Tag Archives: Futility

Writing

Happy endings, tragedy, and futility

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Photo credit: Kevin Erdvig @kjerdvig. Unsplash license.

Occasionally, I think. Even more occasionally, what I think makes sense.

Today I was thinking about stories. Or “story” as a subject. I’ve written about it here before.

I have a theological view of stories. I noticed first, long ago, that the basic structure of plot (hero faces challenge – hero must overcome repeated, escalating failures to achieve goal) works because it mirrors the basic structure of our lives. This is the art of living. Stories tell us how to live. (A bad story is a kind of crime, because it teaches wrong lessons that could get people hurt.)

Later, I thought larger. The universe, it seems to me, is a story. Christians don’t believe that life is an eternal cycle, as many of the pagans did. We believe that history is a narrative. It has a beginning and an end. Tolkien declared that the Resurrection was the “eucatastrophe” (the happy, unexpected turn of events) of the story. The final happy ending awaits.

I had the thought, this morning, that all stories with happy endings are, in some sense, Christian. Even if they’re profane and filthy. They still have a holy structure. Sacred bones, you might say.

But then I thought, what about tragedy? Is tragedy un-Christian?

No. Tragedy is (according to Aristotle) meaningful. The hero’s ending may be awful, but it means something. The tragic hero may deserve his fate (like Macbeth) or may be the innocent victim of Destiny (like Oedipus). But his death is significant. It arouses pity and horror. It enriches the spirit. There’s meaning in tragedy.

What is not Christian is the story of futility. The absurdist tale. I’ve run across a few in my time, and I hate them. One that comes to mind is “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs,” which I watched on Netflix. I can see the story’s value as a corrective to the conventions and tropes of the Western genre, which get turned on their heads one after another. But the final conclusion is emptiness. Another was “No Country for Old Men,” also by the Coen Brothers. I’ve heard it described as a Christian story – and maybe it is at some intellectual level too deep for me – but I saw it as a story bereft of hope.

I’m trying to work these thoughts into the book. Means a few last-minute adjustments.

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The Frustrating Universe, and other complaints

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Romans 8:20 says that God has subjected the universe to futility. And sometimes I try to game that futility. I dare the universe to frustrate me in a small way, so to speak, in order to sidestep some greater frustration.

As best I can recall, this never works. But it doesn’t stop me trying.

Case in point, my car, which remains immobile in the transmission shop lot, awaiting shifter cables. These cables are Chrysler products, and come from China. Apparently the two big Cs, China and Chrysler, are not playing well just now. Which is why I haven’t had my car for a full month.

The last time I’d called the shop about it, they said the latest delivery date they’d gotten from the dealer was July 7.

So, when an opportunity to drive down to Faribault and have lunch with some high school friends on the 7th showed up, I thought, “Ah ha! I shall agree to this appointment, which will give the Frustrating Universe the opportunity to have the shop people call me that day to say the parts have come in. And I won’t be able to pick the car up right away. Perhaps that’s enough inconvenience to tempt the universe’s Frustration Protocols!” So I drove down to Faribault in the loaner (a Honda Civic) today, and waited for the call.

No call. I called the shop after I got home and they told me the dealer is now saying maybe July 30.

I think the Frustrating Universe saw through my ruse, and took its revenge.

In any case, I had a nice lunch. We ate at a place called the Depot in Faribault; it’s the old Rock Island Railroad depot, converted into a popular bar and grill. (I expect my grandfather knew the place, though he worked for the Milwaukee Road.) I’d never been there before. My hamburger was excellent.

I have to admit I wasn’t entirely sure who everybody was. We’ve all changed beyond recognition since the 1960s. But we had plenty of Old Geezer Stuff to discuss. Aches, pains, operations, diagnoses, enforced diets. I came away actually feeling pretty healthy, if you grade on the curve. At least I haven’t had a stroke or a heart attack yet. (Is saying that a challenge to the Frustrating Universe?)

I shared with them a scene I’d just written for the new Erling novel. Old Steinulf (you may recall him from the earlier books) fights a young guy and kills him, but ends up on his back in the grass. He says, “Can somebody give me a hand up? When you’re old, it’s a lot easier to kill a man then to get up from the ground.”

Everyone understood.