Reality Check

Jordan Sillars, the author of today's guest post, is a junior literature major at Patrick Henry College who likes Clint Eastwood movies because he's always wanted to be a cowboy. Unfortunately, all he's allowed to have in his dorm room is a fish, and you can't ride a fish into the sunset.

I like stories with happy endings. Call me sentimental and hire me at Hallmark, but I really don't like a story if it ends darkly. Hamlet, for example. I mean, c'mon, Will, what's the deal? Did you have to kill everybody in one scene? Couldn't you at least have spread it out a bit? Anyway, before my Shakespeare ignorance shows, I'll get to the point.

What is realism, really? (Sorry, that's a question, not a point. Bear with me.) A lot of movies and books style themselves as being truly realistic. They don't include anything fantastic or supernatural. Their characters don't scale Burj Khalifa in Dubai or fight off seventeen trained assassins. The hero doesn't have laser vision and can't transform himself into a giant robot. The characters walk, they don't run; they wear suits, not capes; their problems are everyday, not galaxy-destroying. “Realistic” stories present the world as normal people perceive it: sort of boring, kind of gray, and often difficult. The characters stutter, gasp, and muddle through until the protagonist dies or the cherry orchard is cut down. Rub some dirt in it, kid: “Life sucks, and then you die.”

But I don't believe this is realism. Pessimistic? Sure. Depressing? Yeah. But not realistic. The trouble seems to be that people confuse perception with reality. They look at the world, what they can empirically observe, and think, “Wow. This place stinks. If I want to write a realistic story I better present the world in all its stinkiness.” So they construct a story like one described above because that's how the world appears. Unfortunately for so-called realists, that's not how the world actually is. They forget to include the epilogue that begins with “But God...”

Don't get me wrong. “Realistic,” hopeless stories tell a true story, insofar as the parts of the story they tell are true. Life sucks sometimes; loved ones fail us, friends leave us, and dreams disappoint us. Evil people kill millions of innocents, and liars rule the world. I'm not proposing that all stories be mushy, feel-good fairy tales. I really don't like Hallmark movies. By all means, portray evil in your stories.  Show just how nasty men can be. Describe the world as the depressing place it sometimes is.

But never forget to tell a complete story. If you want to tell a realistic story, don't forget to include a realistic ending.

I love reading the Old Testament prophets. At least, I love coming to the end of their books. For pages and pages, Amos prophesies against the nation of Israel. God is going to destroy his people for their injustice, their pride, and their lack of repentance. God says, “Strike the tops of the pillars...Bring them down on the heads of the people; those who are left I will kill with the sword. No one will get away, none will escape.”  When the Lord of the universe says no one will escape, you can bet that no one will escape. Life isn't looking so great for the Israelites, to say the least. Then, just when all hope seems lost, God ends the book with this: “In that day I will restore David's fallen tent. I will repair its broken places, restore its ruins, and build it as it used to be...The days are coming...when the reaper will be overtaken by the plowman...I will bring back my exiled people Israel; they will rebuild the ruined cities and live in them.” This is the refrain throughout the Bible. Men are fallen and sinful, but God always restores in the end. God takes evil and turns it to good. Despite what we can see with our limited perspective, this is the way the world truly works. There will always be restoration.

If you haven't read Crime and Punishment yet, you should. It is considered one of the greatest novels of all time, and rightly so. Its characters are engaging, its descriptions are vivid, and its plot is riveting. But perhaps its strongest characteristic is that Dostoevsky's novel is truly realistic. He does not sugar-coat the evil in the world, but neither does he leave his characters without the hope of restoration. Crime and Punishment is dark and gritty, but a ray of hope shines in the epilogue. The novel speaks to what humans know to be true: evil is strong and terrible, but good will always triumph.

I like stories with happy endings because I think they're more realistic than hopeless ones. They resonate with me because I know that they are true. There is always hope, however small, and a good story points me to this reality.

The Christian Writer's Dilemma

The author of this week's guest post is John Ehrett, a long-time devotee of the written word who is currently majoring in International Politics and Policy at Patrick Henry College. His favorite books include Les Miserables, Atlas Shrugged, The Odyssey, and The Hunchback of Notre-Dame. To read more of his writing on modern literature and culture, you can visit his personal blog, Literary Analysis.

Any Christian who wants to write realistically will eventually face one question: how do we deal with the dark stuff? It doesn’t take much to recognize that the world is a pretty grim, sordid place sometimes…is there a way Christians can address it honestly?

When it comes to Christians writing about the unsavory parts of life, there are a lot of different opinions. Some take a very conservative approach, censoring anything that even hints of sexuality, strong violence, or profanity (most Christian fantasy novels fall into this category). Others have a no-holds-barred approach to writing, incorporating dark content as part of a deeply redemptive story (Ted Dekker is particularly known for this). What’s a Christian writer to do?

The following is my view. I don’t profess to speak for all Christians, but simply offer the way I’ve sought to resolve this dilemma. The Bible doesn’t directly address this question, but it does so obliquely: “Be careful, however, that the exercise of your rights does not become a stumbling block to the weak….When you sin against them in this way and wound their weak conscience, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if what I eat causes my brother or sister to fall into sin, I will never eat meat again, so that I will not cause them to fall.” 1 Corinthians 8:9, 12-13 (NIV). The appropriate question to ask is not “can I put this in my story?” but “will this be a stumbling block to someone?”

This raises two important issues: style and context. Although it’s subtle, there’s a difference between describing an act in clinical terms and describing it in gratuitous detail. In a film like The Passion of the Christ, the focus is not on the violent acts themselves: it is on the crucified Savior and His sacrifice for us. In many modern movies (particularly the works of Quentin Tarantino), violence is portrayed as a sort of exploitative art form, appealing to an individual’s basest instincts. The same principle holds true in writing. For the sake of authenticity, a realistic story about warfare may require the inclusion of some traditionally “problematic” material. This material, however, need not be described in pornographic detail. There may be a place for stark realism, but this is by no means a license to exploit.

This also raises the issue of context. What may be inappropriate in a particular work may be integral to another, depending on both the story and the audience. Most Christian fiction is written to edify existing believers, not win new converts. As a result, the writers of Christian fiction must keep this end of “edification” in mind when writing. This rules out including content that does not serve this end. For example, an individual looking for spiritual nourishment may be horrified by the description of a gangland shootout in a “Christian” work…though such a scene may be justified in a work targeting a secular audience.

In works written by Christians for secular audiences, a subtler apologetic tone is required. Far too much Christian fiction takes a ham-fisted approach to evangelism, which severely undermines its effectiveness in reaching the lost. Some of the finest literature of our time -- The Brothers Karamazov, Les Miserables, Moby-Dick, and The Road, among others -- deal with deeply spiritual material, yet never take a blindly didactic approach. Sometimes, as in the aforementioned works, there may be a place for merciless imagery as the most powerful foil of all to the saving Light of the Gospel.

That Light doesn’t always need to be communicated explicitly. It can come through an act of compassion, an undeserved sacrifice, or a whispered prayer in the midst of deep darkness. Flannery O’Connor was a master of this, communicating powerful themes of grace and hope against a backdrop of the macabre. In the end, the motivations of individual Christian writers are between themselves and God. Perhaps, however, considering the style and context will offer a reasonable solution to questions of content.