What is The Wingfeather Saga about? Redemption? Family? Responsibility? Good vs Evil? Loss? Hope?
What is The Cloak of the Light about? Spiritual warfare? Love? Sacrifice? The existence of God? Persistence?
What is The Lord of the Rings about? Friendship? Courage? Deception? Mercy? Justice? Allegory?
I am basically asking, what are the themes of each book? You have to pick one, just one. Maybe one appeals to you in particular. Maybe you can relate to a tight-knit family. Maybe you struggle with courage.
It’s impossible, though, isn’t it? I mean, The Lord of the Rings isn’t just about courage, though that’s certainly a part of it. And even though you could argue that it is because that particular theme stuck out to you, it’s different for everyone else. Even the reason why themes stick out vary by person. The Christian and unbeliever will view it differently. The soldier and the shy kid will view it differently.
But this is obvious, right? We as writers sit down with a theme in mind that we build our characters and situations around — or, if you’re a pantser like myself, your theme evolves naturally from the characters and situations you create. But no matter how we do it, we know that that’s not the only thing our readers will walk away with. And that’s how we want it to be! Books aren’t supposed to be sermons. They’re supposed to be layered and deep and illustrative. Maybe there’s some sort of ‘primary’ theme or idea, perhaps a phrase like ‘rise and ride again,’ or ‘my place beside you, my blood for yours,’ but can the book be condensed down to that one message? Conversely, can a book with only one message, one dimension, be as enjoyable and edifying to read as a more complicated one?
This is a pitfall I have seen writers — Christian writers especially, but really anyone with an agenda in mind — stumble into. Books like Dragon Seed or the Lamplighter novels are really sermons and essays buried under a thin crepe-paper layer of sentimentality and contrived situations. Sure, the creative mind could certainly scratch around and maybe drag out the empty husks of a few side themes, but they dwindle next to the preachy main message.
This is not to say that Christians should not have a message they want to communicate in their writing. This is not saying that beliefs have no place in a story. Far from it. If we are Christian, then our beliefs and our values will and ought to shine through in our art.
The problem comes when we abandon the usefulness and multi-facetedness of the parable for the ease of the cliche. And I’m not saying you have to write something on the scale of Brandon Sanderson or George R.R. Martin. Look at Narnia! Small, short books easy enough to be read by children. And yet very, very far from lacking in material worthy of being considered and discussed — and also, quality stories.
Dragon Seed was an example of why Christian fiction often gets a bad rap. It started out with your stereotypical rebellious teenager, who after hearing his mother’s story of how he’s descended from the demon-possessed man near the tombs, pulls his life together, while meanwhile his sister fails to learn the lesson and falls prey to the whispers of shallow, cartoonish demons. ‘Obey your parents, kids.’
Consider, on the other hand, the lovely Green Ember series. There is so much to pull out of there! Living, colorful illustrations of learning from the wisdom of our elders! Practically staying hopeful in hard times, being content, taking responsibility, leading others toward truth, fighting for what’s good and beautiful, advocating for the weak and helpless, combating fear, and it goes on! Even though in each book a certain theme rises to the forefront, it’s not so obvious that it instantly becomes the sole purpose of the book. It’s not preachy, it’s not stupidly blatant, and it’s actually a story.
“If you want to tell someone the truth, tell them. If you want them to love the truth, tell them a story.” — Andrew Peterson
Writing fiction isn’t just about speaking the truth. That’s what nonfiction is for. But even nonfiction writers know that story is compelling. Why? Story illustrates the truth. It helps us understand truth. It makes us, as Andrew Peterson would say, love it.
It’s one thing to say: ‘Hypocrisy leaves a mark on you and how people treat you.’ It’s another to read Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter and see this boldly shown.
It’s one thing to say: ‘God loves every single one of us.’ It’s another to see this vividly pictured in the parable of the lost sheep. Take note of this — Jesus used stories. Stories stick with us. Stories fascinate us. If you’ve ever taken a speech class, you know one of the best exordiums is ‘let me tell you a story.’
And, are Jesus’s parables just a single message wrapped up in some compelling pictures? No! Every time you read the Bible, you see something new. Jesus’s message isn’t just a one-and-done deal. Study of His teachings and parables yield new fruit every time. Is the story of the prodigal son about the youngest son? The oldest? The father?
It’s all of them. And so are the examples at the beginning of this article. As writers, our goal is not to shake our fingers at our audience and yell at them, turning our rant into dialogue in our characters’ mouths and giving obvious, stupid examples of how dumb our characters are because they won’t get this through their heads. We’re not lecturing, and our audience isn’t just listening. We’re offering, and they’re experiencing. The job of an author should be instead, ‘Here, try this. How does it taste? Do you like it?’
Our goal is to make it personal. Ranting from atop our soapbox is not personal. But giving them a relatable character and a riveting world to step into and travel along with for a while is.
Now, I’m not saying that you shouldn’t have a theme in mind. You obviously should. Your writing should have a purpose. Characters meandering about and doing random stuff without motivation have no point. We’re not going to glorify God that way. As one of my teachers at the Young Writer’s Workshop, Josiah Degraaf, puts it, theme comes out of a character’s ‘experiment in living’ and the results. The longer your story, the more of these experiments are tried. Edmund’s experiment in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe consists of serving himself, serving his stomach, serving his jealousy first. Well, that produces results, and those produce a principle. But Edmund’s not the only one trying an experiment in living. All his siblings are too, and Tumnus, and the beavers! Even the Witch!
I will allow that the degree to which a main theme is emphasized varies on the book and the intent of the author, and this nuance can be achieved well. What Peretti intended to get across with This Present Darkness — there is a spiritual side to this world that affects us even though we often don’t know it — is far more obvious than emerging overall theme of the Fireborn Epic — even when it’s tough, get up and keep fighting for what’s worth it. As writers, it’s up to your artistic preference.
But this isn’t a trap that only Christians fall into. We see it in mainstream entertainment as well — so many recent Disney movies have been utter flops because more focus was given to their message and agenda than to making a solid story! There is a delicate balance between theme and plot, and when theme is overemphasized, it degrades the work into a piece of propaganda.
Is there a place for writing in which the theme is meant to be stronger than the storyline itself? Yes — we see it in such examples as Animal Farm. But even in that case, the story is still a hold-up story. There aren’t obvious plot holes or weak characters.
Many writers start with a message in mind, or at least some idea of the themes and lessons that might emerge from their writing. If you’re a pantser, sometimes it changes. If you’re a plotter, maybe you’re trying too hard to keep it from changing. My challenge to you is to let your themes be organic, to let them rise out of your characters and your situations, rather than get slapped onto them from the start. We want our work to be — as T.S. Elliot has put it, ‘unconsciously Christian.’ This doesn’t mean an allegory, but rather letting our beliefs about the world and morality shine through between the lines.
Also, be open. Explore the themes that arise and don’t stifle them. Allow your book to be more than just a prettily-packaged sermon. And know that — no matter what you may have in mind — your reader might get something totally different out of it. That’s okay. It’s good. It means your reader is thinking critically about what you write, and believe me, as an aspiring author myself, nothing makes me happier than to hear a beta reader who wants to discuss my theme.
You probably didn’t need to be told most of that. If you’re reading this blog, and you happen to be a writer, you’re probably one of my friends or fellow Ydubbers. Nonetheless, I thought it needed to be said. Theme is a key part of a story, and maybe short of the characters, is what will stick best with you after you finish. Even so, the best stories are the ones where the characters you remember lived out the theme — stories like The Sinking City or The Wingfeather Saga.
So that’s your charge for this week, my writers. Pay attention to your theme, and intentionally make sure that it ends up in that sweet spot between preachy and vague. Or at least, try. No one’s perfect, and we’re all learning — we’ll always be learning. I am by no means the one who should be waving a finger in your face, and I am not trying to be. Take this as encouragement from a fellow young writer.
Alright, folks, that’s all for now. Are there any books that you felt pulled off their theme in a fantastic way? Let me know.
Adios!
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