You can look at pictures or listen to music or read a book on your computer, but these artifacts are made accessible by the Web, not created by it and not intrinsic to it. Ursula K. Le Guin, "Staying Awake: Notes on the alleged decline of reading," Harper's, January 2008, pp. 33-38. Quote is from p. 37.
Thanks for reading this, which, originally, did not come from the WWW.
Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, December 31, 2007
Two more good books by Karen Cushman
I have previously posted on two books by Karen Cushman, Newbery winner, and Newbery Honor winner.
I have been privileged to read two more of her young adult novels. One of these is Catherine, Called Birdy (New York: Clarion, 1994). As in the books previously read, the protagonist is a girl in her early teen years. In this book, which is set in 1290 AD, in England, Catherine is the daughter of the Lord of a manor. As such, she has some privileges -- for example, she can read, and has her own room, although she shares it with a servant and, often, with guests. She is aware that the villagers lack the privileges that she does.
The book is written as a journal, and each entry begins with an excerpt from a book of saints, indicating which saint is honored on the particular day, and why they are honored. Some of this is serious, and some is simply hilarious. Cushman ends the book with an Author's Note, in which she indicates that she has tried to look at time in the same way a person living in 1290 would have. If she is correct, they looked at days according to their religious significance, and, of course, according to the agricultural season.
Catherine, Called Birdy gives the reader a feel for the Middle Ages, complete with privies and fleas, and illnesses that can't be cured. It is depressing, but yet uplifting. Cushman has done her usual good job. Birdy does examine her faith in the book, but that's not the major thrust of the author.
The second book is more depressing, because it is written about Los Angeles in the middle of the 20th century. The theme is lack of tolerance. Francine Green, of The Loud Silence of Francine Green (New York: Clarion, 2006) is a student in the upper grades of a Catholic girls' school. The major intolerance is toward perceived communism, but the book is more subtle than that. The characters all see that Russian communism is bad, but some of them enthusiastically climb on Senator Joseph McCarthy's anti-communist bandwagon. Some of them, including Francine's friends, are grievously hurt by this sort of thinking.
There is also intolerance of independent thinking. Francine is silent, too silent. She doesn't speak up when she should, and she becomes convicted, in her own mind, of sinning by omission.
As I say, this is a depressing book, but the issues are real, and individual Christians, and the church as a whole, walk an uncertain line between tolerating independent thinking and rejecting thinking that isn't like ours. Thinking about that is good for us. It's a good book.
Thanks for reading.
I have been privileged to read two more of her young adult novels. One of these is Catherine, Called Birdy (New York: Clarion, 1994). As in the books previously read, the protagonist is a girl in her early teen years. In this book, which is set in 1290 AD, in England, Catherine is the daughter of the Lord of a manor. As such, she has some privileges -- for example, she can read, and has her own room, although she shares it with a servant and, often, with guests. She is aware that the villagers lack the privileges that she does.
The book is written as a journal, and each entry begins with an excerpt from a book of saints, indicating which saint is honored on the particular day, and why they are honored. Some of this is serious, and some is simply hilarious. Cushman ends the book with an Author's Note, in which she indicates that she has tried to look at time in the same way a person living in 1290 would have. If she is correct, they looked at days according to their religious significance, and, of course, according to the agricultural season.
Catherine, Called Birdy gives the reader a feel for the Middle Ages, complete with privies and fleas, and illnesses that can't be cured. It is depressing, but yet uplifting. Cushman has done her usual good job. Birdy does examine her faith in the book, but that's not the major thrust of the author.
The second book is more depressing, because it is written about Los Angeles in the middle of the 20th century. The theme is lack of tolerance. Francine Green, of The Loud Silence of Francine Green (New York: Clarion, 2006) is a student in the upper grades of a Catholic girls' school. The major intolerance is toward perceived communism, but the book is more subtle than that. The characters all see that Russian communism is bad, but some of them enthusiastically climb on Senator Joseph McCarthy's anti-communist bandwagon. Some of them, including Francine's friends, are grievously hurt by this sort of thinking.
There is also intolerance of independent thinking. Francine is silent, too silent. She doesn't speak up when she should, and she becomes convicted, in her own mind, of sinning by omission.
As I say, this is a depressing book, but the issues are real, and individual Christians, and the church as a whole, walk an uncertain line between tolerating independent thinking and rejecting thinking that isn't like ours. Thinking about that is good for us. It's a good book.
Thanks for reading.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Madeleine L'Engle's The Other Side of the Sun
The late Madeleine L'Engle was the author of more than one kind of book. I first met her as the author of Newbery winner A Wrinkle in Time. She has also written devotional books, and novels more realistic than Wrinkle.
The Other Side of the Sun (New York: Ballantine, 1971) is set in a fictional area near Charleston, South Carolina, early in the twentieth century. It is told through the eyes of Stella, an English girl who has just married into an aristocratic family from the area. I won't give away the plot, but it's about race, faith, love and hate, and makes a compelling read.
Here's a quotation, on angels, supposedly, but really about us:
"Do you suppose it ever occurs to an angel to worry because he is not an archangel? or to think that if he works a little harder or makes the right angelic friends he'll get elevated in the heavenly hierarchy? That's nonsense. My guardian angel is equal, as far as rank goes, to any archangel. It's we earthlings who've lost sight of the fact that it's a difference in kind, not in degree. And anyhow it doesn't matter, because my guardian angel is fully what he is, performing wholly the function for which God has created him. At the moment, this function is to watch over me. After I die, he might be assigned to sweeping stardust out of a corner of the sky. But because he is doing what he is created to do, radiantly, joyfully, no matter how difficult I make it for him, I can catch some of his joy. Without my angel's joy, where would I be?" p. 65.
And another one, on prayer:
But now for the first time I witnessed the prayer of utter desperation, of abandonment. Honoria was putting herself, and whatever it was that she had seen, entirely into God's hands. p. 259.
Thanks for reading!
The Other Side of the Sun (New York: Ballantine, 1971) is set in a fictional area near Charleston, South Carolina, early in the twentieth century. It is told through the eyes of Stella, an English girl who has just married into an aristocratic family from the area. I won't give away the plot, but it's about race, faith, love and hate, and makes a compelling read.
Here's a quotation, on angels, supposedly, but really about us:
"Do you suppose it ever occurs to an angel to worry because he is not an archangel? or to think that if he works a little harder or makes the right angelic friends he'll get elevated in the heavenly hierarchy? That's nonsense. My guardian angel is equal, as far as rank goes, to any archangel. It's we earthlings who've lost sight of the fact that it's a difference in kind, not in degree. And anyhow it doesn't matter, because my guardian angel is fully what he is, performing wholly the function for which God has created him. At the moment, this function is to watch over me. After I die, he might be assigned to sweeping stardust out of a corner of the sky. But because he is doing what he is created to do, radiantly, joyfully, no matter how difficult I make it for him, I can catch some of his joy. Without my angel's joy, where would I be?" p. 65.
And another one, on prayer:
But now for the first time I witnessed the prayer of utter desperation, of abandonment. Honoria was putting herself, and whatever it was that she had seen, entirely into God's hands. p. 259.
Thanks for reading!
Friday, September 14, 2007
Are the Harry Potter books Christian?
Are the Harry Potter books Christian novels? I'd like to muse about that. This post isn't exactly about the plot of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, but some important plot details may be given away below. You have been warned.
I have dealt with the subject of what makes a novel Christian at some length, here, setting forth criteria, etc. There are links, from that post, to analyses of some works of fantastic literature. I've been surprised at how difficult it is to assess some works of fine fiction, using my own criteria.
A lot has been written on the topic of the present post, and you can find wildly different answers. In part, I think, the authors are seeing themselves here. Dave Bruno, in Christianity Today, claims that "Harry Potter 7 is Matthew 6." Conversely, Christopher Hitchens wrote this in The New York Times Book Review:
Most interesting of all, perhaps, and as noted by Orwell, “religion is also taboo.” The schoolchildren appear to know nothing of Christianity; in this latest novel Harry and even Hermione are ignorant of two well-known biblical verses encountered in a churchyard. That the main characters nonetheless have a strong moral code and a solid ethical commitment will be a mystery to some — like his holiness the pope and other clerical authorities who have denounced the series — while seeming unexceptionable to many others. As Hermione phrases it, sounding convincingly Kantian or even Russellian about something called the Resurrection Stone: "How can I possibly prove it doesn’t exist? Do you expect me to get hold of — of all the pebbles in the world and test them? I mean, you could claim that anything’s real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody’s proved it doesn’t exist." "The Boy Who Lived." (Posted Aug 10, official publication date Aug 12.) The Wikipedia article on Hitchens says that he is a determined atheist and antitheist.
Now to my criteria.
1) Is there a Christ-figure in the Harry Potter books? In the sense of sacrificing oneself, even offering one's life, for others, yes. Harry's parents seem to have done that. In the sense of giving one's life to atone for evil in others, I'm not so sure. Possibly Dumbledore, Snape, and even Harry might have done that, but it seems that they were fighting for good against evil, more than trying to redeem evil in others.
2) Is there belief in orthodox Christian doctrine?
The two verses mentioned by Hitchens are Matthew 6:21 and 1 Corinthians 15:26. Apparently Dumbledore had one, or both of these placed on gravestones. They are certainly about orthodox Christian doctrine, and Dumbledore must have believed them.
3) Practicing monotheistic prayer to a divine being is scarcely there, if at all. Harry says "Thank God" in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and seems to mean it. (p.74) Molly Weasley says the same thing a few pages later. (p. 78) That's as close to prayer as I recall in the entire series, and of course it may not have been exactly prayer.
The inhabitants of Godric's Hollow are mostly wizards. Harry and Hermione come to the village, and some of them are at church. However, it's Christmas Eve, and lots of non-believers go to church in that season.
I don't recall any other evidence of worship (except the evil worship of the evil Voldemort) throughout the series.
4) Expressing a relationship with the God of Christianity seems to be entirely absent.
5) Consciousness of supernatural guidance seems also absent, unless Dumbledore is conscious of this as he watches Harry's life.
6) There is rejection of evil. The most dramatic is Snape's life as an agent of Dumbledore among the Death Eaters, in spite of his earlier loyalty to Voldemort. In the seventh book, several other characters show unexpected turns to the good, including Percy Weasley and Wormtail, and even Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco. Draco pretends not to know if Harry is really Harry, and Narcissa doesn't tell Voldemort that Harry is alive, when she knows that he is.
So, there are some elements in the Harry Potter books that might qualify them as Christian novels. But some elements seem entirely lacking. That's hardly surprising. At least two of these missing elements, the 3rd and 4th, are also missing in The Lord of the Rings, which many people say is a Christian work.
Thanks for reading.
I have dealt with the subject of what makes a novel Christian at some length, here, setting forth criteria, etc. There are links, from that post, to analyses of some works of fantastic literature. I've been surprised at how difficult it is to assess some works of fine fiction, using my own criteria.
A lot has been written on the topic of the present post, and you can find wildly different answers. In part, I think, the authors are seeing themselves here. Dave Bruno, in Christianity Today, claims that "Harry Potter 7 is Matthew 6." Conversely, Christopher Hitchens wrote this in The New York Times Book Review:
Most interesting of all, perhaps, and as noted by Orwell, “religion is also taboo.” The schoolchildren appear to know nothing of Christianity; in this latest novel Harry and even Hermione are ignorant of two well-known biblical verses encountered in a churchyard. That the main characters nonetheless have a strong moral code and a solid ethical commitment will be a mystery to some — like his holiness the pope and other clerical authorities who have denounced the series — while seeming unexceptionable to many others. As Hermione phrases it, sounding convincingly Kantian or even Russellian about something called the Resurrection Stone: "How can I possibly prove it doesn’t exist? Do you expect me to get hold of — of all the pebbles in the world and test them? I mean, you could claim that anything’s real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody’s proved it doesn’t exist." "The Boy Who Lived." (Posted Aug 10, official publication date Aug 12.) The Wikipedia article on Hitchens says that he is a determined atheist and antitheist.
Now to my criteria.
1) Is there a Christ-figure in the Harry Potter books? In the sense of sacrificing oneself, even offering one's life, for others, yes. Harry's parents seem to have done that. In the sense of giving one's life to atone for evil in others, I'm not so sure. Possibly Dumbledore, Snape, and even Harry might have done that, but it seems that they were fighting for good against evil, more than trying to redeem evil in others.
2) Is there belief in orthodox Christian doctrine?
The two verses mentioned by Hitchens are Matthew 6:21 and 1 Corinthians 15:26. Apparently Dumbledore had one, or both of these placed on gravestones. They are certainly about orthodox Christian doctrine, and Dumbledore must have believed them.
3) Practicing monotheistic prayer to a divine being is scarcely there, if at all. Harry says "Thank God" in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and seems to mean it. (p.74) Molly Weasley says the same thing a few pages later. (p. 78) That's as close to prayer as I recall in the entire series, and of course it may not have been exactly prayer.
The inhabitants of Godric's Hollow are mostly wizards. Harry and Hermione come to the village, and some of them are at church. However, it's Christmas Eve, and lots of non-believers go to church in that season.
I don't recall any other evidence of worship (except the evil worship of the evil Voldemort) throughout the series.
4) Expressing a relationship with the God of Christianity seems to be entirely absent.
5) Consciousness of supernatural guidance seems also absent, unless Dumbledore is conscious of this as he watches Harry's life.
6) There is rejection of evil. The most dramatic is Snape's life as an agent of Dumbledore among the Death Eaters, in spite of his earlier loyalty to Voldemort. In the seventh book, several other characters show unexpected turns to the good, including Percy Weasley and Wormtail, and even Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco. Draco pretends not to know if Harry is really Harry, and Narcissa doesn't tell Voldemort that Harry is alive, when she knows that he is.
So, there are some elements in the Harry Potter books that might qualify them as Christian novels. But some elements seem entirely lacking. That's hardly surprising. At least two of these missing elements, the 3rd and 4th, are also missing in The Lord of the Rings, which many people say is a Christian work.
Thanks for reading.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Madeleine L'Engle, 1918-2007
Madeleine L'Engle passed away on September 6th. L'Engle wrote for many years, with books published from 1945 through 2005. Her works included a considerable variety of material, autobiographical, devotional, "ordinary" novels, and fantastic literature, the latter mostly aimed at young people.
I first read L'Engle because her A Wrinkle in Time won the Newbery award (It also won other awards). I have tried to read all the Newbery winners. I didn't expect the book to be infused with Christianity, as I chose to read it because it was award-winning children's literature, but it is so infused.
As a Books and Culture article, reprinted to honor her memory, says, some Christians weren't comfortable with L'Engle, because she didn't speak their language. Some non-Christians weren't comfortable, because they felt she was too Christian. She was, simply, a very good writer, and she honored God.
L'Engle was interviewed in 2006 when A Wrinkle in Time was made into a movie. (She said that the movie was bad, as she had anticipated.)
I haven't read everything L'Engle wrote, but I'm glad I read some of it.
Thanks for reading.
I first read L'Engle because her A Wrinkle in Time won the Newbery award (It also won other awards). I have tried to read all the Newbery winners. I didn't expect the book to be infused with Christianity, as I chose to read it because it was award-winning children's literature, but it is so infused.
As a Books and Culture article, reprinted to honor her memory, says, some Christians weren't comfortable with L'Engle, because she didn't speak their language. Some non-Christians weren't comfortable, because they felt she was too Christian. She was, simply, a very good writer, and she honored God.
L'Engle was interviewed in 2006 when A Wrinkle in Time was made into a movie. (She said that the movie was bad, as she had anticipated.)
I haven't read everything L'Engle wrote, but I'm glad I read some of it.
Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and Star Wars.
I have discovered an essay on the similarities (and they are striking) between Star Wars, The Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter. It also discusses C. S. Lewis's comments on Paradise Lost.
Thanks for reading.
Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Two books by Karen Cushman
Karen Cushman won the Newbery award for her The Midwife's Apprentice, and she deserved the award. I recently read this book, and her The Ballad of Lucy Whipple, and found them splendid works.
Both books are written about girls growing up, and begin when their protagonists are in their early teens, or a little earlier. Midwife's Apprentice is about a homeless girl who becomes a midwife's apprentice, sometime in the Middle Ages. Lucy Whipple is about a girl with a mother and siblings (but who has lost her father) in a small California town during gold rush days.
Cushman does her historical homework. These books are full of the gritty details of living under the circumstances described, without very much of the world's goods, and often not knowing where your next meal might come from. However, both are optimistic, and Lucy Whipple, especially, can be hilarious.
There is some acknowledgment of God and Christianity, not as much in Midwife's Apprentice, but more in Lucy Whipple, and there is a major character who is a believing preacher. He has flaws, but is clearly a sympathetic character. I plan to read more of Cushman's works.
Thanks for reading.
Both books are written about girls growing up, and begin when their protagonists are in their early teens, or a little earlier. Midwife's Apprentice is about a homeless girl who becomes a midwife's apprentice, sometime in the Middle Ages. Lucy Whipple is about a girl with a mother and siblings (but who has lost her father) in a small California town during gold rush days.
Cushman does her historical homework. These books are full of the gritty details of living under the circumstances described, without very much of the world's goods, and often not knowing where your next meal might come from. However, both are optimistic, and Lucy Whipple, especially, can be hilarious.
There is some acknowledgment of God and Christianity, not as much in Midwife's Apprentice, but more in Lucy Whipple, and there is a major character who is a believing preacher. He has flaws, but is clearly a sympathetic character. I plan to read more of Cushman's works.
Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Christian themes in Patricia A. McKillip's Riddle-Master Trilogy
I should begin with two acknowledgments:
1) I am grateful to Patricia A. McKillip, who has written a body of work that I have enjoyed. Sometimes I've had trouble understanding what was going on, which was probably my fault, but I've never had trouble understanding that I'm in a world of fantastic fiction, where things don't work quite as they do here in the real world.
2) I'm grateful to Elliot, of the Claw of the Conciliator blog, for posting an annotated list of important authors of fantastic literature that show evidence of a Christian world-view in their work. I commented on this, and suggested, based especially on her use of the theme of turning away from vengeance, that McKillip might belong on his list. Then, I decided to go further, examining McKillip's longest work, the Riddle-Master trilogy, for Christian themes. I'm not sure that I would have ever done this if I hadn't read Elliot's post.
I now add a disclaimer. I have never read anything suggesting that McKillip is a Christian, other than her novels. A list of "Famous Science Fiction/Fantasy Authors," written in 1999, and updated in 2006, which gives the religious affiliation of all of these authors, does not mention her. This implies that the person who prepared this list did not consider that McKillip belonged on it, in spite of the awards she has won, and the value of her body of work, and really says nothing about her religious affiliation.
Now, to Christian themes in the Riddle-Master trilogy. (See previous post for my plot summary, and bibliographic information.) Here are some of the ones I have found.
Rejection of vengeance. Deth led Morgon to Ghisteslwchlohm, without warning him that he would be subjected to months of mental torture, or that Ghisteslwchlohm was not the High One, when he understood both of these full well. So Morgon had motivation to kill Deth. In fact, he followed him through An, wanting to take vengeance on him. However, when he finally caught up with Deth, he did not kill him. Here's an exchange between Morgon's sister, Tristan, and his companion, Raederle:
"He's changed. Once he was the land-ruler of Hed, and he would rather have killed himself than someone else Now --"
"Tristan, he has been hurt, probably more deeply than any of us could know . . ."
She nodded a little jerkily. "I can understand that with my head. People have killed other people in Hed, out of anger or jealousy, but not -- not like that. Not tracking someone like a hunter, driving him to one certain place to be killed. It's -- what someone else would do. But not Morgon. And if -- if it happens, and afterwards he goes back to Hed, how will we recognize each other any more?" p. 301. Ellipsis in original.
Morgon finally realizes that Deth is the High One, and marvels that he did not destroy Ghisteslwchlohm. He had reason to, and could have.
See Romans 12:19: Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” (ESV)
Redemption through death. The core story of the trilogy is that the High One, the supernatural ruler of the realm, needs to die, so that evil, in the person of the shape-changers, can be conquered. Deth, the High One, willingly dies, allowing himself to be killed, so that this may be accomplished. (His heir, Morgon, will be able to conquer the shape-changers, but couldn't, of course, be his heir as long as the former High One was still alive.)
See Colossians 1:19-22, and other passages: 19 For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, 20 and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross. 21 And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, 22 he has now reconciled in his body of flesh by his death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before him, (ESV)
Unselfish love. This, of course, is epitomized in 1 Corinthians 13. I wouldn't say that such agape love is a main theme of this trilogy, but it is at least an underlying one. Deth says that he didn't expect to love Morgon, and Morgon certainly didn't expect to come to love Deth, even though Deth betrayed him to Ghisteslwchlohm. There seems, also, to be affection amounting to unselfish love, for Morgon, from two of the land-rulers, Har of Osterland and Danan of Isig Mountain.
Forgiveness. (See Matthew 6:7-15) At least one example, of course, is that Morgon forgave Deth for betraying him. This took some time -- he pursued Deth in order to kill him, first -- and wasn't easy.
Maintenance of the material world. Colossians 1:16-17 says this: 16 For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. 17 And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. (ESV) While McKillip's land-law does not seem to include creation of rocks, soil, water and organisms, it does have aspects of control, knowledge, and maintenance:
The High One, from the beginning, had let men free to find their own destinies. His sole law was land-law, the law that passed like a breath of life from land-heir to land-heir; if the High One died, or withdrew his immense and intricate power, he could turn his realm into a wasteland. (p. 109)
"Eliard was out in the fields when it happened. He just said he felt that suddenly everything -- the leaves and animals, the rivers, the seedlings -- everything suddenly made sense. He knew what they were and why they did what they did. He tried to explain it to me. I said everything must have made sense before, most things do anyway, but he said it was different. He could see everything very clearly, and what he couldn't see he felt. He couldn't explain it very well." p. 262. Tristan of Hed, Morgon's sister, explaining the passing of land-law from Morgon to her brother Eliard.
The High One knows the land of the entire realm. The six land-rulers (see previous post) are responsible for the land-rule of their own kingdoms. Different land-rulers seem to have somewhat different powers. For example, there is no mention that the land-ruler of Hed controls anything (although the books don't say that he or she doesn't).
See the first three principles in this page for more on this topic.
Control of natural forces. This could be considered as part of the land-law, but I prefer to mention it separately. Jesus is called the master of wind and wave in Matthew 8:23-27, and parallel passages. In the Trilogy, Morgon becomes the master of the winds, so as to use them to control the shape-changers.
God appearing among humans. Christ was incarnated as a human being, and lived as one until He died, and there are a few instances in the Old Testament which may also be examples of this. In the Trilogy, the High One masquerades as Deth, the High One's harpist, a human servant, for centuries, and shows no evidence of supernatural powers to those who know him.
Powerful supernatural beings making a choice. The Bible doesn't say much about it, but many believe that the angels had a choice, long ago, perhaps even before the material universe was created. Some of them rebelled to follow Satan, but a majority didn't. In McKillip's trilogy, the Earth-masters and the Shape-changers were apparently one and the same kind of being, until the High One decided to take care of the earth and its creatures, while the Shape-changers decided to use it for their own ends. Not much is said about this division. (See Wikipedia article on Evil Angels, or this web page on Angels.)
This story, of course, is not a perfect parallel to the gospels. For example, Deth, the old High One, doesn't resurrect himself. There are other differences, but that is the main one. Nonetheless, I submit that there are important Christian themes in this trilogy. Does that make it Christian fiction? That depends, of course, on your definition of Christian fiction.
Thanks for reading.
1) I am grateful to Patricia A. McKillip, who has written a body of work that I have enjoyed. Sometimes I've had trouble understanding what was going on, which was probably my fault, but I've never had trouble understanding that I'm in a world of fantastic fiction, where things don't work quite as they do here in the real world.
2) I'm grateful to Elliot, of the Claw of the Conciliator blog, for posting an annotated list of important authors of fantastic literature that show evidence of a Christian world-view in their work. I commented on this, and suggested, based especially on her use of the theme of turning away from vengeance, that McKillip might belong on his list. Then, I decided to go further, examining McKillip's longest work, the Riddle-Master trilogy, for Christian themes. I'm not sure that I would have ever done this if I hadn't read Elliot's post.
I now add a disclaimer. I have never read anything suggesting that McKillip is a Christian, other than her novels. A list of "Famous Science Fiction/Fantasy Authors," written in 1999, and updated in 2006, which gives the religious affiliation of all of these authors, does not mention her. This implies that the person who prepared this list did not consider that McKillip belonged on it, in spite of the awards she has won, and the value of her body of work, and really says nothing about her religious affiliation.
Now, to Christian themes in the Riddle-Master trilogy. (See previous post for my plot summary, and bibliographic information.) Here are some of the ones I have found.
Rejection of vengeance. Deth led Morgon to Ghisteslwchlohm, without warning him that he would be subjected to months of mental torture, or that Ghisteslwchlohm was not the High One, when he understood both of these full well. So Morgon had motivation to kill Deth. In fact, he followed him through An, wanting to take vengeance on him. However, when he finally caught up with Deth, he did not kill him. Here's an exchange between Morgon's sister, Tristan, and his companion, Raederle:
"He's changed. Once he was the land-ruler of Hed, and he would rather have killed himself than someone else Now --"
"Tristan, he has been hurt, probably more deeply than any of us could know . . ."
She nodded a little jerkily. "I can understand that with my head. People have killed other people in Hed, out of anger or jealousy, but not -- not like that. Not tracking someone like a hunter, driving him to one certain place to be killed. It's -- what someone else would do. But not Morgon. And if -- if it happens, and afterwards he goes back to Hed, how will we recognize each other any more?" p. 301. Ellipsis in original.
Morgon finally realizes that Deth is the High One, and marvels that he did not destroy Ghisteslwchlohm. He had reason to, and could have.
See Romans 12:19: Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” (ESV)
Redemption through death. The core story of the trilogy is that the High One, the supernatural ruler of the realm, needs to die, so that evil, in the person of the shape-changers, can be conquered. Deth, the High One, willingly dies, allowing himself to be killed, so that this may be accomplished. (His heir, Morgon, will be able to conquer the shape-changers, but couldn't, of course, be his heir as long as the former High One was still alive.)
See Colossians 1:19-22, and other passages: 19 For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, 20 and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross. 21 And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, 22 he has now reconciled in his body of flesh by his death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before him, (ESV)
Unselfish love. This, of course, is epitomized in 1 Corinthians 13. I wouldn't say that such agape love is a main theme of this trilogy, but it is at least an underlying one. Deth says that he didn't expect to love Morgon, and Morgon certainly didn't expect to come to love Deth, even though Deth betrayed him to Ghisteslwchlohm. There seems, also, to be affection amounting to unselfish love, for Morgon, from two of the land-rulers, Har of Osterland and Danan of Isig Mountain.
Forgiveness. (See Matthew 6:7-15) At least one example, of course, is that Morgon forgave Deth for betraying him. This took some time -- he pursued Deth in order to kill him, first -- and wasn't easy.
Maintenance of the material world. Colossians 1:16-17 says this: 16 For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. 17 And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. (ESV) While McKillip's land-law does not seem to include creation of rocks, soil, water and organisms, it does have aspects of control, knowledge, and maintenance:
The High One, from the beginning, had let men free to find their own destinies. His sole law was land-law, the law that passed like a breath of life from land-heir to land-heir; if the High One died, or withdrew his immense and intricate power, he could turn his realm into a wasteland. (p. 109)
"Eliard was out in the fields when it happened. He just said he felt that suddenly everything -- the leaves and animals, the rivers, the seedlings -- everything suddenly made sense. He knew what they were and why they did what they did. He tried to explain it to me. I said everything must have made sense before, most things do anyway, but he said it was different. He could see everything very clearly, and what he couldn't see he felt. He couldn't explain it very well." p. 262. Tristan of Hed, Morgon's sister, explaining the passing of land-law from Morgon to her brother Eliard.
The High One knows the land of the entire realm. The six land-rulers (see previous post) are responsible for the land-rule of their own kingdoms. Different land-rulers seem to have somewhat different powers. For example, there is no mention that the land-ruler of Hed controls anything (although the books don't say that he or she doesn't).
See the first three principles in this page for more on this topic.
Control of natural forces. This could be considered as part of the land-law, but I prefer to mention it separately. Jesus is called the master of wind and wave in Matthew 8:23-27, and parallel passages. In the Trilogy, Morgon becomes the master of the winds, so as to use them to control the shape-changers.
God appearing among humans. Christ was incarnated as a human being, and lived as one until He died, and there are a few instances in the Old Testament which may also be examples of this. In the Trilogy, the High One masquerades as Deth, the High One's harpist, a human servant, for centuries, and shows no evidence of supernatural powers to those who know him.
Powerful supernatural beings making a choice. The Bible doesn't say much about it, but many believe that the angels had a choice, long ago, perhaps even before the material universe was created. Some of them rebelled to follow Satan, but a majority didn't. In McKillip's trilogy, the Earth-masters and the Shape-changers were apparently one and the same kind of being, until the High One decided to take care of the earth and its creatures, while the Shape-changers decided to use it for their own ends. Not much is said about this division. (See Wikipedia article on Evil Angels, or this web page on Angels.)
This story, of course, is not a perfect parallel to the gospels. For example, Deth, the old High One, doesn't resurrect himself. There are other differences, but that is the main one. Nonetheless, I submit that there are important Christian themes in this trilogy. Does that make it Christian fiction? That depends, of course, on your definition of Christian fiction.
Thanks for reading.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Life of Pi: Ecumenism on a grand scale
Today is 3/14, which inspires some people to celebrate pi day on this date. Pi, the ratio between the circumference and the diameter of a circle, begins with 3.14. It goes on from there forever, because it is an irrational number, meaning that it can't be expressed as a ratio between two numbers. The Wikipedia article on Pi, or π, is the only such article I remember that has an animated graphic.
Life of Pi, Booker Prize-winning novel by Yann Martel, is only slightly about mathematics. I'll spoil the plot, because the book's cover gives it away, anyway. A 16-year-old Indian boy, Pi Patel, survives a shipwreck. So does a large tiger. The two of them coexist on a lifeboat for several months.
Patel claims to be a Christian, a Hindu, and a Muslim, all at the same time, which, besides giving most readers some pause, is upsetting to his three spiritual guides. I can't speak for the Hindu or Muslim beliefs and practices presented, but Patel and Martel seem to comprehend Christianity, and faith in general:
I'll be honest about it. It's not atheists who get stuck in my craw, but agnostics. Doubt is useful for a while.We must all pass through the Garden of Gethsemane. If Christ played with doubt, so must we. If Christ spent an anguished night in prayer, if He burst out from the Cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" then surely we are also permitted doubt. But we must move on. To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation. p. 28.
And about the beginning of Pi's conversion to Christianity:
He . . . told me a story. Or rather, since Christians are so fond of capital letters, a Story.
And what a story. The first thing that drew me in was disbelief. What? Humanity sins but it's God's Son who pays the price? p. 53.
Martel also has some definite statements to make about animal behavior. Interesting statements. For example:
Whatever the reason for wanting to escape, sane or insane, zoo detractors should realize that animals don't escape to somewhere but from something. Something within their territory has frightened them -- the intrusion of an enemy, the assault of a dominant animal, a startling noise -- and set off a flight reaction. The animal flees, or tries to. p. 41.
I won't give away any more of the plot than I did in the first paragraph, other than to say that I think the period on the lifeboat lasted too long for my taste.
A good read. I'm not sorry I read the book.
Thanks for reading.
Life of Pi, Booker Prize-winning novel by Yann Martel, is only slightly about mathematics. I'll spoil the plot, because the book's cover gives it away, anyway. A 16-year-old Indian boy, Pi Patel, survives a shipwreck. So does a large tiger. The two of them coexist on a lifeboat for several months.
Patel claims to be a Christian, a Hindu, and a Muslim, all at the same time, which, besides giving most readers some pause, is upsetting to his three spiritual guides. I can't speak for the Hindu or Muslim beliefs and practices presented, but Patel and Martel seem to comprehend Christianity, and faith in general:
I'll be honest about it. It's not atheists who get stuck in my craw, but agnostics. Doubt is useful for a while.We must all pass through the Garden of Gethsemane. If Christ played with doubt, so must we. If Christ spent an anguished night in prayer, if He burst out from the Cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" then surely we are also permitted doubt. But we must move on. To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation. p. 28.
And about the beginning of Pi's conversion to Christianity:
He . . . told me a story. Or rather, since Christians are so fond of capital letters, a Story.
And what a story. The first thing that drew me in was disbelief. What? Humanity sins but it's God's Son who pays the price? p. 53.
Martel also has some definite statements to make about animal behavior. Interesting statements. For example:
Whatever the reason for wanting to escape, sane or insane, zoo detractors should realize that animals don't escape to somewhere but from something. Something within their territory has frightened them -- the intrusion of an enemy, the assault of a dominant animal, a startling noise -- and set off a flight reaction. The animal flees, or tries to. p. 41.
I won't give away any more of the plot than I did in the first paragraph, other than to say that I think the period on the lifeboat lasted too long for my taste.
A good read. I'm not sorry I read the book.
Thanks for reading.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
". . . being dead, yet speaketh." Literature
My wife saw a quote from a previous post of mine, which said this:
"I am constantly struck by the strangeness of reading works that seem addressed, personally and intimately, to me, and yet were written by people who crumbled to dust long ago." (source)
She told me that she wanted to know some of the statements that seem addressed to me. In other words, who speaks to me, though dead? (Hebrews 11:4, KJV, says "By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain, by which he obtained witness that he was righteous, God testifying of his gifts: and by it he being dead yet speaketh.")
In the first installment of this series, I quoted 10 brief sections from the Bible which particularly speak to me. This is the second installment. In the third installment, I quote from important scientists, including Darwin, Einstein, and Newton.
In this installment, I'm going to quote from some literature by persons now dead, that speaks to me. I am using only three authors. There are many more good ones. I'm using only a few quotations, out of the many important passages written by these three. The authors are C. S. Lewis, George MacDonald, and J. R. R. Tolkien. As you may know, they are related, in that MacDonald was one of Lewis's favorite authors, and that Lewis and Tolkien were friends for many years. Tolkien and MacDonald were important influences in the conversion of Lewis to Christianity. It is also true that all three of them wrote some pretty good fantastic literature.
"Don't you mind him," said Puddleglum. "There are no accidents. Our guide is Aslan; and he was there when the giant king caused the letters to be cut, and he knew already all things that would come of them; including this." C. S. Lewis, The Silver Chair, New York: Macmillan, 1953, p. 131.
And there, on the golden gravel of the bed of the stream, lay King Caspian, dead, with the water flowing over him like liquid glass. His long white beard swayed in it like water-weed. And all three stood and wept. Even the Lion wept: great Lion-tears, each tear more precious than the Earth would be if it was a single solid diamond. . . .
"Son of Adam," said Aslan, "go into that thicket and pluck the thorn that you will find there, and bring it to me."
Eustace obeyed. The thorn was a foot long and sharp as a rapier.
"Drive it into my paw, son of Adam," said Aslan. . . .
"Must I?" said Eustace.
"Yes," said Aslan.
Then Eustace set his teeth and drove the the thorn into the Lion's paw. And there came out a great drop of blood, redder than all the redness that you have ever seen or imagined. And it splashed into the stream over the dead body of the King. . . . And the dead King began to be changed. His white beard turned to grey, and from grey to yellow, and got shorter and vanished altogether; and his sunken cheeks grew round and fresh, and the wrinkles were smoothed, and his eyes opened, and his eyes and lips both laughed, and suddenly he leaped up and stood before them--a very young man, or a boy. . . . And he rushed to Aslan and flung his arms as far as they would go round the huge neck; and he gave Aslan the strong kisses of a King, and Aslan gave him the wild kisses of a Lion. C. S. Lewis, The Silver Chair, New York: Macmillan, 1953, pp. 203-4.
To trust Him means, of course, trying to do all that He says. There would be no sense in saying you trusted a person if you would not take his advice. Thus if you have really handed yourself over to Him, it must follow that you are trying to obey Him. But trying in a new way, a less worried way. Not doing these things in order to be saved, but because He has begun to save you already. Not hoping to get to Heaven as a reward for your actions, but inevitably wanting to act in a certain way because a first faint gleam of Heaven is already inside you. Unless we really try, whatever we say there will always be at the back of our minds the idea that if we try harder next time we shall succeed in being completely good. Thus, in one sense, the road back to God is a road of moral effort, of trying harder and harder. But in another sense it is not trying that is ever going to bring us home. All this trying leads up to the vital moment at which you turn to God and say, "You must do this, I can't." C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity: What One Must Believe to Be a Christian. New York: Macmillan, 1952. pp. 129.
For, make no mistake: if you are really going to try to meet all the demands made on the natural self, it will not have enough left over to live on. The more you obey your conscience, the more your conscience will demand of you. And your natural self, which is thus being starved and hampered and worried at every turn, will get angrier and angrier. In the end, you will either give up trying to be good, or else become one of those people who, as they say, "live for others" but always in a discontented, grumbling way--always wondering why the others do not notice it more and always making a martyr of yourself. And once you have become that you will be a far greater pest to anyone who has to live with you than you would have been if you had remained frankly selfish.
The Christian way is different: harder, and easier. Christ says "Give me All. I don't want so much of your time and so much of your money and so much of your work: I want You. I have not come to torment your natural self, but to kill it. No half-measures are any good. I don't want to cut off a branch here and a branch there, I want to have the whole tree down. I don't want to drill the tooth, or crown it, or stop it, but to have it out. Hand over the whole natural self, all the desires which you think innocent as well as the ones you think wicked--the whole outfit. I will give you a new self instead. In fact, I will give you Myself: my own will shall become yours." C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity: What One Must Believe to Be a Christian. New York: Macmillan, 1952. p. 167.
I hope you do not think I am suggesting that God made the spiral nebulae solely or chiefly in order to give me the experience of awe and bewilderment. I have not the faintest idea why He made them; on the whole, I think it would be rather surprising if I had. As far as I understand the matter, Christianity is not wedded to an anthropocentric view of the universe as a whole. The first chapters of Genesis, no doubt, give the story of creation in the form of a folk-tale--a fact recognized as early as the time of St Jerome--and if you take them alone you might get that impression. But it is not confirmed by the Bible as a whole. There are few places in the literature where we are more sternly warned against making man the measure of all things than in the Book of Job: 'Canst thou draw out leviathan with a hook? Will he make a covenant with thee? wilt thou take him for a servant? Shall not one be cast down even at the sight of him?' [Lewis has a footnote to Job 41:4, 9] In St Paul, the powers of the skies seem usually to be hostile to man. It is, of course, the essence of Christianity that God loves man and for his sake became man and died. But that does not prove that man is the sole end of nature. In the parable, it was the one lost sheep that the shepherd went in search of: it was not the only sheep in the flock, and we are not told that it was the most valuable--save in so far as the most desperately in need has, while the need lasts, a peculiar value in the eyes of Love. The doctrine of the Incarnation would conflict with what we know of this vast universe only if we knew also that there were other rational species in it who had, like us, fallen, and who needed redemption in the same mode, and that they had not been vouchsafed it. But we know none of these things. It may be full of life that needs no redemption. It may be full of life that has been redeemed. It may be full of things quite other than life which satisfy the Divine Wisdom in fashions one cannot conceive. C. S. Lewis, "Dogma and the Universe," in C. S. Lewis, God in the Dock: Essays on Theology and Ethics, edited by Walter Hooper. Grand Rapids, Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1970, pp. 38-47. Quote is from pp. 42-43.
The laws of physics, I understand, decree that when one billiards ball (A) sets another billiards ball (B) in motion, the momentum lost by A exactly equals the momentum gained by B. This is a Law. That is, this is the pattern to which the movement of the two billiard balls must conform. Provided, of course, that something sets ball A in motion. And there comes the snag. The law won't set it in motion. It is usually a man with a cue who does that. But a man with a cue would send us back to free-will, so let us assume that it was lying on a table in a liner and that what set it in motion was a lurch of the ship. In that case it was not the law which produced the movement; it was a wave. And that wave, though it certainly moved according to the laws of physics, was not moved by them. It was shoved by other waves, and by winds, ans so forth. And however far you traced the story back you would never find the laws of Nature causing anything.
The dazzlingly obvious conclusion new arose in my mind: in the whole history of the universe the laws of Nature have never produced a single event. They are the pattern to which every event must conform, provided only that it can be induced to happen. But how do you get it to do that? How do you get a move on? The laws of Nature can give you no help there. All events obey them, just as all operations with money obey the laws of arithmetic. . . . Up till now I had had a vague idea that the laws of Nature could make things happen. I now saw that this was exactly like thinking that you could increase your income by doing sums about it. The laws are the pattern to which events conform: the source of events must be sought elsewhere. C. S. Lewis, "The Laws of Nature," in C. S. Lewis, God in the Dock: Essays on Theology and Ethics, edited by Walter Hooper. Grand Rapids, Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1970, pp. 76-79. Quote is from pp.77-78.
I ended my first book with the words no answer. I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice? C. S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1980, p. 308.
Excerpts from George MacDonald's A Book of Strife in the Form of a Diary of an Old Soul (Public Domain, 1880):
February 17. Lord, I have fallen again--a human clod!
Selfish I was, and heedless to offend;
Stood on my rights. Thy own child would not send
Away his shreds of nothing for the whole God!
Wretched, to thee who savest, low I bend:
Give me the power to let my rag-rights go
In the great wind that from thy gulf doth blow.
March 2. Gloriously wasteful, O my Lord, art thou!
Sunset faints after sunset into the night,
Splendorously dying from thy window-sill--
For ever. Sad our poverty doth bow
Before the riches of thy making might:
Sweep from thy space thy systems at thy will--
In thee the sun sets every sunset still.
Why are all reflections lovelier than what we call the reality?--not so grand or so strong, it may be, but always lovelier? Fair as is the gliding sloop on the shining sea, the wavering, trembling, unresting sail below is fairer still. Yea, the reflecting ocean itself, reflected in the mirror, has a wondrousness about its waters that somewhat vanishes when I turn towards itself. All mirrors are magic mirrors. . . . In whatever way it may be accounted for, of one thing we may be sure, that this feeling is no cheat; for there is no cheating in nature and the simple unsought feelings of the soul. There must be a truth involved in it, though we may but in part lay hold of the meaning. Even the memories of past pain are beautiful; and past delights, though beheld only through clefts in the grey clouds of sorrow, are lovely as Fairy Land. George MacDonald, Phantastes, 1905. Chapter X.
Fantasy can, of course, be carried to excess. It can be ill done. It can be put to evil uses. It may even delude the minds out of which it came. But of what human thing in this fallen world is that not true? Men have conceived not only of elves, but they have imagined gods, and worshipped them, even worshipped those most deformed by their authors' own evil. . . . Fantasy remains a human right: we make in our measure and in our derivative mode, because we are made: and not only made, but made in the image and likeness of a Maker. J. R. R. Tolkien, "On Fairy-stories," in Tree and Leaf. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1965, pp. 3 - 73. Quote is from p.55.
'You are wise and fearless and fair, Lady Galadriel,' said Frodo. I will give you the One Ring, if you ask for it. It is too great a matter for me.'
Galadriel laughed with a sudden clear laugh. 'Wise the Lady Galadriel may be,' she said, 'yet here she has met her match in courtesy. Gently are you revenged for my testing of your heart at our first meeting. You begin to see with a keen eye. I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer. For many long years I had pondered what I might do, should the Great Ring come into my hands, and behold! it was brought within my grasp. The evil that was devised long ago works on in many ways, whether Sauron himself stands or falls. Would not that have been a noble deed to set to the credit of his Ring, if I had taken it by force or fear from my guest?
'And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!'
She lifted up her hand and from the ring that she wore there issued a great light that illumined her alone and left all else dark. She stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful. Then she let her hand fall, and the light faded, and suddenly she laughed again, and lo! she was shrunken: a simple elf-woman, clad in simple white, whose gentle voice was soft and sad.
'I pass the test,' she said. 'I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.' J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring: Being the First Part of The Lord of the Rings. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1963, p. 381.
Thanks for reading. Lewis was born on this date, in 1898.
"I am constantly struck by the strangeness of reading works that seem addressed, personally and intimately, to me, and yet were written by people who crumbled to dust long ago." (source)
She told me that she wanted to know some of the statements that seem addressed to me. In other words, who speaks to me, though dead? (Hebrews 11:4, KJV, says "By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain, by which he obtained witness that he was righteous, God testifying of his gifts: and by it he being dead yet speaketh.")
In the first installment of this series, I quoted 10 brief sections from the Bible which particularly speak to me. This is the second installment. In the third installment, I quote from important scientists, including Darwin, Einstein, and Newton.
In this installment, I'm going to quote from some literature by persons now dead, that speaks to me. I am using only three authors. There are many more good ones. I'm using only a few quotations, out of the many important passages written by these three. The authors are C. S. Lewis, George MacDonald, and J. R. R. Tolkien. As you may know, they are related, in that MacDonald was one of Lewis's favorite authors, and that Lewis and Tolkien were friends for many years. Tolkien and MacDonald were important influences in the conversion of Lewis to Christianity. It is also true that all three of them wrote some pretty good fantastic literature.
"Don't you mind him," said Puddleglum. "There are no accidents. Our guide is Aslan; and he was there when the giant king caused the letters to be cut, and he knew already all things that would come of them; including this." C. S. Lewis, The Silver Chair, New York: Macmillan, 1953, p. 131.
And there, on the golden gravel of the bed of the stream, lay King Caspian, dead, with the water flowing over him like liquid glass. His long white beard swayed in it like water-weed. And all three stood and wept. Even the Lion wept: great Lion-tears, each tear more precious than the Earth would be if it was a single solid diamond. . . .
"Son of Adam," said Aslan, "go into that thicket and pluck the thorn that you will find there, and bring it to me."
Eustace obeyed. The thorn was a foot long and sharp as a rapier.
"Drive it into my paw, son of Adam," said Aslan. . . .
"Must I?" said Eustace.
"Yes," said Aslan.
Then Eustace set his teeth and drove the the thorn into the Lion's paw. And there came out a great drop of blood, redder than all the redness that you have ever seen or imagined. And it splashed into the stream over the dead body of the King. . . . And the dead King began to be changed. His white beard turned to grey, and from grey to yellow, and got shorter and vanished altogether; and his sunken cheeks grew round and fresh, and the wrinkles were smoothed, and his eyes opened, and his eyes and lips both laughed, and suddenly he leaped up and stood before them--a very young man, or a boy. . . . And he rushed to Aslan and flung his arms as far as they would go round the huge neck; and he gave Aslan the strong kisses of a King, and Aslan gave him the wild kisses of a Lion. C. S. Lewis, The Silver Chair, New York: Macmillan, 1953, pp. 203-4.
To trust Him means, of course, trying to do all that He says. There would be no sense in saying you trusted a person if you would not take his advice. Thus if you have really handed yourself over to Him, it must follow that you are trying to obey Him. But trying in a new way, a less worried way. Not doing these things in order to be saved, but because He has begun to save you already. Not hoping to get to Heaven as a reward for your actions, but inevitably wanting to act in a certain way because a first faint gleam of Heaven is already inside you. Unless we really try, whatever we say there will always be at the back of our minds the idea that if we try harder next time we shall succeed in being completely good. Thus, in one sense, the road back to God is a road of moral effort, of trying harder and harder. But in another sense it is not trying that is ever going to bring us home. All this trying leads up to the vital moment at which you turn to God and say, "You must do this, I can't." C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity: What One Must Believe to Be a Christian. New York: Macmillan, 1952. pp. 129.
For, make no mistake: if you are really going to try to meet all the demands made on the natural self, it will not have enough left over to live on. The more you obey your conscience, the more your conscience will demand of you. And your natural self, which is thus being starved and hampered and worried at every turn, will get angrier and angrier. In the end, you will either give up trying to be good, or else become one of those people who, as they say, "live for others" but always in a discontented, grumbling way--always wondering why the others do not notice it more and always making a martyr of yourself. And once you have become that you will be a far greater pest to anyone who has to live with you than you would have been if you had remained frankly selfish.
The Christian way is different: harder, and easier. Christ says "Give me All. I don't want so much of your time and so much of your money and so much of your work: I want You. I have not come to torment your natural self, but to kill it. No half-measures are any good. I don't want to cut off a branch here and a branch there, I want to have the whole tree down. I don't want to drill the tooth, or crown it, or stop it, but to have it out. Hand over the whole natural self, all the desires which you think innocent as well as the ones you think wicked--the whole outfit. I will give you a new self instead. In fact, I will give you Myself: my own will shall become yours." C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity: What One Must Believe to Be a Christian. New York: Macmillan, 1952. p. 167.
I hope you do not think I am suggesting that God made the spiral nebulae solely or chiefly in order to give me the experience of awe and bewilderment. I have not the faintest idea why He made them; on the whole, I think it would be rather surprising if I had. As far as I understand the matter, Christianity is not wedded to an anthropocentric view of the universe as a whole. The first chapters of Genesis, no doubt, give the story of creation in the form of a folk-tale--a fact recognized as early as the time of St Jerome--and if you take them alone you might get that impression. But it is not confirmed by the Bible as a whole. There are few places in the literature where we are more sternly warned against making man the measure of all things than in the Book of Job: 'Canst thou draw out leviathan with a hook? Will he make a covenant with thee? wilt thou take him for a servant? Shall not one be cast down even at the sight of him?' [Lewis has a footnote to Job 41:4, 9] In St Paul, the powers of the skies seem usually to be hostile to man. It is, of course, the essence of Christianity that God loves man and for his sake became man and died. But that does not prove that man is the sole end of nature. In the parable, it was the one lost sheep that the shepherd went in search of: it was not the only sheep in the flock, and we are not told that it was the most valuable--save in so far as the most desperately in need has, while the need lasts, a peculiar value in the eyes of Love. The doctrine of the Incarnation would conflict with what we know of this vast universe only if we knew also that there were other rational species in it who had, like us, fallen, and who needed redemption in the same mode, and that they had not been vouchsafed it. But we know none of these things. It may be full of life that needs no redemption. It may be full of life that has been redeemed. It may be full of things quite other than life which satisfy the Divine Wisdom in fashions one cannot conceive. C. S. Lewis, "Dogma and the Universe," in C. S. Lewis, God in the Dock: Essays on Theology and Ethics, edited by Walter Hooper. Grand Rapids, Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1970, pp. 38-47. Quote is from pp. 42-43.
The laws of physics, I understand, decree that when one billiards ball (A) sets another billiards ball (B) in motion, the momentum lost by A exactly equals the momentum gained by B. This is a Law. That is, this is the pattern to which the movement of the two billiard balls must conform. Provided, of course, that something sets ball A in motion. And there comes the snag. The law won't set it in motion. It is usually a man with a cue who does that. But a man with a cue would send us back to free-will, so let us assume that it was lying on a table in a liner and that what set it in motion was a lurch of the ship. In that case it was not the law which produced the movement; it was a wave. And that wave, though it certainly moved according to the laws of physics, was not moved by them. It was shoved by other waves, and by winds, ans so forth. And however far you traced the story back you would never find the laws of Nature causing anything.
The dazzlingly obvious conclusion new arose in my mind: in the whole history of the universe the laws of Nature have never produced a single event. They are the pattern to which every event must conform, provided only that it can be induced to happen. But how do you get it to do that? How do you get a move on? The laws of Nature can give you no help there. All events obey them, just as all operations with money obey the laws of arithmetic. . . . Up till now I had had a vague idea that the laws of Nature could make things happen. I now saw that this was exactly like thinking that you could increase your income by doing sums about it. The laws are the pattern to which events conform: the source of events must be sought elsewhere. C. S. Lewis, "The Laws of Nature," in C. S. Lewis, God in the Dock: Essays on Theology and Ethics, edited by Walter Hooper. Grand Rapids, Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1970, pp. 76-79. Quote is from pp.77-78.
I ended my first book with the words no answer. I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice? C. S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1980, p. 308.
Excerpts from George MacDonald's A Book of Strife in the Form of a Diary of an Old Soul (Public Domain, 1880):
February 17. Lord, I have fallen again--a human clod!
Selfish I was, and heedless to offend;
Stood on my rights. Thy own child would not send
Away his shreds of nothing for the whole God!
Wretched, to thee who savest, low I bend:
Give me the power to let my rag-rights go
In the great wind that from thy gulf doth blow.
March 2. Gloriously wasteful, O my Lord, art thou!
Sunset faints after sunset into the night,
Splendorously dying from thy window-sill--
For ever. Sad our poverty doth bow
Before the riches of thy making might:
Sweep from thy space thy systems at thy will--
In thee the sun sets every sunset still.
Why are all reflections lovelier than what we call the reality?--not so grand or so strong, it may be, but always lovelier? Fair as is the gliding sloop on the shining sea, the wavering, trembling, unresting sail below is fairer still. Yea, the reflecting ocean itself, reflected in the mirror, has a wondrousness about its waters that somewhat vanishes when I turn towards itself. All mirrors are magic mirrors. . . . In whatever way it may be accounted for, of one thing we may be sure, that this feeling is no cheat; for there is no cheating in nature and the simple unsought feelings of the soul. There must be a truth involved in it, though we may but in part lay hold of the meaning. Even the memories of past pain are beautiful; and past delights, though beheld only through clefts in the grey clouds of sorrow, are lovely as Fairy Land. George MacDonald, Phantastes, 1905. Chapter X.
Fantasy can, of course, be carried to excess. It can be ill done. It can be put to evil uses. It may even delude the minds out of which it came. But of what human thing in this fallen world is that not true? Men have conceived not only of elves, but they have imagined gods, and worshipped them, even worshipped those most deformed by their authors' own evil. . . . Fantasy remains a human right: we make in our measure and in our derivative mode, because we are made: and not only made, but made in the image and likeness of a Maker. J. R. R. Tolkien, "On Fairy-stories," in Tree and Leaf. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1965, pp. 3 - 73. Quote is from p.55.
'You are wise and fearless and fair, Lady Galadriel,' said Frodo. I will give you the One Ring, if you ask for it. It is too great a matter for me.'
Galadriel laughed with a sudden clear laugh. 'Wise the Lady Galadriel may be,' she said, 'yet here she has met her match in courtesy. Gently are you revenged for my testing of your heart at our first meeting. You begin to see with a keen eye. I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer. For many long years I had pondered what I might do, should the Great Ring come into my hands, and behold! it was brought within my grasp. The evil that was devised long ago works on in many ways, whether Sauron himself stands or falls. Would not that have been a noble deed to set to the credit of his Ring, if I had taken it by force or fear from my guest?
'And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!'
She lifted up her hand and from the ring that she wore there issued a great light that illumined her alone and left all else dark. She stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful. Then she let her hand fall, and the light faded, and suddenly she laughed again, and lo! she was shrunken: a simple elf-woman, clad in simple white, whose gentle voice was soft and sad.
'I pass the test,' she said. 'I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.' J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring: Being the First Part of The Lord of the Rings. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1963, p. 381.
Thanks for reading. Lewis was born on this date, in 1898.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Bringing Fictional Characters to Life
One of my daughters gave me her copy of Inkheart, by Cornelia Funke, to read. I was glad to read it, as I had enjoyed The Thief Lord, and others had, too.
I'm not going to dwell on the plot of Inkheart, except to say that it involves bringing fictional characters to life, or sending real people into a work of fiction. Here's a link to a post on the book by another blogger that does go into the plot.
When I finished the book, I thought about which, if any, fictional characters I'd like to bring to life, or which fictional universe I'd like to be sent into. I thought of Gandalf, from the Lord of the Rings, or Ogion or Ged, the quiet wizards from the Earthsea books by Ursula K. Le Guin. It would be nice to have a powerful wizard around, even a gruff and seldom-spoken one, I thought. But that wouldn't work. What would Ogion think of computers and cars? What would Gandalf do with air pollution and income taxes? These wizards wouldn't fit. I would have trouble following Gandalf or Ogion around, and would probably be pretty useless at traveling through Moria or taking care of goats.
I also thought about real people. What about bringing back Lewis and Clark, or Sacagawea? What about Will Rogers, or Henrietta Leavitt? What about George Washington Carver or Marie Curie? They wouldn't fit, either. And I wouldn't fit into their time or place, any more than they would into mine. I wouldn't know the language, or the customs, or how to make a living, or take care of an illness.
What about biblical characters? What about Paul, or Lydia, Dorcas or Peter? King David or Rahab? Clearly, they wouldn't fit, either. I expect that Paul or Peter, and maybe some of the others, might raise a ruckus over the way things are in the world in general, or in my church, or even in my own life. I guess I'd better leave them in the Bible, where they belong.
Finally, what about Jesus? Would He fit? Well, being God, He ought to, I guess. But I'm afraid He might throw out the moneychangers, or call some religious people white-painted tombstones, or do something equally outrageous, and make people unhappy.
Whoops--I forgot--I'm supposed to show the personality of Jesus in this world of the 21st Century. He's supposed to already be here, in my world, my neighborhood, my church, and my own life, and really so, not in my imagination (or yours). I hope sincerely that He is.
I'm not going to dwell on the plot of Inkheart, except to say that it involves bringing fictional characters to life, or sending real people into a work of fiction. Here's a link to a post on the book by another blogger that does go into the plot.
When I finished the book, I thought about which, if any, fictional characters I'd like to bring to life, or which fictional universe I'd like to be sent into. I thought of Gandalf, from the Lord of the Rings, or Ogion or Ged, the quiet wizards from the Earthsea books by Ursula K. Le Guin. It would be nice to have a powerful wizard around, even a gruff and seldom-spoken one, I thought. But that wouldn't work. What would Ogion think of computers and cars? What would Gandalf do with air pollution and income taxes? These wizards wouldn't fit. I would have trouble following Gandalf or Ogion around, and would probably be pretty useless at traveling through Moria or taking care of goats.
I also thought about real people. What about bringing back Lewis and Clark, or Sacagawea? What about Will Rogers, or Henrietta Leavitt? What about George Washington Carver or Marie Curie? They wouldn't fit, either. And I wouldn't fit into their time or place, any more than they would into mine. I wouldn't know the language, or the customs, or how to make a living, or take care of an illness.
What about biblical characters? What about Paul, or Lydia, Dorcas or Peter? King David or Rahab? Clearly, they wouldn't fit, either. I expect that Paul or Peter, and maybe some of the others, might raise a ruckus over the way things are in the world in general, or in my church, or even in my own life. I guess I'd better leave them in the Bible, where they belong.
Finally, what about Jesus? Would He fit? Well, being God, He ought to, I guess. But I'm afraid He might throw out the moneychangers, or call some religious people white-painted tombstones, or do something equally outrageous, and make people unhappy.
Whoops--I forgot--I'm supposed to show the personality of Jesus in this world of the 21st Century. He's supposed to already be here, in my world, my neighborhood, my church, and my own life, and really so, not in my imagination (or yours). I hope sincerely that He is.
Friday, September 22, 2006
The problem with dying
". . . Do you know what the worst bit about dying is?"
"Tell me, Gran."
"You never get to see how it all turns out."
- Jasper Fforde, Lost in a Good Book: A Thursday Next Novel (New York: Viking, 2002) p. 136. Thursday Next, talking to her grandmother.
Some other miscellaneous quotes:
"I'll tell you what love is," I told her. "It is blind devotion, unquestioning self-humilation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourself and against the whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the smiter!" - Jasper Fforde, Lost in a Good Book: A Thursday Next Novel (New York: Viking, 2002) p. 350. Thursday Next talking to Miss Havisham (from Great Expectations by Dickens).
"Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've read it several times?" Mo had said when, on Meggie's last birthday, they were looking at all her dear old books again. "As if something were left between the pages every time you read it. Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells . . . and then, when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too, a slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had preserved you like a pressed flower . . . both strange and familiar." Inkspell, by Cornelia Funke (translated from the German by Anthea Bell) New York: Scholastic, 2005, p. 47
When you don't have anything new to say, and what you've been saying in the past no longer has much plausibility, you have three choices. You can shut up. For conservative commentators, this is inconceivable, not to mention financially ruinous. You can re-examine your premises. This is not the conservative style. Or you can pump up the volume. - Timothy Noah, "Coulterized Conservatives," Slate, September 6, 2006 (The same thing could be said about lots of people, of all sorts of persuasions)
Thanks for reading.
"Tell me, Gran."
"You never get to see how it all turns out."
- Jasper Fforde, Lost in a Good Book: A Thursday Next Novel (New York: Viking, 2002) p. 136. Thursday Next, talking to her grandmother.
Some other miscellaneous quotes:
"I'll tell you what love is," I told her. "It is blind devotion, unquestioning self-humilation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourself and against the whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the smiter!" - Jasper Fforde, Lost in a Good Book: A Thursday Next Novel (New York: Viking, 2002) p. 350. Thursday Next talking to Miss Havisham (from Great Expectations by Dickens).
"Isn't it odd how much fatter a book gets when you've read it several times?" Mo had said when, on Meggie's last birthday, they were looking at all her dear old books again. "As if something were left between the pages every time you read it. Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells . . . and then, when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too, a slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had preserved you like a pressed flower . . . both strange and familiar." Inkspell, by Cornelia Funke (translated from the German by Anthea Bell) New York: Scholastic, 2005, p. 47
When you don't have anything new to say, and what you've been saying in the past no longer has much plausibility, you have three choices. You can shut up. For conservative commentators, this is inconceivable, not to mention financially ruinous. You can re-examine your premises. This is not the conservative style. Or you can pump up the volume. - Timothy Noah, "Coulterized Conservatives," Slate, September 6, 2006 (The same thing could be said about lots of people, of all sorts of persuasions)
There are three types of people: those who count precisely and those who don't. Edward B. Burger & Michael Starbird, Coincidences, Chaos, and All That Math Jazz: Making Light of Weighty Ideas. New York: Norton, 2005. Quote is from p. 79.
Thanks for reading.
Friday, August 18, 2006
The Speed of Dark
The Speed of Dark, by Elizabeth Moon, won the 2003 Nebula award (for best science fiction novel) which was well deserved. It is not your average science fiction book. In a sentence, what it is about is an autistic man, trying to decide whether to take an experimental surgical treatment that may "cure" his autism. The title comes from the protagonist's musings on the speed of light. If there is a speed of light, why not a speed of dark? The question comes several times, in various ways, throughout the book.
Lou is convinced that autism is not from God:
One of the people at the rehab center where I spent so many hours as a child used to say that disabilities were God's way of giving people a chance to show their faith. . . .
I do not understand God that way. I do not think God makes bad things happen just so that people can grow spiritually. Bad parents do that, my mother said. Bad parents make things hard and painful for their children and then say it was to help them grow. Growing and living are hard enough already; children do not neet things to be harder. I think this is true even for normal children. I have watched little children learning to walk; they all struggle and fall down many times. Their faces show that it is not easy. It would be stupid to tie bricks on them to make it harder. If that is true for learning to walk, then I think it is true for other growing and learning as well.
God is supposed to be the good parent, the Father. So I think God would not make things harder than they are. I do not think I am autistic because God thought my parents needed a challenge or I needed a challenge. I think it is like if I were a baby and a rock fell on me and broke my leg. Whatever caused it was an accident. God did not prevent the accident, but He did not cause it, either. Elizabeth Moon, The Speed of Dark . (New York: Ballentine, 2003) p. 176.
Although he does not put it in exactly those terms, he seems to believe that the evil in the world is the result of the Fall.
The science fiction part is mostly that a treatment is available, and that, furthermore, babies born autistic are routinely fixed at or near the time of birth. Thus, there are not many autistic people in the world, and there have been some great advances in helping them. Lou Arrendale lives a life that, in many ways, is normal. He and a group of other autistic persons are well paid for their ability to perceive patterns that "normal" people cannot. None of them, however, have what might be called a normal social life, and they are bound by hangups that normal people do not usually face, especially their desire for routine. It is clear that Lou, at least, is highly intelligent. He is also highly introspective -- he is constantly thinking about what things mean, and what people mean. Although he doesn't have close friends, he does belong to a fencing group -- his ability to perceive patterns helps him in this sport -- and attends church, probably an Episcopal church, regularly.
There are some other futuristic touches, but minor, in the story. Criminals can be prevented from further violence by a chip in their brains, and computers are more advanced than they are now.
Lou is challenged, as disabled people unfortunately may be, by two people, in particular. One of them is jealous of Lou's accomplishments, and blames him for his own failures. The other is offended by the special accomodations made for Lou and his fellow autistic employees on the job. Both of these people attempt some horrible things.
What if I could be "cured" of some disease of the brain, and/or the personality? Would I take such treatment, if I knew that, even if it worked, it might well change me profoundly? I don't know. This is a tough question.
One experience that helps Lou in making his decision, which decision I won't give away, is hearing a sermon on the paralytic at the pool, and reflecting on it. Jesus asks him if he wants to be healed. Lou considers that aspect -- he wants to do what God wants him to do. Like most of us, he isn't always sure what that is.
This book is one that I can recommend to almost anyone, whether or not they usually read fantastic literature. It isn't very fantastic. I'm not sure it would be classified as Christian fiction, but it does take God into account. I expect to purchase my own copy.
For what it's worth, I'm now using the Beta version of the new Blogger. Thanks for reading.
Added August 19, 2007: I have now posted on Moon's Paksenarrion series, and expect to post on more of her work soon. If you are interested, click on the "Elizabeth Moon" tag at the end of this post.
Lou is convinced that autism is not from God:
One of the people at the rehab center where I spent so many hours as a child used to say that disabilities were God's way of giving people a chance to show their faith. . . .
I do not understand God that way. I do not think God makes bad things happen just so that people can grow spiritually. Bad parents do that, my mother said. Bad parents make things hard and painful for their children and then say it was to help them grow. Growing and living are hard enough already; children do not neet things to be harder. I think this is true even for normal children. I have watched little children learning to walk; they all struggle and fall down many times. Their faces show that it is not easy. It would be stupid to tie bricks on them to make it harder. If that is true for learning to walk, then I think it is true for other growing and learning as well.
God is supposed to be the good parent, the Father. So I think God would not make things harder than they are. I do not think I am autistic because God thought my parents needed a challenge or I needed a challenge. I think it is like if I were a baby and a rock fell on me and broke my leg. Whatever caused it was an accident. God did not prevent the accident, but He did not cause it, either. Elizabeth Moon, The Speed of Dark . (New York: Ballentine, 2003) p. 176.
Although he does not put it in exactly those terms, he seems to believe that the evil in the world is the result of the Fall.
The science fiction part is mostly that a treatment is available, and that, furthermore, babies born autistic are routinely fixed at or near the time of birth. Thus, there are not many autistic people in the world, and there have been some great advances in helping them. Lou Arrendale lives a life that, in many ways, is normal. He and a group of other autistic persons are well paid for their ability to perceive patterns that "normal" people cannot. None of them, however, have what might be called a normal social life, and they are bound by hangups that normal people do not usually face, especially their desire for routine. It is clear that Lou, at least, is highly intelligent. He is also highly introspective -- he is constantly thinking about what things mean, and what people mean. Although he doesn't have close friends, he does belong to a fencing group -- his ability to perceive patterns helps him in this sport -- and attends church, probably an Episcopal church, regularly.
There are some other futuristic touches, but minor, in the story. Criminals can be prevented from further violence by a chip in their brains, and computers are more advanced than they are now.
Lou is challenged, as disabled people unfortunately may be, by two people, in particular. One of them is jealous of Lou's accomplishments, and blames him for his own failures. The other is offended by the special accomodations made for Lou and his fellow autistic employees on the job. Both of these people attempt some horrible things.
What if I could be "cured" of some disease of the brain, and/or the personality? Would I take such treatment, if I knew that, even if it worked, it might well change me profoundly? I don't know. This is a tough question.
One experience that helps Lou in making his decision, which decision I won't give away, is hearing a sermon on the paralytic at the pool, and reflecting on it. Jesus asks him if he wants to be healed. Lou considers that aspect -- he wants to do what God wants him to do. Like most of us, he isn't always sure what that is.
This book is one that I can recommend to almost anyone, whether or not they usually read fantastic literature. It isn't very fantastic. I'm not sure it would be classified as Christian fiction, but it does take God into account. I expect to purchase my own copy.
For what it's worth, I'm now using the Beta version of the new Blogger. Thanks for reading.
Added August 19, 2007: I have now posted on Moon's Paksenarrion series, and expect to post on more of her work soon. If you are interested, click on the "Elizabeth Moon" tag at the end of this post.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Son of the Shadows, by Juliet Marillier
I have posted previously about Juliet Marillier's books. Son of the Shadows (New York: Tom Doherty Associates, 2001) is the second of the Sevenwaters trilogy.
I try not to betray essential plot elements in my blog reviews of fiction, but deal with other features that interest me, and might interest you.
The book is entirely in the first person, with Liadan, daughter of Sorcha, the girl who rescued her brothers from their condition, enchanted swans, in the first book, as the narrator. Four of Sorcha's brothers, Liam, who now leads the household of Sevenwaters, Conor, who has become a druid priest, Padraig, who sails the known world, and Finbar, who has a swan's wing rather than one of his arms, and lives in the forest by himself, appear in the book. So do Liadan's older sister, Niamh, and her twin brother, Sean. As the book proceeds, this second generation of the family of Sevenwaters goes through great hardship, and experience love. Two of them have children.
In Foxmask, and Wolfskin, Marillier, who is not a Christian, showed considerable sympathy for Christianity. A character even told another about Christ's redeeming love. In the earlier trilogy, I did not find this. There is a little acknowledgement of the positive role of some priests and nuns during the middle ages, but there don't seem to be any Christians, under orders or otherwise, in this book. There is clear recognition of free choice, however:
I cannot believe that because he is her son, he must inevitably work evil in his life. To say that is to say we have no choice at all in what we do, in how we live. I don't believe that, Uncle. Juliet Mariller, Son of the Shadows (New York: Tom Doherty Associates, 2001) p. 428. Liadan is speaking to Connor, her uncle, about Ciarán, who is also her uncle, but about her age. Lord Colum was his father by Oonagh, the sorceress.
I try not to betray essential plot elements in my blog reviews of fiction, but deal with other features that interest me, and might interest you.
The book is entirely in the first person, with Liadan, daughter of Sorcha, the girl who rescued her brothers from their condition, enchanted swans, in the first book, as the narrator. Four of Sorcha's brothers, Liam, who now leads the household of Sevenwaters, Conor, who has become a druid priest, Padraig, who sails the known world, and Finbar, who has a swan's wing rather than one of his arms, and lives in the forest by himself, appear in the book. So do Liadan's older sister, Niamh, and her twin brother, Sean. As the book proceeds, this second generation of the family of Sevenwaters goes through great hardship, and experience love. Two of them have children.
In Foxmask, and Wolfskin, Marillier, who is not a Christian, showed considerable sympathy for Christianity. A character even told another about Christ's redeeming love. In the earlier trilogy, I did not find this. There is a little acknowledgement of the positive role of some priests and nuns during the middle ages, but there don't seem to be any Christians, under orders or otherwise, in this book. There is clear recognition of free choice, however:
I cannot believe that because he is her son, he must inevitably work evil in his life. To say that is to say we have no choice at all in what we do, in how we live. I don't believe that, Uncle. Juliet Mariller, Son of the Shadows (New York: Tom Doherty Associates, 2001) p. 428. Liadan is speaking to Connor, her uncle, about Ciarán, who is also her uncle, but about her age. Lord Colum was his father by Oonagh, the sorceress.
"If you had accepted me, my path would have been different," he said bleakly. "If you find you dislike what I have become, you have only yourself to blame."
"Your actions are your own," I said, holding back my anger. "Your choices are your own. Each of us carries a burden of guilt for decisions made or not made." I saw a little image of my Uncle Liam, lying on the track with an arrow in his chest. "You can let that rule your whole life, or can put it behind you and move on. Only a madman lets jealousy determine the course of his existence. Only a weak man blames others for his own errors. Now, will you deal with me?" Juliet Mariller, Son of the Shadows (New York: Tom Doherty Associates, 2001) p. 483. Eamonn is speaking with Liadan, blaming her that she rejected him for another. He has since done some evil things.
There are elements of fantasy in the book. For one, Liadan is able to share her thoughts with Sean, Liam, Finbar and Conor. (Sorcha was able to do this with Finbar and Conor, at least while they were not swans.) For another, the king and queen of the fair folk appear at critical points. It is obvious that they are not human, although, of course, they resemble them. There is also another race or two of magical people hinted at, deeply connected to the earth, or the ocean. For yet another, Finbar and Liadan have The Sight, an ability to forsee the future, or possible futures. It is a two-edged gift, because sometimes it shows what will happen, sometimes it shows what might happen, and sometimes it shows what the seer wants to happen, and it is usually impossible to distinguish among these possibilities.
I think one of the characters has abilities, or good fortune, that strain the bounds of the possible. He has ability to think ahead, to lead others, to determine (by ordinary means) what others are thinking, even others he is at war with, and to find his way through all kinds of forest. All this comes in handy, though!As in all her books, Marillier places her characters in prolonged agonizing situations, testing their sanity, their love, and other aspects of their personalities. I'm glad I read this a second time.
Thanks for reading!Monday, July 03, 2006
Daughter of the Forest, by Juliet Marillier
I have decided, rather to my surprise, that Juliet Marillier's Daughter of the Forest (New York: Tom Doherty Associates, 2000) is one of my favorite books. It's over 500 pages long.
For more information on Marillier's writing, see my previous posts on it, here and here. In these posts, about two more recent novels by Marillier, I pointed out that she is a self-proclaimed pagan, but wrote of material from these novels, Wolfskin and Foxmask, indicating that not only is a Catholic priest portrayed in a positive light, and one of the main characters in the book, but that Marillier actually includes a passage in which a character comes to belief in the Christian God. All of her books that I have read are set, more or less, in and around the British Isles, during the Middle Ages. All of them have appeared in the Fantasy section of bookstores. They all include romantic love -- eros, in the terminology of C. S. Lewis.
I'm trying not to give away the plot in this post, at least no more than the back cover of the book does.
I hadn't really paid attention to Christianity in Marillier's writing when I first read Daughter of the Forest. This time, after finding it inescapable in the two novels mentioned above, I looked for it. It's there, but not so much as in the later books. There is a priest who is an important character, but he is not so throughout the book, only in the first part. There is another priest who plays a minor role later. Both are portrayed quite positively. (There is another priest mentioned briefly, who does not appear, who is apparently not such a good man.)
Since the events occur early, and are at least hinted at on the back cover of my copy, I will say that Sorcha, the seventh child of Lord Colum of Sevenwaters, must try to save her six brothers, Liam, Diarmid, twins Cormack and Conor, Finbar and Padraic, from an enchantment laid on them by their stepmother, Oonagh. (Their mother, Niamh, died in birthing Sorcha.) The book, told by Sorcha, is the story of how she works to save her brothers, and how she falls in love. The main appeal, for me, is the agonizing ordeal she must go through, the good writing, the reverence for nature, and the good characters Sorcha finds from time to time, sometimes in unexpected places.
As in Wolfskin and Foxmask, there are religions beside Christianity. Although not much is said about them, there are Druids in the book. Nonhuman beings, with limited supernatural powers, appear occasionally.
As I said, Christianity isn't as openly presented in this book as in the other two, but it is there, and treated with respect throughout. So is Druidism. A Druid says this: "There is no good or evil, save in the way you see the world. There is no dark or light, save in your own vision." (p. 535. I don't know if this is Druid doctrine, or just the character speaking for himself.) In a way, the whole book has argued against that very belief -- there are good people, and evil ones, in it. Christianity doesn't so much teach that there are bad and good people, as that there is evil in the world, and that if we don't choose to follow Christ, we will be a part of it.
Thanks for reading.
For more information on Marillier's writing, see my previous posts on it, here and here. In these posts, about two more recent novels by Marillier, I pointed out that she is a self-proclaimed pagan, but wrote of material from these novels, Wolfskin and Foxmask, indicating that not only is a Catholic priest portrayed in a positive light, and one of the main characters in the book, but that Marillier actually includes a passage in which a character comes to belief in the Christian God. All of her books that I have read are set, more or less, in and around the British Isles, during the Middle Ages. All of them have appeared in the Fantasy section of bookstores. They all include romantic love -- eros, in the terminology of C. S. Lewis.
I'm trying not to give away the plot in this post, at least no more than the back cover of the book does.
I hadn't really paid attention to Christianity in Marillier's writing when I first read Daughter of the Forest. This time, after finding it inescapable in the two novels mentioned above, I looked for it. It's there, but not so much as in the later books. There is a priest who is an important character, but he is not so throughout the book, only in the first part. There is another priest who plays a minor role later. Both are portrayed quite positively. (There is another priest mentioned briefly, who does not appear, who is apparently not such a good man.)
Since the events occur early, and are at least hinted at on the back cover of my copy, I will say that Sorcha, the seventh child of Lord Colum of Sevenwaters, must try to save her six brothers, Liam, Diarmid, twins Cormack and Conor, Finbar and Padraic, from an enchantment laid on them by their stepmother, Oonagh. (Their mother, Niamh, died in birthing Sorcha.) The book, told by Sorcha, is the story of how she works to save her brothers, and how she falls in love. The main appeal, for me, is the agonizing ordeal she must go through, the good writing, the reverence for nature, and the good characters Sorcha finds from time to time, sometimes in unexpected places.
As in Wolfskin and Foxmask, there are religions beside Christianity. Although not much is said about them, there are Druids in the book. Nonhuman beings, with limited supernatural powers, appear occasionally.
As I said, Christianity isn't as openly presented in this book as in the other two, but it is there, and treated with respect throughout. So is Druidism. A Druid says this: "There is no good or evil, save in the way you see the world. There is no dark or light, save in your own vision." (p. 535. I don't know if this is Druid doctrine, or just the character speaking for himself.) In a way, the whole book has argued against that very belief -- there are good people, and evil ones, in it. Christianity doesn't so much teach that there are bad and good people, as that there is evil in the world, and that if we don't choose to follow Christ, we will be a part of it.
Thanks for reading.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Revelation Space by Alastair Reynolds
In my continued zeal to fill up my corner of cyberspace, I frequently summarize books here. (I do read some summaries by others, and they are sometimes very helpful.) I try to avoid giving away essential surprises in plots.
Revelation Space (New York:Ace, 2000), by Alastair Reynolds, has been called "space opera." As I understand the term, I agree. It is also "hard" science fiction, in that it deals with astrophysics to some degree, and has some passages where Reynolds uses dialog to explain some physical phenomenon. It is Reynolds' first novel. My edition is a serious read, 585 pages.
The book is set in the 2500's. The science of the time has progressed to the point that it is possible to download a personality to a computer, and such a personality has at least most of the characteristics associated with real flesh-and-blood people. It is also possible to download a personality to another person, or at least to a person who is partly a human-artificial hybrid. One of the interesting things about the book is that the characters, nor the reader, can always be sure about who really is whom, because of this aspect. (I have written an extensive web page on the topic of uploading one's soul, in which I discuss several misgivings about the possibility of doing so.) Space travel is still only at sub-light speeds, so not all of the barriers we feel ourselves have been surmounted in 4 centuries or so.
The book held my interest. Although the review that the "called" link above goes to didn't think much of Reynolds' character development, I thought it was at least adequate. Other aspects of science are explored, not just personality transfer. In fact, that is more or less a given, something accepted without exploring much of how it happens. Some of the astrophysics is explored in at least a semi-scientific fashion.
Two or three alien species play significant roles in the book.
Although it is not, by my lights, a Christian novel, it isn't anti-Christian, either, and there is at least a little mention of prayer. (See here for my last post on the topic of what makes a novel Christian.)
Thanks for reading.
Revelation Space (New York:Ace, 2000), by Alastair Reynolds, has been called "space opera." As I understand the term, I agree. It is also "hard" science fiction, in that it deals with astrophysics to some degree, and has some passages where Reynolds uses dialog to explain some physical phenomenon. It is Reynolds' first novel. My edition is a serious read, 585 pages.
The book is set in the 2500's. The science of the time has progressed to the point that it is possible to download a personality to a computer, and such a personality has at least most of the characteristics associated with real flesh-and-blood people. It is also possible to download a personality to another person, or at least to a person who is partly a human-artificial hybrid. One of the interesting things about the book is that the characters, nor the reader, can always be sure about who really is whom, because of this aspect. (I have written an extensive web page on the topic of uploading one's soul, in which I discuss several misgivings about the possibility of doing so.) Space travel is still only at sub-light speeds, so not all of the barriers we feel ourselves have been surmounted in 4 centuries or so.
The book held my interest. Although the review that the "called" link above goes to didn't think much of Reynolds' character development, I thought it was at least adequate. Other aspects of science are explored, not just personality transfer. In fact, that is more or less a given, something accepted without exploring much of how it happens. Some of the astrophysics is explored in at least a semi-scientific fashion.
Two or three alien species play significant roles in the book.
Although it is not, by my lights, a Christian novel, it isn't anti-Christian, either, and there is at least a little mention of prayer. (See here for my last post on the topic of what makes a novel Christian.)
Thanks for reading.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Philip Gulley
I bought a book for my wife by Philip Gulley some time ago, because Amazon indicated that people interested in the works of Jan Karon might be interested in his books. She liked his books. So do I.
Karon's Mitford series is about an Episcopal priest in a small town. Gulley's Harmony series is about a Quaker minister in a small town. Both of them feature some memorable characters, and both of them use the small town locales well, telling about things that wouldn't be expected to happen in a big city, like Gulley's ambulance driver who does double duty as the mortician, hence, as Gulley puts it, doesn't have much motivation to hurry when driving the ambulance. I would say (others have, too) that Gulley's world, at least, has similarities to that of Garrison Keillor.
Both books raise some issues about faith. Both are humorous. Karon is a little more positive. There are some characters in the Harmony books that pastor Sam Gardner doesn't like very much, and I don't think Gulley does, either. Karon's message is that God is good, and people are, too. Gulley dwells less on God, and his people aren't always very good. He considers political/religious issues more. One of his books is includes some advocacy for acceptance of homosexuals (as part of his stories). He is co-author of If Grace is True: Why God Will Save Every Person. I haven't read this book, and don't plan to, but, according to the title, and the reviews, it argues for Christian universalism -- as the subtitle says. I think Gulley is too hard on fundamentalism in the Harmony series.
Whatever his theological views, Gulley is a good writer. Fiction, after all, is not the place where you should get your theological views. His Harmony books have some good character studies, some can't-keep-it-to-yourself humor, and are good reads.
Thanks for reading.
Karon's Mitford series is about an Episcopal priest in a small town. Gulley's Harmony series is about a Quaker minister in a small town. Both of them feature some memorable characters, and both of them use the small town locales well, telling about things that wouldn't be expected to happen in a big city, like Gulley's ambulance driver who does double duty as the mortician, hence, as Gulley puts it, doesn't have much motivation to hurry when driving the ambulance. I would say (others have, too) that Gulley's world, at least, has similarities to that of Garrison Keillor.
Both books raise some issues about faith. Both are humorous. Karon is a little more positive. There are some characters in the Harmony books that pastor Sam Gardner doesn't like very much, and I don't think Gulley does, either. Karon's message is that God is good, and people are, too. Gulley dwells less on God, and his people aren't always very good. He considers political/religious issues more. One of his books is includes some advocacy for acceptance of homosexuals (as part of his stories). He is co-author of If Grace is True: Why God Will Save Every Person. I haven't read this book, and don't plan to, but, according to the title, and the reviews, it argues for Christian universalism -- as the subtitle says. I think Gulley is too hard on fundamentalism in the Harmony series.
Whatever his theological views, Gulley is a good writer. Fiction, after all, is not the place where you should get your theological views. His Harmony books have some good character studies, some can't-keep-it-to-yourself humor, and are good reads.
Thanks for reading.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Living in two dimensions
I read Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions (New York: Penguin, 1998. Originally London: Seeley & Co., 1884, by Edwin Abbott Abbott) a few decades ago, but had mostly forgotten the content. One of my daughters recently gave me a copy, which I read and enjoyed.
The premise is that the author, who describes himself as A. Square, is living in a universe of only two dimensions. He describes various aspects of such a world, such as gravitation, how you would be able to tell a circle from a square, if you were looking at what, to us, would be the edge of two silhouettes, and so on. Quite imaginative work. Although the subtitle includes "Romance," there's no real love in the book.
The premise is that the author, who describes himself as A. Square, is living in a universe of only two dimensions. He describes various aspects of such a world, such as gravitation, how you would be able to tell a circle from a square, if you were looking at what, to us, would be the edge of two silhouettes, and so on. Quite imaginative work. Although the subtitle includes "Romance," there's no real love in the book.
Here's definition 3 of romance, from the Free Online Dictionary: a. A long medieval narrative in prose or verse that tells of the adventures and heroic exploits of chivalric heroes: an Arthurian romance. b. A long fictitious tale of heroes and extraordinary or mysterious events, usually set in a distant time or place. c. The class of literature constituted by such tales.
This book is a romance in the second sense.
Perhaps the best part of the book is an experience of a three-dimensional world, after which the protagonist tries, and fails, to convince his fellow Flatlanders that such a thing is possible. (He also tries, and fails, to persuade his three-dimensional mentor, clearly an intelligent being, that a four-dimensional world might be possible.) Although Abbott almost certainly couldn't have known it, Einstein's physics considered time to be a fourth dimension, and string theory suggests that the universe may have 10 or more dimensions.
This edition had a good introduction by Alan Lightman. Lightman compared Abbott to Lewis Carroll, who, like Abbott, wrote about mathematics. (Carroll is, of course, famous for his fantastic writing.) Lightman suggests, plausibly, that Abbott was writing some social satire, especially about the sexes in Flatland. (Women were straight lines, men geometric shapes.) Lightman also said that Abbott was a pioneer in thinking, and probably the book has been important in the development of scientific thought. A 1920 article on Einstein's physics referred to the book, he says.
Writes Lightman:
For me, the importance of the second part of Flatland lies not in its literal geometrical and dimensional discussion, but in its more shrouded warning of too much complacency in the scientific enterprise -- and, by extension, all of life. (p. xii)
Scientists, around the time Abbott wrote Flatland, and for a number of years afterward, thought that science knew about everything there was to know. They were wrong. They are now, if they think such.
Thanks for reading! Live in as many dimensions as you can.Friday, May 12, 2006
Jane Langton on types of fantasy
I have recently acquired Fantasists on Fantasy. It's a good book, containing essays by several authors of fantastic literature, including C. S. Lewis, George MacDonald, and J. R. R. Tolkien. An author I wasn't familiar with is Jane Langton. She writes:
. . . I've been sorting and categorizing a lot of old and new favorites to see if I can make some sort of sense out of them. The result is a modest set of conclusions concerning the three primary questions which each fantasy asks and answers What if? Then what? So what?
. . . What if rugs could fly? What if pigs could talk? Every writer of fantasy poses a what-if question that is the theme of his book. He can ask it in many ways, and all of these ways are different approaches to the dividing line between truth (the real world) and fantasy (the unreal world). For E. Nesbit, the dividing line was a piece of cloth. - pp. 165-6, emphasis in original.
Her essay attempts to categorize fantastic literature. Here's my summary of her eight categories.
Her first category does not, as she puts it, go through the cloth from the real to the other side. In this category, which she calls tall tales, reality is exaggerated. I don't have a good example. Hers is from a story where someone invents a device that attracts mice, like the Pied Piper's.
Her second category is when the characters go through the cloth, from the real to the fantastic side, by use of some device, such as the wardrobe in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis. As Langton says, sometimes it's not a device, but a person, like Mary Poppins. She also says that, in this kind of book, everything comes back to the real side at the end.
In the third type, the two worlds, fantastic and real, exist side-by-side, as in Norton's books about the Borrowers.
In the fourth, we are totally in the fantastic realm, in once-upon-a-time. Langton describes it:
If we were to place it vaguely in space and time, we would attach it to northern Europe and sometime between the fall of Rome and the invention of the internal-combustion engine, and populate it exclusively with wizards, witches, jesters, goose-girls, youngest sons, aristocrats of royal blood, absolute monarchs, and a scattering of peasantry. p. 169.
The fifth kind answers the what-if question "What if animals could talk?" The Wind in the Willows is an example.
In her sixth kind, characters go to a different time and return.
In her seventh, there are ghosts.
Her eighth category is science fiction, in which, she says "the curtain hangs between a finite present and a kind of infinite future, a time in which the possibilities of knowledge will be infinitely extended or in which nature itself will be discovered to be infinitely varied." p. 173.
-Jane Langton, "The Weak Place in the Cloth: A Study of Fantasy for Children" Fantasists on Fantasy, edited by Robert H. Boyer and Kenneth J. Zahorski. New York: Avon Books, 1984. pp. 163-179. Originally published in The Horn Book Magazine, October and December 1973, pp. 433-441 and 570-578. The material above is from the first part only.
Thanks for reading.
. . . I've been sorting and categorizing a lot of old and new favorites to see if I can make some sort of sense out of them. The result is a modest set of conclusions concerning the three primary questions which each fantasy asks and answers What if? Then what? So what?
. . . What if rugs could fly? What if pigs could talk? Every writer of fantasy poses a what-if question that is the theme of his book. He can ask it in many ways, and all of these ways are different approaches to the dividing line between truth (the real world) and fantasy (the unreal world). For E. Nesbit, the dividing line was a piece of cloth. - pp. 165-6, emphasis in original.
Her essay attempts to categorize fantastic literature. Here's my summary of her eight categories.
Her first category does not, as she puts it, go through the cloth from the real to the other side. In this category, which she calls tall tales, reality is exaggerated. I don't have a good example. Hers is from a story where someone invents a device that attracts mice, like the Pied Piper's.
Her second category is when the characters go through the cloth, from the real to the fantastic side, by use of some device, such as the wardrobe in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis. As Langton says, sometimes it's not a device, but a person, like Mary Poppins. She also says that, in this kind of book, everything comes back to the real side at the end.
In the third type, the two worlds, fantastic and real, exist side-by-side, as in Norton's books about the Borrowers.
In the fourth, we are totally in the fantastic realm, in once-upon-a-time. Langton describes it:
If we were to place it vaguely in space and time, we would attach it to northern Europe and sometime between the fall of Rome and the invention of the internal-combustion engine, and populate it exclusively with wizards, witches, jesters, goose-girls, youngest sons, aristocrats of royal blood, absolute monarchs, and a scattering of peasantry. p. 169.
The fifth kind answers the what-if question "What if animals could talk?" The Wind in the Willows is an example.
In her sixth kind, characters go to a different time and return.
In her seventh, there are ghosts.
Her eighth category is science fiction, in which, she says "the curtain hangs between a finite present and a kind of infinite future, a time in which the possibilities of knowledge will be infinitely extended or in which nature itself will be discovered to be infinitely varied." p. 173.
-Jane Langton, "The Weak Place in the Cloth: A Study of Fantasy for Children" Fantasists on Fantasy, edited by Robert H. Boyer and Kenneth J. Zahorski. New York: Avon Books, 1984. pp. 163-179. Originally published in The Horn Book Magazine, October and December 1973, pp. 433-441 and 570-578. The material above is from the first part only.
Thanks for reading.