The Lit Chic

I don’t usually tread into negative territory, i.e., if I don’t like a book, then I won’t review it rather than slamming it to the general public. (I hold very much to the Trelease & Pennac School of Reading–if it gets people reading, don’t diss it!) Generally, what people are looking for is what makes the book worthwhile, and if it doesn’t appeal to you, then you’re not going to see why it’s good (I’m talking about a general “you”). And really, there’s good in just about everything. Additionally, unlike an awful movie, an awful book with bright spots here and there still tends to do something *good* in the reader; it somehow has something to do with Christ being “the Word,” and all words are patterned after his Life. So somehow, something that is put in print is living, even if it attempts to speak against the original Word. An apple is still an apple even if it runs around declaring it’s an orange. That type of thing. However, I haven’t entirely figured this concept out yet, so don’t preach it as gospel. I just know that reading at all leads to better and more reading, and that rather than criticize what people are reading, it’s important to encourage them to read more, so that eventually they can find the truth. There’s a great line about this in Freak the Mighty–I’ll have to find it and amend this post to include it. 

Anyway, I’m running counter to that philosophy with this post, but all rules have exceptions. I will preface this with: If The Shack is helpful to you or someone you know, that’s wonderful. It wouldn’t be a bestseller if people were not finding something good in it. However, I feel like I have a responsibility to sift, and sift, and sift.

I’m going to give you my references right off the bat, and then explain the process I go through before I decide to read a book. 

Reference one: Most helpful critical review of The Shack on Amazon.
Reference two: Wikipedia articles one and two.

I’m also going to admit I’m on thin ice and bordering on being judgmental in my analysis. Unfortunately, sometimes evaluation involves making judgments. And evaluations must be made. I have also been wrong before, and I could very well be wrong now. But I feel my responsibility very keenly. (Where does it come from? Why? I don’t know, but I feel it. So I’m going to follow it. A person can never lightly go against their gut feelings.)

All apologies and caveats aside, here goes.

Before I read a book, I thoroughly preview. I read all cover material, I might flip to an excerpt, and if this is a well-known book, I will almost always get on Amazon, see who the publisher is, and go to customer reviews. (If the book is not well-known, all bets are off.) I look at samples of all reviews, good and bad. I want the feeling of: 1) What kind of reader does this book attract in general? 2) What kind of reader likes this book? 3) What kind of reader dislikes this book? Why?  I also occasionally Google the book or the author. I’ll read Wikipedia. I’ll read publisher bios. I want to know how much advertising went into promoting this book. If it’s a word-of-mouth phenomenon, who did the wording? That kind of thing.

After my wonderful sister-in-law enthusiastically insisted I read the book (and Lord knows, she’s been game to read what I give her!), I began this preview and research process. But when I read the inciting force of the fictional book and compared it to the facts that have been released of Young’s life, it gave me pause. It gave me a lot of pause. 

I feel like our culture has gone crazy with the whole CSI theme–blood and deviant, defiled sexuality make great TV ratings, even among the Christian culture. Alas! We are no better than our Roman ancestors who watched the same thing in the name of entertainment. 

From what I understand, The Shack capitalizes on the CSI bloodlust as the catalyzing force of the whole book. And I don’t care how good it is, I won’t read fictional theology from an author that creates a female child character in order to kill off for the sake of a fictional encounter with God. Period. 

Tolkien wrote about the creation-power that storytellers, well, all humans have. And having grown up the daughter of a really amazing author, I have had plenty of opportunity to study first-hand the process of fictional creation from a very unique perspective. I am neither author nor reader–I have acquired the senses of independent observer, and I am here to tell you that authors do not understand the depths of their creations. While readers have permission to read anything, authors do not have permission to write just anything. They will be held accountable in a Higher Court for what they do. Some authors, where there wasn’t much to the story, will be let off. But some authors, who were given a gift, a purpose, or a calling, will be held responsible for what they did with it. And there are some authors for whom I ache, because I can see exactly where they went awry. There are also some authors that I can’t wait to see in Heaven, because I am filled with living stuff from having read their material. They did well. 

However, back to the point: Young has a lot of nerve to take his suffering, which is both deserved and undeserved (see released biographical material) and transform it into undeserved suffering on the part of the child in his book. Children, and sometimes even fictional children, are Holy to the Lord. Any author that writes a plot point harming one of these is in very dangerous waters. 

To me, all the other issues, like the sketchy theology, the anti-churchness of the book, and other problems, are just side issues. For me the real problem is the violation of one of the cardinal rules of story authorship. Children are never a convenient plot point. Ever.