This is a brief short story, six pages in QPB size. It’s fantasy. It doesn’t name names; it expects the reader to figure out what is happening by the slowly accumulating clues. And it’s not hard to figure out, if you are Christian, especially a Catholic.

I love this small jewel of a story for it feels like a parable, a fairy tale, an instructive fable, a timeless tale, even though it’s g rounded in the historical and actual. It shows what a master writer can do with very few pages of clean prose loaded with allusion and symbolism.

I hope some of you got to read it.

OVERVIEW:

“It was late afternoon when the travelers reached the village.” These two travelers, calm and cryptic, ask directions of the richest man in the village as he is hurrying home. Something about the travelers changes the rich man’s attitude: he slows down, he offers to guide them to the home of the poor old woman they seek. Once at the woman’s humble abode, the rich man insists he has no time to spare, but he lingers, and wants assurance the travelers won’t hurt her. The woman, meantime, seems to remember one of the travelers.

“We have come to take her to the coronation,” one of the travelers says, at which the rich man remembers the poor old woman is a descendent of a royal line.

(You can guess what is going on at this point, yes?)

The rich man can’t seem to extricate himself and offers to fetch food.

The old woman says grace and the prayer becomes a moment of epiphany for the rich man who “had never heard such prayers before,” and moreso, “he had never heard prayer at all. He was like a man who had seen only bad coin all his life, he thought, and after a great many years receives a purse of real silver, fresh from the mint.” A thought which one of the travelers seems to hear and responds to verbally.

As he dines, the rich man learns that the woman’s son was a teacher and that there is a long way for the other three to travel to the coronation. He tries to convince them to stay in the village, rest before leaving, stay for a couple weeks at least and be introduced, because having connections is good. “Too many people think that they can do everything through relatives.”

When they say they are ready to go, the rich man offers to find a donkey and to travel a way with them, because the old woman won’t be able to keep up with the travelers on foot.

The old woman says to one of the travelers, “Weren’t you the one who came to tell me about my son?” He doesn’t look a day older, she says.

The rich man asks if they are relatives of the old woman. They admit to being only messengers. The old woman receives assurance they aren’t messengers of death.

The rich man feels left out, asks if he may go with them. They say not. It’s by invitation only. He shyly asks if he might go just to the edge of the village and is told, “Since we are there now, yes, you may,” and, “You’ll tell others. That’s good. Because you’re rich, they’ll have to listen to you. But some won’t believe you, because you’re dishonest. That should be perfect.”

The rich man denies his dishonesty. Then admits it as he walks on. Then distances himself from the acts: “Those things were dishonest, but not I.”

The travelers and the very old woman begin to ascend air. The old woman says farewell: “Please tell everyone I’ll miss them terribly, and that I’ll come back just as soon as I can.”

At one point in their climb up some invisible path, the travelers offer the old woman a last look at her home village. She turns and says, “It’s precious, and yet it’s not important.” To which one traverler says, “It used to be important.”

The old woman laughs “a girl’s laugh” and feels strong enough to run and the travelers say they can’t promise to run as fast as she is able. When she says she wants not to be late to the coronation. They assure her she won’t be. It won’t start without her.

When the rich man’s servant arrives, only three stars are visible where the rich man’s gaze is fixed. They return to the old woman’s house, and the rich man vows to take care of it “while she’s away.” He plans to repair it and keep the trust, and “he was filled with a satisfaction near to love at being thus trusted.”

ANALYSIS:

Is it CSF?

I chose this as it seemed to be a nice pairing with the other short tale I previously discussed, “The Traveler and the Tale.” Here, again, is a Marian story. Here again, the idea of story and of witness matters. “You’ll tell others,” the traveler (obviously an angel) says to the rich man.

In both tales, a meeting with Mary changes the observer for the good. But whereas Yolens’ sci-fi story is skeptical of Mary (and God), this fantasy story is one drenched in respect of and faith in Mary’s special status as Mother to the Son of God.

Surely you realized what was going on. The poor old woman is Mary, the travelers are two angels, one of whom is Gabriel, the one who “told me about my son?” The village is not named, but we can assume is one in the M.E.. Nazareth? (Tradition, I believe, ascribes Mary’s last residence in Ephesus, which was not a village, but an important and lovely city. So, Wolfe sets this elsewhere, a liberty allowed in fantasy.) And the event portrayed is the Assumption (a Catholic belief, though not one widely accepted in Protestant circles.) The coronation is not Christ’s, but hers. She is the Queen of the title.

Would a non-Christian unfamiliar with matters of Christian history and belief get these things. Probably not. Maybe not. But the story would still work as one of a miraculous event and a man changed by it. It would not be as meaningful, but it would still be a fable with its own charm.

And given that it includes a view that refers to things Biblical (including doctrinal stuff of angels and messengers, Mary as a descendant of a king, ie David) and it has a respectful tone of heavenly matters, and that it shows prayer as powerful, and that it alludes to things our Lord taught—something that one gleans reading the actual story, and not my overview—I say this is Christian fantasy. It’s more specifically Catholic fantasy (and perhaps the Orthodox churches accept some of these matters about Mary, but I can’t speak with confidence on that.)

What Can We Learn As Writers and Readers?

1. You don’t have to babble on to tell an effective story of “magic” and personal transformation. Bit by bit, over a mere six pages, we see the evolution of a rich man from self-centered to other-centered. From worldly-obsessed, to other-worldly initiated. It’s in small clues sprinkled along in narrative and dialogue that we visualize the effect of woman and angels on this rich man.
2. Feel free to take extra-biblical religious tales and transform them into fantasy or science fiction. Taking these liberties doesn’t mean you must be skeptical or disrespectful to history or doctrine.
3. Working with the familiar does not require we be clichéd and beat people over the head with the obvious: At no point in “Queen” did these angels say, “Behold, we come from God to take you home.” At no point did Mary repeat parts of the Magnificat to identify herself. She didn’t have to say Jesus, my son, or Joseph, my late husband. She was simply and old woman who lived alone and missed her son and who wanted a bite to eat before leaving for a great event. She even feared death a bit, a very human thing. The elegant submissiveness of the angels to her desires was neither obnoxious nor overt. It was gentle and quiet, just like the story. The tone was never violated. Discretion can speaks volumes.
4. Trust your readers to get your clues: While some readers won’t get it, and you always have to live with that, any with a normal dose of Western cultural knowledge will. And a dose of mystery is never a bad thing. Everything doesn’t have to be spelled out. Maybe not all the subtle clues to parables and things biblical will be understood, but enough is there to heljp you enjoy the tale.
5. Rising action is still a great technique: It’s a classic story element taught in schools for ages, and it still works. In this story, we see the growing engagement of the rich man and the growing disengagement of the three who are to leave, and that provides tension and leads upwards to the climax. It’s a lovely feeling, even when it’s this discreet. No one gets shot. No one yells. So, the miraculous stands out amidst the mundane and hushed events of one night.
6. Know your symbolic toolbox as a Christian writer and reader: I challenge you to go through these six pages of story and find everything that refers to things biblical, allusions that build and build and build the holy infrastructure of this story. “Queen” reminded me a bit in this regard of T. S. Eliot’s “The Journey of the Magi,” especially that middle stanza that is loaded with imagery that speaks prophetically forward for what is to come for the child the Magi come to honor: vine leaves, empty wineskins, running stream, darkness, etc. In “Queen,” the allusions look not forward, but back—as old people often do upon their lives.

   Examples: 1. The two travelers looking for a roof for the night correlates to the journey to Bethlehem of Mary and Joseph. 2. The “rich man”, unnamed, is a figure of Christ’s parables. 3. The lamb that the rich man suggests the travelers buy and take to the poor woman is a reference to her son, the Lamb of God. 4. The two travelers carry no staffs, and the rich man thought it odd they had no staffs to defend their lives. Remember Jesus telling his disciples to go into cities with no staff, to go in pairs?

   Those four examples of the allusive gold mine of this story are all in the partial first page of the story. Just 3/4ths of one page. Every single page is loaded this way. The old widow woman who has a little “oil” and “flour.” What does that remind you of?

   This is the kind of tale that is richer as an experience the better you know your Word.

7. Have someone and/or something genuinely change: Another couple of classic story element that work together in this brief tale are character epiphany and change. The rich man is transformed emotionally and spiritually. The old woman has changed in location and status. Even her parting words suggest the village itself is changed. That’s a lot of change in six pages, but it’s done with such skill that the story doesn’t feel packed. It unfolds at just the right pace.
8. Don’t be afraid of “was”: This seems like a silly thing to include, huh? But I’ve seen folks critique others’ writing (and I have done it myself in the past) for starting a story with a “was” sentence construction and for using it as the story rolls. One thing I’ve learned through reading widely is that many of our best and most lauded writers are not afraid of was. Maybe as beginners we should watch for it to make sure we’re not being lazy craftsmen. But do not fear it. It’s a legitimate word. In a story that has a “fable” or “parable” taste to it, “was” is particularly appropriate: Once upon a time there WAS… This is a classic English story set-up. Go read some novel starts by C.S. Lewis and others. See how they do not fear “was.” And be not afraid ye either.

What do you think? Am I on target? Are these helpful hints actually helpful? Can any of these be applied to your story?

As a reader, do you think this story would move you, satisfy you?

Next Week: Another story comes under the Mircroscope, either the multiple-award winning novelette “Hell is the Absence of God” by Ted Chiang or the short story “Bed and Breakfast” by Gene Wolfe. Please try to hunt down the stories and read them. It makes for a much more robust discussion, no?

Another short list of CBA SF/F I have enjoyed over the past couple of years. Notice that I leave out Bryan Davis and Donita K. Paul. These go without saying at the top of the list of new classics, on the YA side and even perhaps with adult SF/F.

This is also not an exhaustive list, or impressive in any way. I’m a homeschooling mother of eight, who also writes. I have a To Be Read stack as tall as myself. But like last week’s list, this is a sampling, a teaser for those who might otherwise pass over a particular title

Linda Wichman: Legend of the Emerald Rose: a new spin on the Arthur/Merlin legend. Faintly reminiscent of Mary Stewart’s The Crystal Cave and sequels, but with a splash of modern sass and bounce. The story bears the marks of some too-hasty editing (and yes, I told Linda as much last year … I’m so cheeky), but I love, love, LOVE many aspects of the book, and could hardly put it down either time I read it. (I went through it carefully a second time while judging for the 2005 ACFW Book of the Year.) This book also definitely falls into the category of fantasy that reads suspiciously like romance, for those who don’t care for that sort.

Kathleen Morgan, Giver of Roses: Another fantasy-romance, or is that epic fantasy-romance? Except that it doesn’t end the way one expects. The author stridently maintained that although she did take some elements of her premise from Homer, in no way did she intend the opening scene of the book to sound/look/feel like it was lifted from the movie “Troy.” But actually, this increased its appeal for me. What if … Hector fought Achilles, but didn’t die? And what if his forbidden marriage to a beautiful Elven princess was a doomed one? And what if …

The world is richly textured and borrows heavily from ancient Armenian language and culture, also something new, and very nifty. Some things I liked very much, but others irked me. Many people have given this book glowing reviews, however, and if you like historical romance with all its conventions, chances are you’ll love this one.

R.K. Mortenson, Landon Snow and the Auctor’s Riddle: A bookish young boy on the eve of his eleventh birthday, troubled over the meaning of life, is drawn into a fantastical adventure where he discovers the answers to his questions. Deep philosophical truth handled in a very low-key way. Randy has a delightful writer’s voice!

Miles Owens, Daughter of Prophecy: My full review is at Christian Fandom, but basically, I expected this to be just another tiresome spin on the warrior maid motif (once my favorite thing in fantasy), but was delightfully shocked to find otherwise. The “romance” takes unexpected turns, yet the two main characters’ lives are entwined. I especially liked what Miles does with Welsh names and words … of course, it might have something to do with the fact that I have a good dose of Welsh blood myself.

R.E. Bartlett, The Personifid Project: A futuristic tale capitalizing on mankind’s desire for immortality, and at the least to micromanage every detail of life. I liked this one, though I tend to not be a SF person, and one of the secondary characters very nearly steals the show with his dynamic personality. A fun read!

T.L. Higley, Fallen from Babel: Time travel—a professor from the modern world is thrown back into ancient Babylon, where he is literally thrown into the identity of a pagan priest, right down to wearing the man’s body. There he is confronted with issues of faith and belief that he has until now been able to brush off. This story is an interesting exercise in apologetics, and the romantic thread is understated, with a nice twist.

Why in the world would a computer geek, educated in engineering and logic, become an author of fantasy for youth? And Christian fantasy?! Isn’t that an oxymoron? Why would a Christian want to write about the impossible?

I had the same questions. When I first started writing with an eye to getting published, I was no fan of fantasy. For two years I labored over a contemporary/adventure series, and my eldest son, a true fantasy enthusiast, insisted that I come over to the wild side and write in his favorite genre. He would tactfully explain that my story was too dull to pique the interest of modern youth.

I countered that I didn’t like how fantasy heroes so often escaped their dangers with a new magical power or a call to a Tom Bombadil-type character (LOTR fans, please don’t flame me) who magically released them from an impossibly difficult trap. My son then played his logical trump card. “Then don’t write your fantasy story like that.”

How could I argue? He had won, we both knew it, and so began my journey.

Soon after, I had a dream about a boy who could breathe fire. I told my son about it, and he and I agreed that this would be a great foundation for a fantasy story. We brainstormed for two hours and came up with the basis for my Dragons in our Midst series.

Although I thought the idea was great, being a Christian, I wondered if God would approve. Was the dream from God, or did I just have too much pepperoni on my pizza the night before? Would God want me to teach eternal truths using a story that was untrue, in fact, impossibly untrue?

As is my custom, I searched the Bible for an answer and found that Jesus taught using stories—but not just any old stories. Some clearly contained elements of fantasy. I read about a camel passing through the eye of a needle, an impossible event without God’s miraculous intervention. Much of the story of the rich man and Lazarus couldn’t possibly happen in the world Jesus’ hearers knew, for they had never seen the afterlife dimension that Jesus described. These stories fall squarely into the realm of fantasy—stories that can’t happen in our world without some kind of supernatural cause, in these cases, God’s power.

And Jesus made fantasy stories come true. He made a coin appear in the mouth of a fish. A fig tree withered at His command. He calmed a storm with a spoken word. He walked on water. Without His power, none of these events could ever occur. They are fantasy stories brought to life. And each one taught us a lesson we will never forget. Why? Because fantasy brands images on our minds that cannot be erased. As we recall the images, we remember the lessons behind the amazing pictures. Fantasy creates indelible portraits of God’s wondrous truths.

Jesus knew how our minds work, so he taught using fantasy elements in His stories. With such a powerful, authoritative fantasy trail-blazer leading the way, it seemed clear that I should simply follow.

Although my stories are untrue, and could never be true, they paint pictures of faithfulness, courage, love, and prophetic fulfillment that reflect timeless truths in a way that young people, I hope, will never forget. The messages I receive from readers all over the world prove that my dream of a fire-breathing boy has kindled a newly-awakened passion in thousands of young people.

So, Christian fantasy isn’t an oxymoron. It’s a natural combination that Jesus Himself authored. And this logic geek is happy to venture into the land of the unreal, as long as I can see His footsteps leading the way.

Next week: Why Fantasy? – Part 2  I will look at why traditional fantasy characters resonate with so many readers.

Bryan Davis
http://www.dragonsinourmidst.com

Welcome back to another Tuesday, hopefully it will have some coherent thought associated with it.

This week I’m looking at the world we were introduced to in The Light of Eidon, by Karen Hancock. To get a little bit of insight on how Karen goes about her world building you can take a look at a post on the subject here, where she states:

“The very fact that I can manipulate the world to make the point is why I like writing in this genre. The world is always for me only background. I could care less about building a vast, complex and detailed sub-world. My focus is the characters and the story.”

In light of this I don’t find it surprising that the world we explore in Light of Eidon is a very familiar world, for the most part. To me it feels about three steps to the side of history. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is what has helped make this series a success.

From the map in the front of the book (that has a resemblance to the eastern Mediterranean), to the actual cultures we encounter. Kiritah is quickly recognizable as a western European culture, while Esurh is distinctly Arab with a touch of Roman, and the Dorsaddi feel very similar to Israel. This isn’t a knock against the book or the world, as it works perfectly well in this story.  And in fact, as I think about it, the cover reflects this as well, speaking (to me) as more historical than fantasy.

The big fantasy elements of this world (magic, strange creatures) are all directly linked to the spiritual world of the book. When the spiritual bleeds over into the physical. If I recall correctly every fantastical creature, from the evil pterodactyl-like creatures, to the shape shifting beetles, to the squishy land octopus, were all direct manifestations of evil. While the believers, or Terstans, fight them with Eidon’s light, in the form of beams and kellistars, and are marked by the magically appearing golden shield (formed, if I recall correctly, from a special orb made by the believers in witnessing efforts).

This is where my main irk, or artistic difference, comes into play. By having the main fantasy elements of the story directly linked into the belief system of the world, the story moves farther away from pure fantasy and closer to a kind of allegory hybrid. There’s no neutral ground, no neutral fantasy, no struggle with the corruption of fantastical power (though in this case there is at the possibility of having your eyes crust over and going insane if you stray from the faith).

Now this, I think is exactly the kind of fantasy that it takes to break into the Christian publishing marketplace. It’s what the powers that be are reasonably comfortable with, be that editor boards, pub boards, or bookstores. And it can be fun to lose yourself in it (I mean who hasn’t wished you could fight your spiritual battles against a tangible foe with a beam of light?  Or is that just a guy thing?)

But I also wonder if this isn’t the type of spiritual/fantasy mesh that doesn’t sit well with many long-time ABA (secular) fantasy readers. Where for the most part all the fantasy elements can stand on their own, with no tie to any specific belief system (unless there’s a cleric or priest). Where the fantastic falls into three camps: Good, Evil and Neutral. And where most of it is in the third area, where it isn’t the fantastic thing itself but the actions of the wielder or entity that deem if it leans more toward good or evil (am I starting to sound D&D here?).

But all that aside, Karen Hancock’s world (does it have a name? I don’t recall one) accomplishes exactly what she meant for it to do, providing a colorful backdrop for the drama of her characters to play out against. And in the end that’s what counts.

Any new venture has its pioneers, and Kathy Tyers is one of the Christian science fiction writers I’d call a pioneer. Along with a small handful of others, she paved the way for the rest of us spec fic writers. It seems especially fitting, then, to feature her on a pioneer CSFF team blog for a pioneer promoting effort with the CSFF Blog Tour.

The thing that Tyers brings with her pioneer status is quality. From her first venture into the publishing world of fiction, she received acclaim. Then, as God directed, she brought that ability into writing for the CBA. (Read Kathy’s bio at her web site.

In an article explaining some of her thinking about the task of writing as a Christian, she said the following:

To set this lamp on a lampstand, and do it effectively, would mean to address not just the Christian market but a wider audience that is used to the general media. It would mean telling excellent, well-written stories without appearing sappy or (heaven help me) naïve, but without thickening the calluses on my own soul. I think that when we as Christian authors learn to accomplish that, we will be taken seriously and we will make a serious difference in the entertainment marketplace.

Tyers’s latest CSFF offering published in the CBA is the Firebird Trilogy (Bethany, 2004). Packaged now as one book, the trilogy was “rewritten as Kathy would have liked to write them in the first place.”

To read more about Tyers and the Firebird Trilogy, visit other blogs participating in this three-day tour:

John J. Boyer

Valerie Comer

Bryan Davis

Beth Goddard

Rebecca Grabill

Leathel Grody

Karen Hancock

Elliot Hanowski

Katie Hart

Sherrie Hibbs

Sharon Hinck

Pamela James

Jason Joyner

Tina Kulesa

Rachel Marks

Shannon McNear

Rebecca LuElla Miller

Cheryl Russel

Mirtika Schultz

Stuart Stockton

Steve Trower

I hope some of you have had a chance to read the story that I’m analyzing today. Connie Willis is a supremely skilled writer of SF fiction, and I have a personal preference for her short works.

Like the Yolen story, this is science fiction. No spaceships. No aliens. But it is set in a future, speculative Earth where some religious upheaval has changed the nature of the religious social structure in our country. And, as Willis herself prefaces the tale, its inspiration comes from the story of Jacob and Esau, where Esau is red and hairy, and Jacob steals Esau’s inheritance. Postulating 1. a wild, end-time madness among future fundamentalist and Charismatic communities that turns violent and forces mainline churches to band together ecumenically for survival and 2. that humans are “kin” to the hairy, red primates who can be taught sign language communication and perhaps…more…we get “Samaritan.”

STORY OVERVIEW:

Rev. Hoyt, is asked by his kinetic female asst. pastor , Natalie Abreu, to baptize Esau, an orangutan who does janitorial duties at the church when on leave from the preserve where the nearly extinct creatures are bred and studied. When Hoyt asks Natalie how she knows the ape wishes to be baptized, she answers that Esau has observed a confirmation class and signed, “I would very much like to be God’s beloved child, too.”

In a particularly important and nicely crafted scene, Rev. Hoyt, knowing Natalie is hyper-enthusiastic, suspects she exaggerates the minimal signs Esau is capable of forming; that, in fact, the baptism is Natalie’s new pet project, so to speak. Natalie, after all, already forces Esau to sit in unatural (for him) postures, and has attempted to dress and shoe him. While interrogating Esau, the orangutan answers that, yes, he loves God. Hoyt suspects Natalie of coaching the ape. He continues to interrogate, asking Esau if he loves God. Esau makes a clumsy signing of letters…S…a…m…. Natalie says it’s Samaritan. Esau has recently learned the story of the Good Samaritan, she explains. Esau again signs: S…a…m…a..r…i…t…a…n. Observing both Natalie and Esau, Hoyt suspects that Natalie is imposing her will on the animal, and Esau is merely pleasing his human teacher.

Hoyt decides to ponder the matter, not simply dismiss it out of hand as ludicrous.

He starts closely watching Esau, who swings from the high beams, dusting the church, listening to humans below. Ladders are unsafe with the large windows, and Esau doesn’t need them to do this job. He’s built for heights and swinging.

Hoyt prepares for a sermon on humility he thinks Natalie needs to hear—a key text being Psalm 73, with this quote: “But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled, and my steps had well-nigh slipped. I was stupid and ignorant. I was like a beast toward thee. ” He consults with his bishop, who’s gotten wind of the rising controversy over animal baptism. Her advice: Deny it as indoctrination. But Rev. Hoyt says that any argument against baptizing Esau would apply to his congregation: “He’s lonely. He needs a strong father figure. He likes the pretty robes and candles. Instinct. Conditioning. Sexual sublimation.” Even doing it to please Natalie compares to some humans who seek to please others by acting religiously. The bishop tells Hoyt that the “hodge-podgey” Ecumenical Church can do nothing but leave it in his hands: he must decide and take the flak either way.

Hoyt talks to the guy from the animal preserve, who can only say that Esau has been very happy since he started working at the church, avoiding the neuroses that older male orangutans are prey to, and the preserve likes happy apes, because happy apes breed. Letters of complaint or support for the baptism pour in. One older congregant says she sees Esau fold his hands and bow his head during prayer time in service. Rev. Hoyt dreams of Esau as a saint. He starts to wonder what Jesus would say, would do.

Then he considers something: The other famous Samaritan. Could Esau, in signing out the word have meant not the Good Samaritan tale, but the woman at the well, the outcast. Hoyt has an epiphany wihle conversing with his bishop: “I have thought all along that the reason he wanted to be baptized was because he didn’t know that he wasn’t human. But he knows. He knows.” The bishop agrees with his assessment.

But Esau, who has been mimicking human behavior (sitting straight,), has been using a ladder ill-suited to his frame for his chores. And he has fallen. As the ape lays dying, Hoyt signs to Esau, to comfort him: “Esau God’s child.” Esau counters with the letters s…a…m… Hoyt stops him. Insists Esau is God’s child and makes the sign for “love.” Esau is too broken physically to make the sign back, though he attempts it. Hoyt decides to baptize the ape. Esau dies.

Natalie is humbled (what the sermon did not do, Esau’s death accomplishes). She realizes she was forcing him to dress and act human, and that led to his demise. Her energetic light dims with her sense of guilt. Hoyt comforts her, and he tells her, “God chooses to believe that we have souls because He loves us. I think He loved Esau, too.” With just the right compliments, he encourages her to be herself again. And Hoyt shows he himself has changed, become more flexible, by dressing differently to please her—reminiscent, in that last moment, of Esau.

Is It CSF?
“Samaritan” is a story with humor and also with some very touching moments. It’s the kind of story that makes me weep, and that is part of its effectiveness, since we are supposed to weep for Esau. But is it Christian SF?

Well, there is a worldview that believes in God, has a church setting with church rituals (baptism, confirmation) and with clergy. There is discussion of theological issues—God’s love, the prerequisites for baptism, religious outcasts, religious conflict (the liberals versus the Charies). Bible verses are used to illuminate (and direct) the theme and plot. By Angela Hunt’s briefer criteria, it pases. By Martin LaBar’s, I think it also passes.

Does it pass mine? It does.

I am not happy with some elements of it: I think that the “picking on the fundies” thing is a scosh over-the-top and unkindly. I think the last scene statement about “God chooses to believe we have souls because He loves us” is, upon the most cursory examination, a highly troublesome statement. God doesn’t have to believe. He knows. He know if we do or do not have souls. And that is one of the weakest parts of a very good, moving, fascinating story: Demoting God to one of us.

All along, the story is about raising up an outcast—another species— to a position of acceptance and being loved and honored by humans-on the chance that God loves him, too. That, while a bit wacky, is presented so kindly, that we root for Esau to be baptized, because we see evidence of love for God and true faith in this “lesser being.” Leaving it to God to decide is fine with me in this context and doesn’t offend me as it might under another less skilled presentation.

But the condescending and scornful way that Willis presents fundamentalists/charismatics is a violation of the spirit of the main part of the story.

Still, it fits with the pride vs. humility part. In the story, endtime fervor rises to such a state that fundamentalists decide to declare the Rapture already here . They go on rampage after The Beast, which is an excuse in the story to attack liberal churches. Granted, there is antipathy between liberal and funamentalists. We see them as losing grip on orthodoxy and compromising with the depravity of the culture, in part becoming non-Christian in doctrine. They see us as narrow-minded and uneducated and focused on the letter of the Bible to such an extent that we are isolationist and judgmental. Postulating an extrapolation—all out war—is one of the speculative fictional techniques. But Willis is judgmental of Charies, and becomes a victim to what she decries in the story—looking down on another group as “outsider” and “not like us.”

But that doesn’t bother me as much as that “God chooses to believe” bit, which just seems to be some loony proverb created to fit the story idea. Never mind that it’s really silly: It violates orthodoxy. God is omniscient. Belief is not part of God’s being.He knows. Knows all. Knowing excludes believing. The dialogue feels as if it was put in there to sound good, but it makes no sense. None at all. It stopped me cold and made me go, “Huh?” You tell me what the heck that means.

That’s not traditional, orthodox, apostolic, Biblical Christian doctrine. And it’s just plain BAD logic.

However, taken overall, all its parts together, I would say this fits the Mir Manifesto. We must allow latitude in speculation, because the message is about more than the then-and-that. It’s about the here and now. Yes. This is Christian SF. And it’s a well-done tale, despite my quibbles.

What Can We Learn From it?
1. To be willing to take leaps, risks, as writers and readers: I suspect a great many Christians, if told a story debated the merits of baptizing an organgutan, would assume heresy, blasphemy, and who knows what all else and refuse to read it. I say, think of the impossible situation that makes you pay attention. Go for the long steps. Take the risk. Shine a light on some key doctrine without being predictable or easy. Make the reader stretch. Stretch yourself, too.

2. Make readers feel: Even with the parts of this story that might offend me (as I’m one of Willis’ targets, the fundies) or with which I doctrinally disagree (female bishops and pastors, baptizing animals, ridicule of pretrib/premillers) , she made me care—care about a ditzy assistant pastor and a sweet orangutan. And she made me realize, by using speculative storytelling, how some people out there are made to feel by those of us who are quick to say, “No, you don’t belong here. You’re not good enough.” Samaritans continue to exist, and we must continue to say to them like Jesus did, “I have water for your thirst.”

3. Find inspiration in the Word of God: Read the key text for this story, Psalm 73, and you will see how much it influenced the plot. This story is a speculative variation on much of Psalm 73. What favorite Scripture passage can you take and re-imagine boldly and humanely and beautifully?

4. Be careful of demonizing the opposition: A weak spot in this story of tolerance and open-mindedness and love is the lack of tolerance and open-mindedness and love for “the enemy” that is the Charies (fundamentalist Charismatics). When you write your story, feel free to have enemies, but perhaps a character who gives insight to the enemy would be a good balance. Don’t lessen a story’s power by making snide, one-dimensional attacks on cultural groups you oppose. In this case, the humor aspect softened it. Humor allows for that. But if your story is serious, think twice before making the enemy just one big black wall of badness or lunacy or stupidity.

Please comment with your opinions on the story, on my analysis, on what else we can learn from it.

Feel free to answer any of the above questions? Also, does that bit of final dialogue bother you as it does me? How might it have been improved to suit the story and make sense doctrinally?

Next week: Another story comes under the Mircroscope.

Two weeks ago, I told how I’d rediscovered a few gems in current Christian SF/F … today I’ll touch on a few other titles I’ve particularly enjoyed, and why.

Having already mentioned the works of Karen Hancock and Kathy Tyers, I’ll skip those.

Kathryn Mackel: I had the joy and wonder of meeting her in that “Thick-Skinned Critique” workshop. She offered me a recommendation to her editor at WestBow, which fell through on the basis of my story’s length, but through which the Lord worked very deeply in me. But in the course of the months leading up to all that, she asked me to read the then-unfinished first draft of Outriders. Talk about a thrill … that was right about the time I’d been assigned to Donita’s crit group, and had just begun helping crit her second fantasy. Oh, yeah, those were heady days …

I found Outriders fresh, gripping, utterly compelling—even in rough draft form where Kathy wrote things like “insert [blank] scene here” when she was in the grip of writing and couldn’t stop to research something just yet. The character of Nikki grabbed me and wouldn’t let go—and then there was the heroic Brady, and the winsome Timothy, and the heartwrenching Jasper. It is, I believe, quite an inventive twist on some old themes.

L.A. Kelly: I discovered her fantasy novel Tahn while doing market research. It’s hard to decide if it’s more historical or fantasy—there’s little in the way of the supernatural, but the setting is clearly fictional. The story starts with enough mystery to pull a reader in—with a bad-boy protagonist highly reminiscent of some of my own favorite characters. She includes a twist involving drug use that I found myself just a little envious of. The writing was smooth and effortless, her style gentle even during the more tense moments. My husband and I both were surprised at how much we enjoyed this one, given how little hype accompanied it.

Randall Ingermanson and John Olson: Oxygen. A must for fans of SF/F with faith elements. A bit off the beaten track of my own tastes, but I enjoyed the interweaving of the characters and the attention to research.

Randall Ingermanson: Transgression, Premonition, and Retribution. The first one is a time-travel, the next two the continuing adventures of Rivka and Ari. I loved the time-travel element—moderns thrown back in time. Randy portrays first-century Jerusalem in a way that no other writer ever has, and breathes life into the Jewishness of the early church. The second book is perhaps the stiffest, writing-wise (it was written right about the time Randy was perfecting his famed Snowflake method of novel crafting), but the third book is utterly beautiful and had me in tears in renewed awe over what Yeshua did for us in taking on the sins of the world. The first title is out of print, but well worth the search on half.com to find. Note of interest: Randy doesn’t go the way of the “easy converstion” in this series. ‘Nuff said.

More mini-reviews next time, unless I stumble across something more amusing and erudite.

Today’s post is going to be very short. I had a root canal Monday afternoon and my mouth hurts too much to think.

I want to stay with Mr. Shontz at Holy Terror for a couple more weeks. Today I want you to turn your attention to his essay Horror and Heresy: Know the Difference.

What do you all think about his take on this? After all, we are creating fiction. Do we expect our readers to take our worlds and characters as representing reality?

I want to continue in this vein next week as well. I’ll share some of my thoughts and use specific books to illustrate.

Again, I apologize for not writing much today. But I hope Mr. Shontz’s essay will trigger some deep thought and great exchange of ideas.

Would you believe that I’ve gone and misplaced my copy of The Light of Eidon?  Please shoot me now.

But I’ll go ahead and begin this discussion from memory until I can pick up a replacement copy.

Now if you haven’t read the book yet, you may want to read these discussions with caution.  I’ll try and skip any specific spoilers, but some things are just going to naturally arise that may spoil the read for you if you want to go in totally blind.  So if you wish, go read the book and then come back and read this series later after you are done.

I know I have most likely come across sounding harsh towards CBA fantasy, and like I haven’t liked a bit of it.  But honestly most of my comments spawn from a desire to see the market expand and grow in the types stories told, not from a total disdain from what has come before.

When I first picked up The Light of Eidon (LoE) a few years ago it sparked my first return to CBA fantasy in years.  I had avoided the book for a long time due to the cover. It spoke of shiny romance and all about a woman audience to me, which isn’t surprising since that’s the main audience that CBA caters to, which is another reason I hadn’t read anything from them in years.

Eventually though I got past the cover and jumped into the actual content. And what do you know, I actually enjoyed myself.

Wipe away those shocked and smirky faces!

LoE isn’t an overly surprising tale (I think only two events in the whole story caught me off guard, one because I didn’t think CBA would let it through, the other because it was truly surprising), but it is well written. I have no issues with the general writing craft of this book. The journey that Abramm goes on, changing from a pacifist monk to a gladiator to a general, is a familiar tale, but I’ve never been put off by familiarity.

Karen Hancock made me care about the characters, and handled the action scenes well. And by the time I got to the end of the book, I never felt betrayed. I felt like I had gotten everything she had promised me from the book’s start.  And no the romance element in this book didn’t phase me either, it grew naturally and wasn’t a stand-alone plot, but was merged fully with Abramm’s character arc as well as the main plot.

Yes there were things that irked me about LoE though most of those didn’t come into full effect until the sequel, I believe.  But taken as a whole this book is a wonderful tale of one man’s struggle to overcome evil.

Next week, we’ll begin looking at the world that The Light of Eidon introduced us to.