Does It Always Have to Be an Amish Romance?

I recently read Robin Parrish’s novel Offworld, the story of a group of astronauts returning from Mars who discover that the world’s 10 billion people, or almost all of them, have disappeared. The novel was published by Bethany House, a well known and well respected Christian publisher. The author is a Christian. And the novel is, well, the novel is not an Amish romance.

It’s not even overtly Christian. No big gospel message. No struggles with faith. And an incredibly riveting and well-written story.

I didn’t think this was a big deal, until a few weeks later, someone commented on a blog about the novel: “I didn’t like it. Offworld didn’t edify me.”

I have all kinds of problems with that statement, not the least of which was the assumption that the novel’s purpose was to “edify me,” both an arrogance and a self-centeredness that the commenter likely didn’t intend.

A debate rages off and on about what is, and isn’t, “Christian” fiction. Some have offered these qualifications: written by a Christian author; published by a Christian publishing house; absence of cursing, sex, raw violence; some moral lesson; explicit goaspel message; good always wins in the end. Some go much farther than this. Novelist Ted Dekker ripped on the content guidelines of Christian romance publisher Steeple Hill; some pointed out that under those guidelines, even the Bible wouldn’t be published. Dekker eventually apologized, and everyone agreed to “move on,” a euphemism for acknowledging that the parties don’t, and probably won’t, agree. Another way to look at it, though, is to say Mr. Dekker knows his art and Steeple Hill knows its market. Publishing is a business, after all.

Suspense writer Mike Dellosso and writer Mike Duran have both written in the past about “Christian fiction,” to raise questions and invite discussion. Both go beyond the “defining guidelines” kind of controversy, and ask more pointed questions. What is “Christian” fiction? Is there such a thing? Can there be? For those who say that some write from a “Christian worldview,” what does that mean? And the audience question: what is the purpose of “Christian” fiction – to evangelize or build up the church? Who do Christians write for? Who should we write for? If we’re writing only for other Christians, are we keeping ourselves not of this world and out of it?

The discussion, even with the occasional outrage, is healthy. And it’s important. It begins to get at the purpose of writing and fiction, of creation and art. It leads us to this “separate but equal” life and lifestyle we Christians often live in today’s world.

And it can point us in a different direction. Switchfoot singer Jon Foreman, writing in The Huffington Post, called the artist “the bridge between hope and despair” (read the whole article). I think Foreman is right.

I’d add that this bridge, this essential function, happens most effectively when we Christian writers understand we are that bridge.

This article was originally published by The Christian Manifesto, but the site was redesigned and the archive (with all of my posts) disappeared. So I’m occasionally reposting some of the articles I wrote for the publication.

Robin Parrish's "Nightmare"

Maia Peters is the daughter of two rather famous paranormal investigators. She’s trying to find her own way in life, and is studying criminal justice in college. But the knowledge of her famous parents sticks to her, and attracts the attention of Jordin Cole, a wealthy fellow student who will pay just about anything to investigate the very things Maia wants left behind her. Eventually Maia gives in, and the two visit some of the most famous haunted places in America, from a tuberculosis sanitarium in Kentucky and Alcatraz to St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 in New Orleans. They find ghosts, all right, all kinds of ghosts. And Jordin loses something in the process – her soul.

And Maia, helped by Jordin’s fiancé Derek Hobbes, is going to get it back.

There’s a lot to ponder about Nightmare, this novel by Robin Parrish.

First, it is highly structured, with the story of Jordin’s disappearance alternating chapter by chapter with the investigations that Maia and Jordan undertake around the country. Parrish uses this structure to heighten the growing tension, building the story toward a terror-filled climax.

Second, it is what’s called speculative fiction, something known primarily to readers of Christian fiction as “that edgy stuff that just might be theologically suspect but it's hard to tell.” The story is filled with ghosts, apparitions, and demons meaning great harm, and it’s published by Bethany House, one of the best known and highly regarded publishers of Christian fiction. Yet the author stays true to orthodox theology.

Third, it’s a ghost story, plain and simple. It’s well written and fast paced, and it reads quickly. At this level, the structure takes on a different kind of role – actually providing relief to the growing tension and horror of the main story.

My one criticism of the novel concerns the villain, who occupies a rather shadowing position in the story until near the end. The villain’s presence could have been less shadowy; some considerable ground had to be covered to get the back story. But this is a minor criticism; I got so absorbed in the narrative that I often lost track of the time on my bedside clock. And I read it in less than weekend.

Parrish tells a good ghost story.


Related: My review of Robin Parrish's Offworld.

Robin Parrish's "Offworld"

It's fascinating to read a novel, a science fiction novel like this one, and be able to follow the geography because you yourself have lived it.

It’s 2033, and four U.S. astronauts are returning from the first expedition to Mars. They’ve been gone almost three years. The exploration went well, except for the time when the commander, Chris Burke, was lost and should have died from lack of oxygen. But he remembers little of what happened.

As the team of four approaches Earth, they find they’ve lost contact with Johnson Space Center in Houston. Then the ship’s systems fail, and the ship crashes at the Kennedy Center in Florida. The four survive, but then find the center devoid of people. Accessing a laptop, they begin to check for the rest of the area. And learn that people have disappeared. All people. Worldwide. Ten billion people are gone. And so are the animals and insects. And whatever happened, it was sudden, as if in a single moment. The team can also see that an incredibly bright light emanates from Houston, and it is to Houston they decide to go.

It doesn’t take long for them to learn they are not alone, after all.

Robin Parrish could have chosen any number of possibilities for what happens in his novel Offworld. He chose what is likely the most challenging one, and then framed the story in one wild, action-packed, the tension-never-lets-up narrative that sweeps the reader along the top of a giant wave of suspense.

Offworld could be a movie. No, it should be a movie. The writing is that descriptive and vivid. The reader is there, with the astronaut team, every step of the way. That takes some skill, and Mr. Parrish pulls it off.

The geography of the novel arcs from central Florida to Houston. When I was a baby, my family lived in Florida, but then returned to New Orleans. The four astronauts of Offworld travel from the Orlando/Kennedy Center area to the Florida Panhandle, through Mobile and the Mississippi Gulf Coast, New Orleans, Baton Rouge, Lake Charles, Beaumont and then Houston. I have lived, played, vacationed and/or visited every single one of those places. I nearly came out my chair when the author mentions North 11th Street in Beaumont (my first job out of college was in Beaumont, and I lived in an apartment on N. 14th St.) and Beaumont's Parkdale Mall (I edited a lot of stories about Parkdale Mall for the Beaumont Enterprise; I was there when it opened).

And the big bridge on Interstate 10 in Lake Charles, where a major development in the novel occurs? Well, if you've been on that bridge, you know exactly what's happening. And the Medical Center and Rice University in Houston, two more of the action scenes in Offworld? I lived near there as well, and commuted through the Medical Center to reach work in downtown Houston. I went to college in Baton Rouge, lived in New Orleans, and spent a lot of time on the Mississippi Gulf Coast.

The geography of Offworld rings true. If Robin Parrish didn't travel that geography in writing his novel, I'll be shocked. It's that close.

Photo of front cover of "Offworld" courtesy of Bethany House Publishers.

Reviews, Reading and a "Twoem"

I finished a draft of a book review of The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work by Alain de Botton. It’s a guest post for another blog, and I’ll provide a link once it’s been accepted and posted. But de Botton is an interesting writer and a very effective speaker. I first ran across him via a YouTube video. A colleague at work saw the book on my desk and began waxing eloquent – evidently, he’s a huge fan of the author.

In the meantime, I’m waiting on the arrival of two books I’ve been asked to review (kind of cool, that), one of which is a Christmas story and the other which is an edgy, speculative novel. While I’m waiting, I’m reading Offworld by Robin Parrish and published by Bethany House. It, too, would fall in the speculative fiction category, although so far it’s more like science fiction, very well written science fiction. I’ve seen it criticized on a few blogs for not having enough of a “Christian message;” one blogger even complained about how it disappointed the need for edification. Well, I’m not far enough into it to speak to either message or edification, but I can say it is one gripping, fast-paced story, and Parrish writes extremely well.

There’s another “twoem” or poetry jam on Twitter being planned for tonight at 9:30 p.m. eastern, 8:30 p.m. central. You can check #tspoetry on Twitter for any updates and I’ll be tweeting it and posting on Facebook as well.