming that he owns the world. Similarly, how can anyone know for sure that “‘Azkaban,’ ‘Circe,’ [sic?] ‘Draco,’ ‘Erised,’ [?! That is ‘desire’ spelled backward!] ‘Hermes’ and ‘Slytherin’ … are names of real devils or demons”?]

This blogger, writing on July 18, 2005 under the name “Journey 2 Wholeness Ministries,” claims to have been a paganism practitioner and even a witch. But it seems clear from that paragraph alone — to say nothing of the rest — that she hasn’t yet gotten past old superstitions.

Not all Christians who reject or just don’t care for Harry Potter books take that level of careless reasoning, or even plain mysticism: bringing “numerology” into the issue, imagining all manner of evil date connections, or supposing some bizarre insider-demon-trading information about which demons are assigned to infest which objects (Biblical proof, please?).

But even if Christians do descend to that — how can we best love and reason with them?

Love in questions and discussion

God-honoring fiction can certainly illustrate better ways of engaging with the world and false beliefs, but the greater battle lies on the nonfiction front.

I mentioned that our blogger has carried things over from her former religion (which by the way I need not assume is a false claim, though some Christian leaders have lied about “Satanic” backgrounds). What she’s carried over is not demons, but un-Biblical beliefs.

And from what I’ve read from many Christian critics of fiction itself, such beliefs aren’t just used against any particular book. They may be behind critics’ statements such as “fiction is not useful” or “the Devil can too easily deceive us through fiction.”

Thus one might ask, likely after knowing this person and showing God’s grace in other ways:

1. Who is in charge of the world: Jesus or the Devil? To Jesus the Devil lied on a mountaintop, trying to bribe Him to worship him, by claiming “[the world] has been delivered to me, and I give it to whom I will” (Luke 4: 5-7). But God’s Word specifically says “the earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof” (Psalm 24:1, also cited in 1 Cor. 10:26), and that includes all the world’s kingdoms and governments (Romans 13). Whose claim should we believe?
2. Is God sovereign? What has He said about His power to preserve His people for His Name’s sake and for their good, out of his love? Or is He helpless against some evils?
3. Similarly, do people really sin without knowing it? Or is sin, whether from Christians or non-Christians, intentional — and not based on some external source, but our own sinful hearts? Jesus’ statements in Mark 7 about sin’s true source are crucial to understand and believe here.
4. If it’s true that “high level witches believe that there are seven satanic princes” and that “in coven meetings, [the last prince] is called ‘the nameless one,’” (just like Voldemort, she says), why should we believe the bad guys? Theirs is a made-up religion. And even if they do get this from the Devil, he is a deceiver. He makes things up — such as claiming that he owns the world. Similarly, how can anyone say for sure that “‘Azkaban,’ ‘Circe,’ [sic?] ‘Draco,’ ‘Erised,’ [?! That is ‘desire’ spelled backward!] ‘Hermes’ and ‘Slytherin’ … are names of real devils or demons”?
5. Even if that is how demons operate, is that really the context of Rowling’s presentation of the evil Lord Voldemort? Moreover, even if she were drawing (even knowingly!) from an actual fact about the demonic world, doesn’t it mean something that she applies this to the bad guy? Voldemort is also pictured with an evil serpent that obeys his will, similar to how the Devil acted through a serpent in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 3). But again, he is clearly the stories’ villain.
6. “Warner Brothers (the producers of the Harry Potter movies) claimed the first movie was an accurate portrayal of witchcraft.” Witchcraft is certainly a sin, but so is being careless with facts and deceiving others. Where is this quote? Moreover, for someone claiming to be so well-versed in actual witchcraft practices, is it accurate, and honoring to the God of truth, to claim that the Harry Potter books, regardless of other flaws, are “training manuals for the occult”?
7. The Apostle Paul warned against treating Things as sinful just because pagan practitioners use them to commit sin (Romans 14, 1 Cor. 8-10). Any caution about Christian discernment that doesn’t include this caution the other way has presented a truth imbalanced with other truths — which can quickly become a lie. Finally, Paul himself read pagan poetry about Zeus (Acts 17:28).

Next week: Biblical verse-hurling and arguments alone may not convince even a more-grace-minded fiction legalist. So in what other ways might we love them in Christ?

As Christian novelists, do we have a responsibility to share the gospel through fiction?

Discussion on this topic may not exactly rage amongst Christian writers, but it certainly stirs things up. Our culture has an inherent problem with didactic, “preachy” writing. As writers, our job is to tell good stories, and we recognize that forcing a “salvation message” into a story often makes it bad. Besides, can’t our jobs be seen as analogous to, say, plumbing? We don’t demand that Christian plumbers etch John 3:16 into their clients’ water pipes. Some of us want our writing to be recognized as art, like a good painting or a sculpture. We wouldn’t demand that every painting or sculpture depict Christ now, would we?

Others counter that writing is a form of communication, that writing IS message. So as Christians, what other message would we spread?

Then there is the issue of being, not just of doing. Writing is closely linked to who we are on the inside. If I am a child of God, an ambassador of Christ, as Paul said, the message ought to flow out of me naturally. “Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God” (2 Cor. 5:20).

I do not have an answer to these questions.

Growing up, I found that most depictions of God and faith in books struck me as shallow. If anything, they turned me away from the desire to be reconciled to God, not toward it. (There were exceptions, most of them “speculative” — Pilgrim’s Progress, Aslan.) So when I became a writer, I shied away from depicting God except in allegory. I was — and perhaps still am — afraid of doing the Almighty One the great injustice of writing Him tritely. I told myself I was just going to keep honing my skills until someday, finally, I could write about God and the gospel and have it be real.

I do know, however, that the principle of “love thy reader” has challenged me. If I love my readers, I’ll want to entertain them, to provide them healthy escape, to give them high ideals. But all that pales in comparison with the desire to move their hearts toward their Creator, and to say, with the clarity of a sounding trumpet, “Be reconciled to God.”

Writing is message. It is not plumbing, it is not even painting. It is art, yes, but it is art that says something clearly. I want it to say “be reconciled.” I am not entirely certain how to say that best. I still fear triteness. I still fear making God  look like a bad plot device.

To love my readers enough to tell them what they most need to hear, I must write with vulnerability and honesty. My writing should adorn the gospel. It should make it interesting, beautiful, new, old, authentic — love doesn’t do cliches. I am sure that in order to love my readers and spread the evangel clearly, I must write out of who I am and who God is.

We cannot, and should not, all do this the same way. We are a many-parted body for a reason. All our efforts work together. To plead, to call, to invite, to say “Oh, be reconciled to God.”

Would you share your thoughts? How does “love thy reader” impact the way you write and the message you choose to convey?

I went out and watched the new alien invasion movie, Skyline, last Friday. The movie follows a group of average people in L.A. as they find themselves in the midst of an alien invasion (think Cloverfield meets Independence Day).

The basic premise of the movie is that the aliens are just so advanced and powerful that there really isn’t much we humans can do against them.

This got me thinking about how we handle the endings in stories. So often it seems that when a story ends it is either in total victory or in total defeat. Where the main character finally achieves what he’s been seeking, or is totally destroyed in the process.

Can there be something that is more of a middle ground? Where the hero fails at what he was seeking to do, but the victory is more in who he has become? Or perhaps he succeeds in his victory, but is the victory worth what it has cost?

I think this is more often done with early books in a series, but what would you think of a book that ended this way?

How do you think a Christian worldview influences the kind of endings we tend to see in books written by Christians?

If we took a poll with the question, What do you believe God thinks about fantasy, I wonder what kinds of responses we’d get. Let’s say the choices were, a) He approves; b) He disapproves; c) He has no opinion one way or the other; d) it depends on how the fantasy is used; e) who cares—what percentage of responses do you think would say God actually approves of fantasy?

Perhaps people who frequent Speculative Faith are not the right people for this question. I mean, I assume those of you reading this article have stopped by our site because you have some interest in one or more of the genres slotted under the general heading “Speculative.” In that case, those with a Christan worldview more than likely have resolved the question I’m posing.

Or have we?

Perhaps we’ve answered a tangential question—is fantasy permissible for a Christian to enjoy (as a reader or as a writer)? I want to go beyond “permissible” to “preferred”—what genre does God prefer? What genre does He approve?

I think an excellent case can be built for God not favoring one genre over another, with a few exceptions (erotica comes to mind). However, I want to suggest that fantasy might be a little different.

The obvious is that fantasy contains a good-versus-evil motif which fits the spiritual paradigm laid out in the Bible. The devil is our adversary, we are to put on spiritual armor, the Word of God is a sword, we are to fight the good fight of faith, and on and on. Clearly the Bible deals more with conflict—God and those who are His in opposition to whatever stands against Him—than it does with tolerance.

There’s a second reason. God created Man in His own image, after His likeness.

That means we have a will because God does. We have intellect and emotions because He does. We are relational beings, communicators because He is, and we are creative by nature because He is.

It’s fair to say, I believe, that our imagination is part of that “in His image” package. We imagine only because God imagines. Of course He has the added aspect of knowing the answers to any “what if” scenarios, but I’m focusing here on how we are similar to our Creator, not how we differ.

Fantasy, of course, stretches the imagination. It also requires a level of creation that many other genres don’t require. In short, as a genre, it engages man in our image-bearer state.

There’s a third evidence that suggests God approves of fantasy. The Bible is full of symbolism and types, as is fantasy. Moses, the deliverer of Israel, is a type of Christ. The bronze serpent the Israelites lifted up in the desert was a symbol of Him. Jesus referred to Himself as bread, living water, the good shepherd, the vine, the door, and other analogous objects. While other genres may employ symbolic elements, none seems more fitting than fantasy.

This “fit for symbolism” aspect relates to one of the core elements of fantasy—the presence of the magical. Or the miraculous or supernatural, if you prefer. In other words, fantasy takes a step beyond the rational and allows for that which science cannot explain. Certainly this freedom from the constraints of the mundane lends itself to an exploration of the spiritual—the very thing that is at the heart of the Bible.

There’s a final indication that fantasy has a place on God’s list of approved genres—the Bible records several fantasies. One of the longest is in the book of Judges (9:7ff) and starts out like this:

Listen to me, O men of Shechem, that God may listen to you. “Once the trees went forth to anoint a king over them, and they said to the olive tree, ‘Reign over us!'”

A story in which trees talk? Fantasy.

Here’s another one, much shorter in the version recorded in Scripture (2 Kings 14:9):

Jehoash king of Israel sent to Amaziah king of Judah, saying, “The thorn bush which was in Lebanon sent to the cedar which was in Lebanon, saying, ‘Give your daughter to my son in marriage.’ But there passed by a wild beast that was in Lebanon, and trampled the thorn bush.

A cedar looking for a marriage match for his son? Fantasy.

So how about it, does God approve of fantasy? For me, the evidence is overwhelming. He does approve indeed.

It’s what writers do with the fantasy tool He’s given us that may still be up for debate. 😉

Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of your time, because the days are evil.

So then do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is.

~Eph. 5:15-17

Years ago, I joined a gardening email loop for my rather severe northern region, in hopes of learning some botanical survivalism. At the time, we were very young and very poor. The garden’s final products, stored by freezing or traditional canning, were essential to our financial survival. And I certainly didn’t have a dime to waste on the frills of floral landscaping.

I mentioned to my new friends that I felt a bit of conflict, what with having babies and a house to tend, and bare threads to hold together. It seemed senseless to spend time and money on decorative gardening, much though I wished I could.

This generated some cyber-smiles, and the following remark which has always stuck with me: “You must grow flowers. Vegetables are good for the body, but flowers are food for the soul.”

Wherever there’s a moral podium involved, we sure can make a lot of noise about senseless evil, as I witnessed recently when a young reader posted her (Christian) opinions on the manufactured inclusion of same-sex characters in YA books. Apparently her opinions were considered by some to be an act of senseless violence in writing. (Why yes. That dripping sound is the sarcasm tank leaking. I’ll have to fix that someday. In the meantime, don’t worry, it’s not too combustible.)

Point being, everyone has their own opinion about this stuff, and the only widely-agreed-upon point seems to be that senseless evil exists.

In the kerfuffle, we forget that so does senseless beauty. Some things are inarguably beautiful, for no explicable reason. Argue with a sunset, if you will. That insensate phenomenon, without a word of reply, will make you look the fool.

Evil, we can wrangle. We can invent rationalizations. We can build boxes, however poorly we manage to stuff the vagaries of evil into them. But senseless beauty? Its only defensible, rational explanation lies in a personal, infinite and good Creator God.

True beauty doesn’t shy from the wretched facts any more than it indulges them; rather, it transforms their context.

Think about that every time you question what it is to write.

Two things, then, are necessary: to know God deeply, and to unabashedly refine your craftsmanship. Faithfulness and fluency. This is the transformation of an artist—a creature of darkness and fumbling ugliness—within a new context. (2 Cor. 5:17) God does not shy away from our wretched persons, nor our wretched facts.

When your writing of evil is a prayer of senseless beauty, you have defeated it. The pen is mightier than the sword.