Authors

C.S. Lewis, a Writer of Pulp Fiction?

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Writer Rod Bennett believes “[C.S.] Lewis was heavily influenced by his many early experiences with ‘trashy’ literature.” He calls him a pulp fiction writer and lays out his case in four posts, quoting from Lewis’ letters where he confesses his enjoyment or exposure to Amazing Stories and Astounding, both pulp sci-fi rags, and many other works considered “trashy” by critics. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, Bennett says. In fact, it was through Narnia that Bennett found interest in Mere Christianity.

[This series is no longer on Bennett’s blog. This is a recycled post from 2006].

If Bennett’s premise raises the eyebrows of any Lewis fans, I think the trouble may be in the words “pulp” and “trashy.” I don’t think Bennett thinks Lewis’ science trilogy is trashy, but influenced by mass market stories of his day which were thought to be trashy by those who claimed to know what good and bad literature should be. But calling Lewis’ stories “pulp” may be the same as calling them “trashy” for some. Pulp fiction is lurid, tantalizing material written for commercial gain or cheap entertainment–nothing of lasting value. Again, I don’t think Bennett is arguing that Narnia and The Space Trilogy are cheap little thrillers, but that may be what comes across in the word “pulp.”

Publishing

Vivian Edmonds

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“The first African-American inducted into the N.C. Journalism Hall of Fame,” Vivan Edmonds, publisher of The Carolina Times, has passed away. Her father started the paper in 1922 and continue to report the news and write his opinions even as a cross burned against him. “You took your life in your hands when you spoke out, when you challenged the power structure,” said a reporter from Raleigh-Durham, N.C. area.

Authors

Pratchett is Slowing Down

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NY Daily News has this feature on Terry Pratchett, whose Alzheimer’s is worsening. “I used to touch type as fast as any journalist does and my spelling was pretty good. Now I hunt and peg and my spelling is erratic,” he told The Times of London. “I can spell ‘transubstantiation’ and in the next bit I can’t spell ‘color’ because it’s as if bits of the network are switching on and off.”

He says he will to write, just “more carefully.”

Fiction, Reading

An Abel Jones moment

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Here’s another little snippet from an Abel Jones mystery by Owen Parry, Rebels of Babylon. I need to set the scene up a little. Jones, a strict Methodist, made a point in the earlier books of saying that he disapproved of novels, since they were made up entirely of lies, and were a frivolous waste of time. But recently he made the discovery of Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, and was completely won over—providing the novel was morally upright, of course.

In Rebels of Babylon he makes the acquaintance once again of Barnaby B. Barnaby, an English “gentleman’s gentleman” who had told him in Call Each River Jordan that he was a great reader—but only of one book. He read The Pickwick Papers again and again, comforted by its predictability.

In this scene, Jones tries to persuade Barnaby to try Great Expectations. (Ever try to recommend a book to a friend who wasn’t interested? I’ll bet you never got quite the response Jones gets):

Mr. Barnaby shook his head, slowly but with decision. “I couldn’t do it, sir. Really, I couldn’t. It’s all too awful and ’orrible. I couldn’t bear to undertake the experience of more suffering. And people always suffers in a novel, sir, if it’s worth the ink and paper…. I’ve even ’ad to give up reading Mr. Pickwick, I ’as. I couldn’t bear it no more, knowing as ’ow all ’is ’appiness is bound to be torn from ’is bosom. Not all Sam Weller’s wits can’t save the poor man, sir. ’E goes to ’is sufferings over and over again. Without end, sir, without end! As if that Charlie Dickens ’as trapped ’im forever in the pages, so ’e can’t never escape…. A writer fellow must be ’orrible wicked, sir, to go killing folks with ink and making everyone suffer for ’is pleasure. And for profit, sir! The scribblers takes money to make the innocent suffer in their books. It just ain’t right to do a thing like that.”

That says it about as clearly as it could be said, I think.

This is the last Abel Jones book published to date, and I wish I could get information on the next. I searched the web, and found an interview with Parry (actually Col. Ralph Peters) in which he projects a series of about twelve books. But where each previous volume ended with the note, “The adventures of Abel Jones will continue in _______________,” this one just says, “The adventures of Abel Jones will continue.” And this one came out in 2005. That’s getting to be a three year hiatus, which is too long for a series, as I can tell you with some authority.

I may have given the impression, in my previous review of Honor’s Kingdom, that these are Christian books. They aren’t. They’re books about a Christian (and sometimes the author gets the theology badly wrong), but the Christian is a likeable and admirable one, which is relatively rare in contemporary fiction.

This book goes deeper than previous episodes into an analysis of Jones’ faith, and the author makes it clear that much of Jones’ rigor rises from some deep, repressed fears. It’s possible future books may cross the line for me, and I’ll feel compelled to give up on the series.

But I’m willing to take that chance with the wicked writer fellow, for now.

Uncategorized

And how was your Memorial Day?

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Memorial Day, of course, is meant for decorating the graves of those who’ve served our country in the military. But it was always traditional in my family to put flowers on all our graves for the holiday. Being the only member of my immediate family who still lives around here, I carry the custom on, in my little way.

Memorial Day was cool and cloudy, threatening rain, here in the Twin Cities. But when I drove south to Kenyon and Faribault, where the bones of my fathers lie (metaphorically speaking; my parents are actually buried in Florida) I drove into bright sun and warmth that forced me to take my coat off. I had to put it on again when I got home. I had but crossed into and out of a stationary pressure ridge.

My brother was in town Friday night, and we went to see Indy 4. It was better than I expected, since I wasn’t expecting much. I liked the numerous digs at Communism—it’s been fifty years after all. About time Hollywood admits there were two sides in the Cold War. (Still waiting for the first Hollywood movie about the Ukrainian genocide, though.)

The worst part was Shia LeWhatever as the Marlon Brando wannabee. He plays the part with all the weight and authority of a runway model. And the scene where he swings through the jungle on vines, like Tarzan—painful. (You know, don’t you, that you can’t actually do that? Vines grow up from the ground. They don’t grow down from the treetops.)

And that was part of the overlong jungle chase scene. Not bad, but I am very weary of seeing large numbers of thugs firing automatic weapons at people with no effect whatever. I know it moves the story along, but what it really means is that the writers couldn’t figure out a clever way for the heroes to get away or to protect themselves, so they opted just to let them survive without explanation. Which is lazy.

The best part—Cate Blanchett as the evil Commie parapsychologist. The word “audacious” is being overused this year, but hers was a really audacious performance. She realized she was playing an over-the-top character, so she played the role over the top. Anybody can do that, but not everybody can make it work. She made it work. She won’t get an Oscar nomination for it, but she deserves one.

On Sunday I was in a Memorial Day mood, and I’d been enjoying Owen Parry’s marvelous Civil War mysteries featuring Abel Jones. So I pulled out my DVD of Gods and Generals. I had good memories of it, largely (I suppose) because it’s a rare example of a Hollywood film treating Christian characters with a measure of respect.

Sadly, it didn’t hold up on a second viewing. It’s probably great for a high school history class, but as a movie it was uninspired. Dull script, dull direction, dull cinematography, and not enough editing. It plays like a school pageant, with people making long speeches at each other for no particular reason, and confiding in one another without dramatic justification. And the dialogue sounded as if it was lifted from contemporary documents. That’s nice from an academic point of view, but it makes for stilted speeches. And I suspect that most people didn’t actually talk the way they wrote, even back then.

But it put me in mind of the right things.

Authors, Non-fiction

Two Stories from Our Paris Desk

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Bestselling French novelist says, “What city could be more romantic than London?” Incroyable! Mais attente, that’s not all. He also rejected the critics who don’t like his writing. Speaking of himself, he said, “Critics say that Marc Levy is an author one reads in the subway… Nothing makes me happier than being read in the subway. If I allow people to get out of the tunnel, in a small way, I’ve done my job.”

In other news, the director of the History Channel in France has a new book on how the French endured the Nazi occupation, and it isn’t flattering. Author Patrick Buisson said, “It may hurt our national pride, but the reality is that people adapted to occupation.” By adapted, he means, fornicated in many ways and, I assume, for various reasons. “The result [is] that the birth rate shot up in 1942 even though 2,000,000 men were locked up in the camps.”

I don’t post this to take cheap shots at the French. On the contrary, I wish they would repent of throwing out the Huguenots and get back to building healthy lives for the glory of God.

Authors, The Press

Refusal to Comply

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A British writer “who specialises in Islamist extremism” is refusing to cooperate with authorities who want him to turn over his notes and sources for an upcoming book on a suspected terrorist. I gather the writer and his legal team want to expose the truth, but not in connection with police. I’m not sure I understand the rationale here.

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“One must be wrong.”

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A. Lincoln

“The will of God prevails. In great contests each party claims to act in accordance with the will of God. Both may be, and one must be wrong. God can not be for, and against the same thing at the same time. In the present civil war it is quite possible that God’s purpose is something different from the purpose of either party–and yet the human instrumentalities, working just as they do, are of the best adaptation to effect His purpose. I am almost ready to say this is probably true–that God wills this contest, and wills that it shall not end yet. By his mere quiet power on the minds of the now contestants, He could have either saved or destroyed the Union without a human contest. Yet the contest began. And having begun, He could give the final victory to either side any day. Yet the contest proceeds.”

–Abraham Lincoln (unsigned, undated document, possibly from Sept., 1862)

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No Time to Waste

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I have been absent during the past two weeks, and it was not planned ahead of time. I’m still not back in a close-to-normal routine today, but to be honest, I don’t want to go back to what used to feel normal. I want renewal, revival, growth. I want old things to wither and new things to take root. Maybe I should design a new face for the blog.

But about my absence–my father-in-law died suddenly early Monday, May 12. My sister-in-law, who is a great nurse practitioner, called us to pray while he was still having chest pains, and then afterwards to tell us he had passed away. We were praying the Lord would have mercy, and He did, just not the way we anticipated.

I’m glad I heard all of the tributes he received from friends and supporters at his funeral at Briarwood Presbyterian (PCA). He was the administrator for Partners in Asian Missions, so he had thousands of friends around the world. Hearing their praise and prayers repeatedly stirred me. I’m thankful to be in his family.

Of course, that week was harder on my good wife than it was on me, but the Lord has not left us to grieve alone. He has been with us as we walked through the valley of the shadow of death. Surely goodness and mercy . . . surely goodness and mercy . . .

Added to this trial, we’ve had a couple material disappointments. A week ago Friday, I decided to finish off the homemade ice cream and found it melted in the freezer. Our six-year-old refrigerator had short-circuited. We finally got a replacement delivered today, so we’ve been the week without a fridge. And when I returned from work last Thursday, we discovered our glass exterior door (the one outside our front door) had shattered. At first, we thought of vandals, but we have learned it was an accident.

So, I’ve been out of the office blogwise. I appreciate your prayers and even for taking the time to read this post. Let me pass on a message from my other sister-in-law, who is a great homemaker in America’s northern-most state, about her dad and the influence he has had on us.

No Time To Waste – My Father’s Life

Susanna Biederman

Sunday, May 18, 2008 at 10:16am

For those of you who don’t know already, my dad died and went to be with Jesus on May 12. I went to Alabama and Texas to be with my family for the funeral and burial. It was very comforting to hear what my dad’s closest friends had to say about him. But I think my cousin, Becca, put into words better than anyone else. Here is what she wrote…

My uncle, Jerry Sharpe, passed away earlier this week. Well, actually, to be truthful, for some unknown reason, God decided that it was time Jerry joined Him in Heaven and took him. It was a sudden heart attack, a surprise to all of his family.

Uncle Jerry was an amazing man. He leaves behind a legacy as a husband, a father, an uncle, a brother-in-law, a grandfather, a pastor…. I will miss getting his updates and prayer letters from his travels throughout Asia where he worked with national pastors. I will miss having him at those times when our extended family gets together to celebrate life in some way – whether Christmas or anniversaries or birthdays or summer vacations.

I find myself grieving for my cousins who are now without him, for Jean, his new wife that I haven’t even met, for my mother who treasured him as a brother-in-law. And I find myself grieving for myself; I will miss him. In some ways, he influenced my willingness to come to Asia. He challenged me in some way every time I had a conversation with him – challenged me not to settle for anything less than being sold out for Christ. And I don’t think he even realized that was what he was doing. He just did it.

So this week, as I’ve been grieving and pondering his life and influence, and wishing I could be with my family for the funeral, I’ve also been reminded how short our lives are. We don’t have much time – we really don’t! We don’t have time to focus on the little things that distract us from living for the big picture. We don’t have time to waste on the big things of this world that distract us from the little things that matter. We don’t have time to not pour out ourselves into the relationships that God puts in our lives. We don’t have time to not risk everything in order to go and make disciples of all nations. We don’t have time to not fix our eyes on Jesus and run after Him in passionate pursuit. We don’t have time to not live out our lives fully, wholeheartedly, completely devoted to pursuing God and His purposes for us. We don’t have time to not be on fire for Him. We just don’t have the time to not make our lives count.