A Hero Among Dragons

“This is also why the new novels die so quickly, and why the old fairy tales endure for ever. The old fairy tale makes the hero a normal human boy; it is his adventures that are startling; they startle him because he is normal. But in the modern psychological novel the hero is abnormal; the centre is not central. Hence the fiercest adventures fail to affect him adequately, and the book is monotonous. You can make a story out of a hero among dragons; but not out of a dragon among dragons. The fairy tale discusses what a sane man will do in a mad world. The sober realistic novel of to-day discusses what an essential lunatic will do in a dull world.”

—G. K. Chesteron, Orthodoxy, The Project Gutenberg eBook, Apple iPod Touch, pp. 45–46 of 838.

I Read Them Stories Because...

A former classmate, Nick Nowalk, wrote this post, which has much to do with all that I have been writing and thinking lately. The post is titled, “Why I Read Fantastical Stories Full of Make-Believe To My Kids.” Here is an excerpt...

Most of all, I read them stories because I desperately desire—insofar as it depends on me—to shape their consciousness and baptize their imagination with categories, experiences, and longings that will one day respond to the Gospel with the cry: “Yes! Of course this is what it was always about. What else could possibly account for the way things are in this world?” I want to ruin them early for cheap, disconnected sex and trivial ambitions (when they are ultimate) like going to Harvard, making millions, or becoming the president. I want to expand their souls and make them impossible to satisfy or stuff with creation alone. And I aim to to do all this damage because I want Jesus Christ crucified and risen to have the compelling ring of truth when they begin to think and choose for themselves as they leave home to find their own place in the Story. Every moment I spend reading aloud to them is subordinated to the hope that Jesus would be recognized as the ultimate source and inspiration of every late night chill, tear, laugh or inconsolable yearning as my fiction stories ring true once more in their bedroom. Because I want them to understand that all of the gallant virtues they have come to admire and love through these stories are summed up in the daily act of taking up their cross to follow this Jesus into a kingdom that will triumph over all evil and sadness, and which will reign forever and ever and ever in the happy ending to end all happy endings.

Nick was light years ahead of me in class. He is an excellent writer and thinker. I thank God for giving men like Nick the mind and ability that he has.

Fears of the Father: Harry Potter

My children began complaining about having nothing to read in early summer 2010. Please try to understand how painful this is. Mackenzie and Chase had just finished 9 months of Omnibus. They had read thousands of pages for school and suddenly had nothing to read. They have read everything in the house, and had been to the library repeatedly. Kayleigh had read her entire fifth grade reading list by February and had spent the last four months writing her own 45-page story about a princess kidnapped by a neighboring kingdom and rescued by the blacksmith’s son. “Dad, I am so sad. We don’t have anything to read,” was the continual refrain.

Now, granted, this statement wasn’t entirely true. I often pointed out Dostoevsky, Dumas, and Dickens to name a few. No takers. They wanted something fun to read. Hah.

If you were a father, looking at two more months of summer, what would you have done? Probably not what I did. Yes, I did it. I told them to read Harry Potter. It was, after all, a big fat juicy fantastical story. It was seven books with 4,100 (exactly) pages. It could keep them busy for at least a week! Not only this, but men who I trusted biblically, spiritually, and theologically really enjoyed these books. So, given these considerations, I did it, I told the kids to read the Potter series.

To my amazement, the kids had imbibed my fear and contempt toward the Potter books. At first they said no; they were not going to read it. However, Chase, being the brave one, started in on Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone sometime in July. Mackenzie couldn’t hold out and started reading book one after Chase was in book two. Kenz is a faster reader, so she was on Chase’s tail in no time. I did not allow her to start a book until he finished, to which great complaining arose. Finally, in book four somewhere around Task Two, Chase couldn’t handle the pressure anymore and let her pass him. She finished book seven before he finished book five. Kayleigh finished the series shortly after Chase and then Wendy and I started.

When we learned that the seventh movie would be out in November, they all begged me to get the series read so that we could go to the movie together. They did not believe they could go without me, so they pushed hard. I finished book one on August 30 and book seven on November 7. I started book seven on November 5. Yes, I went into a hole on Friday and didn’t come out until I was done. It was wondrous.

The Abell Six are now Harry Potter fans.

Ripe for the Picking

Between the Voice of Prophecy broadcast and 2004, nothing happened to change my mind from a negative view of Potter. Once we arrived in Minneapolis several events occurred that caused our family to take a dramatic turn.

First, we learned that my pastor and mentor’s family loved Harry Potter. They read the books and saw the movies. In fact, while on sabbatical in Cambridge, they stood in line at the London premiere of Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix. This was shocking to me. How could such an amazing man of God allow a book about sorcery into his home?

Second, I developed an increasingly close friendship with a brilliant theologian and would-be missionary to Finland. I looked up to this devotee of the Reformation and realized quickly that I had little chance of ever grasping the deep things of God like he did. At some point I learned that he had read all seven Potter books in a month-long binge. He loved them.

I was still contemptuous of Harry Potter, just much more quiet about it. Clearly, as brilliant as these men are, they had some disconnect when it came to popular culture.

Third, our family began reading the 100 Cupboards series by N. D. Wilson. Not only was this series written by a solid evangelical, but the story had been compared to the Chronicles of Narnia and was very popular within the home school movement. Clearly these were reason enough to make them acceptable. Since I love fantastical books, and my children were raving about them, I began reading them and was instantly entranced. They were awesome. (I quoted from them here, here, here, and here. I explain why I loved the third book, The Chestnut King, here and here.) Oh yeah, magic and wizards are central to the story.

Fourth, I read On Stories, a collection of essays about stories and literature by C. S. Lewis, finished The Lord of the Rings a second time, and began reading Tolkien’s essay “On Fairy Stories.” Then in June 2010, as a family we read aloud Andrew Peterson’s The Wingfeather Saga, which was similar to 100 Cupboards but much more zany. On Stories argues, in many ways, for the enjoyment of science fiction and fantasy stories. The Rings trilogy does not shy away from an acute depiction of evil, along with strange creatures and magic. Finally, “On Fairy Stories” is Tolkien’s treatise on, well, fairy stories. Much to my liking.

Clearly there is irony in this retelling. How could a person who loves fantasy and heroic fiction so much be contemptuous about fantasy and heroic fiction? I was now ripe, as they say, for the picking.

A Little Back-story

As I continue with my posts on literature and Harry Potter, I think it helpful to give a bit of back-story. I have been reading fiction my entire life, beginning with my mother and father who read to me faithfully, as well as my sixth grade teacher who read to our class every day, and this reading endeared him to me deeply.

I read the Chronicles of Narnia in third grade, and the rest was history, so to speak; I read a ton of sci-fi / fantasy in high school. I was immersed in all things fanciful. Looking back on my life, it seems my favorite stories have almost always been fantasy (not a bad thing, read this). Furthermore, I love the hero. Whether the hero was a cowboy, a swordsman, or a spy, I love the guy who saves the day and gets the girl.

So, for me to sit in my van and shake my head knowingly as Lonnie Melashenko from Voice of Prophecy criticized J. K. Rowling for her work on the Harry Potter series was overtly hypocritical.

It gets worse, not only did I read a ton of fiction without discernment, but by this time I had not yet completed The Lord of the Rings. Not that I hadn’t tried of course, for I had picked up The Fellowship of the Ring two or three times and only gotten fifty or so pages in before becoming bored. The escapist fiction that I had been saturated in was simpler, easier, and seemingly more exciting.

Now, of course, I know better. I have read through The Lord of the Rings multiple times and have found it deeper, wiser, and more emotionally compelling with each reading. The point I am trying to make is that my understanding of literature and story was very immature back in 1998. It was infantile, which made my unthinking agreement with the radio broadcaster that much worse.

So, not only did I frown on Harry Potter, but I was hypocritical about it as well….

Frowning on Harry

I remember the moment quite vividly. It was sometime in the late 1990s, probably late 1998. I was driving into the garage of our first home, listening to the Voice of Prophecy broadcast on the local Christian radio station. At the time, I did not know that this brief radio program was presented by the Seventh Day Adventists, all I knew is that the guy was a good speaker and his words made sense; he was compelling. (I later parted ways with this broadcaster when he espoused Annihilation.)

It was dark outside, and I was particularly interested in the broadcast because the topic was Harry Potter, who was all the rage in the United States. Of course, I hadn’t read Harry Potter, but had certainly heard about him through the media. The books were wildly popular to say the least.

What I remember is that the speaker, Lonnie Melashenko, was chastising J. K. Rowling for not doing as Tolkien had done, namely, including a Christ figure in her books. Since at this time, only a few (maybe two or three) of the Harry Potter books were published in the US, Lonnie acknowledged that Rowling still had time to get her story right and include the Gandalf-like character who would help redeem the books. The gist of the broadcast (at least how I remember it 11 years later) was that Rowling will not have gotten her story right unless she has a redeeming Christ figure in it.

This broadcast, along with the general Christian milieu in which I lived, reinforced a negative view of Harry Potter that I have carried for years. I was attending a good, gospel-preaching church at the time, yet as I look back, I realize that the theological and intellectual level there was much different than what I am used to now. There was a fundamentalist bent at our church which was afraid of both Halloween and Harry Potter. Whether or not a good Christian family should let their kids out on Halloween was a significant point of discussion. Likewise, reading Harry Potter was frowned on.

The point, then, is that I have carried a negative view of Harry Potter for years….

This post is the first in what I hope will be multiple posts on the subject of literature in general, and Harry Potter in specific (and maybe even a little epistemology thrown in for fun). I want to construct my story/argument carefully, so I will try not to give too much away too soon. Stay tuned for more.

Uncommon Loyalty

“Fine,” Henry said. “Once my family is free and Flax gets them out, the rest of you can fight where you will or go home.” He pointed at Fat Frank. “Make sure they find my family.”

“No lad,” Frank said, shaking his head. “That’s for Jacques and his chestnut mob. I stay with you. We find the witch and pluck her beard.”

“Frank,” Henry said. “I don’t even—”

“Hush yourself,” Frank said. “Listen to those lions roaring in your blood. Even I can hear them. I know this wager. I know the odds, and I know the stakes.” He pointed up. “By the time this bleeding sun has bubbled in the sea, the game will be played and the tale told. Where your feet stand when the sun has set, there will be mine. If your blood pools, it won’t be pooling alone, and if there’s nought left but a pile of ash, it will be ash of Henry Maccabee and Fat Frank Once-a-Faerie.” He thumped his green mace against Henry’s breastplate. “We’ve stood the storm before, son of Mordecai. Now draw that faerie sword and let’s to war. Your father labors.”

—N. D. Wilson, The Chestnut King, pp. 437–438

The Chestnut King

I just finished N. D. Wilson’s latest book, The Chestnut King. Wow. It was fantastic. The Chestnut King was the third and final installment in the 100 Cupboards series of children’s books; however, they are not your mother’s children’s books. There is magic, suspense, swords, good, evil, love, and baseball—all of which you would expect. But the evil is really evil, and the blood is spilt blood, and the hero—a twelve year old boy—does some of the spilling. Don’t let that stop you from reading. Instead, remember what C. S. Lewis said about that.

One of the things—in my world anyway—which signals that a story, whether book or movie, was good is how long it sticks with me after it is over. If I am still thinking about it two days after it is over, then it was good. I think this is going to be that kind of book. I had an emotional bond with Henry York Maccabee and his family. I feel a loss having finished the book. I want to know more. I don’t want it to be over.

Now, there are only a handful of people who read this blog, mostly because I put it in your RSS feed. So, you know what I mean when I say that you are all working too much and should take a little time out to read a good book, or three. If reading a children’s book sounds beneath you, then you also need to remember what C.S. Lewis said about that. Go out and read this series. Now.

The Commanches then rushed on Jedediah

Our recent drive to Washington passed through Montana. We talked a lot about what it might have been like to be the first people to walk through that area. Who found the passes through the mountains? What was life like? What did the land look like without fences and farms and McDonalds?

At a rest stop in Montana we read a monument to a man named Jedediah Smith. Wikipedia describes how he died:

According to Dale L. Morgan, Jedediah Smith's biographer, Jedediah was looking for water for the 1831 expedition when he came upon an estimated 15-20 Commanches. There was a brief face to face stand off until the Commanches scared his horse and shot him in the left shoulder. After gasping from the injury, Jedediah wielded his horse around and with one rifle shot was able to kill their chief. The Commanches then rushed on Jedediah, who did not have time to use his pistols, and stabbed him to death with lances. Austin Smith, Jedediah's brother, was able to retreive Jedediah's rifle and pistols that the Indians had taken and traded to the Spanish.

This man, who likely died fighting Commanches in a box canyon somewhere off the Santa Fe Trail, blazed trails through Nevada, Utah, Idaho, Montana, Oregon, and California. He trapped fur and opened up much of the west to those who followed during the Gold Rush. He was only 32 when he died. He likely located passes through the Rockies that 18-wheelers drive today with regularity.

My soul is moved by the courage and bravery and hardiness of men like Smith. Maybe that's why I read everything Louis L'Amour wrote when I was in high school. (Don't fault my love of heroes by the quality of literature, even though I would still read L'Amour at the drop of a hat.)

Let there be wicked kings and beheadings...

Since it is so likely that they [children growing up in this world] will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage. Otherwise you are making their destiny not brighter but darker. Nor do most of us find that violence and bloodshed, in a story, produce any haunting dread in the minds of children. As far as that goes, I side impenitently with the human race against the modern reformer. Let there be wicked kings and beheadings, battles and dungeons, giants and dragons, and let villains be soundly killed at the end of the book. Nothing will persuade me that this causes an ordinary child any degree of fear beyond what it wants, and needs, to feel. For, of course, it wants to be a little frightened.

—C. S. Lewis, "On Three Ways of Writing for Children," On Stories and Other Essays on Literature, pp. 39-40.

That boy's not all cotton fluff, is he?

"You know," Henry said. He was talking more to himself than the faerie, trying to believe something. "A man once told me that sometimes winning a fight isn't as important as standing in the right place, facing what needs to be faced. And sometimes standing in the right place means you end up dead. And that's better than not standing at all." Henry twisted around and looked into the fat faerie's dark eyes.

"Oh," Frank said. "That's a dark bit of philosophy for a lad. Think that way, and all you'll ever get is your name written on a bit of stone. What I say is, don't go playing unless you can win. Only sit down to chess with idiots, only kick a dog what's dead already, and don't love a lady unless she loves you first. That's Franklin Fat-Faerie's—"

Henry was gone.

Frank puffed out his cheeks and pulled a thread from his pocket. "Well, Franklin, that boy's not all cotton fluff, is he?" He began tying the thread around one of the supporting sticks. "He's got it pretty well figured, and you know it. We're all going to get ourselves dead, and only the gulls will want our after-bits. But," he added, tugging gently on the thread, "I'll do my dying standing on the right spot, beside the son of Mordecai, even if he is a bit of a nunce."

—N. D. Wilson, Dandelion Fire, pp. 371–375

Because it is right to do so

Ron was silent for a moment. Then he spoke. "Sometimes standing against evil is more important than defeating it. The greatest heroes stand because it is right to do so, not because they believe they will walk away with their lives. Such selfless courage is a victory in itself."

—N. D. Wilson, Dandelion Fire, pp. 172–173

I Need to Explain That Last Quote

I need to explain that last quote, not necessarily for my two readers, but for myself. Why, indeed, would I post such a quote with all of its two-bit philosophical ramblings? Well, because if you read the entire book, you would get a feel for the person eliciting the quote. And the person who elicited the quote is a complex person who ultimately does what is right regardless of his desire to live. He is what I would call a hero. Yet, he is a flawed hero.

While it is common in most hero stories that the hero must stand against the face of evil, it is also common that the hero be a fractured character, a troubled man who fuzzes the line occasionally to bring about the greater good. Is this concept not central to the recent summer blockbuster The Dark Knight?

Corwin of Amber had just chased down a thief who had murdered a woman and taken her bracelets and rings. Corwin dispatched the murderer, retrieved the stolen items and then buried the woman. Once finished he thought the quote. In my mind his actions were simply retribution for Melkin’s evil deeds. Especially in a medieval setting, were his actions not appropriate?

For me, with years of reading hero stories under my belt, there is something right about the lone hero who fights evil and rides away alone into the sunset, the hero who sheds blood in order to keep blood from being shed. We love this man, don’t we? His story is everywhere. He has been played by Clint Eastwood, Mel Gibson, Sylvester Stallone, and Matt Damon. He is the lone cowboy, standing against the rustlers, shooting them dead, and then riding into the sunset. He is Aragorn as a Ranger, doing what is right, but in the shadows, protecting the weak with brutal, efficient violence.

I realize that all of the above really doesn’t matter to anyone reading this, unless they have read the chronicles of Corwin of Amber. But, there is one sentence in my previous quote-post that makes me think of a biblical character who also had a lot of blood on his hands. “Until that time, I shall not wash my hands nor let them hang useless.” I can picture King David saying this as he looked forward to the building of the temple and peace in Israel, riding out to battle with his Mighty Men.

Saul has killed his thousands, David his ten thousands! There was blood on David’s hands, to be sure. David avenged more than one evil deed. David wanted to usher in the new kingdom of peace, but was kept from it. David wanted to build the temple. He dreamed of it, he designed it, and he gathered the materials for it. Yet, God did not let him build it because he had blood on his hands.

David was a man after God’s own heart. David wrote ballads and played the harp. David was a lover. And David killed people. David was a hero who was necessary for the kingdom of Israel. God rewarded him by promising that his son would sit on the throne forever. Yet, he was not allowed to build the temple.

I don’t know if he fully knew all that would happen when his reign was over; maybe he did. Even still, he still did what was necessary for the kingdom. “Until that time, I shall not wash my hands nor let them hang useless.”