“Beauty and the Beast” is my favorite fairy tale. I’ve loved it since I was young and watched the Disney animated film (one of my earliest memories). The concept of transforming love—love that sees deeper than surface ugliness, that changes its once-unlovable object into something worth loving—was powerful. My appreciation for that kind of love has only grown. It is a type or mirror of God’s love for us. We who were once the most wretched of sinners, beyond any reason of love, have been transformed by the blood of Christ into God’s beloved children.

Our notion of the fairy tale has been diluted over the years, thanks in large part to the Disney film and other abridgments. (In fact, when we studied the tale in my college folklore course, we read Beaumont’s abridgment instead of Villeneuve’s original.) It has become a story about the beastly prince who is made princely by Beauty’s love.

But the original worked a little differently.

In Villeneuve’s story, the Beast’s crime was not refusing an old woman at the door but refusing his wicked fairy godmother’s amorous advances. Yes, he told her (truthfully) that she wasn’t beautiful, but he also rejected her proposal of marriage. For that, she cursed him to be monstrously ugly, a curse that would only lift when he could win the love of a woman without relying on his title or riches.

Enter another fairy godmother, who gives the Beast a plan to save the day. This particular fairy actually pulls quite a few strings in the background of the story. (All of this is revealed after the curse is lifted. Villeneuve goes on for another tale’s length after the transformation, detailing all the background of the Beast and Beauty, who it turns out is the daughter of yet another fairy godmother.)

But the Beast is not the one who changes (aside from his appearance and perhaps a lesson in tactfulness). It is Beauty who is forced to confront her own shallow perceptions, recognizing the prince beneath the beastly exterior.

Some modern versions of the tale (Shrek, Robin McKinley’s Rose Daughter, Mercedes Lackey’s The Fire Rose, the two urban fantasy Beauty and the Beast TV series) have eschewed the final physical transformation of the Beast, focusing on the interior aspects of the tale (and at least one version by Angela Carter actually flips this moment to make Beauty physically like her Beast, much like Shrek). This is due in large part to the modern emphasis on physical beauty being fleeting and deceptive ¹, but it also presents some interesting questions: would we love the story as much if the prince didn’t return to his handsome appearance at the end? What do we lose (and gain) by changing the symbolism of transformative love?

The first time I was confronted by the idea of love going deeper than appearances, even in the face of a transformation being denied, was in the Disney Aladdin TV series. In an episode titled “Eye of the Beholder,” one of Aladdin’s enemies tricks Princess Jasmine into using a cursed lotion that transforms her into a hideous snake creature. ² The only cure is fruit from a tree hidden far away in a protected valley. Aladdin, Jasmine, and their friends embark to find the tree. Along the way, Jasmine’s snake form shows its uses; she frightens off attackers, and at one point she even saves Aladdin from a deadly fall, although her tail’s venomous spikes end up wounding Aladdin in the process.

When they finally arrive at the valley, they find that their enemy has already killed the tree that would have cured Jasmine. Faced with a lifetime without Jasmine, Aladdin chooses the one thing his enemy failed to foresee: he uses the same cursed lotion to transform himself into a snake creature. Even if they have to live away from the rest of the world, they can be together. The enemy’s plans are frustrated, and another enchanter takes pity on the lovers and heals the tree. Aladdin and Jasmine eat its fruit and are restored.

Even though this story seems on the surface to work against the symbolism of transforming, redeeming love, it actually paints a compelling picture of another aspect of Christlike love: self-sacrifice. Aladdin chooses to become as his beloved is, willing to give up everything else in his world to be with her. It is not unlike Christ’s parable of the shepherd leaving the ninety-nine sheep to find the one that was lost.

No matter the form it takes or the new twists a retelling spins, “Beauty and the Beast” remains at its core a tale of love that redeems its object and brings two people together who might otherwise have been separated by their own sins and the sins of others.

Elijah David’s own “Beauty and the Beast” story, Paper and Thorns, is available now at Amazon, at Barnes and Noble, and at other book retailers.

I know some people don’t care for Amazon for various reasons. There are valid points to be made about the effect on brick-and-mortar stores when a reader buys books online from any outlet. Amazon gets the attention because they are so big! But putting those aspects of buying books through the internet, the thing I like the most is the opportunity to look at reviews.

Good books generally have a LOT of reviews, and the best books have a lot of positive reviews and a high rating.

But the truth is, self-published books, books from a small, independent press, or even most books from a traditional Christian publisher aren’t probably getting rated by a thousand plus number of people. They aren’t getting more than a handful of reviews.

I’ll admit—I’m a little suspicious when a book only has a couple reviews and/or 5-star ratings. Who is making the glowing statements about the book—relatives? writing partners?

I’d like more. In fact, I often prefer to read a 4-star or a 3-star review because I think I learn more about the book when someone explains what they think was missing or could have been better.

But the main thing is, at least there are reviews I can read! Without reviews, what’s a buyer to think? If the author/publisher has done a good job, there is an adequate bit of “back cover copy” that introduces the book, that serves as a story hook. In addition, just like brick-and-mortar stores, buyers can look inside and read a few pages, which is usually the way I buy books: first the back, then the beginning.

If I want to know if the story is the kind that will hold my interest. Then I want to know if the writing will hold my interest. I am not a cover kind of buyer. Great covers can catch my attention, but I’d say the majority of covers are average, at best. And honestly, they don’t always make sense until after I’ve read the book. I’m much more apt to appreciate a cover of a book I’ve enjoyed, than I am to be lured into buying a book because of its cover.

All that aside, the biggest factor for me in buying a book is “buzz.” I’ve heard about this book, a friend has read it and now recommends I read it, or the author sends out info about his or her newest release. With the latter, reviews matter.

For instance, an author I had read before and loved, released a new book that sounded intriguing. Until I checked out the reviews. They were positive and all, but I could tell, this book was a real departure from the one I had loved earlier. I chose not to buy it.

I’ve been burned before—an author who deviates from the types of books I love, has disappointed. Not always. I can think of others who have veered from the type of book I originally loved, and I also loved the new venture.

But that’s where reviews can help.

Just one important thing to remember: readers actually have to take the time to write the review and give a rating.

I’m a writer and I know how important reviews are to the success of books, and I still forget to write them at times. But wow! How great it is when a reader has enough respect for the author and all the people who worked on a book, to give a little feedback.

And “little” is the operative word. I mean, there are bigger, longer reviews. Usually those are at a book review site, however. The ones at a book selling site are usually much shorter. Those are great, I think, because they give a potential buyer either a thumbs up or a thumbs down idea about the book.

Sometimes the reasons a reviewer give for lowering a book’s ratings, actually make me want to buy the book. Other times I think, that issue they mentioned would probably bother me too.

In short, reviews are such an important part of book buying these days, particularly for the books that don’t make the best-seller lists. How else will readers find them unless people start talking about them? And reviews are nothing more than backyard, over the fence talk with a neighbor, saying, “I finished this book the other day and . . .”

One other thing to remember: there are sites like Lorehaven that specialize in reviews, not from the public in general, but ones that have been put out by a staff member or carefully vetted, and consequently reliable.

So there are both types of reviews to consider: ones by everyday, ordinary readers which you can find book-buying sites or at Goodreads, and ones by “professionals” who are reviewing books for a particular reason. In the case of Lorehaven, the “reason” is to let readers know which of the many speculative books written by Christians that are available these days, are ones that the Lorehaven staff can recommend.

I think the sum of both helps someone know if a book they’ve heard about is for them. Hopefully we readers can remember to do our part and help the author and our fellow readers by adding our voice to those already rating and reviewing.

Daniel And The Serpent’s Abyss by Nathan Lumbatis

INTRODUCTION—Sons and Daughters Series Synopsis

Fifteen-year-old Daniel never believed he’d have a normal family, much less become a part of God’s. Now, after two quests to find the Weapons of Power, he’s met God face-to-face and fought the Enemy in various guises. There’s little Daniel wouldn’t believe at this point. His next quest will take him to the British Isles, where he and his companions hope to save their friend, Raylin, and find the Abyssal Staff. There’s just one problem: saving her will require a descent into the Abyss itself—the Enemy’s lair. How can they hope for Raylin’s salvation when the Enemy has control of her mind and they are in his home territory? Daniel has no idea, but he trusts his faith in God will not prove vain. Surely, after all the divine intervention during the last two quests, God wouldn’t abandon the companions without help. Right?

Daniel and the Sun Sword, Daniel and the Triune Quest, and Daniel and the Serpent’s Abyss are young adult, Christian fantasy novels exploring forgiveness, faith, spiritual warfare, and the reality of divine sonship. The recent release is the recipient of the Spirit-Filled Fiction Award.

– – – – –

EXCERPT FROM DANIEL AND THE SERPENT’S ABYSS BY NATHAN LUMBATIS

Seren raised her fiberglass bow and pulled the string back to the corner of her mouth. She waited a moment until the wind, hissing through the trees near Granny’s house, died down. “Watch, my young students, and learn from the master.”

She let the string snap forward, sending an arrow in a smooth arc straight toward the bullseye. Five wobbly concentric circles were painted in white on the side of a makeshift target made of old bales of pine straw and boxes piled six feet high.

“That’s how it’s done.” She flipped silky, blond hair over her shoulder and sauntered past Daniel, tossing him the bow as she passed.

“That’s how it’s done,” Daniel muttered, imitating Seren’s voice. “‘Master’ my foot.”

Seren whipped her head around and drew herself up to her full height. At eighteen, she wasn’t quite as tall as Daniel, despite being three years older. Her lithe frame and piercing blue eyes nevertheless spoke of authority and fierce intelligence. “What was that, Daniel?”

“Nothing. Here goes!” Daniel nocked an arrow and pulled the string back. As soon as he felt his hand touch his cheek, he let it snap forward. The arrow sailed through the air and hit just outside the outermost ring. He looked down at the bow. “I think there’s something wrong with this stupid thing.”

“There’s something wrong with the archer,” Seren replied flatly. “You just need to practice more.”

Daniel handed the bow back to her. “Oh sure, I’ll squeeze it in between sword practice, homework, chores, and saving the world. How’s six Tuesdays from never sound?”

Seren ignored him and turned to Ben, who was sitting at the base of a tree reading through something on his phone. “Your turn.”

Ben pushed a curl of black hair out of his eyes and stood. He slid the phone into his back pocket before taking the bow from Seren. “Daniel. Arrow, please.”

Daniel trotted to the target and yanked the arrow out of a pine bale. He hurled it like a spear toward the ground in front of Ben.

Ben jumped back in surprise and immediately transformed into the Triune Shield.
Daniel doubled over in laughter. “Skittish much?” he roared between guffaws.

Ben’s defensive and angry voice shouted from inside the shield where his body was outlined between the three intersecting rings. “You get shot and killed by the Bolt of Pestilence and see how skittish you are. I need my feet, in case you haven’t noticed! Geez. Next time hand it to me like a normal human, you dweeb.”

“Duh. Practice arrows aren’t sharp,” Daniel replied, wiping tears from his eyes.

Ben returned to normal in the next moment and stooped down to grab the arrow. “Oh, okay. I’ll just use you for target practice then. Stand still.”

“Just shoot. I want to see how terrible you are.”

“Bet I can at least hit inside the rings.”

Daniel snorted. “It’s harder than you think. But sure, give it your best shot.”

“Thanks for your confidence.”

“You guys are such children,” Seren said, both hands on her hips. “Can you go five minutes without trying to one-up each other? Just shoot!”

“So pushy.” Ben raised the bow and drew back the string in one smooth motion. Since coming back from his quest to retrieve the Triune Shield, he’d been practicing martial arts with Daniel. The activity had added muscle to his wiry, thirteen-year-old frame, but he was still lanky. He waited a moment while adjusting his aim and let the string snap forward. The arrow sank into a box just outside the bullseye. “Hey, look at that, Daniel!” Ben dropped the bow to the ground and pointed both index fingers at the target. “Look how terrible I was. Oh, wait. That was you. I actually hit the target. Boom.”

“Hey, I hit the target, too,” Daniel retorted.

Seren reached down to pick up the bow and dusted it off with an irritated glance at Ben. “Outside the rings doesn’t count, Daniel. Ben, can I see your phone for a minute?”

“Hear that, Daniel?” Ben cupped a hand around his ear. “Outside the rings–”

“I heard. Shut your trap.”

Ben flashed Daniel a smug grin as he moonwalked toward Seren and handed her his phone. “Here. What do you need it for?”

She promptly dropped it in the dirt and kicked it around a little.

“What–what are you doing?” He dove toward the phone and grabbed it before Seren could kick it again. “What’s your problem?”

“Oh, I thought we were playing the Drop-Other-People’s-Belongings-In-The-Dirt Game. No? My mistake.” She raised the bow and brushed off the dust toward Ben.

Ben growled something under his breath and shuffled back to the base of the tree while Seren resumed target practice with a satisfied grin.

Daniel sauntered toward Ben and heaved a contented sigh. “Ah. What goes around comes around. Right, Ben?”

Ben grunted and focused on his phone.

Daniel lay down and ran hands through bushy, brown hair before resting them behind his head. The air felt cool and crisp, and the woods were beginning to change color. The forest floor behind Granny’s house was carpeted with recently fallen leaves, making a mottled bed for Daniel as he stretched out his long legs and gazed at the sky. Glimpses of vibrant blue peeked through a net of dark gray and brown branches, dotted with the autumn oranges, reds, and yellows of leaves yet to fall. A brisk wind blew through the trees and into the open windows of Granny’s tiny, ivy-covered house. Memories came to life within the shadows of the curtains, and Daniel found himself replaying his, Ben, and Seren’s time in India. The quest had been six months ago, and that meant six months since they had seen Raylin.

– – – – –

AUTHOR BIO—NATHAN LUMBATIS
Nathan grew up in the woods of Alabama, where he spent his time exploring, hiking, and dreaming up stories. Now, as a child/adolescent therapist and author, he’s teaching kids and teens how to redeem their stories using Biblical principles. He still lives in Alabama, where you will find him with his wife and three kids every chance he gets.

You can learn more about Nathan and his books at the following online locations: Amazon, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and of course at his website.

Over a month ago, I spoke about the uniqueness of Jordan Peele’s Twilight Zone.  In its sophomoric season, we find the episodes are geared more toward exploring universal pain. To illustrate, I’ll highlight three episodes, noting the ‘tip of the iceberg’ storyline in all its speculative glory and then the deeper ‘beneath the surface’ pain.

Season 2, Episode 1: Meet in the Middle (Is the voice in his head real?)

Tip of the iceberg: Our awkward store manager Phil played wonderfully by Jimmi Simpson, is understandably freaked out when he hears a woman’s voice in his head during a terrible date. As we travel with him on his journey through the extraordinary, Phil begins to spend more time with ‘Annie’.  Over time, he accepts her intrusion into his mental space, sure that he isn’t going crazy, but that ‘Annie’ is a real person. He begins to go on ‘dates’ with her. Several scenes show him sitting along at a restaurant laughing and smile with her, getting an ice cream cone with two spoons, or walking by himself, fully engrossed in his world and the relationship he has with her.

Until he uncovers a devastating lie. It changes the course of their relationship and onto a twisted conclusion.

Image copyright: CBS

Beneath the surface: This episode was a good strong start for the season. I found it a personification of the virtual world and how relationships are sometimes formed on a one-dimensional plane. Two users who meet and interact solely on a virtual plane (i. e., social media). In the show, Phil and Annie are only connected by the fact they can hear each other’s voices in their heads. He can’t see her, and she forbids him to look her up online. Over time, this relationship he has with Annie becomes more important than anything outside of it.

There’s a scene where he and she are talking. The background is particularly beautiful with snow and soft lights, but he’s not even paying attention to it…just talking to the voice in his head.

I sort of saw the twist coming a few times, but I liked the fact I was kept guessing. Was he crazy? Is this woman real? Is it a dis-associative personality?

Phil’s character was illustrative of the growing isolation we’ve put ourselves in when we act and limit all interaction to just one plane – social media.

Season 2, Episode 1 Eight (Eight Brains vs Eight Brains)

Tip of the Iceberg: This episode is one of two creature stories. I looked forward to this because of my automatic love for monsters and was excited to see this explored. In this episodes, eight scientists from different countries are looking for a new species of octopus.

But why? Is it just for study or for a more nefarious reason? When they encounter this octopus, the tables are switched – whom exactly is stalking whom?

Beneath the surface: I liked this episode because it illustrates that although we humans are the head honchos on the planet, it doesn’t mean we’re the only smart ones. Yes, I believe we have dominion over the Earth and are called by God to be good stewards. That doesn’t mean we should try to dominate everything without regards to its life.

Researchers studying octopus on the Twilight Zone… Image copyright: CBS

The octopus is highly intelligent. In one scene, you see it watching the scientist with as a dispassionate glance as we would to it.

Evolutionary theory is often the crux for the reason of the shift of power. Although I don’t believe in evolution, most secular sci-fi utilizes the theory to explain away stuff without having to think it through. Sort of like “God of the Gaps” theory. Instead, we have “Evolution of the Gaps” theory.

Evolution did it! That’s all we need to know! Really? eyeroll

The more we learn about the animal kingdom, we find out that there are no such things as dumb animals. I saw this as a message of dominance vs stewardship and the dangerous pitfalls of thinking dominion equals subjugation.

Season 2, Episode 10 You May Also Like (After These Messages)

Tip of the Iceberg: A woman with everything finds out she really has nothing.

A commercial of a young girl traveling through the woods with a broken, naked doll fills the screen. A voiceover claims, “Get the EGG for your family and everything will be okay. Okay forever.

We follow a housewife who wakes up on a bed with no memory of how she got there. Talking to her neighbor she tells her that she loses time after she hears musical chords and then, she’s back on the bed. This happens at regular intervals.

While this is happening, everyone is excited about getting their ‘EGG’. No one, not even our housewife, knows what the EGG is but EVERYONE must have it. There’s speculation as to what it will do.  Throughout this narrative, we learn that the housewife with everything doesn’t have one thing. It’s the catalyst of the show and to reveal it would be to reveal the big spoiler.

One of the characters in “You Might Also Like.” Image copyright: CBS

Beneath the surface: This show clearly indicates that people are never satisfied with what they have. They are always searching for something more. The EGG – due to great advertising, everyone is getting one. They’re voracious for it.  When another housewife comes onto the scene with her EGG, our housewife asks to see it. She’s vehemently denied.

An aspect of this episode showed also how advertising reflects the human mind. Our housewives all wear similar clothes, have similar houses, even similar cars. It’s Keeping Up with the Joneses to the umpteenth power.

Choosing a focus: character development or plot execution

Overall, this season had a disjointed feel to it. This does not mean I didn’t enjoy it, but I felt that decisions were made behind the scenes that made for an average implementation as opposed to the sublime experience of the first season.

The second season, obviously, was given more money for production as we had more instances of CG. I don’t think the added CG served the season well. In the episodes I chose to highlight, the first one, “Meet in the Middle”, had an even balance of both character development and plot execution. It should be noted that this episode, as far as I could tell, had no CG in it.

In “Eight”, I was glad to see indie horror filmmakers Justin Benson and Aaron Moorehead (“Spring,” “Resolution”, and “The Endless”) direct this episode. However, due to time constraints, the episode lacked their brilliant subtleties in the horror genre. In my opinion, they had to choose between character development or plot execution. They chose the latter, which led to our being disassociated with our cast. The cast only served as exposition so when the octopus chokes one guy, who cares?

My least favorite of the season was “You May Also Like”. I’ll be frank. It irritated me. The story was extremely fractured. I’m all for red herrings but geez! It took me watching it twice to understand that the format was an intentional thing. Plus, the end of this one has a more nihilistic overtone which I did not enjoy. More on this in a minute.

Whereas the first season told a single story in bits, this second season was all over this place. I’m in the process of re-watching it so I can plug in the parts with the holes that add to the overall story.

Nihilism versus solutions: the parables of Christ

I should begin with stating that I am enjoying this revitalization of the Twilight Zone. A critique simply points out the positives and the negatives. However, I noticed this season tangoed a lot with nihilistic thought.

The Twilight Zone’s legacy focuses on extraordinary things happening to ordinary people. Not every episode in the original series had a bad ending. Some ended well. Others didn’t. In every episode of season 2 of this revitalization, there’s this lingering sense of nihilism.

As a refresher: nihilism: the rejection of all religious and moral principles, in the belief that life is meaningless.

With this as a foundation, the twists are often dark. There’s no glimmering light. It doesn’t matter that horrible things happened – it happened, it’s predetermined, deal with it.

In old sci-fi stories, it used to be more about the adventure of discovery, pitting man against the unknown foe and succeeding. Modern sci-fi focuses on the unknown that essentially overwhelms us, and we cannot fight. We merely succumb to our human frailty. There is no one to save us. So, although the multi-layered storylines are woven into the narrative, there is no hope. All our efforts for success are meaningless.

Contrast this with the parables of Christ. Jesus Christ used storytelling to reveal spiritual things, to warn of one’s choices and to present solutions, just to name a few.

In the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, the rich man had a choice to help Lazarus, but chose not to.  He had multiple opportunities from what we can infer. Lazarus was the one left out in the cold. However, this parable shows us that when man ignores us, God watches and intervenes. When Lazarus died, he was taken to the bosom of Abraham. When the rich man died, he lifted his eyes in hell and torment. Could things have been different if he had answered the call of Lazarus’s needs?

In the parable of unmerciful servant, Christ uses this to illustrate the need for forgiveness. Again, the servant who owed ten thousand talents, who, after he had been shown mercy by the king, chose to not reciprocate. I mean, he choked the guy who owed him a hundred pence and threw him in jail. If this were the Twilight Zone, the episode would have ended here. But the King, when he heard about it, intervened in judgement. Again, showing the need for a savior. The solution is presented – forgiveness.

The Good Samaritan by Vincent Van Gogh

Probably one of the most famous, the parable of the good Samaritan, Christ illustrates who our true neighbors are. When the man is left for dead by robbers and ignored by the legalistic religious folks, the ‘sinner’ is the one who cares for him. Again, in a nihilistic view, the man who had been left for dead would have died, his life having no meaning. In the person of the Samaritan, we see once more the need for a savior.

Why this fixation on Savior? Glad you asked! Christ did not let us continue to wallow in our sinful nature. As I mentioned last month, he didn’t just narrate the events or point out the problem, He actively entered our sinful world and provided a solution through His blood. We don’t have to stay trapped. We can escape if we so choose to accept His gift of salvation.

In closing, The Twilight Zone continues the tradition of presenting a multi-layered story but not a solution to the hard questions of life. Christ has, is, and always will give us a solution. It may not be the one we want, but it’s the one that leads us out of The Twilight Zone.

Haibane Renmei is an older anime series that’s not all that well known nowadays. I started watching it maybe a couple of years ago, but didn’t finish it. Recently decided to give it another shot, and I’m glad I did. It’s one that’s worth digging up from the dust of the forgotten.

What is ‘Haibane Renmei’?

In this series, the haibane are people, but also different from normal people. They are born into the world by hatching from giant cocoons. They wear halos and have small, seemingly useless wings growing from their backs. They live by certain strange rules that normal people do not have to live by. The story begins with the arrival of the newborn haibane, Rakka.

The story primarily focuses on Rakka and the older haibane Reki, as they both struggle with similar problems. Reki often takes on a motherly role with the younger haibane, but her own past and her uncertain future take the main stage as the story goes along, and it is Rakka who must help her friend.

Why Haibane Renmei is almost Christian …

So, main characters who have wings and wear halos. Yeah, right off the bat, there is a not-so-subtle hint of some strong Christian symbolism in the story, even if I think that these wings and halos have more to do with popular artistic renderings of angels then with anything biblical.

And these parallels and symbolisms don’t stop there. One episode mentions a lost account of how the world began, and what little is known about this account is a clear reference to Genesis 1.

Even the lives these haibane live and the rules they must live by can give the impression that they are somehow separate from the people of their town, even as they work and to some degree live among them. Or, to put it another way, they are in the town, but not of the town.

About midway through the series, a theme is introduced that becomes more important as the series nears its end: the idea of a haibane being sin-bound, a condition revealed by that haibane’s feathers turning black.

The Communicator, a strange figure who is something like an overseer of the haibane, offers Rakka an explanation of what he calls “the circle of sin.”

This figure says, “One who recognizes their own sin, has no sin.”

Rakka even takes it a step farther: “If I think I have no sin, then I do become a sinner.”

This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed that some anime stories take the idea of sin seriously, but this may be the first one that I’ve seen where something that is at least close to repentance for those sins comes up.

But as good as even this may be, it still comes up short. If recognizing my sin means I no longer have sin, then how did that happen? Who has, in essence, washed my wings of the dark stains of my sins, and made them clean? Who made the laws that I broke, thus making me a sinner? All the Communicator can tell Rakka is that she has to find the answers for herself, which is almost like he’s saying that he’s just as lost as she is.

… But not quite

I guess this “not quite” began in the previous section, but that could also have been a false trail. It’s the end of the series that leads to the real “not quite.”

The twelfth episode could have ended the series on a good note, but there is a thirteenth. It’s one of those episodes that’s not an easy or simple one to watch, but that may make it all the better, and it’s failings all the worse.

In this story, Reki says:

“Ironic, isn’t it. If only I close my heart and pretend to be nice, everyone says I’m a good haibane. They just don’t know how dark and impure my heart is…Only when I was being useful to someone could I forget about my sin! And the only thing I was thinking was that maybe God would come and forgive me someday!”

You’d be hard pressed to find even a Christian story that so plainly, even bluntly, speaks of the way original sin has saturated mankind

Yet the way to salvation in Haibane Renmei is rather weak. Reki earned her salvation, earned forgiveness of her sins, freed herself from the curse of being sin-bound, by taking a difficult path and being kind to the weak, until this pretense became her true nature? But after showing so well her selfish motives, this seems like a cop-out.

Mankind seems to want to hold out some hope that we ourselves can win our own salvation, that we can make ourselves right with God on our own terms, and that God is ok with that. We rarely want to ask why any of that should be true, or how it could be true.

But if our hearts really are dark and impure, and if we live lies and pretenses, and if we do good for selfish reasons, then how can we earn any kind of forgiveness?

This is Haibane Renmei’s great weakness, where it fails: it shows us the vanity of putting hope in ourselves, then tells us to put hope in ourselves anyway. And if other people are just like us, then we would be unwise to put our hopes in them, too.

If we have sinned, then we have sinned by breaking God’s laws. If we have broken God’s laws, then we should be punished. How, then, can we be forgiven?

We can be forgiven and find salvation only if God is the one who is punished for us, and only if God is the one who gives us the forgiveness and salvation we cannot earn. These things have happened in Christ, who sacrificed himself for us and offers us forgiveness, salvation, and righteousness as gifts.

Still, you should see this series

Haibane Renmei has fallen into obscurity. This is understandable, yet also sad. It’s not a series with big action scenes and fights, and it’s not even a romance. Yet I think if someone will give it a chance, it’s likely they will not come away unhappy, even if they are like me and not completely happy with the show’s overall message.

Especially for writers who are planning to participate in NaNoWriMo this year, it might be helpful to consider something Orson Scott Card introduces in his writing books Character and Viewpoint and How to Write Science Fiction. I came upon the concept in Writing Fantasy & Science Fiction, to which Card contributed several chapters.

Here’s the key concept: “All stories contain four elements that can determine structure: Milieu, Idea, Character, and Event” (Writing Fantasy & Science Fiction, p. 77). MICE, for short.

Milieu has to do with the story world—its physical, social, political, economic aspects.

Idea refers to new bits of information that characters discover in the process of the story.

Character relates, not just to who the main player is in a story, but how he changes.

Finally, Events show what takes place to correct a wrong in the normal order of things.

All stories have all these elements, but according to Card, one of the four takes central stage. The Milieu dominates Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, for example. Then Idea might be considered central to Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie. In Til We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis, the Character change would be the key component and in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe also by Lewis, the Events that put the world to rights, both in Narnia and in the Pevensie family, would dominate the story.

I’m intrigued by this way of looking at stories. I can see a particularly useful application because Card teaches that whatever dominant element shows itself in the beginning will also end the story. If a novel starts out as a murder mystery, for instance (Idea), but doesn’t end with the discovery of the perpetrator, readers will be frustrated no matter how well-told the story might be of the police detective’s recovery of his self-confidence (Character).

In some ways, I think this view of stories can help writers decide where their story starts and where it should end. If they begin with a character, for example, who has reached a point where he is so “unhappy, impatient, or angry in his present role that he begins the process of change” then it will end “when the character either settles into a new role (happily or not) or gives up the struggle and remains in the old role (happily or not)” (ibid., p. 81).

As you may have realized, I’m qualifying my reaction to this approach to stories. Card himself says all stories have all the MICE elements, and I agree with this point. I’m not so sure, however, that one always dominates.

As an example of Milieu, for instance, Card offers these examples:

The real story began the moment Gulliver got to the first of the book’s strange lands, and it ended when he came home. Milieu stories always follow that structure. An observer who will see things as we would see them gets to the strange place, sees all the things that are interesting, is transformed by what he sees, and then comes back a new man . . . Likewise, The Wizard of Oz doesn’t end when Dorothy kills the Wicked Witch of the West. It ends when Dorothy leaves Oz and goes home to Kansas. (Ibid., pp 77-78)

I agree with this assessment, but believe The Wizard of Oz could just as easily be used as an example of a Character story which Card says is “about the transformation of a character’s role in the communities that matter most to him” (Ibid., p. 80). Clearly, Dorothy’s role in her family is central to the story. She was unhappy in the beginning and learned by the end that there’s no place like home.

A case might even be made that The Wizard of Oz is an Event story, starting with something wrong in the fabric of the world which needs to be set right. Dorothy’s unhappiness and determination to run away has unsettled her world; when she reaches Oz, it’s apparent that their world has been unsettled, too. As Dorothy goes about doing what she does to fix her own situation, she also puts to right what ails Oz.

My point is this: I tend to think that the best stories skillfully weave all the elements together so that the dominant one isn’t overpowering, and the subservient ones aren’t invisible—or worse, predictable and clichéd.

Is there any advantage in knowing what kind of story a writer is undertaking? Perhaps. If a writer isn’t sure how to end a story, then the dominant element can serve as a guide. Or the reverse. If a writer isn’t sure where to start the story, then the type of story he’s written can help him determine where the proper beginning lies.

The main take-away for me is that all four elements need to be present in a story. Whichever one turns out to be the star, the others still must be present, still must pull their weight.

What do you think? Orson Scott Card is pretty hard to argue with. Do you think he’s right that one of these four elements will dominate a story? Or do the best stories bring all elements, or most, along with nearly equal strength? Can you give an example?

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Mouse asleep photo by alexander kokinidis from FreeImages

Featured photo by Daniel Heitz from FreeImages

Everyone has seen a movie adaptation of a book and we can all agree some are extraordinary while others fall miserably short. I used to complain how movies ruined books and how filmmakers ought to stick to the story or not bother. That is, until I started adapting short stories into scripts for a radio drama program.

I didn’t know any better and my first attempt at script-writing was to take a full length novel and boil it down to twenty-five pages of dialog. It was an eye-opening experience.

So what is it about adaptations that leave us with such unpredictable results?

There are four overlapping elements that shed light on the innumerable decisions that go into getting a story change mediums: Intent, Source Material, Time, and Heart.

Intent Is King

It’s impossible to please everyone and one of the first decisions to be made in planning an adaptation is Why? Why should this exist? Sometimes it’s obvious the film or show adaptation only exists because the book was a huge success and a studio wanted to cash in on it. Other times, the headline actor is the one carrying the film and bringing in viewers. I frequently see modern political viewpoints superimposed over period dramas to make a statement. There are producers and directors dedicating themselves to a passion project that barely made it off the ground. There’s always a reason for an adaptation.

Case Study #1: Disney’s 1991 animated Beauty and the Beast vs. Disney’s 2017 live-action remake

Remakes are tricky but it’s the intent of the remake that can make or break it. I feel this is a good example of changes being made for the sake of pleasing everyone. Dialog and visuals were added to fix perceived flaws in the original animated film, while still trying to maintain an identical visual experience. I found the 2017 film unmemorable and choppy when compared to the 1991 version. There is something to be said for their dedication in making both films look and feel them same, but not all adaptations have reason to be carbon copies.

Case Study #2: Chronicles of Narnia: Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010)

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader movie poster–expecting a blockbuster.

With the success of the first two book-to-film adaptations, it’s clear to me that Dawn Treader was supposed to be a hit and keep the audience coming back for the rest of the series. To do this, actors from previous films made somewhat confusing appearances, presumably so their names and characters would bring in fans. The characters of Peter and Susan Pevensie were brought back in a way that made the scene more personal for the audience; while scattered through the film, the well and truly dead White Witch made one or two appearances that left me wondering if she had come back from the grave, negating Aslan’s sacrifice in the first book, or if she was a manifestation of Edmund’s fears and doubts.

Source Material? What’s that?

Frankly speaking, not all script- and screenwriters have thoroughly read the material they are adapting. Time constraints or studio decisions force them to work within certain perimeters or entirely off synopses of the original work. Sometimes a quick decision will be made and other times it will take weeks of hashing out before the film direction is chosen. Adaptations of well-known material have a larger audience base and often a louder outcry if the outcome is not satisfactory. Some studios cave and give the fans what they want, tossing out what could have been a better (or worse) script in favor of something that will quiet the masses. Some changes must be made for the original source to translate to the screen. “A picture is worth a thousand words” but there’s still challenges and limits to showing everything a book has to offer.

Case Study #3: Sherlock (BBC 2010)

The modern Sherlock and Dr. Watson. True to the spirit but not the letter of the original.

BBC’s series based on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holme brought a new vision to a classic collection. Modern and re-imagined, we see Holmes and Watson navigating the same cases in a distinctly 21^st century way. There are many nods to the original stories and various film and television incarnations of the characters.

Case Study #4: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)

There are expectations viewers have when a book, comic, or game is adapted for the big screen. Not everyone can be satisfied but when the outcry is deafening, the studio needs to choose to appease the masses or continue unchanged. In the case of Sonic the Hedgehog, initial trailers released for the film based on the video game franchise stirred up such negative reaction, production was delayed and the titular character completely redesigned to closer fit the design of the game.

Time is short

The book is almost always longer than the adaptation. In today’s era of streaming services and original content, limited series and mini series are becoming common, making the time factor more negotiable than ever before. Still, it is a vital factor. Once intent and source material are established, the total running time dictates what stays and what goes. If the book describes several sports games but only one has high stakes for the protagonist, the others will be directly mentioned, alluded to, or cut completely, no matter how interesting they were described in the book. Conversations are condensed, characters combined or cut, locations removed, and many times subtleties are turned obvious for the sake of page count. How and what is removed to save time can be the discretion of the writer but more often it comes from those higher up the production chain. Unnatural or out-of character-sounding dialog, convenient explanations, and unnecessary facts in dialog can be indicators of extreme editing.

Case Study #5: Chronicles of Narnia: Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010)

Voyage of the Dawn Treader, water flooding into the room from the painting…the most iconic scene of the book.

At some point in the adaptation process, a list of important visuals is created – things that are iconic to the source material, easily merchandised, and book moments the audience came to see. Edmund, Lucy and Eustace’s transportation into Narnia through the painting of the Dawn Treader was clever, artistic and clearly showed what was happening. It was also my favorite moment of the entire film. The time spent on that meant time lost elsewhere. Many of the islands visited in the books were combined, mentioned or removed. Watching the film, I never got the sense of a long, difficult sea voyage because the story jumped from event to event without a strong sense of belonging.

“Heart” vs “Heat”

An author will spend hundreds of hours making sure the heart of their story is exactly what they wish it to be. When the “heart” of the story is chosen to be the focal point of an adaptation, everything else can be stripped away and the essence of the final product still holds true. The characters are the same friends you remember from the book; their internal and external growth still tugs at your emotions; and even if just a fraction of the original story remains, you feel that fraction carried the emotional weight of their journey. Even villains, anti-heroes and serial killers can capture the heart of the story in their own sad or terrifying way.

The “heat” of a story focuses more on external elements – locations, visuals, action sequences – the sheer cinematographic function of an adaptation. With the example of the character taking a long journey, the “heat” of the story will jump from one high point to the next. This can be done well but can also be done poorly, leaving the viewer feeling emotionally disconnected and visually disoriented.

Obviously, no adaptation will fall completely on one side or the other, rather scene by scene comparisons can show which is heat and which is heart. Understanding this can make sense of what is or is not working with changes that were made.

Case Study #6: Chronicles of Narnia: Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010)

There is so much to love and hate about this film. A novel told as a dangerous, rewarding journey was condensed into an action film, constantly moving from one big thing to the next. Instead of allowing the small things to build up and show Caspian and the crew’s morale being worn down by monotony and fear of the unknown, the darkest elements of the story were combined into competing scenes of danger. Gone are the endearing, private conversations between characters that show them maturing and owning up to mistakes and faults. The film characters, while consistent within the action style, feel like distorted shadows of their book selves.

Case Study#7: Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005)

Small sequences were added to convey an era unfamiliar to a modern audience while still managing to stay true to the heart of the book. The audience can see the tensions between the four Pevensie siblings, feel Lucy’s heartache at loosing Mr Tumnus the fawn, experience Edmund’s redemption, and watch Peter’s confidence and courage strengthen under the love of Aslan. Parts of the book were removed and others added to make it appealing but all in all, very few of the changes altered the heart and message of the novel.

German bombers over London–not a part of the book, but added context (and action) to the movie version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

Once you know how a story is adapted, it’s easier to separate the two as being products of different mediums. Sure, there are terrible adaptations that should never have existed but those examples give us opportunity to examine our own expectations and show grace to writers who might well have been as disappointed in their final studio-approved screenplay as you were

Watch an adaptation. Identify aspects that have changed and take a few minutes to consider some reasons why. Explore the What If’s and Maybe’s of how stories shift and change across mediums. It’s a fascinating exercise and a great conversation starter.

There is a scene in Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday where an English detective, impersonating an anarchist, is joined in a “foul tavern” by another English detective, impersonating a nihilistic German professor. The second undercover detective ordered a glass of milk, in keeping with the habits of the Professor de Worms. But he rejected, with contempt, his companion’s suggestion that he actually drink the milk. “We’re all Christians in this room, though perhaps,” he added, glancing around at the reeling crowd, “not strict ones.” Then he ordered a beer.

The part about everyone being a Christian was, of course, ironic. Even a hundred years ago, when people easily believed in Christian nations, they knew the difference between a national religion and a personal conviction. The beer was not ironic. Chesterton really believed that to be a Christian, rather than a nihilistic German, was a reason to drink beer rather than milk. Because (such was Chesterton’s conviction) beer is good.

One of Chesterton’s most striking characteristics, as a writer, was how he related religion to pleasure, and pleasure to morality. He expressed it once in a rhyme written in praise of inns, “Where the bacon’s on the rafter / And the wine is in the wood, / And God that made good laughter / Has seen that they are good.”

The last phrase is an allusion to Genesis, where God made the world and saw that it was good. It recalls, too, one of the loveliest images in Scripture, that of God creating the earth “while the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy.” This idea that the physical creation is a good thing, a thing to rejoice over, suffuses Chesterton’s works. He saw the goodness everywhere. It’s a bad old world in many ways; popular catchphrases aside, there is nothing unprecedented about a pandemic. But Chesterton never got over the thought that it’s a good world, too, and it is pretty wonderful, after all, that the sky is blue and the grass is green.

If good meals and good laughter have the Creator’s approval, that is a call to enjoyment, and also to gratitude. Oscar Wilde once gibed that sunsets are not popular because you can’t pay for them. Chesterton retorted that you can pay for them – you can pay for them by not being Oscar Wilde. “Surely,” he wrote, “one might pay for extraordinary joy in ordinary morals.” There have always been people who take virtue as a reason to reject material pleasures. It was Chesterton’s happier analysis to take acceptance of material pleasures as a reason for virtue.

Chesterton always tended to happiness. It is rare to find an author who joined so naturally religion and the goodness of the world, or whose embrace of pleasure was so full-hearted and so wholesome. Gritty realism, so-called, always has an audience, and darkness is both a point of view and an aesthetic. But happiness is also an aesthetic, and often a soothing one. Happiness rooted in the ordinary, as Chesterton’s was, is particularly soothing. We grow distracted, anxious, ungrateful; the news is like a storm on the horizon. It is good to remember what we still have, all the small pleasures and ordinary joys – and God that made good laughter has seen that they are good.

Recently Travis Perry, a regular writer here at Spec Faith, did a 10-part series of articles on storyworld ideas. I thought it might be helpful if we explored the ideas behind stories themselves.

Most writers know there are no “new” plots. That doesn’t mean there are no new stories, however. An oft-done plot can still be made into a fresh and entertaining story.

Take romance for example. Everyone knows that the traditional plot form of a romance is boy meets girl and they fall in love, but Things happen to keep them apart. In the end, however, they conquer, or their love conquers, and they get together.

No real surprise in a romance. Then how does a writer make a romance seem fresh? The easy way is to create seemingly insurmountable barriers—cultural or religious mores that keep the couple apart, personality quirks, misunderstandings, irreconcilable (until they are reconciled — 😉 ) differences.

For example, one character may be a faery and the other a human, who also happens to be in a wheelchair. Those are obstacles! Who would even see romance coming? Which is precisely why R. J. Anderson surprised and delighted readers with Faery Rebel: Spell Hunter (more recently published under the title Knife by Enclave Publishing).

But what if the couple is already married—a union of convenience or position—and they barely tolerate each other? What if, in fact, the wife holds her husband in contempt because she admires a mysterious someone else who does gallant, selfless deeds to help others?

That set-up describes The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy, one of my favorite novels. I suspect one reason I love it so much is because of the surprise I experienced the first time I read it.

But now those two have been done, so how can a romance writer find a new something? One idea is to merge elements of “already been done” stories. Take Beauty and the Beast, for example, and merge that with Sleeping Beauty, and you have Shrek.

Of course, the brilliant writers who created all three Shrek movies did much more than staple two threads together, but the point for this discussion is that they worked from familiar storylines. By starting with two that seemed unlikely to fit together, they made a movie (three actually) that seemed familiar yet wholly new.

Sometimes the newness isn’t in the plot but in the characters. Take an interesting, quirky woman engaged to someone her family approves of; perhaps she’s single longer than most and has a family who values family and marriage above all else. Add in humor (which comes from the quirky characters), and you have the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding which turned out to be a surprising smash hit a couple decades ago.

Or how about a widower not looking to remarry, with a little boy who longs for a mother, so much so that he makes a call to an all-night talk show and pours out his heart. Interested women start to write. MANY interested women. Now we have distance, reticence, an engagement, the many others, all standing in the way of true love. And that’s Sleepless in Seattle, another classic movie from years gone by.

Fresh stories can also come from different settings. What would a romance look like set in Louisiana as the state battled the worst oil spill in history? Or between two people who met during the Katrina hurricane disaster?

What would a romance look like between a 9/11 widow and a firefighter years after the Twin Towers attack?

New places, odd places, uncomfortable places can be fuel for fresh fiction just as much as plot twists or off-beat characters. The important thing, I think, is to imagine beyond the list of “first responders”—the plot lines, the characters, or the settings that first present themselves when we writers start contemplating a new story.