- Question: Who in their right mind reads a novel for answers?
- Answer: Christian fiction readers.
Okay, not all Christian fiction readers. But, by and large, providing answers is one of the oft-stated goals of Christian fiction. We want seekers pointed toward Jesus. We want Christians encouraged and more firmly grounded in the faith. We want to shine Light in the Darkness. We have a mission, by golly — To provide answers!
Yet, for the life of me, I can’t remember ever approaching a novel for answers. I mean, what answer does “Great Expectations” provide? Or “The Road”? Or “Peace Like a River”? Or “The Brothers Karamazov?” Or “Watchmen.” Or “The Help.” Or…
Still, there’s a sizable contingent of Christian authors who believe their mission is to provide answers with their fiction. I recently read an interview with a Christian author who unapologetically admitted their stories were “sermons in disguise.” Sadly, this author is not alone.
It brought to mind author Tim Downs’ keynote address at 2010’s ACFW national conference (it’s a fantastic presentation which you can order HERE). Downs noted the important distinction between stories and sermons. “Stories go places that sermons never can,” he said. And while “thou shalt not” touches the head, “Once upon a time” touches the heart.
Tim Challies, evangelical blogger and editor of Discerning Reader, strikes a similar note in a podcast and post entitled Fiction.
I have heard it said that the purpose of fiction is to ask questions while the purpose of nonfiction is to answer them. That may be an over-simplification, but maybe it is not too far off the mark. At least that has been my experience of fiction. Fiction introduces ideas and evokes feelings and arouses emotion. These feelings demand answers or make us long for them. There are many questions I have been asked in fiction that I’ve had to go to the world of nonfiction to answer. (emphasis mine)
This notion — that fiction “introduces ideas and evokes feelings” which drive us to seek answers — is, I think, often missed or intentionally deconstructed by Christian authors. Rather than sermonizing and laying out a fictional blueprint of the Four Spiritual Laws, good stories impregnate us with longing, they anger us, disturb us, inspire us, and ultimately drive us elsewhere. Flannery O’Conner suggested that in order to make a story work she had to find a “haunting moment,” a point in the story that was at once completely true and completely shocking, an image, event, or character that lingered in the reader’s brain long after the book was finished.
Challies continues:
I am convinced that to truly enjoy fiction we need to have a knowledge of what is true and fixed and unchanging, which is to say, we need to know the Bible. So many questions are asked in the pages of books that can only be answered in the pages of The Book. The Bible interprets and refines and answers. It gives hope where fiction is hopeless, it gives light where fiction is dark, it gives joy where fiction is depressing. Fiction gives us stories of the world as it is or the world as someone images it; an author takes his experiences and hopes and desires and dreams and wraps them in a story. The Bible takes that story and makes sense of it. It tells us why the world is this way, why this author’s experience of the world has been so painful, why there is still hope even in a world like this. (emphasis mine)
Good fiction spurs us on to answers, it doesn’t provide them. And as Christians, we believe those answers can be found in Scripture. No, this isn’t a license to riddle our stories with Bible verses, but an opportunity to recognize where the source of life’s answers lie.
And life’s answers are not found in our novels.
It is estimated thatChrist asked over 80 questions in the Gospels. Obviously, He did this not to alleviate ignorance (His own) but provoke thought in His listeners. As followers of the Answer, Christian authors are uniquely positioned to frame life’s most vital questions. Let’s not get sidetracked sermonizing.
Whether or not it provides answers is a debate I’ll be up for on another day when I’m not so drug-sick.
I just want to emphasise yet again that it at least should provide a complete story in one volume. This past weekend I had the misfortune of stumbling upon yet another “series” that was actually one unfinished book stretched across four volumes. That’s a common trick in this genre and one that needs to stop.
You shouldn’t expect every Christian Fiction book to give you 42.
But you should be able to expect any volume to conclude at least a third of the plot threads and character dilemmas it introduces.
“You shouldn’t expect every Christian Fiction book to give you 42.”
I’m going to show how really stupid I am right now. But what is this “42” you all keep referencing?
It’s the answer to the ultimate question. 😀
(A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy reference).
Thank you, Liliy! 🙂 (I was asleep….I just assumed that everyone knows 42. ;))
In the Hitchhiker’s Guide series they build this massive computer that is supposed to provide the answer to “life, the universe and everything.”
The computer churns away and when they finally get the big answer it is…42.
I turn 42 this year. Any guesses as to the theme for my massive birthday party? Yes, that’s right. Don’t Panic! She’s mostly harmless…and 42. Bring a towel, have some fish and everything will be okay.
(If you haven’t read the Hitchhiker’s series and you need a good long laugh, I highly recommend it. 🙂 )
Huh. Okay. No, I’ve never read it. It just seemed… corny.
My husband turns 42 on 21 December 2012. He says that this obvious convergence of The Truman Show with the end of the Mayan calendar and the universe of Douglas Adams confirms that the world does, in fact, revolve around him.
I’m not convinced.
Good points, Mike and Katherine. Definitely tweeting this.
This is one reason I don’t read much Christian fiction. I hear sermons at church, I read my Bible and search for answers on my own.
I like a story to be just that–a story. I understand if spiritual growth/questioning/development is part of the plotline, but I can tell if it’s getting jammed in at the end or over-emphasized. I love stories that reflect real people, who don’t have all the answers, but are searching for them.
Because, honestly, none of us, from the best preacher to the wisest theologian, knows all the answers. Only God does!
Whew! You make me feel so much better about my writing. I never go out of my way to include any sermons and I was wondering if that made me a bad person. :-p
“You shouldn’t expect every Christian Fiction book to give you 42.” Great line, Katherine!
Mike, excellent, excellent post. And I agree. The big question, of course, is do the publishers of Christian fiction agree with this, as well? How often do “they” shy away still from stories that “anger us, disturb us, inspire us”? Has there been a shift in what makes it to the shelf, or is there still a tendancy for conservatism (small ‘c’) in plots, actions, characters?
I would argue Christian readers don’t want answers, they want assurance (we may be discussing semantics though). They want a fictional world that feels safe and familiar, ditto for characters. You can have some “unpredictable” stuff in there, but it must always coalesce (eventually) with the safe setting.
It’s understandable to an extent…I’m reading A Song of Ice and Fire series of fantasy books and story-wise they’re great, but geez…the author, George RR Martin, talks a LOT about sex, whoring, and the base desires of men and women (mostly men). It seems like the average Christian gets either a “gritty” world full of flesh and carnality (explicitly depicted, of course) or a sanitized world devoid of any grittiness…or at least only “safe grittiness.”
Definitely like the idea of fiction giving us questions to be answered in the Bible…like that a lot…
Bobby, I think “safe” is one of the most obvious, consistently recurrent elements of contemporary Christian fiction. However, I do think of that “safety” as two-fold. One would be the way you speak of it, as a moral sanitization — no cussing, no sex, etc. But I think that “safety” also refers to doctrinal delineation. Christian fiction must, after all, align with Christian theology.
Christian fiction must, after all, align with Christian theology.
Which is what really used to frustrate me when I tinkered with stories early on, aiming at the CBA. I could definitely be argued into the “no-swearing camp”, and I’ve no desire to be sensual or sexually explicit in my writing, regardless of genre….but the real kicker which caused me the most headaches and finally made me give it up was constantly thinking: “Wait, can I find a biblical reference that would make this ‘okay’?” That, more than anything else, took the joy out of writing for me…the joy of discovery, robbed me of the surprise of what a story could turn into.
Kevin, I’m really with you on this. Having to find a biblical reference for everything hamstrings storytellers. Unless we’re just trying to write Christian versions of Aesop’s fables, where everything comes down to… the moral of the story. It’s funny, but if you apply the same logic to some stories in Scripture, it’s hard to find biblical explanations for a lot of things: Samuel’s ghost appearing to Saul, Jonah’ unrepentant contempt for Ninevah’s salvation, a prostitute listed in Christ’s genealogy, a broad gate that many follow to destruction. SO many Bible stories leave me scratching my head. So why shouldn’t my stories do the same to others?
One of the many things I love about the Bible was that it shows the truth of life in a fallen world. It doesn’t flinch, it doesn’t sanitize itself. It shows the grime, but it doesn’t stay there. Despite the brokenness of the world, God shines through, the embodiment of everything that is good and the one who gives us the power to live in freedom. Basically, God says through the Bible: “This is what the world looks like right now, but it doesn’t have to be, because I love you far too much to leave you in the power of sin.”
I want to read and write stories like that, where the fallen nature of the world isn’t sanitized, but neither is it revered. It’s shown for what it is, and God is shown working in, revealing to us exactly how much he loves us. Even if his actions are subtle and/or he’s never referred to by name (because he’s still active in places and hearts that have never heard of him or never speak of him). It’s the greatest way to challenge people’s assumptions and get them to ask questions about the world, I think, to show love triumphant in a world that has rejected it.
Actually, I want all my books to give me 42. That’s my drive to continue reading, to discover the answers to life, the universe, and everything, even if I don’t understand what the hell the answers means. I keep reading because I can’t ever find the answers. Well, okay, except that one time in Hitchhiker’s Guide. But you get what I’m saying. I keep reading because I’m desperate for answers. In fact, your post has given me a sort of creepy feeling deep inside. What, no answers? Questions only?
Not completely sold on this: “the purpose of fiction is to ask questions ”
It’s not that black and white. Fiction can ask questions on one page, provide an answer on another, provide another answer on the next page, and ask more questions after that.
I recently wrote a sci-fi story that presents New Age ideas. It asks the question, “Is this type of spirituality bankrupt, and if so, is there an alternative?” I don’t come out and say, “Jesus is the alternative!” but I provide clues and insights so that hopefully the reader, if they are so inclined, can connect the dots to realize “Nahu” (a god whom one of my character refers to) is a Christ figure. I’ve (hopefully) gotten the reader to ask a question, and at the same time I’ve (hopefully) provided the answer to that question. But the answer is only there if the reader is willing to dig a little deeper.
To say our only job is to ask questions is a bit of a cop out if you ask me. Even when writing fiction, a Christian has to be bold enough to say “Jesus is the answer!” without doing so in a way that’s not a slap in the face or an insult to the reader’s intelligence. Otherwise, we are no better than a post modernist writer who lives to ask questions and denies that there could ever be one universal answer. As for me, as a writer, no thanks, that’s not what I want my body of work to look like when all is said and done. I want a historian (ha! wishful thinking) to look at the sum total of my work and say “Ah ha, a Christ reference. Ah ha! Another one. This lady was a Christian, her faith is woven throughout all of her fiction.”
Okay, so maybe said “historian” won’t see Him in my story about the alien named Steve who’s mouth is in his stomach and whose stomach is in his right thigh.
Jesus has a sense of humor. Yeah. That’s it!
Jessica, a lot of writing instructors are with you on this — Donald Maass, John Truby, Sol Stein. More and more of those teaching the how-to’s in the general market are stressing how a writer needs to have something to say. The thing is, they are teaching how this can be said without “preaching a sermon.” (Truby even says it shouldn’t be “preachy” and he is most certainly not talking about a narrow band of religious themes.)
From what I’ve learned and read, stories can be most effective when they bring readers to the place of asking questions that the characters are finding answers for. (Notice the difference between “are finding” and “have found.” I think that’s significant.)
Becky
I think what you are saying is what nearly all writers do: Infuse their stories with their beliefs. What I think Mike is arguing is that Christian fiction sometimes goes further and turns this into a sermon. You’re right, the story shouldn’t slap the reader in the face, I see that in secular fiction as well. Sometimes it is a fine line, because you don’t want to water down your story. Some people like the lecturing in books (secular or non). Most, though, are more responsive to novels informed by beliefs, not overwhelmed by them.
This is probably a topic that can’t be addressed enough. I often wonder who the audience is for those “Sermon in Disguise” novels is (including the few I’ve actually read). Christians will appreciate it, and connect with the characters–but at the same time they tend to repeat the ‘first finding’ moment over and over again without real depth or meat to the text. And I don’t quite think they’re the best tools for converting people–fiction probably isn’t the best place to put life-changing, invaluable truths.
On a more personal level, these stories are often unsatisfying–if I want to read about how someone gets to know the Love, Compassion and Everything that is Christ–give me something true. I want to read about real people finding Christ; to hear their testimonies without censor–that raw deep feeling that comes from a one-on-one account. The type of story that draws people to it like a flame because they see what’s different; real. I’m not discounting the value of fictional accounts–but they always seem so fake and underwhelming compared to the real deal. Testimonies make me sob; contrived fiction makes me roll my eyes. Sad, but true.
Recently, I was watching someone do an in depth review/analysis of a series called Trigun. Trigun is an anime featuring an Outlaw searching for ‘someone’ –along the way the lead, Vash, can’t help but help people with their problems as he finds them. It features a huge cast of varied characters (the entire spectrum between saint-like to completely repulsive monsters of human beings), and a lot of great action. When she was talking about the dialogue that airs over the ‘next episode’ previews–this was one of them:
She then went on to talk about how the series threw her off because that’s a horribly Christian message in a show she didn’t expect to have one since it was Japanese (and the percent of Christians in Japan is 1% or so? I forget the exact number)–after further research, she found out the author was Roman Catholic. Suddenly the rest of the very Christian messages she had seen in the show (trying to write off as her inputting her own beliefs into the series) were in blazing context–the messages seemed fundamentally Christian because they were. They just weren’t explicit about it. (I tried to find the exact spot she talked about this, but it’s like six hours worth of footage over eight videos and I don’t have time to hunt it down in my lunch break XD But it’s here if you’re curious: http://thatguywiththeglasses.com/videolinks/ir/jo/in)
That’s a conversation starter. Trigun promotes some heavy, very unique messages to Christianity throughout the show as it progresses–Vash (the lead) is a big proponent of: everyone is redeemable, no matter what they’ve done; forgiveness; self-sacrifice, and trusting/loving other people. And those aren’t things that come easily to him–he struggles upholding his own values, just like the rest of us. Those are things to talk about, to question as you put it. You can discuss it and see how it applies and where those values came from in the Word.
Another title by the same author as Trigun (and one of my personal favorites) is Gungrave. The series is about two men growing up in the Mafia–but the end message is one of unconditional love and forgiveness in a very bittersweet ending. The lead, Brandon/Grave, is betrayed very deeply by the person he cares about most–his best friend. His friend not only kills him, he horribly betrayed his trust–name it, and this man hurt Brandon in every way possible. Spoilers aside–by the end of the series Brandon forgives this man. That’s powerful. In a series full of death, betrayal, and broken hearts–there’s this big moment at the end where two people reconcile, and acknowledge their mistakes in life.
But more importantly, what makes these two series seem so real and big is they felt real. That had broken, hurting people, who make mistakes, and then find their way again–even if their endings aren’t explicitly what people would call ‘happy.’ Gungrave does not have a “happy ending,” but it’s a powerful, thought provoking, and thoroughly satisfying one.
Though they’re not books, it does follow the same line–telling a story. It’s series like that which lead to what you’re talking about–something you can discuss. How could Grave (the lead of Gungrave) forgive the man who killed him so easily (this makes sense in context)? Why was he able to do that? He loves him. How could he still love him after all that? in the real world, that sort of unconditional love under any circumstance is something only Christ gives – and look at that. We’re back to what matters in this discussion.
Anyway, not sure if I left topic or not–but it’s important to remember you can challange, and move people even without the explicit messages. The key is to be there to point them out when someone does ask ‘How could you forgive someone like that?’ 🙂
Nice…a fellow anime fan…my favorites would be Fullmetal Alchemist and Gundam Wing.
Both classics~ *high fives*
Now Neon Genesis Evangelion…that was a weird one…
But good. XD *loves Eva*
The Rebuild/Reboot movies coming out are amazing, for the record. All the good stuff of the TV series with spectacular animation & an adjusted story line. Now there’s some stuff to start discussions. *throws confetti for the mind-screw of Evangelion*
“…it’s important to remember you can challange, and move people even without the explicit messages. The key is to be there to point them out when someone does ask.”
Liliy, this final statement of yours reflects much of how I feel. While I’m not sure interpreting our stories for readers is the best tact for an author to take, the idea of “be[ing] there to point them out when someone does ask” is important. It’s what I’ve always said about Christian authors who don’t necessarily write explicit faith stories (like Bob Liparulo, T.L. Hines, Mark Bertrand, Tosca lee, Tim Downs, even Dan Keohane above) — it’s not hard to figure out where they’re coming from. None of them hide their light under a bushel. All that to say, I wonder that part of the “non-fiction” element that brings answers to the question of fiction is… the author.
Ha ha, it’s true. Discussing and analyzing your own intentions in your work with fans can get a little weird…Mostly because people take from a story what they want, no matter what the author originally meant. (Which I’ve noticed in the comic that I write–it’s amazing what people interpret in the work that you may or may not have intended. And even if you explain otherwise–it doesn’t matter, because that’s not what’s on the page. XD)
But it is a good place to start & probably better when discussing something someone else wrote. 😀
Good delineation, Mike. Here’s mine.
I liken my purpose as a storyteller to Jesus’ purposes in telling parables.
1. He uses real life examples, even fictionalized life, to illustrate his “answer.” Not by giving it directly, but by making the person realize it for themselves. Those who didn’t have ears to hear, all they heard was an interesting story. The ones who God was working on, heard an answer without it being directly stated as such. They “connected the dots.”
2. It usually offers a perspective on life that the hearer hadn’t considered before. Jesus was a master at getting people to think, to see the truth from a new angle they had missed because they had been blind to that reality. So the Kingdom of God is like a merchant who sells all he has to buy the pearl of great price. Suddenly, without Jesus saying a word about how important the Kingdom of God would be for us, those that understood saw just what kind of commitment and dedication needed (and in the days to come, would be required of the martyrs) and worth it to obtain it. Those that didn’t hear, just thought the guy stupid. After all, you can’t live in a pearl. He’s homeless just to get a stone. Dumb.
3. Jesus’ parables usually left people with a challenge. It placed them “in the story” and they found themselves in the position of making a decision on what they would do. Jesus often did this with the Pharisees, who actually sometimes got it. Such as the parable of the talents. Or the publican and the pharisee. It forced you to realize which person you were most like, and therefore what you should be doing.
4. Jesus’ parables, as far as the truth being conveyed in them, adopted a ‘show, don’t tell” method. He showed someone doing the right thing, or the wrong thing, and the consequences. In some of them, the point was fairly obvious. Ex. the sheep and the goats. Others, like the sower, required a little more digging to get to the truth. But the risk for us as Christian authors is that many will miss that truth. That didn’t bother Jesus. He knew the ones that were ready for it, who God was working on, would see it. But I’m sure many came away with the wrong “truth” to get out of his parables. “For quick riches, sow among the rocks, but just make sure you harvest quickly!”
5. And this one may go against your point to a degree, Mike, but Christ always did have in the parable the “answer” for those who could hear. Its purpose was to convey some truth. It just wasn’t overt. He knew overt would give people reason to disagree and stop listening. He knew overt would give the religious leaders ammo to use against Him before His time had come. So he conveyed the truth to those who were ready to hear it in a “show, don’t tell” story. Thus, while I agree that what tends to go into good Christian storytelling is questions more than direct answers, I do believe a good Christian story does have the answers inherently embedded within it. It is there for those with ears to hear, to get. Even if you never come right out and say, “The moral of this story is….” So I would tend to say that good Christian fiction gives subtle answers, not overt answers. They are done so that those who aren’t ready will feel like they just read a very entertaining story, while those that do hear and see will be introduced to a new perspective that sends them seeking for a fuller answer to the truth than hinted at in your story.
Getting that balance right, between overt and subtle, seems to be the sticking point. A lot of Christian readers, who by and large are non-fiction, give-me-an-answer readers, think if it isn’t giving a Christian answer clearly, like their non-fiction, then it is entertainment and a waste of time. There has been a divide that no doubt began in the 50s and blossomed into full flower in the 70s and 80s, that Christian art needs an overt Christian message. That entertainment by itself is a waste of time.
This was most evident in Christian music, and I remember BJ Thomas getting booed by Christians at his concerts when he shifted to the second half of his show where he sang some of his pre-Christian songs. But put “Rain Drops Keep Fallin’ On My Head” into a Christian context, and see what you get. Just because it didn’t say, “Jesus gets me through the rain” didn’t make it any less true that for those with eyes to see, that’s what gets them through the rain.
Art is to be interpreted. I’ve been interestingly surprised at some of the interpretations of my Reality stories people have come up with. They are not always the ones I was intending. But the fact God can use them in that way, to meet the spiritual needs and “answers” of the person reading, is because I didn’t take the tact of “here’s what you should get out of this story.” And some of the nicest reviews have been those who have said they thought about them long after reading them. Gives me indication that I’ve done the above fairly well. I’ve done my job as a Christian author.
But, yes, overt answers in fiction end up limiting what God can do with your story, and often times end up creating unnatural or unreal events, dialog, in an effort for the story to service the message, instead of the the two working in a symbiotic relationship that gives God tools to meet people where they are at. To me, that’s the point of good Christian fiction. Showing where real life meets God in ways that even the atheist can relate to. Whether he/she sees it, is another matter. But if they are ready, God can show it to them.
Now some readers, regardless of how the story is woven, will immediately wall-out anything – messages, meanings, question – if they think there are Christian themes. You want to share with everyone, get people to think, but there will always be moments when the only thing you, or should, do is kick the dust from your Nikes and move on.
RL, our posts must have crossed… man, great answer! The answer is there for those “with ears to hear”. But for the rest, they heard an interesting and sometimes challenging story. Limiting what God can do with the parable we’re commissioned to write. We talked at my men’s group Monday night about how much one person should say to someone in their life about their faith, are they saying enough? And as we discussed one point made really struck me: let the spirit say what it wants to say to the person (in our case, tell the story we’re moved to tell), and don’t push it – you don’t know who else might water the seed you planted… like you said above RL, the person who needs to hear the “moral” embedded in the story, or to be challenged by the questions your story poses, will read what you wrote and the spirit will do the rest of the work. 🙂
Speaking from a horror-minded point-of-view, writers should shine a light in the darkness. That doesn’t mean they find answers, it means they expose horrors. They shouldn’t necessarily give any answers, maybe they don’t have any to give. Instead give others the opportunity to notice the things we notice, and to question them. Even beyond the horrific, human experience raises all sorts of questions. Writers just emphasize these questions, and occasionally nudge readers in one direction — maybe the direction the writer is currently moving down. A “what-if” or “just maybe” direction. If that makes any sense.
But I think there are plenty of deep, meaningful things fiction can do. . .share experiences, ask questions, expose horrors, relate, etc.
Now I’m rambling again.
Good post, anyway.
I like books that don’t preach. I usually whip through them very fast. And then forget them within hours of closing them. The books that stay with me are the ones written by people who passionately believe the message they are selling.
I love to listen to a passionate, opinionated person, even when he disagrees with me.
A tentative person who has no firm beliefs? Why should I care what he says.
I don’t always agree with you, Mike, but I like to read your blog, because you believe in what you’re saying.
Novels deliver their messages in a different way than nonfiction–they deliver them though the lives of the characters. As we witness growth in the character, we grow, too. But if there is no message, they are hardly worth reading.
Yes, a message wrapped in “thou salt not” touches the head and a message wrapped in “once upon a time” touches the heart, but there has to be a message either way. “Once upon a time” without message can’t move anything. It’s an empty shell. The nonfiction and the novel are ways to communicate something. Why would we communicate only questions? Where is the value in that? Why bother communicating if you have nothing to say, no answer to give, no stick with which to prod?
I’m not sure if it’s the “questions vs. answers” approach that tends to get Christian fiction into trouble…so much as it’s the issue of being artistic with the questions and with the answers. I think if Christian writers want to write really powerful stories, we have to learn to use symbolism better than what has been done. (such as Gandalf’s resurrection in LOTR, or Aslan–Lion of the Tribe of Judah, anyone?–in Chronicles of Narnia). This was actually an issue Ted Dekker discussed in an interview once: he wasn’t spelling everything out for his readers, but instead trusted them to connect the dots on their own for that great “Ah ha!” moment; yet many “leaders” came to him and told him in no uncertain terms that they thought he should be spelling everything out. I think it’s like Orson Scott Card says: if we intentionally write a story to reflect a certain viewpoint, we usually end up making bad fiction; but if we allow our subconscious to direct the story, we get a good one.
Or for an example I gave my wife once, which is more artistic: having someone look at a cross and recite a Sinner’s Prayer, or write, “He looked at the cross . . . and gave his heart away.”
My two cents.
Thanks for the enlightening post, Mike.
I agree that the best stories entertain while offering a stage for the questions that are common to human existence. I have written often about Christians seeming inability to except ambiguity in stories, wanting everything wrapped in a pretty package at the end.
At the same time, I also agree with several here that are a little uncomfortable with the “that stuff belongs in the pulpit” argument. Perhaps that is more an indictment of what is going on in many pulpits than in what is going on in many novels.