"Queen” by Gene Wolfe: Is it CSF? What Can We Learn as Writers?

This is a brief short story, six pages in QPB size. It’s fantasy. It doesn’t name names; it expects the reader to figure out what is happening by the slowly accumulating clues. And it’s not hard to figure out, if you are Christian, especially a Catholic.

I love this small jewel of a story for it feels like a parable, a fairy tale, an instructive fable, a timeless tale, even though it’s g rounded in the historical and actual. It shows what a master writer can do with very few pages of clean prose loaded with allusion and symbolism.



I hope some of you got to read it.



OVERVIEW:



“It was late afternoon when the travelers reached the village.” These two travelers, calm and cryptic, ask directions of the richest man in the village as he is hurrying home. Something about the travelers changes the rich man’s attitude: he slows down, he offers to guide them to the home of the poor old woman they seek. Once at the woman’s humble abode, the rich man insists he has no time to spare, but he lingers, and wants assurance the travelers won’t hurt her. The woman, meantime, seems to remember one of the travelers.



“We have come to take her to the coronation,” one of the travelers says, at which the rich man remembers the poor old woman is a descendent of a royal line.



(You can guess what is going on at this point, yes?)



The rich man can’t seem to extricate himself and offers to fetch food.



The old woman says grace and the prayer becomes a moment of epiphany for the rich man who “had never heard such prayers before,” and moreso, “he had never heard prayer at all. He was like a man who had seen only bad coin all his life, he thought, and after a great many years receives a purse of real silver, fresh from the mint.” A thought which one of the travelers seems to hear and responds to verbally.



As he dines, the rich man learns that the woman’s son was a teacher and that there is a long way for the other three to travel to the coronation. He tries to convince them to stay in the village, rest before leaving, stay for a couple weeks at least and be introduced, because having connections is good. “Too many people think that they can do everything through relatives.”



When they say they are ready to go, the rich man offers to find a donkey and to travel a way with them, because the old woman won’t be able to keep up with the travelers on foot.



The old woman says to one of the travelers, “Weren’t you the one who came to tell me about my son?” He doesn’t look a day older, she says.



The rich man asks if they are relatives of the old woman. They admit to being only messengers. The old woman receives assurance they aren’t messengers of death.



The rich man feels left out, asks if he may go with them. They say not. It’s by invitation only. He shyly asks if he might go just to the edge of the village and is told, “Since we are there now, yes, you may,” and, “You’ll tell others. That’s good. Because you’re rich, they’ll have to listen to you. But some won’t believe you, because you’re dishonest. That should be perfect.”



The rich man denies his dishonesty. Then admits it as he walks on. Then distances himself from the acts: “Those things were dishonest, but not I.”



The travelers and the very old woman begin to ascend air. The old woman says farewell: “Please tell everyone I’ll miss them terribly, and that I’ll come back just as soon as I can.”



At one point in their climb up some invisible path, the travelers offer the old woman a last look at her home village. She turns and says, “It’s precious, and yet it’s not important.” To which one traverler says, “It used to be important.”



The old woman laughs “a girl’s laugh” and feels strong enough to run and the travelers say they can’t promise to run as fast as she is able. When she says she wants not to be late to the coronation. They assure her she won’t be. It won’t start without her.



When the rich man’s servant arrives, only three stars are visible where the rich man’s gaze is fixed. They return to the old woman’s house, and the rich man vows to take care of it “while she’s away.” He plans to repair it and keep the trust, and “he was filled with a satisfaction near to love at being thus trusted.”



ANALYSIS:



Is it CSF?



I chose this as it seemed to be a nice pairing with the other short tale I previously discussed, “The Traveler and the Tale.” Here, again, is a Marian story. Here again, the idea of story and of witness matters. “You’ll tell others,” the traveler (obviously an angel) says to the rich man.



In both tales, a meeting with Mary changes the observer for the good. But whereas Yolens’ sci-fi story is skeptical of Mary (and God), this fantasy story is one drenched in respect of and faith in Mary’s special status as Mother to the Son of God.



Surely you realized what was going on. The poor old woman is Mary, the travelers are two angels, one of whom is Gabriel, the one who “told me about my son?” The village is not named, but we can assume is one in the M.E.. Nazareth? (Tradition, I believe, ascribes Mary’s last residence in Ephesus, which was not a village, but an important and lovely city. So, Wolfe sets this elsewhere, a liberty allowed in fantasy.) And the event portrayed is the Assumption (a Catholic belief, though not one widely accepted in Protestant circles.) The coronation is not Christ’s, but hers. She is the Queen of the title.



Would a non-Christian unfamiliar with matters of Christian history and belief get these things. Probably not. Maybe not. But the story would still work as one of a miraculous event and a man changed by it. It would not be as meaningful, but it would still be a fable with its own charm.



And given that it includes a view that refers to things Biblical (including doctrinal stuff of angels and messengers, Mary as a descendant of a king, ie David) and it has a respectful tone of heavenly matters, and that it shows prayer as powerful, and that it alludes to things our Lord taught—something that one gleans reading the actual story, and not my overview—I say this is Christian fantasy. It’s more specifically Catholic fantasy (and perhaps the Orthodox churches accept some of these matters about Mary, but I can’t speak with confidence on that.)



What Can We Learn As Writers and Readers?



You don’t have to babble on to tell an effective story of “magic” and personal transformation. Bit by bit, over a mere six pages, we see the evolution of a rich man from self-centered to other-centered. From worldly-obsessed, to other-worldly initiated. It’s in small clues sprinkled along in narrative and dialogue that we visualize the effect of woman and angels on this rich man.




Feel free to take extra-biblical religious tales and transform them into fantasy or science fiction. Taking these liberties doesn’t mean you must be skeptical or disrespectful to history or doctrine.




Working with the familiar does not require we be clichéd and beat people over the head with the obvious: At no point in “Queen” did these angels say, “Behold, we come from God to take you home.” At no point did Mary repeat parts of the Magnificat to identify herself. She didn’t have to say Jesus, my son, or Joseph, my late husband. She was simply and old woman who lived alone and missed her son and who wanted a bite to eat before leaving for a great event. She even feared death a bit, a very human thing. The elegant submissiveness of the angels to her desires was neither obnoxious nor overt. It was gentle and quiet, just like the story. The tone was never violated. Discretion can speaks volumes.




Trust your readers to get your clues: While some readers won’t get it, and you always have to live with that, any with a normal dose of Western cultural knowledge will. And a dose of mystery is never a bad thing. Everything doesn't have to be spelled out. Maybe not all the subtle clues to parables and things biblical will be understood, but enough is there to heljp you enjoy the tale.




Rising action is still a great technique: It’s a classic story element taught in schools for ages, and it still works. In this story, we see the growing engagement of the rich man and the growing disengagement of the three who are to leave, and that provides tension and leads upwards to the climax. It's a lovely feeling, even when it’s this discreet. No one gets shot. No one yells. So, the miraculous stands out amidst the mundane and hushed events of one night.




Know your symbolic toolbox as a Christian writer and reader: I challenge you to go through these six pages of story and find everything that refers to things biblical, allusions that build and build and build the holy infrastructure of this story. "Queen" reminded me a bit in this regard of T. S. Eliot’s “The Journey of the Magi,” especially that middle stanza that is loaded with imagery that speaks prophetically forward for what is to come for the child the Magi come to honor: vine leaves, empty wineskins, running stream, darkness, etc. In “Queen,” the allusions look not forward, but back—as old people often do upon their lives.


Examples: 1. The two travelers looking for a roof for the night correlates to the journey to Bethlehem of Mary and Joseph. 2. The “rich man”, unnamed, is a figure of Christ’s parables. 3. The lamb that the rich man suggests the travelers buy and take to the poor woman is a reference to her son, the Lamb of God. 4. The two travelers carry no staffs, and the rich man thought it odd they had no staffs to defend their lives. Remember Jesus telling his disciples to go into cities with no staff, to go in pairs?



Those four examples of the allusive gold mine of this story are all in the partial first page of the story. Just 3/4ths of one page. Every single page is loaded this way. The old widow woman who has a little “oil” and “flour.” What does that remind you of?



This is the kind of tale that is richer as an experience the better you know your Word.



Have someone and/or something genuinely change: Another couple of classic story element that work together in this brief tale are character epiphany and change. The rich man is transformed emotionally and spiritually. The old woman has changed in location and status. Even her parting words suggest the village itself is changed. That’s a lot of change in six pages, but it’s done with such skill that the story doesn’t feel packed. It unfolds at just the right pace.


Don’t be afraid of “was”: This seems like a silly thing to include, huh? But I’ve seen folks critique others' writing (and I have done it myself in the past) for starting a story with a “was” sentence construction and for using it as the story rolls. One thing I’ve learned through reading widely is that many of our best and most lauded writers are not afraid of was. Maybe as beginners we should watch for it to make sure we’re not being lazy craftsmen. But do not fear it. It’s a legitimate word. In a story that has a “fable” or “parable” taste to it, “was” is particularly appropriate: Once upon a time there WAS… This is a classic English story set-up. Go read some novel starts by C.S. Lewis and others. See how they do not fear “was.” And be not afraid ye either.


What do you think? Am I on target? Are these helpful hints actually helpful? Can any of these be applied to your story?



As a reader, do you think this story would move you, satisfy you?



Next Week: Another story comes under the Mircroscope, either the multiple-award winning novelette “Hell is the Absence of God” by Ted Chiang or the short story “Bed and Breakfast” by Gene Wolfe. Please try to hunt down the stories and read them. It makes for a much more robust discussion, no?


Visit the original post with comments.

"Samaritan" by Connie Willis: Is it CSF? What Can We Learn as Writers and Readers?

I hope some of you have had a chance to read the story that I'm analyzing today. Connie Willis is a supremely skilled writer of SF fiction, and I have a personal preference for her short works.

Like the Yolen story, this is science fiction. No spaceships. No aliens. But it is set in a future, speculative Earth where some religious upheaval has changed the nature of the religious social structure in our country. And, as Willis herself prefaces the tale, its inspiration comes from the story of Jacob and Esau, where Esau is red and hairy, and Jacob steals Esau's inheritance. Postulating 1. a wild, end-time madness among future fundamentalist and Charismatic communities that turns violent and forces mainline churches to band together ecumenically for survival and 2. that humans are "kin" to the hairy, red primates who can be taught sign language communication and perhaps...more...we get "Samaritan."


STORY OVERVIEW:


Rev. Hoyt, is asked by his kinetic female asst. pastor , Natalie Abreu, to baptize Esau, an orangutan who does janitorial duties at the church when on leave from the preserve where the nearly extinct creatures are bred and studied. When Hoyt asks Natalie how she knows the ape wishes to be baptized, she answers that Esau has observed a confirmation class and signed, "I would very much like to be God's beloved child, too."

In a particularly important and nicely crafted scene, Rev. Hoyt, knowing Natalie is hyper-enthusiastic, suspects she exaggerates the minimal signs Esau is capable of forming; that, in fact, the baptism is Natalie's new pet project, so to speak. Natalie, after all, already forces Esau to sit in unatural (for him) postures, and has attempted to dress and shoe him. While interrogating Esau, the orangutan answers that, yes, he loves God. Hoyt suspects Natalie of coaching the ape. He continues to interrogate, asking Esau if he loves God. Esau makes a clumsy signing of letters...S...a...m.... Natalie says it's Samaritan. Esau has recently learned the story of the Good Samaritan, she explains. Esau again signs: S...a...m...a..r...i...t...a...n. Observing both Natalie and Esau, Hoyt suspects that Natalie is imposing her will on the animal, and Esau is merely pleasing his human teacher.

Hoyt decides to ponder the matter, not simply dismiss it out of hand as ludicrous.

He starts closely watching Esau, who swings from the high beams, dusting the church, listening to humans below. Ladders are unsafe with the large windows, and Esau doesn't need them to do this job. He's built for heights and swinging.

Hoyt prepares for a sermon on humility he thinks Natalie needs to hear—a key text being Psalm 73, with this quote: "But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled, and my steps had well-nigh slipped. I was stupid and ignorant. I was like a beast toward thee. " He consults with his bishop, who's gotten wind of the rising controversy over animal baptism. Her advice: Deny it as indoctrination. But Rev. Hoyt says that any argument against baptizing Esau would apply to his congregation: "He's lonely. He needs a strong father figure. He likes the pretty robes and candles. Instinct. Conditioning. Sexual sublimation." Even doing it to please Natalie compares to some humans who seek to please others by acting religiously. The bishop tells Hoyt that the "hodge-podgey" Ecumenical Church can do nothing but leave it in his hands: he must decide and take the flak either way.


Hoyt talks to the guy from the animal preserve, who can only say that Esau has been very happy since he started working at the church, avoiding the neuroses that older male orangutans are prey to, and the preserve likes happy apes, because happy apes breed. Letters of complaint or support for the baptism pour in. One older congregant says she sees Esau fold his hands and bow his head during prayer time in service. Rev. Hoyt dreams of Esau as a saint. He starts to wonder what Jesus would say, would do.

Then he considers something: The other famous Samaritan. Could Esau, in signing out the word have meant not the Good Samaritan tale, but the woman at the well, the outcast. Hoyt has an epiphany wihle conversing with his bishop: "I have thought all along that the reason he wanted to be baptized was because he didn't know that he wasn't human. But he knows. He knows." The bishop agrees with his assessment.

But Esau, who has been mimicking human behavior (sitting straight,), has been using a ladder ill-suited to his frame for his chores. And he has fallen. As the ape lays dying, Hoyt signs to Esau, to comfort him: "Esau God's child." Esau counters with the letters s...a...m... Hoyt stops him. Insists Esau is God's child and makes the sign for "love." Esau is too broken physically to make the sign back, though he attempts it. Hoyt decides to baptize the ape. Esau dies.

Natalie is humbled (what the sermon did not do, Esau's death accomplishes). She realizes she was forcing him to dress and act human, and that led to his demise. Her energetic light dims with her sense of guilt. Hoyt comforts her, and he tells her, "God chooses to believe that we have souls because He loves us. I think He loved Esau, too." With just the right compliments, he encourages her to be herself again. And Hoyt shows he himself has changed, become more flexible, by dressing differently to please her—reminiscent, in that last moment, of Esau.

Is It CSF?

"Samaritan" is a story with humor and also with some very touching moments. It's the kind of story that makes me weep, and that is part of its effectiveness, since we are supposed to weep for Esau. But is it Christian SF?

Well, there is a worldview that believes in God, has a church setting with church rituals (baptism, confirmation) and with clergy. There is discussion of theological issues—God's love, the prerequisites for baptism, religious outcasts, religious conflict (the liberals versus the Charies). Bible verses are used to illuminate (and direct) the theme and plot. By Angela Hunt's briefer criteria, it pases. By Martin LaBar's, I think it also passes.

Does it pass mine? It does.

I am not happy with some elements of it: I think that the "picking on the fundies" thing is a scosh over-the-top and unkindly. I think the last scene statement about "God chooses to believe we have souls because He loves us" is, upon the most cursory examination, a highly troublesome statement. God doesn't have to believe. He knows. He know if we do or do not have souls. And that is one of the weakest parts of a very good, moving, fascinating story: Demoting God to one of us.

All along, the story is about raising up an outcast—another species— to a position of acceptance and being loved and honored by humans-on the chance that God loves him, too. That, while a bit wacky, is presented so kindly, that we root for Esau to be baptized, because we see evidence of love for God and true faith in this "lesser being." Leaving it to God to decide is fine with me in this context and doesn't offend me as it might under another less skilled presentation.

But the condescending and scornful way that Willis presents fundamentalists/charismatics is a violation of the spirit of the main part of the story.

Still, it fits with the pride vs. humility part. In the story, endtime fervor rises to such a state that fundamentalists decide to declare the Rapture already here . They go on rampage after The Beast, which is an excuse in the story to attack liberal churches. Granted, there is antipathy between liberal and funamentalists. We see them as losing grip on orthodoxy and compromising with the depravity of the culture, in part becoming non-Christian in doctrine. They see us as narrow-minded and uneducated and focused on the letter of the Bible to such an extent that we are isolationist and judgmental. Postulating an extrapolation—all out war—is one of the speculative fictional techniques. But Willis is judgmental of Charies, and becomes a victim to what she decries in the story—looking down on another group as "outsider" and "not like us."

But that doesn't bother me as much as that "God chooses to believe" bit, which just seems to be some loony proverb created to fit the story idea. Never mind that it's really silly: It violates orthodoxy. God is omniscient. Belief is not part of God's being.He knows. Knows all. Knowing excludes believing. The dialogue feels as if it was put in there to sound good, but it makes no sense. None at all. It stopped me cold and made me go, "Huh?" You tell me what the heck that means.

That's not traditional, orthodox, apostolic, Biblical Christian doctrine. And it's just plain BAD logic.

However, taken overall, all its parts together, I would say this fits the Mir Manifesto. We must allow latitude in speculation, because the message is about more than the then-and-that. It's about the here and now. Yes. This is Christian SF. And it's a well-done tale, despite my quibbles.

What Can We Learn From it?

1. To be willing to take leaps, risks, as writers and readers: I suspect a great many Christians, if told a story debated the merits of baptizing an organgutan, would assume heresy, blasphemy, and who knows what all else and refuse to read it. I say, think of the impossible situation that makes you pay attention. Go for the long steps. Take the risk. Shine a light on some key doctrine without being predictable or easy. Make the reader stretch. Stretch yourself, too.

2. Make readers feel: Even with the parts of this story that might offend me (as I'm one of Willis' targets, the fundies) or with which I doctrinally disagree (female bishops and pastors, baptizing animals, ridicule of pretrib/premillers) , she made me care—care about a ditzy assistant pastor and a sweet orangutan. And she made me realize, by using speculative storytelling, how some people out there are made to feel by those of us who are quick to say, "No, you don't belong here. You're not good enough." Samaritans continue to exist, and we must continue to say to them like Jesus did, "I have water for your thirst."

3. Find inspiration in the Word of God: Read the key text for this story, Psalm 73, and you will see how much it influenced the plot. This story is a speculative variation on much of Psalm 73. What favorite Scripture passage can you take and re-imagine boldly and humanely and beautifully?

4. Be careful of demonizing the opposition: A weak spot in this story of tolerance and open-mindedness and love is the lack of tolerance and open-mindedness and love for "the enemy" that is the Charies (fundamentalist Charismatics). When you write your story, feel free to have enemies, but perhaps a character who gives insight to the enemy would be a good balance. Don't lessen a story's power by making snide, one-dimensional attacks on cultural groups you oppose. In this case, the humor aspect softened it. Humor allows for that. But if your story is serious, think twice before making the enemy just one big black wall of badness or lunacy or stupidity.

Please comment with your opinions on the story, on my analysis, on what else we can learn from it.

Feel free to answer any of the above questions? Also, does that bit of final dialogue bother you as it does me? How might it have been improved to suit the story and make sense doctrinally?

Next week: Another story comes under the Mircroscope.


Visit the original post with comments.

Part 1: Five ABA SF Stories: Are they CSF? What Can They Teach Us?

This is too long an examination to cover in one—even one LONG—post. So, we’ll see how far we go. Anyone is free to take up the discussion here and run with it. It would help if you had the stories to read, so here they are, in case these books/stories are in your or a pal's library:

“The Traveler and the Tale” by Jane Yolen (from SISTER EMILY’S LIGHTSHIP)

“Samaritan” by Connie Willis (from FIRE WATCH)
“Hell is the Absence of God” by Ted Chiang (novelette from STORIES OF YOUR LIFE & OTHERS) (Winner of Hugo and Nebula) (Available at Fictionwise for a buck and change: http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/Ebook4145.htm)
“Queen” by Gene Wolfe (in INNOCENTS ABOARD)

“Bed & Breakfast” by Gene Wolfe (from STRANGE TRAVELERS)

Every story I’ve chosen is intentionally NON-CBA. You won’t find the books that carry them in your Family Bookstore or in Christian Book Distributors website. These are ABA books and ABA authors. And I’ve picked writers who are highly regarded by fellow artists (and readers) as among the best that SF has to offer. All of these writers have won the Nebula (at least once) and a bushel of other awards. The first two listed stories are science-fiction. The rest, the final three, are fantasy—all with theological/Christian underpinnings or elements of some sort.

Let’s see. Where to start…

I’ll just take the first tale, a brief one to warm us up for analysis: “The Traveler and the Tale.”

Quick overview: The story begins in such a way that it could be a historical account: “Traveling south from Ambert you must pass the old stoney abbey of La Chaise-Dieu. It was near that abbey in 1536 that a young woman fell asleep on a dolmen and dreamed of the virgin.”

The narrator goes on to relate, briefly, what the folks thought of the peasant woman’s witness, ie, she must be lying or deluded, because she is not as good as she should be and the night was cold, which could affect the mind. Skepticism. Judgment.

Then our perspective is thrown for a loop: This is not history. This is not fantasy with a Virgin. This is science-fiction, and the “Virgin Mary” is a time-traveller, whose shiny travel aura and helmet seem heavenly illumination to the viewer. The traveler’s “merde”—a curse word—is heard as “Marie,” a self-identifier of the stranger, the peasant assumes.

Then the traveler informs us of her mission, one authorized by the Revolutionary Council, an irrevocable mission, as she cannot return to her time 3000 years in the future. She is there to tell stories, because nothing time-travelers have done to try and improve the future—such as assassinating tyrants—has made one iota of difference to the course of events. Only stories change people and events and history. And the future.

In the traveler’s true time, frog-like aliens have enslaved humans. Now she’s come armed with fairy tales that warn of frog-like invaders—changelings—in order to inculcate a distrust and dread of frogs into the human consciousness, and to empower the hearers. Humans can defeat invading frogs. Whip them out of the world! She is aware, though, that having been viewed and thought of as a heavenly being of religious sort, this new story might change the world, too.
Would her story “bring a resurgence of piety to the land whose practical approach to religion had led to an easy accommodation with the socialism of the twentieth century, the apostacy of the twenty-first, the capitulation to Alien rites of the twenty-second?”

Then the story shifts to tell one of the fairy tales, one that in other forms actually is part of our literary cache: Dinner in the Eggshell. A changeling story.

Then the story shifts to a communiqué of victory over the aliens, but not from the Revolutionary Council, no, but from the Marian Council.

Finally, we hear from the traveler’s daughter, one who has learned and repeated her mother’s tale, who recalls her dying mother’s only comfort came from telling tales. But unlike her unbelieving maman, the daughter is devout and, while she tells the traveler’s tales, she says that, “stories do not feed a mouth, they do not salve a wound, they do not fill the soul. Only God does that. And the Mother of God. We know that surely here in our village, for did not two women just thirty years past see Mary, Mother of God, on a dolmen? Her head was crowned with stars and she named herself…One of the women who saw her was Maman.”

So we know that the traveler confirmed the Marian apparition she knew to be false—perhaps to cover her tracks, perhaps hoping it would save the future, as indeed it would. But Maman did not really believe, for what mattered until the end for her were the fairy tales—not God or the Mary she elevated accidentally to a local legend. And yet, the faith in the Mother of God would be the thing that turned it all around.

1. Is it CSF?

I think it’s SF that uses Christian elements and treats them kindly, yet treats Christianity as if it were mere fiction. In other words, the "truth" of the tale is that stories of Christianity are powerful, but they are nothing more than stories. We save ourselves, through stories. Stories save us, not Christ. So let’s keep those powerful stories around, let's believe them for their power and goodness and preserve them, even if they are not true.
It also explains away marian apparitions as time travel events, so there is no mystery about the apparition. Here it is. It’s explicable. It’s not divine. It's just me, a human.

Christians are sweet, ignorant, affectionate dupes in this story. And the gospel and Virgen are myth, fairy tales of a sort.

So, while it has a lovely use Catholic elements, and while there is a showing of devout characters who pray and believe, it is not CSF in my view. The worldview is materialistic, not supernaturalistic. The tone is skeptical, but not antagonistic. Christian-friendly, if you will. We could stretch and stretch and say it was divine intervention that turned the peasant woman’s ankle, putting her in the right place and right time to preserve the world from “apostacy” and saving the future generations. But I think that’s really reading into it what’s not clearly there. It’s a nice thought, though.

2. What can we learn from it?

To subvert expectations creatively: The changes in POV in the story are sudden, without transition, and yet perfectly done.

To employ the best prose we can reach for: Yolen’s is clean and lovely and rhythmic:

“History, like a scab, calcifies over each wound and beneath it the wound of human atrocity heals. Only through stories, it seems, can we really influence the history that is to come. Told to a ready ear, repeated by a willing mouth, by that process of mouth-to-ear resuscitation we change the world. Stories are not just recordings. They are prophecies. They are dreams. And—so it seems—we humans build the future on such dreams.”

To freely use Christian experience in creative ways: Twist expectation. A Catholic might have written a story that had a real apparition and, hoorah, it changed the world. But what would be special or speculative about it? If you read this story, you will see that the dimensions—past, our present, the traveler’s future—are all interacting, mimicking how stories interact with people in order to change the past, present, and future. The shifts of time and perspective keep us on our toes. The ending is and is not what the original revolutionaries intended—faith in Mary has changed the world, not the frog stories alone, and not in a simplistic one-to-one correlation of "there she is, she saved the world with a miracle." To work style and structure to every advantage: The feel of parts of this tory— fairy tale feel and historical feel and fantastic and science-fiction atmospheres—flow as fluid as the changes in the world, or as the travelers flowing back through time, except that the stories are more fluid: they go back and forth. The structure of the telling itself is different, and suits the tale—echoes it, in fact.

To ask what ifs, always: If a Catholic who believed in Marian apparitions as true revelations from heaven wrote this, it might be very similar, and yet allow for a real apparition. Let’s say the first one, the peasant gal, would be the time traveler. But then the traveler herself would see an apparition, and would not have an explanation for it, and perhaps be drawn to real faith. And perhaps even Mary herself came down to encourage the futuristic troops under her banner. How else could it be told, this tale, without making a myth of Christianity?

To work with our literary riches and innovate: Take traditional elements—fairy tales, religious experiences—and employ them in tales of wonder that uphold a Christian worldview and a believer’s tone. Retell them, but don’t be predictable. Keep the truth, but don't be ordinary.

How else would this story be classifiable as CSF according to mine or M. LaBar’s criteria?

Do you think it’s CSF from what I’ve described? Have you read it and does your opinion differ?Next Week: Another of our listed stories goes under the Mircroscope.


Visit the original post with comments.

What Makes Christian Speculative Fiction "Christian", Anyway?

I like lists. I will attempt to answer the question posed in the title by offering several lists, two from a couple of smart folks and the rest by me. (Whether you think I'm smart, I'll leave to the reader.)

I will not define fiction, as I think that insults your intelligence.

Speculative refers to works of science fiction, fantasy, allegory, horror, magical realism, and other newfangled terms I tend not to keep track of. In general, it refers to that which is not "realistic" fiction. The world is not as we know it and the characters may not be human, or on earth. You may be used to some of the familiar tropes (elements, motifs, symbols) of the genre:

1. Fantasy tropes: elves, swords, sorcery, quests, castles, fairies, gnomes, goblins, talking trees, witches, wizards, mermaids, magic doorways to another world, magic books, etc.

2. Science Fiction tropes: spaceships, hyperdrives, parallel universes, alien invasions, warring colonies of earth, plagues, dangerous new planets, suspended animation for long journeys, translating devices, etc.

3. Horror tropes: haunted houses, vampires, werewolves, mad scientists, zombies, ghosts, demon possession, pyschic powers, etc.

In other words, "You're not in Kansas, anymore." Or rather, you are in Kansas, but it's 2399 and they train space engineers at the university there; or it's a Kansas with a wizard as governor; or it's a Kansas where the scarecrows in the fields are all coming to life and killing off the farmers en masse.

Now to the Christian part, which is more controversial than any definition that's come before: What makes speculative fiction CHRISTIAN?

I'll start with two lists of what makes a novel CHRISTIAN:

Martin LaBar of Sun and Shield blog makes this list in his post called "What Must Be Christian About A Christian Novel" of elements one might expect to find (not all must be present):

1. A Christ figure

2. solid Christian doctrine

3. monotheistic prayer/worship to and of a divine Being

4. expressing a relationship with the God of Christianity as Lord

5. consciousness of supernatural guidance, of providence

6. explicit rejection of evil personified or evil actions (even realization of evil in oneself that needs to battled)

(Please read the comments section and Mr. LaBar's excellent post for clarification of these points. I've added one of the elements I'd originally mistakenly left out)

Angela Hunt, prolific Christian author, has her own list in her post, "What Does Evangelical Fiction Require?":

1. story should illustrate some aspect of the Christian faith

2. Should avoid obscenity and profanity

3. Should offer hope

4. should have good craft elements

(Again, pleaes read Ms. Hunt's post for clarification of her position.)


Now, my longer list of what Mirtika's parameters are for a novel to be termed CHRISTIAN SPECULATIVE FICTION:


1. I do not believe it requires a Christ figure to conquer all evil in the story.
2. I do believe it requires a consciousness of sin/wickedness in beings and the need for a savior, whether or not the savior appears in the actual tale. This need not be the main premise or plot drive, but it should be there.


3. I do not believe that people should be goody-goody.
4. I do believe there must be an awareness of “a good” that one judges by/strives to attain.


5. I do not believe all the good or most of the likable characters need to display habits of spiritual disciplines such as prayer, worship, study of sacred teachings, etc.
6. I do believe one or more important characters should exhibit some form of recognizable spiritual disciplines that derive from their faith, even if morphed to fit the constructed SF world.


7. I believe it should offer hope.
8. I do not believe that it must be chipper and relentlessly optimistic in tone. Many suffer lives of endless struggle and torment, and it may not get better with time. However, there must be a sense that suffering, though normal, is not the only thing to look forward to. That there is something else, something beyond. Ecclesiastes is a dark book, a pessimistic one, that ultimately offers some hope. That might be a good guideline for those of us attracted to the darker corners of human experience.


9. There does not need to be a Yahweh/Jesus/Trinity/Holy Spirit by name.
10. There does need to be a Supreme Being of some recognizable Judeo-Christian sort that one or more key characters honor and/or wrestle with, and there needs to be an indication that the Being is active with the individual, even if invisible, or especially if tangible.


11. I do not believe you have to have the irredeemably Satanic Big Bad (although I love Big Bads.)
12. I do believe there has to be an idea of a power of evil, however morphed, and that the evil is not a friend to the believing characters. Believer characters should seek to avoid evil, and should seek to repent of it when they fall into it, even if reluctantly and after much struggle and/or debate.


13. I do not believe a conversion is a necesasry focal story element.
14. I do believe that a conversion (of a major or secondary character) is valid element and a powerful one, if done properly, and should not be dismissed as overdone. A Christian worldview is really big on "salvation," after all.


15. I do not believe that the presence obscenity of profanity make a work non-Christian, anymore than the presence of an act of theft or murder or rape makes a work non-Christian. It may merely make the work more realistic, as humans routinely do and say obscene and profane things—just as they murder and rape.
16. I do believe that a writer should try to adjust to the guidelines of the publishing house they target (if they target specific houses), and tone down obscenity and profanity if that is all that impedes the work from publication. One should not be slaves to a prudish element in the audience, but one should not dismiss the sensitive readers out of hand. Make sure the objectionable elements are absolutely necessary for your vision of the work. Christians are accountable to one another in a way non-believers are not.


17. I do believe that use of specific Christian doctrine is valid.
18. I do not believe that one must have one-to-one correlations of doctrine. Whatever Christian doctrines are highlighted, however, must fit the world or the time (future or past) and the milieu of the novel. Terms used should not be anachronistic or hokey or trite. If you make up fresh worlds, then you need to make up fresh religious phrases that ring honest and true for that world.

19. I do not believe that Christian Speculative Fiction must be the duller, less innovative stepchild of General Speculative Fiction.
20. I do believe Christian speculative fiction writers should strive for writing no less good and ideally much, much better than that in non-Christian fiction—to the best of our might, as unto the Lord—and should be creating novel structures and language and build dazzling worlds that aren’t regurgitations of Tolkien or Lewis, however genius those men were. This means we all have to work harder, incuding editors, to not put what is just "okay" out there cause it's got Christian imagery that CBA readers may like. We have to be better than okay.

So, there you have it. I believe that if a novel is to be termed fiction that is Christian—speculative or otherwise—then, yes, it must reflect Christian "truth." It must deal with some aspect of the Christian faith: sin and repentance, regeneration, faith in acts of daily devotional living, spiritual warfare, conversion, religious community, overcoming besetting sins, spiritual disciplines, apostasy, the problem of evil, divine judgment, divine intervention, life-after-death, etc.

If it’s a novel about family conflict in a mutated tribe on a far-flung colony, and ideas relative to the spiritual aspects of mutation and of honoring parents don’t enter into it, it’s just speculative fiction—science-fiction. It’s not Christian speculative fiction. If it’s a novel about a thieving, gluttonous Starbucks employee who is abducted to a co-existing alternate society inside the espresso machine, a world replete with Arabica Wizards and Foam Fairies; yet it doesn’t deal with the sins of theft and gluttony as SINS, it’s not Christian fiction. If it doesn’t include, perhaps, seeking divine strength in fighting the evil Lord Latte who’s eating up all the Foam Fairies and planning to take over the souls of the cappuccino drinkers on earth, then it’s likely just fantasy—it’s not Christian fantasy.

There are differing levels of overtness within that circle I've drawn, and I've been so specific that it may seem narrower than intended, but there it is.

I would add that I appreciate what I call "Christian-friendly" Speculative Fiction. This is spec-fic that has Christian echoes and moral fiber and understands good and evil. It might be written by a Christian or a non-Christian, but it's not devoid of a tone or theme or of characterizations that we'd recognize as compatible with Christianity's worldview.

Stuart defines CSF as spec-fic with a Christian worldview. Perhaps my list is a way on expanding on "Christian worldview."

Do let me know if you think the list is off or on target. And if you disagree, tell me specifically what makes a work of speculative fiction CHRISTIAN, in your opinion.

ADDENDUM: Straight science fiction stories that are based in a real-world/extrapolated-future would, logically, allow for natural, traditional Christian terms and language and doctrine, although one would need to make changes and allowances in slang/idiom/catch-phrases for a future society.

NEXT FRIDAY: A look at a couple of excellent ABA SF stories, and how they fit the above criteria—or not—and how they can teach CBA-targeting SF writers a thing or two

Visit the original post with comments.