And the Novel Matters Because...

So, we're still askin' - why does the novel matter? God knows why (and I'm not being flippant). He should get credit for coining the most elementary of writing techniques: show, don't tell. Such a smarty-pants, He is. He knows so well what will get our attention.

The stories of the Bible are basic and life-changing, whether parable or true account. They are short and to the point, imparting truth and morals without preaching.  I don't remember being dissatisfied with a lack of details as a child. Indeed, we were discouraged from what was considered 'embellishing' scripture.  As a fiction writer, my curiosity now pricks at familiar stories that raise more questions for me than they answer. I find myself applying story-developing techniques, not to embellish, but to glean the most from the story. I speculate as to what the character felt, saw, imagined or concluded.

When we read (and write) fiction, we practice putting ourselves in another's shoes.  We develop empathy for characters, whether fictional or true to life.  This makes the stories of the Bible come alive as it did for me recently as I read again the familiar account of Saul's conversion. 

Saul is a young rising star. He has always gone by the book, jumped through all the hoops, and God is rewarding him for his diligence and righteousness.  His confidence explodes as he now wields the power of life and death over sinners.  He senses God's approval of him, endorsing and rewarding his actions.  Heady stuff for a young man. He's on the express elevator to the top.  Even his peers agree.

Then, on the road to Damascus, he is plunged into darkness.  He hears a voice, but it's not saying God approves of him.  Quite the opposite. Self doubt and confusion bring him to his knees. Is everything he's worked and devoted his life to a sham, or is the evil one trifling with him?  How could he be so wrong? It's not fair.  Fear sets in.   He has enemies in the church and he is at his most vulnerable. In his tortured, confused mind, he imagines the friends and family of those he imprisoned and killed to be close and plotting for his blood, or at least, celebrating his downfall. What if his companions abandon him now?  He would be left at their mercy. He grows despondent suffering from severe depression and doesn't eat or drink for 3 days. A once-great man, he is now completely humbled and degraded.  Life doesn't make sense anymore. His future is gone.  He gives up.

Ananias hears about Saul's condition and perhaps he revels in it. News travels like wildfire.  It's payback time. God is faithful.  He has our back!  But when God tells him to go to Saul to heal him, Ananias reminds God who he's dealing with. Are you sure you want to do that? Since God told Saul that Ananias was on his way, it would be like walking into a trap, and Ananias isn't exactly known for his guts. Perhaps he second-guesses the vision.  Was it really from God, or just a figment of his imagination? Eventually he realizes that it's too true to doubt.  Since God has never actually spoken directly to Ananias in this manner before, he has no choice but to obey. Ananias kisses his wife and children (for the last time, he wonders?) and heads out without telling them where he is going.  He feels a measure of peace in obedience which is better than defying God.  As he nears the street where Saul awaits, Ananias wonders whether his fellow Christians, especially those who have had loved ones imprisoned, will consider him a traitor and doubt his love of Jesus when Saul is back on his feel again.

Anyway, you get the picture. This is the way my mind works, sticking to the scripture and putting flesh onto the characters. Reading and writing fiction makes them come alive, and this is why the novel matters to me.

Do you feel that reading (and writing) impacts your understanding and appreciation of stories in scripture? We'd love to hear.

Roundtable Discussion: Layers of Meaning

In 2006, when asked about a popular novel, Madeleine L'engle told Newsweek, "It's a nice story but there's nothing underneath it. I don't want to be bothered with stuff where there's nothing underneath."

We've talked about those wonderful tales that "draw you in with language, imagery, character insight and a sense of place." I'd like to add to the list that "something underneath," that quality of layered meanings.

Bonnie and I talked about this on our way home from the conference at Mount Hermon, and I was surprised to discover the layers were one thing to me and something very different, something I'd never considered, to her. Since I clearly have much to learn, I'll start off by explaining my take on the subject, then let the other ladies chime in.

In The Feast of Saint Bertie, my main character observes that the pomegranate has historically been used to symbolize both life and death. That symbol plays into the things Bertie learns along her journey.

I love novels that entertain and enrich on the level of story, but that reward with deeper meaning that reader who lingers over the nuances and symbols planted within the narrative. Even if the reader doesn't linger,

these elements still work an unarticulated magic over the story by lending it an ambiance that corresponds to the spiritual dimension we feel in our own lives even if we can't explain it. A friend quoted a lady preacher she heard once, who said, "It ain't what's goin' on, honey. It's what's really goin on."

I remember that conversation, Katy. And it was amazing to learn how you viewed the various layers of a novel compared to how I saw things. I love learning from colleagues! We both agree that great novels are complex things - layered with meaning, intent, subtext, and, of course, story.

For me layers happen on at least three levels. First is the story level. This level gets all the benefit of the story and its meaning –and often much of the subtext. It's the polish of the book, the finished face that looks so good.

The second level explores the social issues the book focuses on as well as secondary issues that are mentioned and explored through sub-plot, or by some other means. It provides the context and "meat" of the book. This is the book club level – where the discussions go deeper and are often applied to the reader’s life or experience.

Third is the literary level – This is the writers tool box at work - Voice, subtext, characterization, and how she breaks the rules, or simply makes up rules to best suit her story. This is where you'll discover symbols and over arching metaphors. It is how the author used sensory details to draw the reader into the story or how he used the smaller, focused story to talk about a much larger issue. This is the engine of the book –created to be felt rather than noticed.

All these layers (and their many strategies) work together to tell, as Katy's friend's pastor said, "What is really goin' on."

I know I was driving that day, girls, but honestly I wonder where was I during that conversation?!?

I admit I feel lost in these discussions at times. I'm not sure I could hold my own in a conversation about subtext, nuances, symbols, over-arching metaphors, etc. But I know when they're there, and I know when they're not.

Cotton candy was always a disappointing treat when I was a kid. It looked so good on the outside, but when it got right down to it there was nothing to chew on. That's what a book without all the layers of meaning you're talking about is like -- just so many words without the stuff that satisfies.

That's what I love about all of your books: the care you take with the stories you craft, that leads to the satisfaction I get when I read a passage where you've used just the right word in the place of any number of words that would have sufficed, but would not have sung.

I have a growing list of novels that touch me in deep places, that incorporate the elements, as Katy so beautifully stated, that work an unarticulated magic over the story. Please leave a comment and share a title or two from your list of favorite books.

Okay, from now on, we drive together! I wish I'd been a part of that conversation. Although, truthfully, I would have been nodding my head in simpleton assent from the luggage department.

The books that layer meaning in a satisfying way, do so seamlessly. I'm rarely aware of the craft the author expended until I put the book down and immediately want to pick it back up again. My metaphor for a deeply satisfying read is a pan of brownies. I can't resist going back for another corner! (Love the crunchy edges!) I flip through the pages, looking for the secret.

I have to agree with Bonnie's notion of layering with only minor differences, mostly semantics. The story evolves out of the characters. Who are they and what's the worst possible thing that could happen to them? Answering those questions, along with focusing on their motivations and desires, builds the story, so I have to know my characters well. And the least like me they are, the more fun they are to play with every day.

Settings are characters in my stories, and this parallels Bonnie's social layer. In my first novels, creating beauty in a barren wasteland mirrored the main character's motivation to bear fruit in her pain. The setting for The Queen of Sleepy Eye was a cauldron of conflicting needs on which my character discovers grace, just like we must in our world. Indeed, this is where the book clubs dance, Bonnie.

And I so agree with Bonnie's take on the literary toolbox. Only, for me, knowing when to choose fine-grain sandpaper when I'm tempted to pull out the hammer is my area of growth these days. Craft must propel story, not be so conspicuous that story in buried.

And as Sharon encouraged, please let us know fine examples of layered meaning in novels. I desperately need to add to my TBR pile. Ha!

I racked my brain to try to come up with an example of a book with the aforementioned layers of meaning and I thought of many books (such as The Great Gatsby) that I've already mentioned before. But the one book whose layers of meaning keep unfolding for me is the Bible. I read, for instance, the Song of Solomon when I was a teenager and understood very well what it meant to be faint with love; but not until I was married did I understand "I have taken off my robe--must I put it on again? I have washed my feet -- must I soil them again?" --and then the despair in finding the opened door, the vacant threshold.

I don't think it is just the age at which I read it nor my own stage of life. I believe the Bible is unlike any other book ever written, with constantly-budding, ever-new blooming, bough-heavy fruit-laden treasures each time I open its pages.

I still gasp when I read it.