1. Agreed!  “Story structure, characters, emotion, truth, beauty, realism, and creativity” are things that both readers and writers want to discuss.  (Depending on what you mean by “peculiarities,” I’d probably throw “grammar” into that mix as well, since I’m one of those weirdos who actually enjoy such minutiae.)  “Personal wordcounts, Chicago Manual of Style changes, agents, publishing, proposals, and pitches,” on the other hand, are things that only writers discuss, and only, I’d assume, because they have to.  Nobody becomes a writer because he or she wants desperately to hire an agent or nail a pitch to a publisher.  Such concerns are necessary annoyances at best, and focusing on them will significantly shrink one’s audience.

    Here’s the problem I see with your R.E.A.D. paradigm: it requires that I “lose myself in,” “enjoy,” and “delight in” a story in order to discuss it.  This artificially limits the spectrum of discussable stories to the awesome end only, and requires all book reviews to constitute potential back-cover blurbs.  Yes, I love to gush about the objects of my delight.  Sharing my wonder only adds to my enjoyment.  But, even though I’m a highly selective reader, my wonder is, more often than not, tempered by the realization that a story could’ve been much improved had it been altered in specific, quantifiable ways.  Is such criticism an indication that I haven’t yet relaxed enough to “receive” the story on its own terms?  Not at all — it means I’m receiving the whole story, in all its excellence and inadequacy, and asking it hard questions.  Pure delight isn’t something I can train myself to feel, something I could experience more often if only I “let myself go.”  It’s a spontaneous reaction to awesomeness.  And awesomeness, pretty much by definition, is exceptional.  So I think the paradigm for a holistic discussion of books — which phrase I think captures your intent better than “discussion of reading” — must expand beyond that expressed by R.E.A.D.

    • And that’s why I don’t try for those megachurchey-style acronyms that often!

      True, I was thinking mainly of the “awesome end” of stories. Yet surely even subpar works should be Received, even if they don’t also lead to Delight. It may be the Asking that leads to delight, even if readers are Asking among themselves, Why did I ever want to read this? What was good about it? What was awful? How could it have been better?

  2. Kessie says:

    I’m rereading Hexwood right now, which, despite the fantasy title, has a strong science fiction bent. I happen to love the book, but a glance at Amazon shows that many people hate it. It’s confusing and backwards and twisty because the whole story is out of order. And it is. The delight comes in trying to piece it all together as you go. Also, I happen to adore Mordion as a character.
     
    My point is, not everybody delights in the same things. That’s why book reviews and reading groups are fun. I’ve learned lots from books that I hated, too, like, never read this author again. But that’s what happens when you pull books randomly off the shelves in the library. Mixed bag. All life is a mixed bag, and it’s wonderful that God has given us such diverse tastes.

  3. Galadriel says:

    I’ll think about this next time I read something besides homework. Might be useful. I know I do a LOT of ASKING with Doctor Who–Moffat is really horrible with things like that.

  4. Lex Keating says:

    I could be wrong about this, but it seems the whole premise of this READ concept is that the reader first trust whatever story they “fall into” when they read. If that’s so, I would not be surprised that those three groups would refuse to join the discussion. Those three groups would be some of the first people to throw up a hand and say, “I can’t blindly trust a genre/author/book. I must be cautious about what I let into my life.” And there’s some wisdom behind that caution. Some prejudice, too, certainly. That prejudice, however, will not be overcome by a passionate plea that this book/author/genre is lovable.
     
    And, there is a flip side to what is referred to here as “humility.” A lot of avid readers who accept what they read as a delight and a truth engage in idol worship–celebrating creativity (or a particular author or genre) as a god in their hearts. We don’t like to call it that, especially as Christians, because we’re usually aware that God will make us give up the things we worship above Him. But all the facets covered here make it easier, not harder, for people who struggle with any fiction worship to place God first. 
     
    To paraphrase Gal. 3:21, is reading then against the enjoyment of fiction? God forbid! For if reading alone could have taught us to reason, then enjoyment could have come by the reading of any book. How a reader reasons a book is, as Kessie pointed out, different for every person. What isn’t argued here (and perhaps it shall be addressed later) is any apologetics. The art of arguing for faith in such a way that it is clear to those we would convert. The faith in books presented here is quite clear, but any reader (whether that reader falls into one of the groups mentioned, or has other issues or agendas) who encounters this argument has the same objection: “What you say is for you, not for me.” Not because these people are post-modern, but because this line of reasoning expounds on what a READer wants to hear. Not what a potential convert needs to hear to consider changing sides. If a reader is not already a READer, they can walk away from the argument without thought, because the argument doesn’t allay fears or dispel concerns or answer burning questions. 
     
    If we’re going to ask a reader to fall into a story, we should make that fall so inviting that refusal is cowardly. Authors do this by anticipating their readers, and creating an environment/plot/characters with which the reader feels empathy. Good authors, anyway. 🙂 For a READer, who wants the engagement and/or conversion of a garden-variety reader, that READer will have to listen to the unbeliever and meet the reader where he/she is. Not unlike sharing the gospel. All the arguments about predispensationalism or post-millenial theology are completely useless to someone who doesn’t know why Jesus’ death on the cross matters. His death matters to me, for instance, because He rose from the dead. His sacrifice wasn’t in vain, and is an open invitation for me to have a new life. Because He loves me. I want you to share in my hope for new life and fulfilled purpose. What do you want out of your life, and your purpose on earth?

  5. […] Before teaching others, we must learn how to read and receive stories ourselves. […]

What do you think?