He’s Got Me Rereading My Own Books

Pastor Bill Grandi has three posts last week on his rereading of my Dancing Priest series. On Tuesday, Bill discussed the difficulty of reading the fourth book in the series, Dancing Prophet, because of what it was about. It was a difficult book to write, and it became somewhat prophetic, including when the Archbishop of Canterbury resigned for helping to cover up a scandal in the Church of England. 

On Wednesday, Bill discussed a conversation between Michael and Sarah Kent-Hughes in Dancing Prophet, in which Sarah observes how hard it is to be one of the workers sent in “to clean out the pipes.” And on Thursday, Bill writes about a scene in the fifth and last in the series, Dancing Prince, in which Michael’s two sons, Henry and Thomas (or Hank and Tommy, as they’re known by the other characters), are discussing “calling,” or being called by God as described in I Samuel 16:1-13, the rejection of Saul and the anointing of David.  Coincidentally, the pastor at my church used that passage as the text for his sermon this morning. 

 

Bill’s post led me to start rereading my own books. I’ve already finished the first two, Dancing Priest and A Light Shining. (Amazon has the Dancing Priest pages messed up; the Kindle version is here; the cheaper paperback price is here, but it’s still more than it’s supposed to be.)

 

Originally, I had planned on doing only those two books. They were written as one (huge) manuscript of about 150,000 words. But the publisher and I had a conversation about what might happened after Michael and Sarah returned to Britain, and it was in that conversation that I described what could be the plot lines for several more books, including what would become Dancing Prophet and its difficult subject. Two weeks later, the publisher sent me a short news clip; the difficult subject had become a horrific reality. That reality continues 13 years later, with the resignation last year of the Archbishop of Canterbury.

 

After rereading A Light Shining, it is my prayer that its subject – religious violence that nearly tears Britain apart – never becomes reality. 

“The Grace of Les Miserables” by Matt Rawle

It’s something that, in our contemporary culture, Christians would recognize almost immediately, while others would not. Les Misérables by Victor Hugo is part of the pantheon of the world’s great literature, and it is also an intensely Christian story. The popular stage production and movie do have wide audience appeal; both are great entertainment, with an resonating story line and wonderful music. And they don’t downplay the themes of grace and redemption; but many people in the audiences might be surprised at the profoundly Christian elements of these themes.

In The Grace of Les Misérables, author Matt Rawle tackles these themes head on. In six relatively short but packed chapters, he considers the grace displayed in the life of Jean Valjean; how grace and justice collide in the life of Inspector Javert; the problem of “the poor are always with you” in the life of Fantine; how the relationship of Marius and Cosette demonstrate the gift of love; how the friends exemplify the idea of building the barricade; and how the scenes of the garden, far from being asides, are critical to understanding the book.

Matt Rawle

What Rawle also helps you understand, if unintentionally, is that while the movie and the stage production are faithful to the book, the book contains much, much more. It is a more nuanced work. For example, the movie and play condense Valjean’s redemption into a few key scenes, while the book makes it clear his redemption happens over a considerable period of time. Christians recognize this as the process of sanctification. And the book does not display Inspector Javert as an evil villain; instead, it shows the ongoing internal conflict the man experiences as he grapples with the ideas of justice and grace. 

Rawle is lead pastor of Asbury United Methodist Church in Bossier City, La. He received his B.A. degree in music from LSU and his Masters of Divinity degree from Duke Divinity School. He is also the author of What Makes a Hero?, The Faith of a Mockingbird, The Redemption of Scrooge, The Gift of the Nutcracker, The Salvation of Doctor Who, Almost Christmas: A Wesleyan Advent Experience, Hollywood Jesus, and The Marks of Hope. 

The Grace of Les Misérables is a wonderful resource for exploring and deepening one’s understanding of the great work by Hugo. And it clearly shows how bedrock Christian teachings and themes underpin the entire story.

Note: The Grace of Les Misérables also has both a group leader guide and a youth study book for discussion in small groups and young adult classes. Both track the chapters in the main book. The leader guide includes a session overview; a list of suggested questions for discussion; appropriate Bible verses; and suggestions for application. The guide is extremely well done, easy to follow, and useful for both live and online group discussions.

Related:

When the Story is Not What You Think It Is – my post at Literary Life.

Writing: Is It Themes or Is It Story?

In 2013, a study by three researchers at the University of Toronto suggested that people who read literary fiction are more comfortable with ambiguity, tend to avoid snap judgments and can deal better with disorder and uncertainty. Publishing in the Creativity Research Journal, the researchers found that reading fiction may help people open their minds. (You don’t have to read the entire study; a short and succinct article in Salon translates the study from the original Academic-ese.)

Business executives don’t read novels to help them make decisions. But perhaps they should read novels to help them understand the culture around them. They might make better decisions as a result. 

I spent a career writing non-fiction – speeches, articles, reports, studies, and essays. And I read the business stuff I had to read – The Wall Street Journal and a multitude of business and trade publications. But I also read a considerable amount of fiction and poetry, and the understanding followed was reflected in my career work. I don’t think I could have written a lot of what I did without having read Charles Dickens, for example, or The Jungle by Upton Sinclair (as bad a novel as it was, it changed the laws governing food production). 

To continue reading, please see my post today at Christian Poets & Writers.

On Being a Writer: Writing

In 2013, a study by three researchers at the University of Toronto suggested that people who read literary fiction are more comfortable with ambiguity, tend to avoid snap judgments and can deal better with disorder and uncertainty. Publishing in the Creativity Research Journal, the researchers found that reading fiction may help people open their minds. (You don’t have to read the entire study; a short and succinct article in Salon translates the study from the original Academic-ese.)

Business executives don’t read novels to help them make decisions. But perhaps they should read novels to help them understand the culture around them. They might make better decisions as a result.

I’ve spent a career writing non-fiction – speeches, articles and essays. And I read the business stuff I had to read – The Wall Street Journal and a multitude of business and trade publications. But I also read a considerable amount of fiction and poetry, and the understanding followed was reflected in my career work. I don’t think I could have written  a lot of what I did without having read Charles Dickens, for example, or The Jungle by Upton Sinclair (as bad a novel as it was, it changed the laws governing food production).

Reading fiction and poetry also leads me to ask myself questions, like “what are you trying to say in your own fiction?”

I have two published novels and a third is in the works. I would be kidding myself and everyone else if I claimed to have had specific themes in mind when I started writing. What I had in my mind was the story at hand, a story that kept insisting it be told. I wasn’t thinking of grand ideas or themes; I was completely focused on telling a story, this story that often seemed to have a life of its own and characters who did things I didn’t plan on them doing.

In On Being a Writer: 12 Simple Habits for a Writing Life That Lasts, Charity Craig (co-author with Ann Kroeker) says this: “We have something to say that can come only from us. Though we often find ourselves, our lives, in the pages of others, what’s missing? Where is the story, the perspective, the hope that only I can express? I can look and look for it, but I’ll never find it until I sit down and write.”

I can reread those two novels now, and I can see the themes and ideas. But they were not, and are not, intentional. But they are there, and I don’t really know what they are until I sit down and write:

There is nobility in the world. There are people who know, who live, what it means to serve.

It is possible to act honorably, no matter what trials or disasters one faces.

There is evil in the world, but it will not overcome the good.

The best way to teach people about God is to live as God would have you live.

Forgiveness is a gift, a gift to give and a gift to receive.

In this same chapter of On Being a Writer, co-author Ann Kroeker tackles what is likely the most common issues every writer faces – finding the time to write.

There is no such thing as “ideal conditions” for writing. “If I wait for ideal conditions,” says Ann Kroeker, “I’ll get nothing done.”

Exactly.

I have written early in the morning and late at night. I’ve written on airplanes and in hotel rooms. I’ve written on buses. I’ve taken notes and jotted down ideas at symphony performances, in business meetings, and listening to presentations. I’ve written longhand on paper and in journals, in bed, at my desk, at someone else’s desk, in cars (when someone else was driving). I’ve written on hikes and on trains. I’ve written in the back of taxi cabs. I’ve written whenever I squeeze another moment for writing. I’ve written when I had the flu.

There are no ideal conditions for writing. If you are a writer, you write.

It’s like breathing.

Photograph by Ken Kistler via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.