Bad Stories
By Scot Denhalter on Aug 28, 2006
In the 2006 Sunstone Symposium panel discussion, Art from the Dark Side of Happy Valley (#SL6271), Richard Dutcher said Max Golightly, his professor at BYU, had once told him, “The first, great Mormon writer is going to be excommunicated.”
In years past, I would have seen this prediction as a form of posturing, but I have since been stripped of such innocence. Many church leaders are suspicious of the artistic personality, seeing it as egoistic and rebellious. For many artists, their public work risks being perceived as “conduct unbecoming.” Neil LaBute and Brian Evenson are cases in point. LaBute was disfellowshipped for writing his three “latter-day plays” in bash. Evenson lost his teaching post at BYU for writing his collection of short stories, Altmann’s Tongue.
As I sat through this session, the thought came to me that of all the types of artistic expression, writing is the most threatening to the cultural values of Mormonism. The threat seems to me to be found in the narrative. As the narrative art form reveals most clearly its themes or (as some would have it) its theology, it is in the composition of a narrative that the Mormon artist most imperils his status as a member-good-standing.
This is because Mormonism itself has a narrative, one which presents a decidedly optimistic view of the human condition with a fortunate fall, an imminently participatory God, and a vision of orderly progress by means of an eternal Plan of Happiness. It is this unambiguous narrative that the Mormon writer is tacitly expected to regurgitate as through variations on a theme. This is not to say that other types of Mormon artists are not burdened with this same expectation, but it is in the text one’s sin is most easily noted.
In telling a story, the writer creates an artificial (and therefore subjective) representation of the human condition. The degree to which that story can dredge from our unconscious minds the resonant recognition of deeper truths is a measure of the story’s Art (as opposed to the writer’s art). Though these deeper truths can be powerfully stimulating, they are often intellectually or emotionally ambiguous (or both). In the end, Art seems to raise more questions than it answers – much as life does.
Mormonism’s narrative is ontological mythos in that it attempts to answer ultimate questions. It is inevitable, however, that its answers should raise more questions, so does this make it Art? Perhaps it was so during the 19th century, but today the narrative has become circumscribed, codified and conscripted to the official purposes of the institution of the church. Members are discouraged from concerning themselves with the questions the Mormon narrative begs or fails to answer; thus, with this closure, the Art of the Mormon narrative becomes craft.
The more accurately a Mormon writer reflects life, the more he risks ecclesiastic censure. Themes are revealed that can be perceived as opposing the optimistic Mormon view of the human condition. Questions which Mormonism’s narrative treat as answered are reconsidered often with competitive results.
Bash opens with “Iphigenia in Orem,” a one-act play about a Mormon man who, facing a lay-off, allows his baby to suffocate in the hope that his employer will let him keep his job out of sympathy for his loss. Altmann’s Tongue is a relentless litany of horrific tales of killing where the act of killing has been removed from the customarily expected context.
Both LaBute and Evenson work in undeniably dark tones which may not be to the taste of the average Mormon, but does their work render them deserving of official condemnation? Bash disturbed me. Altmann’s Tongue revolted and depressed me. But my response to these works does not deny them their status as Art. I may not have exactly enjoyed LaBute’s revelation that my religion cannot protect me from making evil choices, but I nonetheless knew it was true. I am still working through Evenson’s take on the human condition. In the meantime, I have increased my matutinal dosage of Paxel and am assiduously avoiding open windows on upper floors.
Apostle, Orson F. Whitney, once predicted that Mormonism would one day produce Miltons and Shakespeares, but this can be nothing more that Mormon optimism and provincial bravado. Elder Whitney could not have imagined a future church commandeered by neo-orthodoxy. He could not have envisioned a Committee for the Strengthening of the Saints. Today it is naïve to think that a Mormon Hamlet would not shock the general membership or that a Mormon Paradise Lost would not be niggled to obscurity by CES.
Both Evenson and LaBute have resigned their memberships in the church with the explanation that they could not produce Art and remain Mormon, worrying about the disapproval of the Mormon community and leadership. I suspect it is more complicated than that. Whatever the case, such a choice shouldn’t be as inevitable as the present state of the culture seems to make it.
When the Paxel kicks in I envision a day when our leadership is more tolerant of our Melvilles and Twains. All the same, I am keeping Richard Dutcher and Eric Samuelsen in my prayers.
It seems that what you are addressing, Scot, is honesty. Judeo-Christian religions, in general, hold honesty up as a profound virtue, at least in terms of the temple recommend question, “are you honest in all your dealings with your fellow man?”
What Judeo-Christian religion does *not* seem to address well, however, is honesty with one’s self. I’ve had a little experience with this concept of late, but to keep to your thread, I think the same applies to writers and artists. The very reason their work resonates with us, is that somewhere deep inside, we have the same questions, the same issues, the same struggles. These writers have exercised their own gifts in very *honestly* bringing those “hidden things” to light. Perhaps they are, in fact, the urim and thummim of society.
Judeo-Christian religion is so much about sublimating and repressing one’s inner desires and feelings, that the artisan who brings these to the forefront cannot help but challenge—even threaten—such a religion. Most people, particularly in such life-encompasing frameworks as LDS-ism, don’t like to be confronted with the questions they don’t have answers to. It raises discomfort, and cognitive dissonance, even among the most faithful.
In my own experience, I had to face aspects of my “real life experience” that simply didn’t correlate with what my faith taught. The two were entirely contradictory. Some would reject their personal life experience, opting for the (more comfortable?) answers provided by their faith. Others would reject the faith, unable to deny the reality of their personal life experience.
It seems to me that this is exactly the kind of confrontation that religious leaders want to avoid–not only for their congregants, but even for themselves. This kind of honesty is unnerving, even frightening. It forces one outside their comfort. For the strongly-religious, won’t this always be seen as a threat?
Comment # 1 by Nick Literski | Aug 28, 2006 | Reply
Can anyone envision true Art that doesn’t offend the neo-orthodoxy? Does really great Art have to challenge the foundations of faith and raise issues which the pedestrian Mormon would find uncomfortable?
I realize these are pretty broad questions. I just wonder if the writers who are too cool to be Mormon (please bear with me in describing them as “too cool”) are the ones with the limited artistic vision.
What about a book that really challenges the foundations/assumptions of the (sub?)culture of intellectual inquiry? Could such a book be great art?
Would I be banished from this discussion board for suggesting that “In the Eye of the Storm” (Grohberg) achieves in its stories (not necessarily in its form) that which can “dredge from our unconscious minds the resonant recognition of deeper truths”?
Scot, your article deserves a more thoughtful response than my asking of these questions. But either these are valid questions, or have I just not been “stripped of such innocence”.
Comment # 2 by anonymous for now | Aug 28, 2006 | Reply
Nick, I posted my response before reading what you had to say. Sorry that my post is not repsonsive to the questions you raise. I’ll have to think about it more.
Comment # 3 by anonymous for now | Aug 28, 2006 | Reply
I think, “anonymous for now,” that you’ve actually made Scot’s point. If a work presents answers that happen to match the institutionally-prescribed answers, it doesn’t offend or raise opposition. Only when those predetermined answers are challenged, does the reaction Scot refers to happen. Grohberg’s books don’t provide that challenge. Instead, they reinforce existing institutional answers.
You ask if a book that challenges the foundations or assumptions of the culture of intellectual inquiry could be “great art.” Certainly! To me, it is the challenge to assumptions that *makes* a work “art.” If a work doesn’t challenge existing assumptions, it is merely a *record*, not “art.” “Art” is about new ways of seeing existence, not rote repetition.
NSL
Comment # 4 by Nick Literski | Aug 28, 2006 | Reply
Nick, perhaps I see Grohberg’s book as revolutionary, and as an extreme affront to the institutional perspective. Of course, when I say “institution” I am not referring to the LDS Church.
As you probably see, I am just playing with relativity behind the idea of “challenging assumptions.” From my reading of “Bad Stories” (and your post) I feel that Scot is imagining the almighty LDS artist as one who dares to challenge the assumptions of the “Neo-orthodoxy.”
In my camp, I imagine an artist who dares to challenge the assumptions of a culture that (for example) may not feel like it has anything to learn from a (rote) church manual. Couldn’t such a person be an masterful artist and a poster-girl for the Relief Society at the same time? (Perhaps the new way of seeing existence would manifest itself by causing someone like me (I confess) to say, “Wow, there really is a great amount of meaning behind the church manuals.”)
The only difference I see between the Evensons of the world and the imagined Relief Society poster-girl is the group of assumptions called into question by their work.
Forgive me while I try to figure out exactly what I am asking. Perhaps I am wondering why the challenging of one set of assumptions (set A) is more highly valued as Art than the challenging of a different set (set B)?
Comment # 5 by anonymous for now | Aug 28, 2006 | Reply
I think I understand what you are saying, and I don’t see any difference in which set of assumptions the artist is challenging. The point is in the challenge itself.
Still, I think it would be a mistake to expect LDS artists to only challenge the “non-LDS” set of assumptions, and only provide the LDS point of view. It would likewise be a mistake to expect LDS artists to only challenge the LDS set of assumptios, and only provide the “non-LDS” point of view. Either approach ties his/her hands.
As an example of what you point to, a recent book of New York City LDS photography comes to mind. Included were photos of the Manhattan New York Temple, one of which evoked the powerful impression of the temple as an oasis of peace amidst a very busy, even chaotic neighborhood. This artist managed to challenge a sectarian view of the building, and to convey a very LDS-oriented message. It was a remarkable image, and I’d certainly call it “art.”
Comment # 6 by Nick Literski | Aug 28, 2006 | Reply
I appreciate your illustration in the last paragraph — much better than I put it. I’ve enjoyed discussing this. (To others: Sorry for the back-and-forthness.)
Comment # 7 by anonymous for now | Aug 28, 2006 | Reply
Okay, where Scot finesses with his rapier wit, I feel like I’m blundering in with a cudgel. Backwards. And blindfolded.
When I think of other unambiguous, optimistic stories, fairy tales and Hollywood romances come to mind. Sure there are complications and twists and turns, but ultimately the protagonists attain eternal life. Or live happily ever after. Whatever.
These tales provide a welcome escape from the ambiguity of harsh reality. I have a tendency to see the LDS institutionally approved narrative like a happy Disney remake of the Little Mermaid or Beauty and the Beast.
Fortunately, the official story exists in a historical context and has to be applied to the complexities of every day life. It is in the tensions and paradoxes that result that I see the artistry in Mormonism.
Maybe this is my way of saying, “Amen,” Scot. Great post.
Comment # 8 by johnremy | Aug 28, 2006 | Reply
Those are good thoughts AFN (find a shorter handle, will ya? ;))
It’s a truism that the revolution often ends up looking like what it revolted against.
Neil Postman wrote a book called _Education as a Conserving Activity_ (it was a response, 30 years later, to a book he had written called _Education as a Subversive Activity_ [which still sells a lot better than Conserving]). In it he argues that the role of the school is to act as a thermostat to the culture, keeping it from getting too hot or cold. So when the culture is leaning too far to the right, the schools should start leaning left. And vice versa. The good is not to be found in orthodoxy, but in a healthy tension between orthodoxy and heterodoxy.
I think you could see Mormonism as a thermostat to much in Western culture: self-centeredness, instant gratification, anti-social behavior in many of its forms. But at the same time, the church as a culture needs its own thermostat. Its school has a hard time doing that, so perhaps it’s up to the writers to be the thermostats. When the church offers to many answers, the artist must find questions to keep the culture from losing its imagination. If the Church ever dwells too much on questions, perhaps the artists need to arise as the great answer givers to keep the culture from sinking into a morass of speculations.
But one thing I think is essential to understanding the writer verses the institution is that they are telling two entirely different types of stories. The institution is telling a social story. It’s providing a myth that establishes codes people live by and understand each other through. The writer is not doing that. I’m sure neither Brian nor Neil are interested in starting a religion. Their bag isn’t establishing the rules of social cohesion, that’s what religion does.
So I can see how an institution would want to expel a writer who undermines people’s trust in the system. In a way, I’m glad they do. I mean, what if we had a road artist out there who questioned the rules of driving? I don’t care if he paints his car weird or attaches a sousaphone to his horn system, but he’d dang well better stay on his side of the road and stop when the light is red.
I personally think that the Church overreacted to Neil and Brian. It gave their work too much credence as social tools. No one is really going to say, “Ooooh, I have a Mormon neighbor, I’d better keep the hacksaws chained up and keep an eye on my babies.” No Mormon is going to see bash or read Altman’s Tongue and say, “Crap - I was wrong, ruthless murder really is the way to go.”
Otherwise we’d have to excise a few choice passages from a few of our more trusted leather bound books.
Religions write rules. Writers write metaphors.
Comment # 9 by Stephen Carter | Aug 28, 2006 | Reply
anonymous for now,
I think your questions are very good ones.
You have asked me if anyone can envision Art that doesn’t offend orthodoxy. I am unable to speak for others, but I cannot envision such Art.
Let me break your second question in two: “Does really great Art have to challenge the foundations of faith?” No, I don’t believe it has to. [Must] really great Art raise issues which the pedestrian Mormon would find uncomfortable? Not always, but I think it usually will.
You also ask: “What about a book that really challenges the foundations/assumptions of the (sub?)culture of intellectual inquiry? Could such a book be great art?” Yes, of course. I think a novel, play or film about the subculture of intellectual inquiry within the greater Mormon culture could provide a devastating look at posturing and spiritual emptiness. But it will fail to be Art it is didactic. Too many Mormon writers are moralists as opposed to artists. I am not familiar with Grohberg’s work, so don’t misunderstand me as pointing a finger.
I don’t believe there is good art and bad art. I believe there is Art and then there is art. The former is a subjective representation of the human condition that shakes us to the core as only Truth can. The latter is a craft. It can be well-wrought, but it is neither great nor true.
Comment # 10 by Scot Denhalter | Aug 28, 2006 | Reply
AFN said:
“Wow, there really is a great amount of meaning behind the church manuals.”)”
I say:
I’m still working with you here, AFN. To me your question doesn’t quite work in a discussion about art - especially written art. But it’s very possible that I”m wrong.
It seems to me that “Art” (in Scot’s coinage) doesn’t set out to prove something. Or perhaps, if it does, it doesn’t realize that something else is going on. If you’re goal is to prove something in a written piece, odds are, you aren’t going to end up with a piece of Art, though you might have a nicely crafted story or argument (Zeus knows we could use more of both).
Like Eugene said in an earlier post, Art is defined by its inherent challenge to what’s around it. In many ways it stands alone.
So a question that I think would be better toward the production of art would be: “How could I make some Art starting from a Church manual?” Now the potential artist isn’t trying to prove something, he or she has only chosen a starting point.
Comment # 11 by Stephen Carter | Aug 28, 2006 | Reply
Ah well, I think Orson Scott Card has reached greatness at times in his writing.
The problem I run into is so often what I see in people wanting to claim they are doing art is self-indulgence.
I’ve edited. I’ve written. Much to my surprise, after not writing in the genre I was a part of for over twenty years I still have fans. I’m still perplexed to find my notes and drafts selling at private auctions and on e-bay from time to time.
Do I feel a need to twist context, break barriers, or exploit and strip mine social norms and covenants? No. Great Greek tragedies had all of the things we bring front and center handled off stage, and were the more powerful for it. The use of a meat axe approach is, more often than not, a sign of weakness.
Anyway, my two bits, probably repeated one too many times.
Comment # 12 by Stephen M (Ethesis) | Aug 28, 2006 | Reply
Let me suggest that it is not the artist who undermines political institutions or social norms, but the moralist? For example, I don’t see Sinclair Lewis as producing Art so much as well-crafted social critique. The two motivations can blend as with Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, but it is the rare author who can pull it off.
For me, Art doesn’t foment social revolutions. It foments personal revolutions. Art wrenches from me an involuntary response. It reveals to me an unconscious aspect of my nature and nudges me toward self-recognition: “I am that.” Art doesn’t (at least not usually) cause me to question cherished institutions. (History and science do that.) Art usually causes me to question the image of myself that I have created and carry around in my head as the correct notion of “me.”
For me personally, LaBute’s In the Company of Men succeeds more strongly in this regard than does bash. The main character, Chad, is the cruelest person I have ever encountered in film. I hated the movie, but it stuck with me. I kept thinking about it. I began to analyze why I kept thinking about it and realized that I hated Chad and was angry that he remained unpunished. I began to examine that in me which could hate so strongly and need so deeply to see retribution. It came to me that I had never seen the Chads in my life get what I believed they deserved. I understand that theoretically what goes around is supposed to come around, but I had never had the satisfaction of witnessing it. Was this why Chad was so cruel? Had he taken to hurting the innocent because he couldn’t hurt the guilty? Were the guilty too powerful? Was he too weak? Suddenly I realized that the film had revealed to me true evil and it was banal. I knew that kind of evil. I had suffered it. But even more disturbing was the fact that I saw the potential for it inside me. That was why I had hated the film. It had frightened me.
I don’t for a minute believe that Art must be dark. I have only discussed dark stories because they are the stories to which many faithful Mormons object. They choose believe these stories chip away at the validity of their faith and may express righteous indignation over it, but this is an act of self-defense. Somewhere underneath they have been shaken on a more personal level.
Of course, there are many upbeat stories I would consider as Art, but these are not the kind that usually get Mormon writers into trouble; hence they are outside the purview of my article. Where it more expansive in scope, I would defend the need for both the dark and the light. Nevertheless, these adjectives are really metaphorical and at their foundation they blend together as in Joseph Smith’s notion of the oneness of spirit and matter.
Comment # 13 by Scot Denhalter | Aug 29, 2006 | Reply
Scot, I just saw In the Company of Men last week for the first time. You asked, “Why was Chad so cruel?” In the movie he answers that question when asked by Howard. Chad says, “Because I can.” Its chilling. I can think of few other movies that have the following effect:
…the film revealed to me true evil and it was banal. I knew that kind of evil. I had suffered it. But even more disturbing was the fact that I saw the potential for it inside me. That was why I had hated the film. It had frightened me.
By the way, this has been a great thread. I’ve had this “Art & Mormonism” discussion many times both in person and on the Internet, but your post and the comments here have reached far greater depths of insight than any discussion related to this topic that I’ve previously been a part of.
Comment # 14 by Matt Thurston | Aug 29, 2006 | Reply
I’ve not seen States of Grace. Has anyone else seen it, and could it work into this discussion in any meaningful way?
Comment # 15 by anonymous for now (afn) | Aug 30, 2006 | Reply
Repent and go buy States of Grace on DVD now:
http://www.mainstreetmovieco.com/store_sg2.html
There, don’t you feel better?
Sort of spoiler alert (I reveal the tensions, but not the resolutions).
I’m not positive what you’re asking AFN, but here’s my thought.
In States of Grace a real tension is created between what people think they’re getting into and what they’re really getting into.
For example, the gang guy thinks he’s just getting into a nice church. What he’s really getting into is an ultimate test of his committment to the peace teachings of Jesus.
There’s also a tension between the sympathy the innocent missionary feels toward the actress next door and the consequences of too close a relationship with her.
There are others too. But when the tensions are the highest, when irreconcilable differences come head to head, we find Jesus’ nativity scene. All the rules, all the morals, all the doctrine seem to disappear.
A fascinating thought: that the place where you find Jesus is where the tension is the highest, where no sort of negotiation can occur between different values.
I’ll have to think about that.
Comment # 16 by Stephen Carter | Aug 30, 2006 | Reply
For a more in depth treatment of States of Grace, go to:
http://sunstoneblog.com/?p=46
Comment # 17 by Stephen Carter | Aug 30, 2006 | Reply
Stephen,
I appreciate your thoughts about States of Grace. They have convinced me that I need to take another look at the film. I have seen it only once and I suspect I only really SEE 40% of a film with one viewing. Every one of my friends who saw the film loved it. Not wanting to dampen their enthusiasm (or look like a Philistine), I kept my mouth shut. Secretly, I felt the theme of redemption was better handled in Brigham City. The nativity scene had struck me as a bit overwrought. I know it was a transcendent scene for many, but something perverse in me wanted Mary to freak out over this kid who wouldn’t give her baby back. (I know; I am a Philistine.) Anyway, your comments tell me there are probably layers of meaning I missed the first time around. I will definitely see the film again.
Comment # 18 by Scot Denhalter | Aug 31, 2006 | Reply
Scott,
I agree with you. I commend the fine efforts for State of Grace–but geez that “forever never-ever-ending” ending. End it already. I was begging for the DVD version to select your own ending. Visions of the final Lords of the Ring flick danced in my head. As a female I know this sounds very unloving towards babies however I wanted to rip that child away and stuff it back in the manger.
And Neil LaBute:—wow that is some kind of weird genius. So cool to have him at the Symposium.
As for Brian Evenson: Deliciously anticipate the reading of all of his works.
Comment # 19 by t K Horvath | Sep 1, 2006 | Reply
Scot,
I’m coming in a little late on this—and probably also from a more bottom-line view—but your post on the sixldswriters blog piqued my curiosity. My background is as an LDS writer currently publishing novels with a large LDS publisher and working with a national literary agency to publish my first horror novel. Work that one into the same author web site huh?
Anyway, I’d like to try and translate your request for capital A Art into the world of trying to make if not a living, at least a sizeable number of sales as an LDS author. I’ll also kick on my two cents on the church vs. art controversy. Haven’t seen the plays yet, so I can’t comment on those.
Many people who don’t read a lot of LDS fiction are under the impression that the major LDS publishers (DB, Covenant, Spring Creek, Granite, CFI, etc.) don’t publish books about controversial subjects. Or if they do, they are quickly resolved through repentance and an understanding bishop.
That is not the case. Over the past few years the publishers have put out a lot more realistic descriptions of everything from rape to abortion to child abuse and so forth. Try reading Josi Kilpack’s, Unsung Lullaby by Deseret Book. While it is wrapped in a “romance” story line, this is some pretty edgy stuff for DB. There are a number of other examples.
As long as you are not too graphic, no subject seems to be off limits (except, interestingly enough, polygamy.) Stories like States of Grace or Brigham City would not have a problem getting published by any LDS publisher. It sounds to me like you are suggesting though that Art requires a resolution contrary or at least not parallel to perceived LDS tenets. What if a missionary teaches a potential convert, she prays about the Book of Mormon and receives an answer that it is not true?
The biggest problem I see with this is that you will tick off most of your readers. Which is generally a bad thing to do if you want to keep selling books. I can be quite flexible within the confines of certain parameters when I write an LDS novel. I wrote an LDS mystery where a girl is molested by a person presumed to be her grandmother. Later the grandfather is found dead, and someone kills an ex-cop to keep the story quiet. I don’t see this being any less edgy than say Brigham City.
However, my readers have certain expectations. If you are writing a mystery, people expect it to be solved. If you are writing a romance, the couple must eventually get together. If I am writing an LDS novel, the basic beliefs must apply. If I change the rules and God no longer blesses those who obey his laws, but instead kicks them in the butt, I have broken the expectation of most readers. Of course a few people will say, “Cool, I’ve never seen anything like that in a Covenant novel.” Then I can hand sell my next novel to those few since Covenant will drop me for low sales and DB won’t carry my book at all.
Of course I don’t have those limitations in the national market, but no one cares out there. So a guy pays his tithing and the windows of Heaven are not opened, yawn, so what. As someone mentioned earlier in the post, I get more attention in the national market if God does bless the guy. A big part of the marketing for my national horror line will be that it is not all blood and gore and this is an opposition in all things.
So I guess the question I am asking, is how will Art shake up the world if no one sees it? Is it better to have a story read by a few dozen people or even a few hundred that questions everything we’ve learned in Sunday school or a story read by thousands that really makes people think outside the norms but eventually follows the tenets of our faith?
As far as the excommunication thing, we must differentiate the Church from Church owned entities. Was either of those brethren excommunicated for their fiction or did they choose to leave? I worked for a software company. If I wrote a book that made my company look bad or generated negative publicity I might very well be fired. If the church owned my company should that be any different? If I then went to my church leaders and requested excommunication would that make it the church’s fault?
As far as I am aware, no one has been excommunicated for writing fiction—at least not when they called it fiction. The worst thing I’ve had anyone say to me when they heard I write horror is, “Well, I guess that’s what sells.” To which I replied, “No that’s church history and romance but I can’t seem to get into either of those.”
Comment # 21 by Jeffrey Savage | Sep 14, 2006 | Reply
Jeff,
I must confess an ignorance of what the major LDS publishers have put out in the way of fiction over the last few years, but it is difficult for me to imagine that they are now publishing fiction that presents human problems realistically. The LDS fiction I have read usually portrays difficult themes rather simplistically. Conflicts are resolved unambiguously and the moral is obvious.
I am not suggesting that Mormon fiction must (or even should) question the basic tenets of the faith in order to be Art. I am proposing that we as a culture are accustomed to oversimplifying these tenets in our conversations with one another. I will take as an example your guy who pays his tithing and the windows of heaven are not opened. This is a very real conflict for many Mormons. Many members dedicate their lives to obeying, to the best of their abilities, God’s commandments as defined by the church, and yet terrible things happen to them. To tell this story with the main character finally coming to some facile resolution of his doubts it to insult the reader with an dumb-downed representation of life. Real life is conflict and conflict is seldom fully resolved. Job is given new children, but his former children are still dead. What kind of a restoration is that? God doesn’t answer Job’s question. Instead, he chastens Job with his own “Who do you think you are?” question.
The story of an obedient Mormon whose life comes undone does not establish the idea that God does not bless us. It establishes the idea that life is such that we can often feel like God is not blessing us – and we have to deal with that reality one way or another. An artist will make this an introspective, unsettlingly ambiguous, or emotionally complex story that may not leave the reader satisfied and at ease. It may be difficult to feel good after reading such a tale, but I would argue that one could still feel edified. I would also argue that such work can also be at least modestly successful in a financial sense. I suspect the major LDS publishers would deny the validity of both arguments.
I understand that your novel, Into the Fire, takes on the Job theme. I am looking forward to reading it. The fact that it has been your least financially successful work may, in fact, be a testament to its importance. I agree with you that a writer can’t survive without an audience, but just because the market wants quick, diverting reads doesn’t mean that that is all they should be given. A good writer will feel some responsibility to give his audience what they need rather than just what they want. Quick diverting reads are a dime a dozen. Art may not do well in the financial short run, but it does well over time. What fiction will they be studying in college from our day in fifty years when The da Vinci Code is long forgotten?
Comment # 22 by Scot Denhalter | Sep 15, 2006 | Reply
Jeffrey,
I was in your sister and brother-in-law’s (Kent & DeAnne) ward back in Sycamore and DeKalb, Illinois, a few years back, and have lost touch with them since they moved to Utah. If you could send me an e-mail address for them offlist at abraxas_bear@comcast.net , I’d be grateful.
Comment # 23 by Nick Literski | Sep 15, 2006 | Reply