On Authorial Worldviews in Literature

Let's stay with the literary topic, shall we?

I've just finished reading a novel called King of the Vagabonds, by Neal Stephenson. I liked it well enough. A rousing, rip-roaring kind of tale. Audacious story-telling. It all takes place in late seventeenth-century Europe and seems to encompass every major person and event that happened during that time. The main character is a likable rogue, and one with an interesting "interior life" as well. It's the second book in a series (hey, wasn't I ripping series novels in yesterday's post?) and I'll definitely move on to the next book.

But there were also things I didn't like about this novel, and that's got me thinking. Some of the things I didn't like have to do with the tone of extreme irony throughout the book, and occasional passages that are "on beyond vulgar." One of the things I find myself looking for in a novel is an authorial worldview that is marked by humility and love. An example from American literature that many people would be familiar with is To Kill a Mockingbird. From imaginative literature (fantasy/science fiction), say, A Wrinkle in Time.

Perhaps to understand my point it would be well to speak of what is not a part of this authorial worldview. The obvious elements would be fascination with the grotesque, voyeuristic fixation with the sex act, indulgence in graphic violence, etc. More subtly, a supercilious irony, a scoffing tone, and a tendency to undermine notions of goodness, justice, etc. This type of attitude produces writing in which goodness seems always foolish, false, shallow, and hypocritical. Mind you, I am speaking of an authorial attitude here, rather than the attitude of one or more characters in his story. And since authors don't usually state their worldviews plainly, it is something that dawns on you, the reader, as you move through the author's work.

Now, I also know that authors are magicians of sorts, and it is not their intention to put themselves on display, or to depict their worldviews in the novels they write. Yet there is no question, for example, that the narrative voice in King of the Vagabonds is extremely ironic, especially when the supposedly good is in view (and in the case of "Vagabond" especially with regard to ideals derived from religious beliefs).

In his comment to yesterday's post, Milton said that his own novel was "too raw for Christian publishers and too out of touch with the Zeitgeist for secular publishers." I understand his point. As a reader, I'm still looking for imagination, engagement with ideas, characters that live and breathe, and a worldview that recognizes and wrestles with the essential nature of the problem facing humankind.

The Deep Schmaltz of Christian Fiction

I think I have a prejudice against books with the word "cry" in the title. Now don't tell me I'm being unfair here. Of course I'm being unfair. Otherwise it wouldn't be a "prejudice." Actually, the only book I've ever read with the word "cry" in the title was Cry, The Beloved Country, which is a very good book, as I recall. Still, I'll cling to my prejudice. But I bring this up because I noticed that two of this year's five nominees for the ECPA award in Christian fiction have the word "cry" in their titles.

There's When the Heart Cries by Cindy Woodsmall, and When Crickets Cry by Charles Martin. Woodsmall's novel is "Book 1" in a series called "Sisters of the Quilt." A series is pretty much obligatory for Christian fiction these days, isn't it? This one has the added problem of having the word "heart" in the title. That's a bad sign. A very bad sign. Anyway, I kind of get that a heart can cry, I suppose, but crickets crying is a very bizarre concept to me. Of Charles Martin's book the Kirkus Review said, "Deep schmaltz in the Bible Belt."

Well, deep schmaltz seems to be a sign of deep piety in the Christian fiction world. Perhaps When Crickets Cry is "Book 1 in the Deep Schmaltz" series. But at least there are no novels by famous pastors and "leaders" among the ECPA nominees [note: quotation marks serve to indicate tone of extreme sarcasm here]. Tim LaHaye, Joyce Meyer, Tommie Tenney, Pat Robertson . . . everyone gets into this act sooner or later. Jesus spoke in pithy parables, but these writing "leaders" seem unable to speak their piece in anything less than 300 pages of stilted prose (not to mention the inevitable "series").

I think I have a prejudice against Christian fiction.