How does the emphasis on tolerance affect our stories?

As I see it, the push for tolerance has spawned an overly sensitive culture that now finds offense in . . . pretty much everything. And it’s affecting the publishing industry. I recently learned that publishers have begun to hire “sensitivity readers” to check out potential manuscripts to see if there’s any “offensive” content.

Of course, that begs the question: offensive to whom?

What one person assumes or ignores or believes in, another person finds offensive.

The latest Veronica Roth novel, Carve The Mark, is an example of a book receiving negative reviews because of its perceived offense. One such review is entitled “Why You Shouldn’t Read CARVE THE MARK.” In short,

Carve the Mark has been called out for being racist and problematic by various readers who are much more informed than I am and feel directly affected, offended or hurt by what is written in Carve the Mark. While I’m white and I’m obviously not in the position to declare what’s racist and what isn’t, I’m a strong believer in calling out problematic representation and racism and I believe that we should all be reading more diverse books.

As it happens, none of the made up races were directly identified with any actual races, but early readers deduced that the group of people with evil intent was similar to people in North Africa. In contrast, the heroic group is “coded” as white.

One early reader listed these coded racist elements in Carve The Mark:

· The Shotet language is described as harsh, with sudden stops and closed vowels, unlike the beautiful, open vowel sounds of the Thuve

· The Shotet carve marks into their arms when they kill someone, meaning that both men and women have many scars, and this practice is seen as barbaric by the loving and peaceful Thuve

· The female main character, Cyra, describes her mother’s kinky hair as curly enough to trap fingers, while her curls are looser and allow fingers to flow through. The Thuve have straight hair.

· The Shotet have no home planet, rather they travel around the universe in pursuit of the current, a unifying life force that allows people to have gifts (all of which seem to manifest in violent ways in the Shotet, and it is even stated by a doctor that the reason Cyra’s gift causes her pain is because of her people’s tendency to violence)

· The Shotet ruling family is one that embraces violence, so much so that the matriarch is famous for having killed her brothers and sisters, contrasted against the scene of Thuve familial love that opens the story. This is further reinforced by the cruel treatment Cyra receives from her brother

· The Shotet kidnap Akos and his brother, who are Thuve, and force them into a life of what can most easily be described as brutal slavery.

If racism isn’t a great enough charge, Carve The Mark has also been criticized because one of the characters has received “the gift of chronic pain.” That apparently is an example of an already rich and famous author exploiting those with a disability.

Then there’s the issue of cutting which some thought was being thrown into a dangerous light because the race of violent people “marked” themselves as “a means to record a number of kills” (Review). While criticizing this use of cutting as antithetical to the African society which the fictitious people supposedly mirror, the same review then criticizes the cutting aspect as selling “something many will construe as self-harm as glorious and noble.” (Ibid).

In other words, the same reviewer found fault in the fictitious practice because it put a certain African culture that also used cutting in a bad light while simultaneously selling cutting as something glorious and noble.

Understand, I have not read Carve The Mark, so I might find the book problematic too. But I have to wonder if perhaps our society hasn’t become too caught up in what we find offensive. The odd thing is the “we” comes with limitations. What we’re offended about has to fall into the acceptable categories. For example, I’m mildly offended for my Hispanic neighbors because Hispanics are woefully underrepresented in the media. Nobody else seems to even notice.

But more underrepresented are evangelical Christians. There have been and are some TV programs that feature openly Catholic characters (e.g., Father Dowling Mysteries from some time ago and Blue Bloods more recently.) But characters that hold an evangelical perspective, who pray, read their Bible, go to church, believe in Christ as their Savior . . . these characters have been set aside. Once a surprising number of shows had at least the external trappings of the life of a Christian, but no more.

All that to say, Christianity may have become too controversial for the media in general and publishing in particular. Would sensitivity readers ever allow a Christian worldview to permeate a story without flagging it as offensive?

Which brings up the issue: what are Christians to write? What are Christians to read? If general fiction is to be whitewashed of anything that could possibly be considered offensive, what kind of stories will that leave us?

Who will be the victims and who the heroes of our stories going forward. Will white men be cast in the role of villain from now on? (See Avatar.) Or will we be so worried about offending someone that we simply do away with conflict all together and write only about coming of age and learning to look within ourselves to become better people?

Or are science fiction and fantasy able to transcend the problem and continue to tell good stories—as long as we do our homework and make our worlds so other that no one can assume we are coding people groups to fit races on earth. (Or that we aren’t encouraging cutting, or denigrating people groups who once cut, or exploiting people with disabilities or . . .)

Your thoughts?

Tacky shirts, unbiblical “clean” rules, ripoffs: Christian popular culture can be annoying.

After all, Christian popular culture (or subculture) may not be creative or original. Instead it may sound like the generic brand at your grocery: “If you like Kraft^® Macaroni, try me!”

But you know what’s more annoying? A counter-culture against Christian popular culture.

From podcasts to articles to books to comments, you can sense the annoyance: Christian culture is lame. Derivative. Worthless. Out-of-date. We feel a need to counter it all the time.

In fact, that’s the reason I’ve come to dislike constant criticism of Christian popular culture: it’s one counter too many. In order: 1) We have “secular” culture. 2) Some Christians dislike it, and make counter-culture to counter it. 3) Then other (often younger) Christians dislike that, and sort of make a new counter-culture to counter the Christian counter-culture.

That’s too many counters and too much stuff that is made not as much for a purpose, but against a purpose. This doesn’t help, especially when the point of culture is to cultivate: using our God-given talents to make new things, reflecting His beauty, goodness, and truth.

So why do many Christian critics dislike Christian popular culture?

1. Unbiblical rules. They find fault with the culture’s unbiblical notions, such as absolute rules against violent content, bad words, escapism, or certain theological beliefs.
2. Associations. They associate Christian subculture with the unlikeable or even abusive personality of a particular individual or organization, or with some real harm.
3. Bad quality. They grow older, find many praiseworthy things about other popular cultures, and can’t help seeing how much “their own” culture lacks by comparison.
4. Bad evangelism. They don’t believe Christian subculture has done much good to show Christ to the world, or to show the world a better picture of Jesus and/or His Church.

Many readers (and contributors) of SpecFaith would agree with some of these criticisms. That’s why, when we see that the Family Christian Stores chain of retail locations is closing down, we feel mixed emotions. We regret to see part of a Christian culture end, while also lamenting what could have been—or hoping for the rebirth of better Christian fiction.

However, if you don’t like the subculture you’re given, shouldn’t you be trying to make a better alternative—just as the Christian counter-culture makers have been trying?

Among Christian culture critics, I don’t see that happening. Instead I see:

1. Unbiblical rules. Critics develop an unwritten “code” against, say, Thomas Kinkade paintings or Amish romances. Technically, this isn’t legalism. But if we hear about a person who likes these things, the instant we judge that person, yes, that is legalism. Meanwhile, Christian culture critics can also develop “legalism” for the stories they do enjoy: e.g. the story must have diverse casting, must deal with this social issue in this way, must be well-reviewed by proper critics, must be a cultural thing that is trendy.¹
2. Disassociation. Critics reject their cultural-fundamentalist belief that you must cut off and separate from worldly friends. But the critics may then turn around and practice a similar separation from their (older?) Christian friends “trapped” in the subculture.
3. Bad denials. Critics ignore or reject even the truly good elements of the subcultures and stories and music they once enjoyed. But in fact, Christians got very good at many things, including original popular music (especially in the ‘90s) and audio dramas. Some of our animated series were quite good too. Remember the “Adventures in Odyssey” animated videos? Remember “VeggieTales” (which broke creative ground in all sorts of ways)?²
4. Bad evangelism. Critics accept a false premise of some Christian culture creators themselves: that “all this stuff ought to evangelize (or morally improve) people.” Instead of questioning this false premise, they expect the T-shirts and derivative bands to have helped save their friends (or at least kept us from feeling weird near those friends).

All that aside, the severest challenge to Christian subculture critics is this:

I don’t see them really trying to make better Christian popular-culture themselves.

Many Christian culture makers have at least tried to construct something.

Even the Christian movie-makers construct something. Even the makers of the orange T-shirts with letters spelling “Jesus” instead of “Reese’s” construct something.

Meanwhile the constant Christian-culture critics may prefer deconstructing things.

Or they spend their time only analyzing secular films and finding reflections of Jesus in them, or at least reflections of good family values such as anti-racism/diversity/community in these stories. (And aren’t these “family values” the same as Christianity anyway?)³

Ultimately, Christian-culture critics miss what should be the point of that popular culture.

We shouldn’t have expected it to make Christians look awesome. (Brothers and sisters, we are already worshiping a dead Jewish man with superpowers. Get used to the strangeness.)

We shouldn’t have expected it to save our non-Christian friends or preserve America.

We shouldn’t have expected it to always be creatively excellent, or to always avoid any kind of derivation (however shallow and lame) from the real world of logos and brands.

And we shouldn’t have expected it to be free of the silliest ideas Christians come up with—though often for well-meant reasons—such as codes against certain words or themes.

What we should have and still should expect of Christian subculture is this: to reflect the creativity of the people who make and enjoy it, for the glory of God.

Again, that’s what God wants us to do by making culture in the first place.

God gave us the ability to make things so we could cultivate and construct, not deconstruct.

And many Christian culture-makers, despite some products’ lameness, often did just that. In fact, some of them did the very thing we keep saying we want to do: instead of cursing the darkness, they lit candles. Now, in response to some of their less-bright ideas, are we capable of attempting the same? Or can we only curse in the dark at their dripping wax?

The Chronicles of Sarco Book 1

By Joshua A. Johnston

INTRODUCTION—Edge Of Oblivion

A Forgotten Past. A Terminal Future.

Earth has emerged from a cataclysmic dark age with little knowledge of its past. Aided by the discovery of advanced alien technology, humanity ventures into the stars, joining other sentient races in a sprawling, prosperous interstellar Confederacy.

That peace is soon shattered. Without warning, the Confederacy comes under attack by an unstoppable alien force from the unknown regions. With hopes for civilization’s survival dwindling, Commander Jared Carter is sent to pursue an unlikely lead: a collection of ancient alien religious fragments which may—or may not—hold the key to their salvation …

EDGE OF OBLIVION — EXCERPT

Prologue

An end, an end is come upon the four corners of the land.
Now is the end come upon thee,
And I will send mine anger upon thee,
And I will judge thee according to thy ways,
And will recompense upon thee all thine abominations.
And mine eye shall not spare thee, neither will I have pity,
But I will recompense thy ways upon thee,
And thine abominations shall be in the midst of thee . . .
An evil, an only evil, behold is come.
An end is come, the end is come: it watcheth for thee; behold it is come.

—Excerpt from a Human religious text, origin unknown

It came as an envoy to the Master’s will.

Across the Deep Reaches it came, bending to the will of the Master . . . and in turn bending all before it to that same will.

The Master declared that it was Malum, and thus it was so.

* * *

Malum’s knowledge was vast. It stored the knowledge of aeons across galaxies: lifetimes, empires, planets, the fabrics of civilization and technology, the knowledge of life and death. Yet it drew on it only insofar as it served the Master. When knowledge was needed, the barriers shifted to make the new relevance the only knowledge in Malum’s existence, the rest as lost as if it had never been known.

The invisible barriers of eternal information shifted, parting to focus in on the constellation of stars that now floated before it. In Malum’s memory words flared to life. Aecron. Ritican. Hazionite. Human. Exo. Confederacy.

Aecron. Homeworld designate Aeroel. Superior intelligence, fragile physiology. Arrogant, unskilled in diplomacy. First in Confederal region to develop interstellar fold technology, used it to observe and intermittently experiment on pre-spaceflight Human and Hazionite homeworlds. Policies changed after attack by extra-regional fleet designate Invaders of 1124. Invader origins not known to Aecrons, though known to Master. Invaders repelled, effected change in Aecron disposition; Aecrons cultivated alliances with other races reaching spacefaring status as defense against future attacks. Aecrons conform to will of Master, unaware.

Ritican. Homeworld designate Ritica. Durable physiology, high tolerance for temperature. Methane respiration. Intelligent, developed interstellar travel after Aecrons but independently of them. Sociology revolves around nonviolent coexistence unless attacked; retaliatory psychology, relentless, brutal. Exemplar” Corridor Wars; Ritican counterattack led to near-genocide of Hazionites. Current Hazionite and Ritican relationship nonviolent but complicated, potential for exploitation. Ritican militia most powerful military force in Confederacy.

Hazionite. Homeworld designate Hazion Prime. Matriarchal society. Olfactory senses allow for enhanced perception of emotion. Moderate intelligence, expansionistic disposition. Fold drive reverse-engineered from Aecron ship wreckage found on homeworld. Invasion of Ritican territory precipitated Corridor Wars; Ritican retaliation resulted in near-annihilation of Hazionites before Human intervention ended conflict. Treaty designate Titan Accords ended Corridor Wars, established Confederacy.

Human. Homeworld designate Earth. Moderate intelligence, skilled in diplomacy and politics. Little surviving recorded Human history prior to 1300 homeworld revolutions antecedent; cataclysm on ancient Earth led to loss of most knowledge through period designate Dark Ages. Cause of Earth cataclysm and loss of Human history unknown to Humans. Fold drive reverse-engineered from Aecron ship wreckage found on homeworld. Human diplomats intervened to end Corridor Wars, create Confederacy. Highly influential in Confederacy; Human language and measurements nor in Confederal commerce and trade.

Exo. Homeworld designate Exo Homeworld. Exo name given by Human diplomats. Exoskeletal physiology, extraordinary durability, capable of short periods of time in open space. Asexual, highly individualistic, oriented predominantly around task completion. Capacity for mechanical, engineering work without equal in Confederacy; intellectual processes are concrete, lacking in artistic or creative function. No formal governance, no family structure.

Confederacy. Capital designate Nevea, Human homeworld system, planet designate Titan. Facilitates interspecies commerce and trade, organizes Confederal Navy to protect sentient merchants from piracy. Maintains some contact with non-allied sentients designate Minor Races: pirate society Ussonian, reclusive Tullasph, multiple pre-spaceflight civilizations.

* * *

Malum absorbed the full knowledge of the Confederacy and its component societies, became as much the knowledge as it was itself. Malum organized the knowledge for the purpose that lay before it, for the knowledge itself was not an end, but a means to the will of the Master.

* * *

First came Gor-Exxus. A Ritican frontier listening post orbiting an aging white dwarf. Isolated, neglected even by pirates. Fifty Riticans present. Most received the assignment as punishment, viewed it with resentment. It was not a vigilant defense, although Malum knew it would not matter either way. This was not a matter of hubris, but fact.

Malum folded in on the listening post, drew near. It sensed the station probing, questioning. It felt the malaise become confusion, the confusion become worry. The station sent a message to other stations.

Malum unleashed its power. The worry turned into terror, then was silenced.

Malum departed, leaving nothing behind.

AUTHOR BIO
Joshua A Johnston was raised on science fiction television and film before being introduced, in his teenage years, to the wider universe of science fiction literature. In addition to his daily work teaching American history and American government, he is an occasional writer on a variety of topics, including video games and parenting. You can find him online at www.joshuaajohnston.com.

Edge Of Oblivion is Christian science fiction published by Enclave Publishing in April 2016. It’s available through Amazon and other fine book distribution centers.

As Christians, we often find it too easy to avoid dark fiction.

Stories that are willing to examine the arc of a character who’s, say, a prostitute.

Stories that don’t send every swear word to the guillotine because perish the thought we read one of those.

Stories that don’t demand the use of demure princesses in modest dresses and charming heroes whose reputation is so flawless that personal struggles of the darkest variety stick to them as well as duct tape sticks to water.

The Dark Side of Fiction

Beyond the sunny meadows of chivalry, virtuous characters, and the triumph of the good side lurks a dark forest. A forest tangled with the thorns of evil, shrouded in shadow and creeping with dangerous, unsavory things.

Such is the ill repute of this forest that people avoid it like they avoid the stench of the trash heap. Why would we venture into this place when we could easily take the sunlit path of happy times? Through a safe land where characters impart just the right words at just the right time and we needn’t bother with the scumbags because they don’t belong to our moral-filled club?

I’d like to challenge that notion and suggest we can, and should, be willing to read stories that don’t fit the prescribed model of clean fiction. Not because we enjoy the guilty pleasure or want to vicariously participate in the immorality, but because it presents truth.

More importantly, the presence of the darkness points us to the light and the hope we find outside our miserable, messed up lives.

We Need the Darkness

Please don’t mistake me. I’m not advocating stories that glorify violence, sex, swearing, or anything else typically associated with immoral elements we need to lock away behind the bars of caution and discernment.

However, I am suggesting that we shouldn’t automatically bring out the AK-47s when we smell the odor that even hints at such questionable content. Why do we so readily reject the realities of our broken world when they slip into the pages of fiction?

The Lie of Clean Fiction

The biggest problem I see with so-called clean fiction is the subtle mistruth it presents by offering us artificial stories.

• Prayers are answered the way the characters expect.
• People repent too easily.
• The swaggering gangster uses pseudo swear phrases that don’t fit his character because anything more colorful is too offensive.

In the end, though, when the darkness of our corrupt world forces its way into our lives, we realize that all the perfect families, role-model characters, and moralistic messages have no answer for the reality of life. Life isn’t filled with squeaky-clean relationships. It doesn’t fit into our box of piety and propriety.

It punches us in the teeth. It knocks us down and tramples us in the mud.

One prime example is warfare, common in science fiction and fantasy. It’s a brutal, ugly mess, not a heroic clash of good versus evil where the knights in shining armor always dispose of their enemies while suffering nary a scratch.

Violence is part of life, and a story that includes fighting shouldn’t shy away from the reality of battle. There is a limit to the amount of gore and detail needed, but glossing over a battle with passing remarks that don’t do justice can be detrimental, too. It paints an idealized picture in our heads and suddenly, without realizing it, we have a misconception of war that at best gives us a vague idea of what it’s like to be in battle and at worst trivializes its horrors.

The Purpose of Dark Fiction

What’s the point in all this? Why do topics that make us uncomfortable have a role in the stories we read?

Let me ask this.

What is the comfort of sunshine without the gloom of shadow?

What is the joy of love apart from the sting of betrayal?

What is the beauty of redemption if it’s detached from the corruption of a fallen world?

The powerful stories, the ones that haunt you long after the final page has been turned and give you the chills—those stories endure because they say something about how the world works. By exploring the dark caverns of broken lives, violent deeds, and scandalous endeavors, they can emerge into the grace-filled air with more vigor than a story that skims over the disagreeable parts.

We don’t appreciate our health until we’re struck by sickness. In the same way, we can’t value the threads of loyalty, love, sacrifice, mercy, and grace woven into stories without first seeing and understanding their shadowy opposites. Not in excessive ways, but by dealing honestly with them.

Every story should reflect the real world, not in exactly the same way we experience it, but so that when we read about a character’s problems or see the situation they’ve been dragged into, we glimpse a reflection of truth.

And ultimately, the dark side of fiction directs our attention toward the relief, hope, and joy found in the shining truths of mercy and redemption.

Do you see any benefits or concerns with looking into the dark side of fiction?

*This post appeared in original form in October, 2015, at zacharytotah.com

Today it seems as if being offensive is cause for intolerance.

Last week I read a portion of an address the former provost of Stanford University delivered to the board of trustees of that school. In it, he decried the trend toward intolerance in an academic environment. I found the article because one of my Facebook friends posted a response published in Slate.

If you are unfamiliar with Slate, here’s the Wikepedia description:

Slate is an online liberal / progressive magazine that covers current affairs, politics and culture in the United States.

Given that piece of information, it’s clear what angle the article took in responding to the charge that academic institutions, Stanford University specifically, have become too intolerant. The Slate article, in fact, is titled “In Praise Of Intolerance.”

Yes, you read that correctly: intolerance. The goal, you see, is truth, according to Alan Levinovitz, the author of the article. To make the point, he references hatred and the Holocaust, then this:

Likewise, biologists reject creationism not because it is intolerant of evolution, but because it is wrong. The same is true when immunologists reject vaccine skepticism. White supremacists, creationists, and vaccine skeptics refer to their exclusion from higher education and mainstream media as a form of intolerance. And they’re right—academic institutions are intolerant of their views. Yet we can all agree that Stanford needn’t change its hiring practices. Those who strive to stamp out these dangerous views are intolerant, but justly so. (Emphasis mine).

So, creationism, according to Mr. Levinovitz, is an intolerant view. An offense, you might say. Because that’s what the charge is in these institutions: students are offended when a Christian organization like Interversity, requires that those in student leadership should be Christians. Because, you see, requiring Christian organizations to be run by Christians is apparently discriminatory.

As I recall, Christian student groups have been allowed back onto University of California campuses, but new legislation in the state government came up this past summer affecting private colleges and universities regarding transgender issues. For now the bill has been withdrawn, but the point is clear: as a culture, we are, in the name of tolerance, moving more and more toward intolerance.

Ironically, the document considered the Law of the Land in the United States, contains an amendment insuring that those of us who hold opinions others find intolerant, still have a right to speak.

But Mr. Levinovitz would seem to take the view that those holding “wrong ideas” ought not be allowed to publish them or voice them in a public place like a university campus.

The longtime best-selling book of Christian apologetics—C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity—calls for religious nationalism (“all economists and statesmen should be Christians”) and argues that God wants men to be the head of the household. These are popular ideals, but they are poisonous and deserve fierce resistance, not complacent tolerance.

So the ideas C. S. Lewis espoused, even ones taken out of context, apparently, ought not be tolerated. Was Lewis giving offense? Or are those who disagree with him simply offended because they find his conclusions in contradiction to their own?

The question is, how soon will Lewis be ousted from university bookstores? Will students be able to find copies of the Narnia books or his space trilogy in their libraries? Or in any library, if Mr. Levinovitz’s ideas about intolerance become widely accepted?

And what about the books of today. Should writers strap on the veneer of the tolerant in order to have a chance to be published in the general market? Just recently I heard about a wonderful manuscript that speaks to some of our western society’s raw wounds regarding racism. Can that story break through the barriers of traditional publishing? Unlikely, given the sensitivity with which publishers approach new books.

Christian publishers have their sensitivities, too. They want clean fiction, stories that are not negative toward Christianity, that have an element of faith. They would perhaps be seen as intolerant of stories that contain scenes of promiscuity and language laced with profanity.

Ought general market publishers have tolerance toward, say, transgender issues, but not toward pro-life issues? I suppose those that own those publishing companies can choose which ideas to support and which to label as an offense.

The real question is this: are Christians ready to be marginalized further? Are we preparing to share the gospel regardless of how offensive the culture finds it or how offended people claim to be?

I’ve long said that Christians are not to be offensive in the way we speak, but the Bible itself says the message of the gospel is offensive to those who are perishing. To tell people they are sinners, is offensive. To say that some are saved and some are not, is to appear in the eyes of our culture to be discriminatory. To be hateful. To hold a position that ought not to be tolerated.

The point is, the more Christians withdraw from the culture, the more we fail to engage the offensive questions publicly, the less likely we will be to do so at all in another twenty years.

Are we to outshout those who say the kinds of things Mr. Levinovitz said—that creationism is wrong and not to be tolerated? That’s not the most effective approach, I don’t think, and it’s not the one the Bible endorses.

We are to make disciples, Jesus said before He left earth. We are to go into all the world and preach the gospel. But we are also to live as salt and light.

So I wonder, are Christian novels today shining light? Yes, I realize we, the actual, physical people who follow Christ, are to be salt and light. But how do we show our light if not by what we do and say and think? How do we influence and affect the culture around us, giving flavor and providing the preservative power of the gospel, if not by what we say and write?

In the end, are we an offense to those around us or are they responding, one way or the other, to the truth of God’s word, live out in what we Christians do and say and write?

A short story

by Bethany A. Jennings

INTRODUCTION—“Threadbare”

What happens when your gift turns against you?

All her life Bess has known the magic streams around her, waves of power she can draw from to wield the gift of magical threads. Now the youngest member of a team of Anchors, she helps protect the city streets from Drifters—energy thieves who prey on the life force of ordinary humans.

But when a battle leaves Bess’s threads in an irreparable tangle, she is faced with an agonizing choice: sever her threads and lose her magic forever—or be slowly consumed by her own power.

“THREADBARE — EXCERPT

The tidal wave chills me as it comes.

Magic rushes from every side, pouring through the alleys and across the pavement. Each new wave is a force to reckon with, another pressure on our weakening team. But this one comes from a new direction—behind me.

I whirl toward the Drifter who directs this new current. Magical threads lash out from my hands like a whip, thick golden strands aimed to take him down. For one second, I glimpse his smug smile, his tailored suit.

Then the wave hits me.

My threads whip back in my face. Magic slams me flat against the ground, leaving me still and numb against the summer-warm asphalt.

Through darkening eyes I see a sliver of the raging fight—glowing blades and glittering threads flying and thrashing beneath the street lamps. The magical waves crash around me, battering me until I feel like I’m drowning.

We’re outnumbered. My teammates are losing, and I can’t help them. I try to scream, to warn them of the danger, but no sound comes from my throat. Panic fills my chest.

In the distance, someone shouts my name. “Bess!”

Darkness overtakes me, the waves burying me so deep that I think I will never breathe again.

* * * *

“Bess.” Fingers snap in front of my face.

I gasp awake and lurch into a sitting position, heart hammering and fists ready to punch Morse and his Drifter henchmen.

But it’s only Marshall, with his sad, kind eyes. I’ sitting on a table in one of our team’s safe houses, a basement apartment with battered walls and a dilapidated kitchenette.

Close by Finn dabs sweat off his dark forehead with his sleeve. Mac and Anna rare n the kitchen, tending a gash on Anna’s arm. At the sight of me awake, relief softens the exhaustion in their faces.

My tense muscles unclench, tears springing to my eyes.

“Glad to have you back with us.” A gentle smile twitches on Marshall’s lips. “He took you out good. Can you feel all your extremities?”

I test my fingers and toes, and nod. If I try to speak, I think I’ll cry in relief, so I pinch my mouth shut. Did we win? I’ll have to ask later, when my heart isn’t pounding so hard.

I glance at my teammates again. Why do they all look so serious?

Marshall steps back from the table, running a hand through his wavy brow hair. “Okay, good. Now, let’s see your threads.”

I look down at my shaking hands. Right now?

“I know it’ll take a buttload of energy to manifest them.” He pauses, then moves toward me again. “Here, let me help. I know it’s cheating since you’re still a novice, but in this condition, I think you need some help. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

He angles himself behind me and puts his arms in line with mine, his hands holding my wrists. Magic rushes through him, channeled from the waves, and surges into my stiff muscles. It aches, like moving after a killer workout, but I grasp the wave and strike out with my hands to fling my golden threads into the room.

Nothing.

I bit back a whimper.

“Again,” Marshall says patiently.

He draws the surge down to me a second time. Hope sparks in my chest as golden light flashes on my fingers—and immediately my relief is dashed on a stone of icy fear.

My threads shine between my outstretched hands, but they don’t lash out like a whip. They’re snarled together in a golden, scintillating mass.

AUTHOR BIO

Bethany A. Jennings, whose name you might recognize because she’s won a few Spec Faith Writing Challenges, is a YA science-fiction and fantasy author, and a chronic night owl. She is endlessly passionate about the power of speculative fiction, both to shape hearts and cultures and to unveil hidden realities. Bethany can be found wrangling her toddlers, running Twitter events, or inventing new kinds of sandwiches—but no matter where she is, worlds and stories are dancing in her head. Born a southern California girl, she now lives in New Hampshire with her husband and four children, zero pets, and a large collection of imaginary friends (a.k.a. her fictional characters). In addition to her fiction writing, she is a freelance editor, blogger, and the organizer of #WIPjoy, a seasonal online event for authors.

You can learn more about Bethany, her writing, and her editing at her website.

“Threadbare,” published this week as a Kindle e-story, is Bethany’s first story available for purchase.

I recently read a book called The Angel of the Abyss by Hank Schwaeble. It’s the third in a series featuring a hard-boiled private contractor who has otherworldly powers. Specifically, he can dabble in the realm of demons and spirits, using a combination of his wits and rituals. The demons don’t like being summoned and/or manipulated but they are bound by the spells and incantations and can be forced against their will to do his bidding, though there are often disastrous consequences.

Copyright Universal Studios

The idea of man exerting some control over the spirit realm is very tantalizing and has long held a place in entertainment. The most common manifestation of this fantasy is in witchcraft and sorcery, where one casts spells to summon the aid of unnamed spirits to carry out their wishes, such as turning the stuck-up pretty girl at school into a snorting pig. This power is particularly appealing to those who are ordinarily without the usual forms of power (physical strength, beauty, popularity, etc.). There are many levels of magic and wizardry but there is no question from where the power of witchcraft and sorcery originates.

Other stories, like The Angel of the Abyss, feature a different kind of infernal tampering. There are numerous stories about people possessing, often reluctantly, powers of communication with the demonic realm. The demonic crime-fighter John Constantine is a good example. Demons resent the human intrusion but are bound by the power of the rituals to appear/serve/obey/disappear/whatever.

What does the Bible say about this? It’s pretty clear that the only one who has power over demons is God Himself. Jesus had power to drive out demons and He imparted this power to His followers. Simply put, there is no power over demons without God’s direct influence. Rituals and incantations are stuff of fantasy. There are no Scriptural references to a demon being bound or controlled by words uttered from a mystic text or by circles drawn in the sand. There is certainly legitimacy to the world of witchcraft but that is a realm that is firmly controlled by demons, not one that can be used to control demons.

Of course, there is another unseen realm. Namely, ghosts. The Bible is clear that “it is destined for man to die once, and after that to face judgement” (Heb. 9:27 NIV). Job 7:9-10 says, “As the cloud disappears and vanishes away, so he who goes down to the grave does not come up. He shall never return to his house, Nor shall his place know him anymore.” Yet Saul was able to talk to the dead prophet Samuel with the aid of a medium in 1 Samuel 28. This goes against God’s command in Lev. 19:31, “Do not turn to mediums or spiritists; do not seek them out to be defiled by them. I am the Lord your God” (NASB).

Demons are very real. More importantly, Satan is very real. I recently watched a sermon by John Piper and he made a declaration that still rings in my ears. In his sermon, he was extolling the virtues of memorizing Scripture, and he said, “What are you hitting him (Satan) with? He is MILLIONS of times stronger than you. And he HATES you and your family and your marriage and the church and God.” So true. I can’t help but chuckle when I read stories where the intrepid hero outwits the devil or traps him or tricks him (the Sandman Slim books are prime examples). No mortal will ever outsmart Satan or his demons. No power apart from God can have any effect on them. This is all fine in the world of fiction, but it’s essential to not let this way of thinking creep into our reality, especially when our culture minimizes and even mocks the spirit world. The devil is not Al Pacino in a sharp suit; he is a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour.

If we judge a book by its cover (which we totally do), then we might judge the need to read that book based on its opening line.

Opening lines are a glorious bane for writers.

A bane because they’re So. Dang. Hard.

Glorious because if you nail it, you’ll have the reader’s attention (with Facebook, YouTube, and a thousand other distractions vying for that attention, it’s quite the accomplishment).

And some first lines are etched upon the hallowed halls of literary immortality.

Many things rise and fall on the strength of an opening line. It helps set the mood of the book; may hint at the theme; introduces the story, the world, a character—perhaps all three. It’s the writer’s invitation to partake in this particular journey with these particular people in this particular place and time.

Plus it needs to add a punch that needs to grab us by the collar and refuse to let go.

More importantly, when it comes to sci-fi and fantasy, how does that line prepare us to enter a new world?

What makes an opening line sparkle, or conversely flicker out with a tragic blink?

Consider some examples.

Fantasy

1. In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.
2. The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning. (Yes, a paragraph, but it all goes together.)
3. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.
4. Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar, wore white on the day he was to kill a king.
5. The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.
6. Prince Raoden of Arelon awoke early that morning, completely unaware that he had been damned for all eternity.

Science Fiction

1. It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
2. “I’ve watched through his eyes, I’ve listened through his ears, and I tell you he’s the one.”
3. It was a pleasure to burn.
4. In the week before their departure to Arrakis, when all the final scurrying about had reached a nearly unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy, Paul.
5. The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us.
6. There was once a time when only God knew the day you’d die.

How many of those did you recognize? How many captured you as a reader, either now or the first time you read them? Were any boring or too vague?

I think the best opening lines raise questions. My personal favorite from the lists above is the one about Szeth.

• Why is he Truthless of Shinovar?
• What the heck does that even mean?
• And why in the world is he going to kill a king?
• Will he succeed?
• Should I be cheering for him or hoping he fails?

It’s amazing how such a simple sentence can raise questions upon questions. And where we have questions, we need answers. Cue the subtle brilliance that now has us engaged in the story.

What do you think makes for a good opening line in a fantasy or sci-fi book?

Dragons aren’t as popular as they once were, certainly, but they represent fantasy in many ways. Off and on I run across comments that seem to indicate an element of conservative thought that is still suspicious of fantasy, and hence, of dragons. I hesitate to say this kind of thinking comes from Christians, but certainly it comes from those who cling legalistically to a set of do’s and don’ts they want to impose upon others. And truth be told, for the most part, any objections to fantasy come from those who would include themselves in the camp of Christians.

Some years ago I read Harry Potter, Narnia, and the Lord of the Rings by Richard Abanes (Harvest House). In this discussion, Abanes opens with an apology for fantasy. Perhaps his most powerful statement, however, is this:

We must never underestimate the power that a certain piece of literature, or body of literature, can have over a generation. It can ultimately affect society in general on a very large scale in years to come.

Especially with society’s current band-wagon mentality, it seems that an author’s influence can be widespread. What disturbs me is that critics holding to a legalistic view of fantasy elements are missing that truth. Or more accurately, their answer to that fact is to cocoon their children. If J. K. Rawling, for instance, is writing something outrageously popular, something that a generation of young people have been influenced by, but . . . horrors . . . which involves magic and wizards and ghosts and magic, well the answer is to condemn all fantasy and keep children away from it!

There are legitimate questions about magic and wizards and dragons and ghosts. The Bible is not silent on the subjects of sorcery, and reportedly mediums are under God’s judgment. But what does that have to do with fiction?

As Mr. Abanes points out, literature, and especially fantasy, creates a world that entwines the material world with the spiritual. I can’t help but wonder if the great rise in spirituality (often expressed in forms of Eastern religion) in this postmodern era doesn’t account in part for the elevated interest in fantasy, whether traditional, dystopian, supernatural, or steampunk.

Here, then, is the crucial point. If we as believers in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior want to engage our culture and give our eyewitness accounts of the good news, should we not enter the arena that offers a ready forum? Should we not be the premier fantasy writers? As yet, however, Christian fantasy, apart from the greats, has not taken our culture by storm. Not like Rowling did or Stephenie Meyer.

Perhaps the Harry Potter phenomena or the vampire fixation were passing fads. But perhaps they are reading experiences that are helping to shape the thinking of a generation. Shouldn’t Bible-believing Christians see that as our job?

So what should we make of dragons . . . or magic or wizards or trolls or faeries? Do they belong in the stories our children read? Do they belong in the stories we Christian authors write?

This post is a revised and edited version of one that first appeared here in April 2009.