IRREANTUM

EXPLORING MORMON LITERATURE

MAGAZINE OF THE ASSOCIATION FOR MORMON LETTERS

WINTER 2002–3 • $4.00

Jana Riess, editor

Also featuring Douglas Alder, Kris Bluth, Orson Scott Card, John
Alba Cutler, Janean Justham, Kevin Klein, Lance Larsen, Cherry B.
Silver, Melody Warnick, Sundy Watanabe, and Katherine Woodbury
Poetry, reviews, literary news, and more
 IRREANTUM
MAGAZINE OF THE ASSOCIATION FOR MORMON LETTERS
E D I T O R I A
Christopher K. Bigelow . . . . . . Managing editor
Harlow S. Clark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Poetry editor
Travis Manning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Essay editor
D. Michael Martindale . . . . . . . . . . . Film editor
Scott R. Parkin . . . . . . Speculative fiction coeditor
A M L
Gideon Burton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . President
Melissa Proffit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . President-elect
Suzanne Brady . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Board member
Sharlee Mullins Glenn . . . . . . . . . Board member
A M L
Linda Hunter Adams . . . . . AML ANNUAL editor
Christopher K. Bigelow . . . . . . . Magazine editor
John-Charles Duffy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Treasurer
Andrew Hall . . . . . Assistant AML-List moderator
IRREANTUM (ISSN 1528-0594) is published four times a
year by the Association for Mormon Letters (AML), P.O. Box
51364, Provo, UT 84605-1364, (801) 714-1326, www.aml-
online.org. © 2003 by the Association for Mormon Letters.
Membership in the AML is $25 for one year, which includes an
IRREANTUM subscription. Subscriptions to IRREANTUM may
be purchased separately from AML membership for $16 per
year, and single copies are $5 (postpaid). Advertising rates
begin at $50 for a full page. The AML is a nonprofit 501(c)(3)
organization, so contributions of any amount are tax deduc-
tible and gratefully accepted. Views expressed in IRREANTUM
do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors or of
AML board members. This magazine has no official connection
Spring 2003
L S T A F F
Marny K. Parkin . . . . Speculative fiction coeditor
and AML-List Highlights editor
Jana Bouck Remy . . . . . . . . . . . . . Review editor
Edgar C. Snow Jr. . . . . . . . . Rameumptom editor
Quinn Warnick . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fiction editor
B O A R D
Gae Lyn Henderson . . . . . . . . . . Board member
Tyler Moulton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Board member
Eric Samuelsen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Board member
Jen Wahlquist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Board member
Kathleen Dalton-Woodbury . . . . Board member
S T A F F
Terry L Jeffress . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Webmaster
Jonathan Langford . . . . . . . . AML-List moderator
D. Michael Martindale . . . . . Writer’s Conference
with or endorsement by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-
day Saints.
IRREANTUM welcomes unsolicited essays, reviews, fiction,
poetry, and other manuscripts, and we invite letters intended
for publication. Please submit all manuscripts and queries to
irreantum2@cs.com. If you do not have access to e-mail, you
may mail your text on a floppy disk to IRREANTUM, c/o AML,
P.O. Box 51364, Provo, UT 84605-1364. Except for letters to
the editor, submissions on paper are discouraged. Upon specific
request to irreantum2@cs.com, we will send authors two com-
plimentary copies of an issue in which their work appears.
IRREANTUM is supported by a grant from the Utah Arts Council
and the National Endowment for the Arts, Washington, D.C.
2 IRREANTUM
 IRREANTUM
Spring 2003 • Volume 5, Number 1

C O N T E N T S

Letters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 Good Friday,

AML News . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Interviews
Jana Riess . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
Douglas Alder . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Orson Scott Card,
Bob Gersztyn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Novel Excerpt
Sons of Bear Lake,
Douglas D. Alder . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18
Essays
Los escogidos y los despreciados: Latino Influences
in LDS Literature,
John Alba Cutler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
Elegant Angst: Mining the Treasures of Mormon
Personal Essays, 1982–2002,
Cherry B. Silver . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
Relief Society Women Read the Tao Te Ching:
Stories of a Mormon Book Club,
Melody Warnick . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
The Legacy of Legacy,
D. Michael Martindale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
Story
Thin, Scarlet Line,
Katherine Woodbury . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
Poetry
This World, Not the Next,
Lance Larsen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
Lance Larsen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
Almost Two,
Janean Justham . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Drawing,
Kevin Klein . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
Boogeyman,
Sundy Watanabe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
By Road, By Sky,
Lance Larsen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
Baptism,
Kris Bluth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
Reviews
Year in Review: 2002,
Andrew Hall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
A Mystery Novel Addresses a Larger Mystery,
Jeffrey Needle
A review of Paul Edwards’s The Angel
Acronym . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
Strong Characters, Rewarding Read,
Lavina Fielding Anderson
A review of Douglas D. Alder’s Sons of
Bear Lake . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
Humor, Emotion, and Suspense, Katie Parker
A review of Kerry Blair’s Closing In . . . . . . 71
For the Defense: The Life of Hugh Winder
Nibley, Greg Taggart
A review of Boyd Petersen’s Hugh Nibley:
A Consecrated Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72
Heartwarming Lessons from a Lifetime of
Sharing, Arlene Miera
A review of George Durrant’s Scones for
the Heart . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74

continued

IRREANTUM 3 Spring 2003

 C O N T E N T S P O E T R Y
( c o n t . )
This World, Not the Next
Stone and Sea, Lavina Fielding Anderson
True, God dreamed our first parents out
A review of Margaret Blair Young’s Heresies
of a chaos of firmament and longing.
of Nature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
And true, he pled with them to return
Clean and Likable, Though Lacking Substance,
to a savory Forever of his making.
Katie Parker
But it was this world, with its tides and machinery
A review of Cheri Crane’s The Girls
of sweet decay, they learned to love.
Next Door . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
Marriage Proposal Yields Perceptive Look at
He touched their hair, then covered their sleeping
LDS Culture, Katie Parker
mouths with His and declared breath
A review of Carolyn Howard-Johnson’s
holy, but forced them to draw another
This Is the Place . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
and another. He commanded that they eat
Thrice Retelling John D. Lee, Brooke Williams
not of that dazzling tree of awe and penumbra,
A review of Judith Freeman’s Red Water . . . 79
but knew its fruit would eat at them.
Mormon Feminist Memoir, Charlene Hirschi
A review of Alison Comish Thorne’s Leave the
And when it did, and when they fell
Dishes in the Sink: Adventures of an Activist in
into knowing, God folded the garden and hid it
Conservative Utah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
deep inside the woman, but commanded
Threads Offers Audience Appeal, Charlene Hirschi
the man to tend it. And in due season the man
A review of Sammie Justesen’s Common
Eved, and the woman Adamed back
Threads . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
and the song of radiance they keened was pure
Sinful Concoction Yields Hilarity, Jeffrey Needle
A review Linda Hoffman Kimball’s The
darkness by morning. And God blessed
Marketing of Sister B . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
their bounty to be infinite, but left them
Selected Recent Releases . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
ten crooked fingers to count with.
Mormon Literary Scene . . . . . . . . . . . . 92 And buried His echo inside their bodies,
a delicious lapping that answered yes and yes
AML-List Highlights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98 to a question neither could recall.
—Lance Larsen

[Originally published in Image]

Spring 2003 4 IRREANTUM

 L E T T E R S A
IRREANTUM welcomes letters to the editor about
anything in the magazine or related to Mormon liter-
ature. Send letters to irreantum2@cs.com, and be
sure to include your full name and hometown. Letters
may be edited for length and clarity.
Insulted or Amused?
I can’t decide whether to be insulted or amused
at finding my name at the end of Laraine Wilkins’
review of Tom Plummer’s essays [autumn 2002]. I
am flattered to be in the same sentence with Gene
England, my mentor and the father of the modern
Mormon personal essay: “If Eugene England is
ponderous and Mary Lythgoe Bradford confes-
sional, then Plummer falls somewhere in between”
(88).
If Wilkins defines ponderous as “ponders the
great issues” and confessional as “autobiographical,”
then I am amused.
Mary Lythgoe Bradford
Leesburg, Virginia
Wilkins responds: Insulted, amused, flattered? I’m
not quite sure what Mary Bradford thinks about
being mentioned in my review. I have a feeling she’s
not happy about it. She may rest assured that I hold
her work in high regard; I have a high opinion of
“confessional” literature. My definition of such
would fall along the lines of the highly personal, as
opposed to the theoretical or abstract. The “great
issues” are always addressed in good work, includ-
ing Bradford’s.
IRREANTUM
M L N E W S
Three New IRREANTUM Editors
The AML welcomes three new editors to IRRE-
ANTUM’s staff. Following are their bios, in their
own words. All manuscript queries and submis-
sions to these editors should be sent to irrean-
tum2@cs.com.
Travis Manning, IRREANTUM’s new essay editor,
currently lives amongst the pines and sage of the
upper Great Basin, Spokane, Washington, not far
from former compounds of white supremacists. He
has been married for three years to his cute wife
Ann, having met her four years previously on
ldsso.com. After graduating from the former Ricks
College, BYU–Provo, and Utah State, he taught
middle-school English and reading in Salt Lake
City, an experience from which he is still recover-
ing. He is fascinated with stories of real life, believ-
ing that Mormon people have much to express in
the way of their heritage, culture, perceptions, tes-
timony, and “peculiarness.” He is excited to retrieve
his new mountain bike off layaway and to complete
spring quarter at Eastern Washington University,
where he is pursuing an M.F.A. in literary nonfic-
tion.
D. Michael Martindale, IRREANTUM’s new film
editor, did not grow up in Utah, to his great relief.
He lived in Minnesota until he came to Utah to
attend BYU. In high school he produced a couple
of short films, one of which aired on a local televi-
sion station. While in college, he produced a short
film for his student ward. In addition to having
written and produced a recording of the operatic
musical General Prophet Joseph Smith and written a
not-yet-published LDS novel titled Brother
Brigham, Martindale is working on a feature-length
screenplay called Quantum Love and is planning his
first production of a feature-length film. Martin-
dale lives in Sandy, Utah, with his wife and three
children, and he frightens the elders quorum presi-
dent once a month with a priesthood lesson.
Quinn Warnick, IRREANTUM’s new fiction edi-
tor, is the founder and editor of the White Shoe
5 Spring 2003
Irregular (whiteshoe.org), an online literary journal
that was named best e-zine in the 2001 South by
Southwest Web Awards. He is a graduate of BYU,
where he was editor and designer of Inscape, the
student literary journal. Currently employed by the
federal government, Quinn plans to begin graduate
work in English in 2004. He lives in Southern
Utah with his wife (who inspires his writing) and
toddler daughter (who hinders it).
P O E T R Y
Good Friday
San Bernardo, Chile
First a wavery premonition, then their snouts
breaking through haze, finally a rumble
of shank and muscled fat. Was it patience
that filled their pig eyes? Awe that filled me?
Down the street they came, through a veil
of fog and taboo. Smartly hooved, faces
lifted, as if being unclean also made them saintly.
Seven of them, which I, on my way to buy
bread, had divided. Seven days, seven venial sins,
seven sacred holes in this unholy face, seven
times seventy the times I must wash in ashes
and kiss the gristle of this sweet dying earth,
seven heavens watching. And they trotted,
my tallness less to them than a pillar of salt.
—Lance Larsen
[Originally published in Field]
Spring 2003
I N T E R V I E W
Jana Riess
Since 1999, Jana Riess has served as Publishers
Weekly’s religion book review editor. Her reviews,
articles, and columns appear regularly in the trade
publication, and she oversees about 40 freelance
reviewers. “I try to give every book a fair shake and an
honest read,” she told a Lexington, Kentucky, newspa-
per. “I think also, as an author, I’m more sympathetic,
because I realize how difficult it is to write a book and
how courageous it is.” In 2001, religious book sub-
missions rose 17 percent and Riess received review
copies of about 2,500 new titles, fewer than a quarter
of which received review or mention in Publishers
Weekly.
Raised by an agnostic mother and an atheist father,
Riess earned a master’s degree from Princeton Theo-
logical Seminary and a doctorate in American reli-
gious history at Columbia University, where she wrote
her dissertation about 19th-century female Protestant
missionaries who tried to save Utah women from
polygamy. An LDS Church member since 1993, she
lives with her husband and daughter in Clark
County, Kentucky.
Trace for us your pathway to Publishers
Weekly and how you feel about your work there.
I adore my job. In graduate school, I had always
intended to pursue a teaching career with writing
on the side, as most professors do. But in my final
year, one of my advisers did not receive tenure, a
devastating blow for her and a shock to all the rest
of us who thought she had done everything right.
We came to believe that Columbia’s decision to
deny her tenure was essentially a political one. I was
so angered by the capriciousness of it all that
I began having serious doubts about whether I
wanted to continue in the academic path I’d cho-
sen. A few months later, I got a call from a friend
who reviewed for PW, saying that the religion book
review editor position was open and that it didn’t
require moving to New York. (For me, NY is a
great place to visit. Period.) I was terribly excited
and put in my application immediately. I had been
6 IRREANTUM
reviewing religion books for Kirkus all during grad-
uate school, so I had a little experience.
I’ve been at PW for nearly four years, and I’ve
loved all of it, particularly being able to pick up the
phone and interview any author I find interesting.
That is, hands down, the best part. Well, that and
the free books. And working from home.
From where you’re sitting, do you see many
Mormon-related books?
Well, in 2002—the Salt Lake Olympic year—we
saw a crop of new books on Mormonism, but most
of them were of the “Find the dangerous truth
beneath the friendly Mormon exterior!” variety.
Right now, for example, I have one on my desk that
is specifically for evangelical women to witness to
their Mormon women friends. That’s not exactly
progress.
However, I do sense a new openness to Mor-
monism in publishing and in our larger culture. St.
Martin’s has done a few Mormon-related books,
including one by Coke Newell that I didn’t partic-
ularly like but which must have done pretty well,
since they’re bringing it out in paper. I understand
they are also publishing his memoir. There have
been a couple of other tentative forays by the
national houses, but NY publishers aren’t yet taking
Mormons seriously as authors or readers. Academic
presses, however, are beginning to be aggressive
about acquiring books that deal with Mormon
themes. “Mormon studies” is becoming quite a hot
sub-discipline. And since university presses tend to
be a few years ahead of the curve of commercial
publishing, this is a healthy sign.
What it will take to release the floodgates, of
course, is a hit. Once a publisher has commercial
success with a Mormon book, all the other ones
will scratch their heads, wonder why they didn’t see
the market before, and jump on the bandwagon.
The market is there; they just don’t realize it yet.
What are your personal favorites among Mor-
mon literature, and why? What are your obser-
vations about the historical development and
current state of Mormon literature?
I’m a great lover of fiction, but I haven’t been ter-
ribly impressed with LDS commercial fiction. It is
at the stage now that CBA (Christian Booksellers
IRREANTUM
Association) fiction had reached about 10 years
ago: characters are predictable, the novels are
message-driven rather than character-driven, and
most stories end with a predictable and obligatory
conversion sequence. This is not to say that CBA
fiction is all grown up; it is still very uneven, and
much of the industry is stuck in the old models,
because they continue to sell well. But some CBA
fiction has matured significantly, and authors like
Jamie Langston Turner and Vinita Hampton Wright
make me hopeful for the future of the genre.
It’s fascinating to me that LDS fiction started
gaining success roughly in the same way that CBA
novels did—with historical and biblical fiction.
Certainly the success of Gerald Lund taught LDS
publishers that Mormon audiences were very inter-
ested in faith-promoting, fictionalized interpreta-
tions of history. I’m not a Lund fan, but this was an
important step. The next step was to improve the
quality of those historical novels, which is where
Dean Hughes comes in. You asked about my per-
sonal favorites, and he’s certainly on the top of my
list. I could quibble with little elements of his writ-
ing style, but not with the characters or the overall
storytelling. I am continually impressed by him,
particularly by the love he has for all of his charac-
ters—Liahonas and Iron Rods, traditionalists and
feminists, true believers and skeptics. The guy is so
balanced, and he has great respect for the reader’s
intelligence and faith journey.
“LDS commercial fiction” and “Mormon litera-
ture” are not necessarily the same thing. So, the
next step will be to develop more of the latter, to
tell stories that are darker and deeper. If the LDS
model continues to follow the CBA trajectory, these
will not sell particularly well. That’s a sad market
reality. But courageous writers who are willing to
tell authentic stories—Terry Tempest Williams and
Brian Evenson come to mind—will still be read
and discussed when copies of faith-promoting pab-
ulum sell for 99 cents on eBay.
But on the commercial side, the next step is
something we already see happening in LDS fic-
tion: the niching factor. We don’t just have
romance and suspense, we now have “romantic sus-
pense,” which is its own thriving genre. And we do
7 Spring 2003
have some successful genre authors on the national
scene. Orson Scott Card is an important writer in
sci fi and fantasy, a market that has proven to be
very receptive to LDS writers. Anne Perry is an
acclaimed mystery novelist, and for good reason;
her Inspector Monk series is one of the most psy-
chologically intriguing and well-written series you’ll
find anywhere. So, there are LDS authors who have
made a name for themselves in the various niches.
That trend will certainly grow.
What’s your impression of today’s Mormon
reading audience? What, in your opinion,
should be the role of literature in Mormon life?
One thing that tends to surprise non-Mormons
who make assumptions about our sub-culture is
what a well-educated crowd we are. As a religious
group, Mormons rank third in affluence in this
country, behind Jews and Episcopalians and in a
dead heat with Presbyterians. Studies have shown
that for Mormons, higher education is usually tied
with higher, not lower, retention rates. Educated
members tend to stay in the church. All of this
translates into a large audience of potential readers
and book buyers.
Moreover, ours is a faith that is grounded in
story. I was talking with a friend about this today,
and he reminded me that the Joseph Smith transla-
tion of the Bible is not simply a correction of theo-
logical or doctrinal errors that Smith saw. Instead,
he is inserting characters, dialogue, and settings.
He is weaving stories.
Despite these factors, our faith has developed
into something that is very cautious around issues
of ambiguity and conflict. We don’t want to rock
the boat, and we think there must be something
wrong with other people if they want to rock the
boat. But great literature, like great art, emerges
from authors challenging expectations and shaking
people out of their comfort zones, while simultane-
ously reaffirming core values.
I’m not saying that every LDS novel needs to be
a Great Work of Art. In fact, I’m astonished when
literary types pooh-pooh the importance of the
commercial market, because history shows that com-
mercial success trickles down to enlarge the entire
market for a certain type of literature, whether it’s
Spring 2003
intentionally literary or “just” commercial. I really
take issue with the cultural elitism that says that
great books cannot also be widely appealing. (Jona-
than Franzen, anyone?) In the Mormon scene, we
need to help erase the divide between the writing
that is self-consciously literary and the writing that
is done to sell books.
One more thing: LDS publishers estimate that
as many as 85 percent of book buyers in LDS stores
are women, which is even higher than the CBA
estimate of 65 percent. So, for any literary genre to
be commercially successful in the LDS market, it
has to appeal to women.
What trends are currently going on in the
religious publishing market?
Distribution has been a huge problem in the
CBA and the larger, secular American Booksellers
Association, and this is something that affects pub-
lishers and, by extension, readers. We continue to
see the barnesandnobleization of the book market,
a trend that is fabulous for authors but very hard
on independent retailers and small chains. Most
CBA publishers have jettisoned their retail stores or
spun them off into a separate brand. I wouldn’t be
surprised to see this happen with Deseret and Seag-
ull, since most retail stores are bleeding and can
really eat into a publisher’s profit margins. How-
ever, I don’t know how those chains in particular
are doing.
With the downturn in the economy, many pub-
lishers have trimmed their lists, choosing to focus
their energies on fewer books rather than publish-
ing slews of them in the hope that one will be a
bestseller. This does make it harder for new authors
to get published, since the houses have fewer slots
open and they’re less willing to spend the money
that it takes to build a writer’s career. But the reli-
gion category continues to perform rather amaz-
ingly well in this economy, so that squeeze is less
obvious for religion authors.
What are some noticeable gaps in Mormon-
related books that should be written and pub-
lished but haven’t yet been? What are some key
books and authors in other cultures and reli-
gions that you would like to see modeled in
Mormonism?
8 IRREANTUM
 Over the next few decades I’m sure that we will
continue to see growth in the church, though it
will primarily happen abroad. This shift is already
occurring, since conversion rates in North America
have dipped somewhat. The silver lining of this
particular cloud is that when religious groups have
periods where they are not inundated by new con-
verts, they can start growing up sociologically and
can meet the deeper needs of the people who are
already a part of those groups. We will see a matu-
ration of Mormonism in North America, and this
will affect the kinds of books that are published
and read.
As the membership matures, we will see the
emergence of more independent Mormon voices. I
am not talking of ones that are critical of the
church; I am talking of voices that connect the
Mormon experience—which has been all too insu-
lar—to the wider world. We will see more inter-
faith books, more books about ethics on the job,
more Mormon books about aging and travel and
spiritual gardening. It’s funny that for a church that
speaks so stridently about not being just a “Sunday
religion,” LDS books tend to be overwhelmingly
about theological topics and less about how Mor-
mons can engage the wider world. I personally
would like to write a book about Mormonism at
the movies—not about how Mormons are por-
trayed on film, but what we as Latter-day Saints
can learn from popular culture.
As for key books in other religious cultures, I
think we need more Philip Yanceys and Max Luca-
dos in Mormondom. We need writers who are
thoroughly steeped in scripture but know how to
relate it to everyday life. One of my biggest style
complaints about LDS writing is that our non-fic-
tion authors will make two declarative statements
of their own and then back them up with six long
quotations from general authorities. That style
makes for badly crafted writing.
We also need writers who adhere to both sides of
Reinhold Niebuhr’s famous injunction—writers,
like preachers, need to comfort the afflicted and
afflict the comfortable. We have any number of
writers who do the former but too few who attempt
the latter.
IRREANTUM
Any author and publisher contemplating a
Mormon-related book faces particular struggles
regarding audience. Should the book be aimed
at non-Mormon mainstream readers? Should it
be aimed at Mormon readers? Is there a way to
simultaneously address both audiences?
I’d advise any writer to just write. If you con-
sciously tailor your craft to fit the needs of an imag-
ined market, your writing will suffer. Having said
that, though, I’d add that it is possible to speak to
both audiences simultaneously, because superb writ-
ing will always transcend boundaries. One problem
is that most Mormons who grew up in the Church—
which includes almost all LDS authors—have a
tendency to assume a language and a worldview
that will simply not be understood, let alone shared,
by a non-Mormon audience.
If a national publisher wanted to break into
the Mormon market, what would be your advice
for how to do so?
I think national houses need to realize the
importance of imprimatur in Mormon culture. Yes,
some things will fly under the radar and enjoy grass-
roots support, but Church members respond much
more enthusiastically to a message that they know
is approved. Major national houses that want to do
Mormon books should consider co-publishing with
LDS houses to dip their toes in the water. Times
Books/Random House, for example, did extremely
well with its first Mormon co-publishing venture,
which was President Hinckley’s Standing for Some-
thing. (How can you lose?) That set the stage for
other NY-SLC deals, which is an ideal collaboration.
A Mormon publisher can get the book on the LDS
bestseller lists and create important buzz on the
Wasatch Front but doesn’t have the clout or distri-
bution to create a national hit like a New York house
does. In the co-publishing scenario, everybody wins.
Of course, LDS publishers are only going to get
on board for books they know are orthodox. What
about edgier projects that have the potential to offend
their core audiences? This is tricky, but we will see
it happen. HarperSanFrancisco did the Ostlings’
book Mormon America in 1999, and that book had
legs in both the LDS and national markets without
any kind of official imprimatur. So it can be done.
9 Spring 2003
 It seems like Mormonism’s well-known prose-
lytizing imperative would make it harder for
publishers and readers outside the faith to trust
us. Do you think that’s true? If so, how can that
be overcome?
Yes, this is a serious issue, but not just for Mor-
mons. It’s a problem in the CBA as well, particu-
larly in fiction. I mean, a non-fiction book can
proclaim a very narrow and/or highly politicized
point of view and is entirely within its rights to do
so. But fiction should serve the story first and the
message second; fiction must be true to itself. Craft
must come first. I am horrified when people (not
just Mormons) ask me for advice about how to
publish their issue-of-the-week novel about the
dangers of cloning, or the perils of teen sex, or
whatever. “Fiction seems like the best medium to
get this message out,” one would-be author told a
publisher friend of mine. Well, my friend said, did
you also get up this morning, feel upset about this
issue, and decide to write a concerto about it? The
author conceded that he didn’t know how to write
a concerto. My friend pointed out that he ought to
treat novel writing with the same respect. It takes
years of crafting to hone a voice, and the literary
muse is not well served by people who want to
hijack the novel as a vehicle of social protest. (Please
note that I get just as ticked off when liberals do
this as when conservatives do it.)
It really boils down to a question of propaganda.
There is such a thing as good propaganda, stuff that
is well written and entertaining. But it’s not litera-
ture. If an author writes a novel in order to hammer
home a social point, then character and plot have
taken a back seat to propaganda. Yes, propaganda
can serve a useful purpose and even last beyond its
immediate social context (think Uncle Tom’s
Cabin). But it doesn’t acknowledge the very essence
of creativity or storytelling.
I’ve come a long and very soapboxy way from
your question about Mormonism. Yes, anyone who
wants to be published in the national market needs
to overcome the idea that literature should be a
vehicle for religious proselytizing. This was my beef
with the Coke Newell book I mentioned, which
was otherwise a well-done book. To me, the tone
Spring 2003
seemed smug, and I felt it was unfair to other reli-
gions. We can do authentic books that are thor-
oughly grounded in the Mormon tradition without
that attitude.
Do you think this nation will ever have a
Mormon Saul Bellow or Flannery O’Connor,
someone winning a Pulitzer or National Book
Award for literature that deals with Mormon
themes, settings, and characters?
Oh, yes. I just hope I am alive to see it! I do
think it will take some time. When President Kim-
ball spoke 25 years ago or so about the develop-
ment of the Mormon arts, I think it helped many
in the Mormon community to see the tremendous
possibilities. But these things take time. Flannery
O’Connor had nearly two thousand years of Roman
Catholic tradition and experience to back her up,
not to mention a rich history of her religion’s invest-
ment in the arts. When Saul Bellow and Chaim
Potok told stories, they were standing in a Jewish
literary tradition that extended back three thou-
sand years. As Mormons, we may be grafted into
that literary tradition, but our religion is less than
two centuries old. Our stories are still emerging.
Also, our stories may be less interesting now in
our era of assimilation and comfort than they were
at the religion’s founding. Great stories usually
emerge out of painful experiences. But, ironically
enough, it is our current assimilated, comfortable
status that will guarantee a publisher and an audi-
ence for those stories.
What are your observations about Mormon-
market publishers? In what significant ways do
they compare with and differ from national
publishers? How do they compare with other
religious-market publishers?
What’s really surprising to me is how similar
LDS publishers are to evangelical houses—surpris-
ing because these two groups don’t typically com-
municate well with each other. They really deal
with many of the same issues, the same core con-
stituencies. Someday they ought to have a summit!
One difference is that the LDS market is blessed
with very low returns of unsold books, even single-
digit returns, a phenomenon that increases its prof-
itability and decreases the risks associated with
10 IRREANTUM
publishing. I’m sure that the LDS returns rate
would be the envy of the rest of the publishing
world, if they knew about it.
Like all publishers, Mormon houses have to pay
close attention to the bottom line. Profit margins in
publishing can be very slim, and the LDS market
has traditionally given pretty generous royalties to
authors. This is changing to be more in line with
the royalty scale of other houses.
The LDS Booksellers Association is a trade
organization of about 300 LDS-market retailers
and wholesalers, and their annual convention
provides an interesting window on the Mormon
culture. What are your impressions of that group
and their role in the development of Mormon
literature? How do they compare with the much
larger Christian Booksellers Association and other
religious-oriented trade groups?
The CBA is a four-billion-dollar-a-year industry,
so of course the LDSBA is only a fraction of that
size. One publishing executive told me that it was
about a $100-million annual industry; that was three
years ago, and I’m sure it has grown since then.
I think many people in New York publishing would
be surprised to see how quickly the LDS market is
growing. Covenant Communications has doubled
in size in the last five years. Deseret has had some
substantial bestsellers recently with six-figure sales,
plus the acquisition of Bookcraft to boost its fiction
line. Smaller houses such as Cedar Fort and Signa-
ture continue to do well. Signature, in particular, is
a house to watch because they are willing to take a
chance with material that other houses might deem
too controversial. They have also done some very
good fiction in the past.
I attended LDSBA for the first time this past
summer, and it was quite helpful. (Of course, it’s
always difficult to see the kitschy elements of your
own culture on display, which is why I could walk
right past the “Evangicube” at CBA in July without
batting an eyelash but was marginally disturbed by
the temple checks I saw at LDSBA in August.) But
besides that, it’s very useful to see it all firsthand.
I would encourage any authors to go. It’s a fine
opportunity to learn and to meet people in the
industry.
IRREANTUM
Recently the Utah media got into an uproar
over Deseret Book banning Richard Paul Evans’s
latest novel, The Last Promise, because of the
book’s alleged immorality. What is your take on
that situation, and what future ramifications do
you think it will have?
Well, as a self-described “liberal” Mormon (funny
how the folks at work think I’m so conventional
and the people at church think I’m a flaming left-
ist!), I have to come right out and say that I think
censorship in almost any form is bad. But as some-
one who hangs out in religious publishing, I know
that this increased inventory conservatism is the
trend across the board. Mormons have the unfor-
tunate tendency to isolate themselves and their sub-
culture from the rest of the world and imagine that
their struggles are unique. But what happened at
Deseret Book had already happened with other books
at Family, Lifeway, and other Christian bookstore
chains. When Deseret says that the company made
this decision because of feedback from customers,
I absolutely believe that, because that is the way it
has happened in the evangelical market. In fact, in
the CBA the content rules are far stricter. A friend
of mine and I were laughing recently about a Chris-
tian chain returning thousands of copies of a novel
because it had the word hell in it. If Christians can’t
say “hell,” my friend asked, then who can?
This is a much bigger issue than simple censor-
ship; it is at root an identity issue. With Deseret,
part of the problem is that the secular chain book-
stores (and even Wal-Mart and Costco) now carry
all the ABA products that folks used to buy at
Deseret stores. They also offer them a little cheaper,
so why buy them at Deseret? By taking a stand on
what it perceives as questionable material, Deseret
can carve a niche for itself in a market that is becom-
ing increasingly blurry for consumers and thereby
raise the level of consumer trust. They’re creating
a brand. It’s actually a really sound marketing
decision, even though it’s troubling from a literary
perspective.
I just hope they’ll still carry all the Harry Potter
books.
As everyone knows, recently Mormon cinema
has blossomed. What lessons and implications
11 Spring 2003
does that new movement have for Mormon
books?
Before I answer that, let me just say how thrilled
I am to see the rather sudden evolution of LDS
filmmaking. When I saw God’s Army I was very
impressed, but Brigham City just blew me away.
What a powerful statement about estrangement
and forgiveness. And of course I’m also enjoying
the more frothy and campy send-ups of Mormon
culture. I’m really looking forward to all the forth-
coming films.
I think that the growth of Mormon cinema is
directly relevant to our conversation about books,
because it’s not just Mormons who are driving this
interest in LDS films. Other people are curious
about our culture. I first found the video for God’s
Army, for example, by chance in the video store of
our little Kentucky town. We have hardly any
Latter-day Saints in our town. Its presence there
represents more than just the fact that Excel Enter-
tainment has remarkable distribution. Other people
want to understand their Mormon neighbors, par-
ticularly as Mormonism moves out of Utah and
becomes more integrated with national life.
How did you come to join the LDS Church,
and how has that affected your literary outlook?
What’s your current stance toward Mormonism?
By “current stance,” I’m guessing you mean
whether I am active. Well, I am the Gospel Doctrine
teacher in my ward, which probably tells you that
(a) I am very active in church and (b) God has a
fairly perverse and well-developed sense of humor.
But I have had periods where I have needed to take
a break from church, including one yearlong sab-
batical from the summer of 2000 to the summer of
2001, a time that was very spiritually fruitful for
me. I plan to take a sabbatical from church activity
every seventh year. How I came to join the Church . . .
that is something of a long odyssey. I suppose that,
in a sense relevant to your other questions, mine
was a textual conversion story: I fell in love with the
Book of Mormon. It just pierced my heart. The other
stuff came later—is still in process—and some of it
has been difficult. I don’t culturally resemble most
other Mormons I know, a chasm that used to bother
me but with which I am now more comfortable.
Spring 2003
I once told my bishop (after my sabbatical),
“The church drives me crazy sometimes. But it is
also the only institution that keeps me sane. And if
you can’t understand that intuitively, I’m afraid I
can’t explain it to you.” That about sums it up. I am
a food-hoarding, temple-going, tithe-paying, coffee-
missing, very prayerful Mormon.
I do, however, abhor Jell-O, which I expect will
someday result in my excommunication.
An AML-List member asks: “There are few
books currently available written by women
scholars who understand the mindset of our
19th-century sisters. Your articles, including
your Protestant missionary article, are just the
kind of scholarship many LDS would like to see
more of. Do you have any intention to publish
a full-length book about 19th-century Mormon
women?”
Yes, someday, and thanks for that kind feedback.
I have to say that when the Lexington Herald-
Leader article about me was picked up by a syndi-
cate and appeared in newspapers around the
nation, I was pretty astounded by the e-mails I got
from people who wanted to read my dissertation.
(Who wants to read anyone’s dissertation?) But
there are many people out there whose grandmoth-
ers and great-grandmothers were Protestant women
missionaries to Utah, and they were interested in it
as family history; there were also e-mails from
people who wanted to know more about Mormon
interactions with other religions in the 19th cen-
tury. So, I was delighted to learn that there are
people out there who would buy the book besides
my mom.
I am trying, through my Mormon studies and
also my research on Mary Baker Eddy, to keep a
foot in the door of scholarship while also working
in publishing. I’ve had a few informal conversa-
tions with friends who edit at academic houses, and
they’re interested. But I know that I’d want to do
major revisions and additional research to turn my
dissertation into a book, and that would require
more time than I now have. Also, I’d need to be in
a place in my life where I could afford to do an aca-
demic book, which pays nothing. At the moment,
with my husband getting his doctorate, I am the
12 IRREANTUM
breadwinner for our family, and so for the next has a devilish way of pigeonholing writers. I am
couple of years I need to choose projects that pay at interested in so many things, and Mormonism is
least a little. (Also, once you start making a little just one of those.
money by doing what you love, it’s hard to go back I think that any Mormon project I would con-
to doing it for free! Getting paid to write is like sider would probably be about explaining our beau-
a drug.) tifully wacky religion to the larger world. You know,
Tell us more about your own writing and Jan Shipps has been a wonderful mentor to me and
publishing projects. What are you working on served on my dissertation committee. When she
now, and what are your future plans? inscribed my copy of her most recent book, she
I guess you could say my interests are wide-rang- wrote about how I am supposed to be a bridge from
ing. Last year I published The Spiritual Traveler: Zion to the world, as she has been a bridge from the
Boston and New England, a multi-faith travel guide outside world to Zion. That meant so much to me
to the “sacred sites and peaceful places” of the that I jokingly refer to it as my “matriarchal bless-
region. That was a wonderfully interesting project, ing.” I hope to live up to that.
as New England is rich with history and religious
diversity. Last year I also worked on the introduc-
tion and annotations to Mary Baker Eddy, Speaking
for Herself, a volume of Mrs. Eddy’s two autobi- P O E T R Y
ographies. What was most exciting about that book
was that her second memoir had not been pub- Almost Two
lished before, so I was the first scholar and non-
Christian Scientist to get a crack at it. Right now I rest my nose
I am writing a book called—don’t laugh—What On your downy head
Would Buffy Do? The Vampire Slayer as a Spiritual As you point at a star
Guide. I wanted to write a book that continued the Beyond the window.
conversations I’d been having with several friends
who are Buffy fans. Basically, we all sensed that the “See it, Mommy?”
show engaged our deepest spiritual questions and I think I will never forget
that it resisted the glib answers that Hollywood Your soft baby voice,
seems most often to provide. It’s a very ambiguous Yet I can’t recall your brother’s.
and angst-ridden but also profoundly moral show,
which speaks to me. That book won’t be out until My arms strap you to me,
September or October of 2004. It’s being published But, watching the star,
by Jossey-Bass, which is a religion division of Wiley. I imagine you expand to six feet
The other project that I’ve been working on for And snap them.
a while, off and on, is a primer in Mormon spiri-
tual practice called The Mormon ABCs. I haven’t The star is still,
shopped it to a publisher yet. It’s primarily written But I feel the earth
for a non-Mormon audience (like the member of Hurling you out of my arms
my extended family who, when we all toured the And your grandchildren into their graves.
Nauvoo temple, thought that “baptism for the dead” —Janean Justham
meant that we were exhuming the bodies of dead
people and dragging them to the temple). But I’ve
put it on hold both because I wanted to do the
Buffy book and because I wasn’t quite ready to out
myself as a Mormon author. The publishing industry

IRREANTUM 13 Spring 2003

 I N T E R V I E W He wrote a book on Cache Valley history, and with
Douglas Alder
Former Dixie State College president and Utah
State University history professor Douglas Alder
recently published his first novel, Sons of Bear Lake
(Salt Press). Deseret News critic Dennis Lythgoe
described the book as “an interesting approach to the
Mormon novel that may have major influence on the
burgeoning genre.” Lythgoe reported that the novel
“focuses on two generations of 20th-century Mormons
as they live their lives with a special emphasis on their
religion. The book reveals startling diversity within a
tightly knit community. In telling his story, Alder dis-
cusses missionaries, ‘Jack Mormons’ (those Mormons
who are ‘inactive’), bishops, patriarchs, and other famil-
iar aspects of the Mormon culture. But he also throws
in a number of real historical figures to mix with his
fictional characters. J. Golden Kimball, legendary
Mormon leader, gives a talk that inspires young
people. David O. McKay, Hugh B. Brown, Spencer W.
Kimball, and Henry D. Moyle are all featured as
LDS leaders offering guidance to young Mormons.”
Alder is a Utah Mormon, born and raised in Salt
Lake City. At the University of Utah, he studied
under G. Homer Durham, Sterling McMurrin, and
Lowell Bennion. He served a mission to Austria
and later wrote a master’s thesis titled The German-
Speaking Immigration to Utah. He did doctorate
work in European history at the University of Oregon
and won a Fulbright research grant to the University
of Vienna, Austria, where he wrote his dissertation on
the clash between the Catholic and Social Democratic
parties in post–World War I Austria.
During his academic career, he concentrated on
teaching Central European history and publishing
articles and reviews on Austrian history. He served on
national boards dealing with public-school history
curriculum and wrote articles on that topic in
national journals. He served as president of the Mor-
mon History Association and on the Utah Historical
Society’s board of trustees, and he chaired the Utah
Humanities Council. His articles have appeared in
the Utah Historical Quarterly, Dialogue, the Ensign,
Sunstone, This People, and St. George Magazine.
Spring 2003
Karl Brooks he authored The History of Washington
County: From Isolation to Destination.
Alder and his wife, Elaine, raised four children. He
served twice as bishop of singles wards, and he resigned
his professorship to serve in the St. George temple presi-
dency for a time period that ended in 2001. Currently
he is doing historical research dealing with Washing-
ton County and Dixie State College. He first began
writing the novel Sons of Bear Lake some 25 years
ago during visits to the Bear Lake locality, where his
family built a summer home.
What is a historian doing writing fiction?
I don’t want you to think that my historical writ-
ing is all made up. For 40 years I have been writing
nonfiction articles and books about Central Europe,
history education, and Utah history. My work
seems to have met the standards that editors require
for objective history. This new book, however, is
not history, not even historical fiction. It is not an
autobiography. It is pure fiction.
Do you mean you are not one of those three
boys?
No, not at all. I admit I am actually in the book,
but only in one paragraph on page 198.
Didn’t you have to learn a new craft to write
fiction?
Yes, and I am a slow learner. I found out the hard
way that fiction cannot be expository writing. My
editors, four of them, helped me purge the telling
kind of writing and urged me over to the showing
style. It took many revisions, and as Lavina Field-
ing Anderson points out in her review [appearing
later in this issue], I probably needed to go even
further.
You say it is not autobiography. That doesn’t
seem quite believable.
I admit that the book partakes of much of my
experience, particularly a close association with col-
lege students.
Well, what about the exotic chapters—Europe,
Nepal, Israel?
I lived in Salzburg as a missionary when the
American occupation forces were headquartered in
that beautiful Alpine city. So I place Peter there
14 IRREANTUM
in his army assignment. Some of the sequences in
that chapter fit those times in the 1950s. I also
admit to having spent my basic training in Fort
Ord. That enabled me to describe the physical
setting and some of the issues of army life. But I
have never climbed mountains in Nepal. For that
I depended on the experiences of my students.
With the kibbutz life in Israel, I did some reading
and interviewing to get those settings right.
But the main thrust of the book is about
small Utah towns. Did you grow up in Bear
Lake Valley?
No, no. I’m a city boy—Salt Lake City. I had to
learn a lot to understand life in a Mormon village.
Well, why Bear Lake? There are lots of so-
called Mormon villages. Why didn’t you choose
Parowan or Payson or some other better-known
town along the Wasatch Front? That might have
attracted a larger audience.
You’re right. Heber City or Hyrum, Spanish Fork
or Beaver would have intersected more lives than
Laketown. I hope readers quickly realize that this
story is about life in a village, almost any Mormon
village. By 1900 there were 500 of them, and over
300 survive today. I have talked to readers who
grew up in several such villages, and they confirm
that the story could have occurred in their town.
That thrills me because that is what I intend. The
book is sort of an epic, a modest one. It intends to
capture a whole segment of Mormon life. Until a
few decades ago, most Latter-day Saints lived in
such a village.
But you wrote so specifically about Bear
Lake, its history and folklore. How did you cap-
ture that?
Although I was clearly a city boy—paved streets,
sidewalks, curbs and gutters, trolleys—our family
was partly rooted in Spanish Fork. As we visited my
mother’s family there, I discovered outhouses, gravel
roads, horses, outside water pumps. We also went
to Whitney and Preston, Idaho, to visit Dad’s aunts
and uncles and their children. As a college student
I went to Manti and Huntington and Corinne with
my school chums and gradually got a feeling for
these rural towns and their wonderful church
buildings and the life of hauling hay. We had two
IRREANTUM
bishops while we lived in Logan, one from
Toquerville, another from Plain City. They both
inspired me in so many ways.
That still doesn’t get us to Bear Lake.
It is true that our family has a tie to that beauti-
ful place and its people. Nearly thirty years ago we
built a summer home there, an hour’s drive from
our Logan home. I became enchanted with the place
and began interviewing the old-timers and explor-
ing the towns and farms.
Do we have to choose between
the sacred or the secular? Is it
essential to pursue them both at
the same time? Well, that is what
I try to capture in the novel.
Is there anything about the setting at Bear
Lake that is unique, that is different than if the
book had been set in, say, Midway, Utah?
I learned from reading Russian novels and Willa
Cather that the tie to the land is crucial to a good
story, so a good portion of the novel employs the
land and the folklore. Circumnavigating the lake
could not be done in Midway, nor would we find
the Bear Lake Monster or Old Ephraim. J. Golden
Kimball probably visited Midway sometime, but
when he spoke in the Paris Tabernacle, it was a
great homecoming. Herding cattle and baling hay
could have been described in almost all Mormon
villages, as could the closeness of cooperative living
in the wards. Severe winters could have been
described in Star Valley as well as in Laketown, but
cutting through the ice to catch cisco and sleighing
lumber and stone across the lake to build the Paris
Tabernacle are fairly unique. There were grasshop-
per infestations throughout the Great Basin, but
seeing winds drive them into the lake to drown is
a great twist to the epic legend. So the wonderful
setting of Bear Lake is helpful to make this novel
important. What the book is really about is the life
15 Spring 2003
of Mormons from the inside; it is incidentally set in
Bear Lake Valley.
So that takes care of the externals. Now let’s
explore why you wrote a novel instead of a his-
tory. How did you go wrong?
That’s sort of a personal matter, one I’m sure
you’ll understand. It has to do with the issue of cre-
ativity. As one who has been involved in higher
education, I was naturally exposed to first-rate the-
ater, great art, powerful music, and good books.
I came to know people who are creative artists and
writers. Particularly the theater inspired me in our
years at Utah State. I couldn’t help but wonder if I
had any creative genes within me. It was about then
that I became acquainted with Professor Calvin
Taylor from the University of Utah, who propounded
the idea that creativity is widespread in the whole
human population; I had sometimes thought it was
reserved for the Mozarts only. Certainly I knew
enough to recognize quality writing and acting, dis-
tinguishing it from the trite or mundane. I read
some great fiction and could tell when I was into
something of quality, as opposed to average. Then
when we moved to Dixie, I became involved with
artists throughout the intermountain area who
entered their work in the Dixie Invitational Art
Show. I served on that committee and found
myself collecting art. That helped me become a
minor connoisseur of paintings and sculpture.
These experiences stirred the feeling that I wanted
to try something creative.
Okay. We can relate to that. So let’s get to this
specific book. Who pointed you into the direc-
tion of this plot, this explication of differing
LDS ideologies?
Naturally just living in Mormondom brings one
into contact with the many ways people relate to
their faith—liberals, conservatives, straight arrows,
rebels, core believers, Jack Mormons. My experi-
ence teaching several thousand students over four
decades caused me to have many discussions with
students on an individual basis. I quickly learned
that they had the sovereign right to make their own
choices. They came into my classes and immedi-
ately tried to figure out where I stood. Then they
would come into my office and pit their commit-
Spring 2003
ments against mine. I felt that it was not my place
to pull them my way but to be honest about where
I stand. So the book depicts their differing Mor-
mon commitments. To make it a good story, I con-
centrated the differing views all in one family.
Did any peers or authors gently move you in
one direction or the other?
Oh, sure. For example, I was impacted by
Umberto Eco’s book, The Name of the Rose, and its
depiction of a tight religious community. Even
more were the novels of Chaim Potok. His descrip-
tion of the differing ideologies within the New
York Jewish community seemed amazingly similar
to the Mormon world. I heard him speak twice on
his theme of the “culture-to-culture clash,” by which
he meant the tension between the sacred and the
secular in Judaism. Once in Logan, my wife Elaine
and I had the opportunity to enjoy a kosher meal
with him, hosted by USU president Stanford
Cazier and his wife Shirley at the home of Louise
and Deon Hubbard. That was a delight and stimu-
lated my thinking.
Do you see that ideological tension in
Mormonism?
Wow, I’ll say. I can remember that shortly before
I began my college freshman year, the counselor in
our stake presidency took me aside and warned me
to be careful about what I believed of that which
my professors would tell me. He was especially
worried about some of the Church members who
were liberal professors. I really respected that man.
He had been one of my heroes. He was one of the
leaders of our community and had been a mission
president. My father felt much the same way, very
conservative. But the interesting thing is that both
of them were very supportive of my going to col-
lege. My father was pleased that I broke with his
choice of a career in business. He affirmed my move
into academia.
That dichotomy is alive and well in the church.
Each Sunday morning in the opening part of priest-
hood meeting, we all stand and recite the purposes
of the Aaronic Priesthood, one of which is “Get
as much education as possible.” I think we are very
much like the Jews: go full force ahead in both direc-
tions, the sacred and the secular. I affirm them both.
16 IRREANTUM
So, like the middle son, Alan, in the novel, I began
to think a great deal more about that issue. I loved
and was deeply involved in secular learning. I pro-
duced some. I associated nationally and interna-
tionally with colleagues in this process and could
see the strengths and weaknesses up close. At the
same time, I served twice as an LDS bishop, and
those students in my wards taught me the most
important thing I ever learned: the Atonement of
Jesus Christ. We experienced it directly as we worked
through repentance. Do we have to choose between
the sacred or the secular? My whole being says no.
Is it essential to pursue them both at the same time?
Well, that is what I try to capture in the novel.
Is there anything in this book for women? It
seems to be about sons. There are no daughters
in your story. Don’t they have the same chal-
lenges with the sacred and the secular?
I’m glad you mentioned that. Potok chose to
have his differing ideologies spread apart in differ-
ent families and different institutions, and he spoke
almost exclusively of men and boys. In my book
the issues are concentrated inside one family, espe-
cially one where the mother is central. In fact, that
word inside is fundamental to my concept of the
book. I want people to see Mormonism from
inside, inside the village, inside the ward, inside the
family, and inside the individual. So yes, that ten-
sion occurs in those three boys, but the one char-
acter who winds the whole story together is
Harriet. From the first chapter to the last, she is
crucial. I hope readers will watch her develop. At
times she seems to be the heroine. She certainly
grows, sometimes subtly, but she also has some
faults. The last chapter brings those into the ten-
sion as her husband, who was marginalized through
most of the book, surprises us all and teaches us all.
The book ends with many things unresolved.
The parents come to their individual commit-
ments, but the boys’ lives seem to be still in flux.
Does that mean there will be a sequel?
No, I think not. I respect the thinking minds of
the readers. They will write the next three chapters
for the later lives of the sons. Each reader’s addi-
tions will differ. That is as it should be.
IRREANTUM
That seems to conclude an examination of the
book, but we would like to append an inquiry
about how you write, where, when, with what
tools.
My writing has had to be sandwiched in between
a myriad of other assignments: teaching, adminis-
tering, community and church service, and family
relations. I have not been able to reserve a time or
place for writing. So I go in spurts whenever I can
squeeze in a couple of private hours. On rare occa-
sions I have been able to spend a week at Bear Lake
to write.
I am not a very modern writer. My first drafts are
with pencil on paper. Then I do the first revisions
also with pencil. Next I type them on a computer
and print off the pages. I revise those and print
another set, which goes to Elaine for a rigorous
copyediting. I do not use spell check on the com-
puter because Elaine is better. Then I go on to
another draft of the next portion and repeat the
process, letting the previous one cool. Maybe I do
a third set. Then it is time to start with major revi-
sions. I go through at least three revisions for each
part of a chapter. I am convinced that revision is
the key to good style.
I do have a general outline, though not in tight
detail, hoping that alternatives will come to me in
the writing. Nor do I use a formula about mixing
the forms of sentences or requiring a certain per-
centage of humor. The writing is a matter of soul.
It comes very much from within me, a spiritual
process. Probably the most important step is find-
ing a critic, more than one if possible. Qualified
critics are hard to find, but in my experience they
become my soul mates. I have finally got past the
need to be praised by critics. Sure, I do really enjoy
their positive feedback, but that is not what I go to
them for. I already know what is good in the man-
uscript, but there is so much that is awkward.
Informed revision is the key to quality for me.
17 Spring 2003
 N O V E L spend a half hour some evenings stitching and
E X C E R P T doing the talking Abigail had in mind. The stitches
Sons of Bear Lake
By Douglas D. Alder
Chapter 4: Hank
Author’s note: This chapter depicts the insider and the
outsider. Harriett is at the core of Mormonism, and
Hank is at the periphery. Later chapters depict their
three sons, who fit between them: Peter becomes a
rebel, Junior a straight arrow, and Alan an intellec-
tual. This completes a full spectrum of Mormons,
placing them all in one family.
For five months Harriet drove Hank’s pickup
truck the four miles from Abigail Allen’s Laketown
home each evening and the four miles back to the
Round Valley home early in the mornings, arriving
early enough to begin preparing breakfast by 6:30 A.M.
On many counts it was awkward. She was spong-
ing off Abigail, who wouldn’t accept any rent. One
time she got stuck in the snow and had to trudge a
mile back, carrying Everett Jr., to get Hank to bring
his tractor and pull the pickup back onto the road.
Nonetheless that was their arrangement—days
at the farm and nights with Abigail in town.
For Harriet those nights at Abigail’s were like
going to college. After Junior was asleep they spent
an hour or two talking. It was a seminar on folklore
as the matriarch told the stories of the valley. She
loved mentoring Harriet, and she went about it
with determination. She knew that residing in
Laketown could be miserable or exciting for the
young woman, depending upon their evening ses-
sions. There was so much she intended to transfer
to Harriet, to assimilate her into the south end of
Bear Lake Valley. The whole heritage of Laketown
flowed through Abigail’s genealogy, and she had a
clear vision that Harriet was to stay.
To begin with, there was quilting. Since Abigail
had met Harriet through quilting in St. Charles
and knew the therapeutic value of that handwork,
she kept a quilt up in her living room so they could
Spring 2003
somehow pulled the ideas out into the open.
Harriet often asked good questions. “Tell me
about growing up in Laketown. I know what it was
like in Ovid. I want to know if it was different here.”
“I don’t think the difference was the location; it
was time,” Abigail responded. “I’m thirty years older
than you are, Harriet. We grew up before money, it
seemed. And there weren’t any conveniences. For
example we had to drive the animals down to the
lake every day to water them. The CCC dam had-
n’t been built, and the big ditches weren’t in.”
“Life must have been much harder than now.”
Abigail smiled. “We kids didn’t know it. We
thought we were living in the Garden of Eden.”
“Didn’t you suffer like the pioneers?”
“Oh my, no. We had all the food we needed, but
we raised it all—vegetables, potatoes, corn. And we
put it all in a pit with ice cut from the lake and
straw to cover it. The cold storage lasted until
August, when we had fresh vegetables again.”
“What about meat?”
“We killed pigs and put them in brine for salted
pork. There was plenty of beef, and we had scores
of chickens and eggs, of course. We just had to
work to get it all. But we thought that was fun.”
Harriet still had questions. “What did you use
for flour?”
“That was the great thing about Laketown.
There was a gristmill here. People came from many
towns to grind their flour and put it in sacks. We
took the shorts home to feed to the chickens.
We didn’t know we were poor, because all this was
done without cash. The only time in our life when
we kids needed money was at Ideal Beach.”
Harriet knew about Ideal Beach. “Did you go
there for boating?”
“Well yes, row boating, but the big thing was
dances. Of course we girls didn’t have to pay, but
the boys had to pay fifty cents.”
“I thought you held your dances at the church.
We did in Ovid.”
“That’s right. We had dances there every Wednes-
day and Saturday. But they were rather mild. You
know, they were for the entire family—moms, dads,
18 IRREANTUM
babies, and us kids. And the music was always the
same—Joe Hansen chorded on the piano and Boots
Riddle did the same on the guitar while Mable
Sparks did the fiddling. That’s what made it, the
fiddle.” Abigail was still smiling at her memories.
“So where did Ideal Beach come in? We didn’t
have a resort in Ovid.”
“Well, you know that dance floor has springs
underneath it. That place is special. It was for dates.
And they had a real orchestra, often from Evanston.
In the summer there were lots of people there, but
mostly dates. Lots of tourists. It was a cash matter
and just for adults, not families. Between the church
and the resorts I think we danced almost three
times a week.”
Harriet pictured her mother at the dances. “My
mother still has some of those dance booklets. Did
you use those?”
Abigail nodded. “Oh, you bet. Your date would
take the little pencil attached to it and write him-
self in for the first and last dance and maybe some
in the middle. Before the first fifteen minutes you’d
have your book all full and the evening went by in
a whirl.”
“I’ve heard that some of the boys went outside
and drank beer.”
“Well, it happened. But if they didn’t behave, if
they were causing any ruckus, the chaperones would
escort them out and wouldn’t let them back in. We
were pretty straight and quite proud of it. It was a
lot more fun that way. Our parents never worried
about us going there.”
Abigail was presenting a fairly rosy picture, Har-
riet thought. “So are you telling me that you and
your friends liked growing up in Bear Lake?”
“We loved it. There was so much fun. For
example, winters were the best time. People got out
their horse-drawn sleds with runners on the back.
We kids would jump on the runners and hang on
for a great ride.”
“Didn’t the drivers shoo you off?”
“Gosh no. They had been kids. They wanted us
to enjoy life.”
“What about the cold?”
“For us kids it didn’t seem to matter. The cold is
what made ice. And ice was fun. We went to the
IRREANTUM
lake and skated all over. Sometimes there were big
parties on the lake. They dragged cedar trees behind
the sleighs clear across the lake from the Rayburn
Ranch and built big bonfires on the ice. We cooked
hot dogs and sang songs.”
“Didn’t that melt the ice?”
Abigail laughed. Her gray curls shook, and she
had a pleasant way of pursing her lips. “I don’t
know! Anyway, we never fell in.” She grinned. “The
ice was pretty thick.”
“You seem to be telling me that no one was suf-
fering, that life was easy.”
“Well, these are just childhood memories. Now
I know that there were lots of difficulties. But we
kids didn’t realize it. Our parents loved us and wanted
us to have a great time. They made us think that
working with them was fun. Most of all we had
great friends to be with and we did the dancing and
singing and fun together. Now I realize that the
parents kept a close eye on it. But it all fit in. We
lived together. I can’t imagine a better childhood.”
As well as her childhood tales, there were recipes
Abigail wanted to perpetuate, and particularly local
stories about the town’s families, the farms and the
general ethic of pulling together. She hoped that
Harriet would absorb it all, and then she could
approach a more important topic: “How’s Hank
coming along, dear?”
Harriet was taken back. She was not sure what
Abigail meant. But she wanted to say something.
“He seems satisfied with me as his housekeeper.”
Abigail didn’t mince words. “I mean, are you civi-
lizing him? You know that’s our job. Table man-
ners, reading books, clean language, good shaving,
haircuts, brushing teeth, saying prayers—that’s our
role, to set a standard.”
Harriet thought she could answer that, so she
listed a few things on her fingers. “Let’s see—his
table manners must have come from Wyoming
cattle herding.” Abigail had a twinkle in her eye.
“He’s not much for reading, his language is improv-
ing, shaving and haircuts and tooth brushing were
accomplished before I arrived. The surprise is prayers.
He takes his turn as though it is natural to him.” She
saw Abigail nod. “I suspect that is Carmen’s legacy.
But I walk cautiously. I’m not anxious to get fired.”
19 Spring 2003
 “What do you mean, fired?” Abigail mock-scolded
her. “You are a lot more than an employee. And yes,
I agree, Carmen was a very positive influence on
the Wyoming drifter.”
“I’m household help,” Harriet wanted to
emphasize.
But Abigail was pressing for something more.
“Not on your life. You are a genuine Saint. Your
genes and your spirit are central in Meadowville.
His plan has come back to life.”
Harriet could feel herself sitting up straighter.
“Now wait a minute. I just took employment there.
Nothing more.”
Abigail lowered her face so that Harriet could
not see the smirk on it. “That’s a fine fiction, dear.
We’ll both live with it for a while.”
“For a while?”
“Yep.”
Harriet didn’t want to press that one. Even she
had limits.
One day Hank interceded. Though he was not a
man of many words, he knew this would be a
major discussion. He entered Harriet’s arena only
after considerable planning.
He approached her hesitantly after the supper
dishes were cleared. “Harriet, it just doesn’t make
sense—you driving to Laketown to stay overnight.”
She wasn’t quite sure if Hank was talking as her
boss or as her suitor. She tried to act like this was
the first time the idea had come to her: “That’s how
we set it up.”
Hank was a large man, with a heavy head of
sandy-colored hair. He hid his face from her by
pulling his fingers through his mop of hair. It didn’t
seem to be an activity to perform at the dinner
table, but he was gathering strength, she knew. “I
know, but things are different now.”
Harriet tried to look surprised. She remembered
their agreement clearly. “It made sense then, and
the same reasons fit now.”
Hank steadied his hands on the table. With sur-
prise she saw that they were shaking. “No, they
don’t,” he said. And after a moment, “We need you
at night, too.”
Harriet felt a chill at the top of her head. Now
what does he mean by that?
Spring 2003
But words didn’t come to her. Harriet was not
sure she wanted to know more. But she let him
fumble for words. “When Peter is sick, he wants you,
not me. And when he is well, he still wants you.”
It was an admission that had probably been hard
for him to make. Harriet sensed this. “You’re there
with him at night. You can horse around with him.
You ought to tussle each night together—father
and son,” she replied.
Hank was sober. “I can’t do it as well as you do,”
he said quietly. Then he brightened slightly. “And
what’s more, Grandpa wants you near too.”
Harriet was stumped. Well, he had admitted the
young and the aged needed her. But what about
Hank? She hadn’t been hired for night work, but
after five months she knew this was not just a day
job. In fact, it wasn’t just a job. It was family, and
she was fast becoming its mother.
When she hadn’t replied, Hank continued. “We
need you here at night, almost as much as during
the day.”
There it was again—double meanings, she thought.
She dodged by saying, “Hank, Peter needs you
to put him to bed; you should read to him and tell
stories. I can do it. But he needs a dad to be big in
his life.”
“Maybe so,” replied Hank, “but I’m no good at
it. He and I fit while chopping and stacking wood.
He rides the tractor with me. That’s man’s work.” He
cast a glance around the room nervously, then
returned to his gaze. “I’m telling you that we’d be
better off if you slept here at night, and you would
get a lot more rest without tripping back and forth
to Allen’s.”
Harriet knew at this point that he was going to
push her to the end of the argument. So she might
as well take it up. “That may be true, but it isn’t
right for two unmarried people to be sleeping in
the same house. It isn’t right, and I can’t even con-
sider it. It is not a matter of what people would
think or say. It is just not right.” When she finished
her speech, she waited for a moment, wondering
what he would say. The room grew silent and
breathless.
“Okay,” said Hank. “Then I have a proposition.”
The chill in her head grabbed another inch of her
20 IRREANTUM
scalp. And then she had to laugh silently. “I will
move out and you move in,” he finally said. He
looked so proud of his solution.
Shaken, Harriet tried to maintain her compo-
sure. “So . . .” she hesitated, “does that mean you
will ride the truck to town at night and come back
in the mornings? That doesn’t accomplish anything.”
Hank shook his head. “No, it doesn’t mean I’ll
drive to town. I’ll sleep in the bunkhouse just like
I was hired help. Some farms have seasonal hired
help. I was one such a guy for years. It’s proper even
if you don’t think Grandpa is a sufficient chaper-
one. I can be a camper again.”
Harriet had not seen that one coming and was
caught off guard. So after consulting Abigail, Har-
riet allowed herself to give in.
At first, Harriet was fully occupied with the two
boys and Grandpa, and cooking and washing and
everything else. She began to see herself suddenly
becoming like her mother, who got up early every
day and started in on an endless list of domestic
chores. She seemed to have not a minute to think
about anything else.
But her growing role did not trouble her. Unlike
some girls in her high school class, she was not put
off by her mother’s occupation with domestic mat-
ters. Some of her friends openly decried that kind
of life. They boasted that they would escape such a
harness; some did by leaving the valley and belting
themselves to a factory or a traveling salesman.
That didn’t seem to be much of a graduation. No,
Harriet had always accepted the fact that she too
would be living in a kitchen and on a farm and in
a town right here in Bear Lake country.
But she would never have guessed she would be
acquitting herself in her situation. It was so unortho-
dox. Here she was taking care of four males, and
she was only related to one of them. She was living
in the same house with them. What surprised her is
that she did indeed have time to reflect. The more
she did, the more puzzling it became.
She felt life on a farm was just fine—the smell of
animals and of growing things, the open sky, the
wind and the range. She even liked farm equip-
ment, the odor of oil. These had captivated her
IRREANTUM
since girlhood—the sights and smells of the land.
She and her dad, Olie Nielsen, had been buddies in
the barns, on the tractors, and alongside the hay-
stacks. Never a tomboy, she knew she was a girl.
But that hadn’t kept her from the alfalfa and hay
and the barn and the cows. She had never resented
any of that. Living in Laketown was pretty much
the same as living in Ovid, especially because the
lake was nearby.
That kind of reflecting settled her mind instead
of upsetting it.
The strange component of the puzzle was Hank.
He was surprising her. Initially she was delighted
that the two of them were so different. That had
made the situation seem safe. He would just be her
employer. Then her reflections surprised her. She
couldn’t ignore him. She was bound to be pleasant
with him. And he never presumed to be her boss.
But her thinking about him uncovered something
she had missed. He reminded her of Ovid’s detached
orphans who grew up and spent their life roaming.
Driving cattle to the Montana mines or being freight
teamsters satisfied them in their teens and twenties.
They seldom settled down until their middle years,
and when they did, they never quite bought into
village life. Once they found a niche, it somehow
took a good while for them to gain acceptance
in community celebrations and then to finally
become churched.
Hank was not a Dane who was kept at arm’s
length, but he was a second-generation German
(they called them “Krauts” in Wyoming). Harriet
surprised herself that she was becoming comfort-
able with second-generation immigrants. Those
two uncles she had known earlier, who had never
seemed quite civilized, had eventually married.
Now she could see for the first time that their wives
had probably not been strange to live with them.
She was amazed to realize that Hank could be
trusted, even if he was not a square. She had known
only men who were classified as straight, conform-
ists who could be fun, lots of fun, despite their
somewhat formal exterior. In addition, they were
dependable. She was offended by the town beer
drinkers who poked fun at people such as Everett
and her dad and Ovid’s Bishop Jensen for their
21 Spring 2003
straight talk and obedient behavior. But now she
was spending part of every day with one such
unorthodox interloper, an unchurched, unrefined
outsider.
Hank has been decent with me right from the
first day. I am amazed to admit that I can trust
Hank even if he is not a square like my Everett or
like our neighbor Woodruff Kane. I know that
Hank will go on cattle drives; he lives for them. I’m
not comfortable about that, but I don’t intend to
go with him to be his chaperone. I am not willing
to mix with the kind of fellows who are on that
drive. Hank will be gone only two weeks a year,
and I hope he will come back decent. The other
fifty weeks he seems a lot like those Danish orphans
who gradually backed into our village life.
Harriet was surprised at her reflections. It gets
things figured out. Maybe that’s what her mother had
been doing, and Harriet had missed it. Mom wasn’t
just doing the laundry or the cooking. She was map-
ping out her life. That’s why she was usually calm. She
had figured it out, and I just didn’t realize it until now.
On December 20, 1936, Harriet married Hank
Grossberg. The ceremony took place at the
Ridges/Grossberg home in Round Valley. Bishop
Jaggi from Laketown married them “until death do
you part.” From their home in Ovid, Harriet’s
mother and father, the Nielsens, followed a snow-
plow the length of the valley from Ovid to be first
through the drifts that morning. All of Mead-
owville was there, packed into the parlor of the
Ridgeses’ two-story saltbox homestead, the product
of Grandpa Ridges’s own hands. The women of the
Laketown Relief Society prepared cakes and hot
cider for the guests.
The courtship had been so different. They had
never really had a date. But they knew each other—
so much more than first-time couples do. She knew
how he chewed his food, how he split logs, how he
built fires in the stove. She knew he didn’t do dishes
or make beds or sweep floors. All of those later real-
izations, those mundane things most couples never
discover until marriage, she knew without any of
the artificial behaviors of going on a date. She knew
exactly what daily life with Hank would be like.
Spring 2003
What she didn’t know was how to edge him her
way—into Zion. She would not allow him to pull
her out. But could she bring him in?
Nearly everyone was pleased with this new arrange-
ment. Hank quipped that he was glad to move back
in from the bunkhouse, where he had been sleep-
ing since Harriet gave up on driving back and forth
to Abigail Allen’s in Laketown five months ago.
Grandpa Ridges had taken to Harriet right off
because she could almost understand his throaty
squeak, the remnant of his speech. Bishop Clark’s
plan to get her here had been taken right over by
Bishop Jaggi, whose ward boundaries encompassed
Round Valley and who had long laid plans to
ensnare Hank into the gospel net. He had employed
Carmen’s goodness initially and would try again
through Harriet. The two boys would certainly
benefit from this consolidation. And the Ridgeses’
half section would continue to thrive.
Harriet’s acreage in St. Charles would have to be
sold. But it had barely been a starter farm anyway.
Harriet would find good use for the profit, if there
was any. Likely she would bank it toward Everett
Junior’s future mission.
Harriet was reconciled.
Unlike Everett, Hank was not at ease with words.
His was a calm, if not even reticent demeanor. Lis-
tening and observing were his tools, which some-
times baffled Harriet, who could not always know
what he was thinking.
But she had come to love Hank Grossberg, a sur-
prise to her. He would never replace Everett. That
was best because of the temple. Everett was Har-
riet’s for eternity and Hank was for mortality.
Mortality fit Hank best anyway. Even at thirty-
five, Hank already had parched and cracked skin
from living in the open—open air, open roaming,
and open lifestyle. He was brown from the sun,
which beat on him every day in a land where it sel-
dom rained. He was brown from his old behavior
of living halfway between heaven and hell. But he
wouldn’t pull Harriet his way. He respected her
determination to join with the Saints in their attempt
to be virtuous. He knew that Harriet would draw
his son Peter in her direction. That was all right, if
she could convince the self-willed strapling.
22 IRREANTUM
 Hank liked his beer. He could cuss with the best
of ranch hands. He was a free spirit from the north-
ern Wyoming mountains who was hardly attached
to family or town. He had somehow got stuck to
Round Valley like a fly to flypaper. He had married
land and couldn’t tear himself away. It was good land,
and he knew it. He had never been able to get
Lyman Ridges’s land into the profit column very far,
and he was often haunted with the prospect of fail-
ure, but every day he rose before daybreak to crystal-
clear air, to pristine mountains adjacent to his own
land, to the sun he could have all to himself. Deer
and elk were his daily companions, and the West
Range was in full view, awaiting nearly limitless
cattle herds.
This was an outright, willful
union outside the faith, but
it had been marginally accept-
able because it could only be
“until death do you part.”
Hank was hooked on Round Valley. He was at
his best on horseback, driving cattle on that range,
keeping the war going against the coyote, dreaming
of someday killing a bear. Everybody said that Old
Ephraim, killed in 1923 by Frank Clark, was the
last grizzly of the Wasatch, but Hank was still look-
ing, still hoping. Just fifty yards from the Ridgeses’
property line Hank could enter U. S. Forest Serv-
ice domain. There he could look for twenty miles
without the invasion of a building. That was a sat-
isfactory compromise for Hank Grossberg. He
would farm, though his heart was not in it, if he
could ride that range regularly.
That was the convenient compromise for Har-
riet—a companion who would settle for her in this
life only, who didn’t trouble his head about eternity,
and who had learned to co-exist with Mormons with-
out becoming one. She would be in Bear Lake Val-
ley with her people, fighting the elements for mere
IRREANTUM
survival and living the communal style of Zion.
That was her life—the gospel and God’s people.
That would shape Everett Junior in the mold of his
father. And maybe Peter too.
It was a convenient compromise to start with.
Secretly both of them hoped it would become more,
and feared it might be less.
Harriet had surprised herself. She was married to
a gentile, as Mormons called those outside the fold.
Not in the farthest reaches of her mind had that
ever been a possibility. But here she was and with
the approbation of two bishops, all of Round Val-
ley, and even those in Laketown who had kept up
on the situation at the Ridgeses. The only holdouts
were her in-laws, the Proctors, who feared their
grandson was being distanced from them, that his
new father was questionable. Their anxiety was that
Harriet would drift Hank’s way, pulling Everett
Junior out of the priesthood possibilities they all
envisioned for him.
How strange it was. First she had married with
the highest aspirations. Everything had gone accord-
ing to the plan. But the plan stopped short. Now
she was going into a marriage that wasn’t even sec-
ond choice. Hank wasn’t a backsliding Jack-Mormon
who could be reactivated. Nor was this a quick
“have to” wedding that could be reabsorbed into
the community with time. This was an outright, will-
ful union outside the faith, but it had been mar-
ginally acceptable because it could only be “until
death do you part.” That was understood by all,
though no one mentioned it. Even the Proctors felt
some comfort in that. As a result, what would have
been considered rebellious if Harriet had married
as Carmen had, now ended up with the approval of
almost everyone. It was a union of outside and inside.
The next day was Sunday. Hank went to church
with Harriet, each of them carrying a child. During
the meeting the new Grossbergs, who had been the
object of merriment yesterday, stirred more sober
thought among the Laketown ward members. His
being here means that he will likely allow Harriet to
continue coming, thought Sister Williams, the cho-
rister who depended on Harriet’s alto. With our
good behavior he will let those two boys be baptized at
23 Spring 2003
eight, become deacons at twelve, and maybe even mis-
sionaries at twenty, thought Woodruff Kane, Hank’s
Round Valley neighbor. A member of the high
council and one of the few men in the ward who
saw a handsome return from farming, Woodruff
intended to keep the friendly pressure on Hank to
get him baptized. It was for his own good in this
life and the next that Woodruff willed it.
Hank is not really an outsider, mused Brother
Erwin, the Merc storekeeper, even if he only comes
to church on his two wedding days. Sure he chews and
spits at times. But he pays his bills. And above all, he
stays here, here in the valley that many deride. He’s
right among us every day. Brother Nielsen, the ward
scoutmaster, worried that Hank could be done in
by the Thompson brothers, who gambled and told
filthy tales about Mormon polygamy on their occa-
sional visits here. He hoped that eventually Peter
and Junior would be in his scout troop. But he
knew that Hank’s hunting and roundup buddies
were often full of whiskey. That was not what scout
camps offered.
Bishop Jaggi wondered mostly what was going
on in Hank’s head: Does he see us as a bunch of old-
fashioned Puritans? Can he overlook our faults all
gathered here in this room, mixed with aspirations
none of us can fully perfect? Can he see beyond con-
formity, beyond authoritarianism? Does he see only
what we do, or can he have some interest in our
vision? We will have to work on him from several lev-
els—as heir to that land, as neighbor, as customer, as
father, as husband, as tiller of soil, as range rider. We
are all those, too, and we need each other. Actually,
thought the Bishop, Hank may do more for us as an
outsider, to cause us to be what we claim, than if he
were comfortably inside.
Harriet tried to see the meeting from Hank’s eyes.
Though he sat quietly, he was not absorbed in the
proceedings. Somehow he knew to bow his head
for the prayers, but he did not close his eyes. He
recognized Bishop Jaggi, sitting on the stand with a
counselor on either side. The bishop made several
announcements—that a youth outing was sched-
uled for Friday evening, that a temple excursion
would be held on Saturday in Logan, and that the
choir would practice at 4:00 P.M. each Sunday.
Spring 2003
When the chorister stood up to lead the congre-
gation in the next song and the young men arose at
a side table, Hank acknowledged that the sacra-
ment ritual would be next. As the twelve-year-old
deacons walked throughout the congregation bring-
ing small pieces of bread and tiny cups of water to
the members, he did not partake. No one seemed
concerned at his abstention.
The first of the three speakers was a fifteen-year-
old girl he did not know. Her words lasted three
minutes, taken from a paper she placed on the pul-
pit and had obviously written herself. The two men
who followed took about fifteen minutes each,
farmers from Laketown he knew from years of con-
tacts at the Merc. Their words were homespun,
including folksy stories interspersed with scripture
readings. Hank seemed to miss the point of either
talk. Certainly neither moved him. He almost dozed
but fortunately avoided it, to his credit.
During another song by the congregation, Har-
riet held the songbook for him to see. He didn’t
even hum—music was not one of his talents. After
the closing prayer was pronounced by the store-
keeper, Fred Irwin, the organist then played a fes-
tive piece, its tones growing in power to cover the
sound of the members arising, leaving the chapel
and bidding one another good-bye.
As they got into the truck, shuffling the two boys
in also, neither Hank nor Harriet commented on
the service. Both were treading lightly, but it was
clear that this church thing was part and parcel of
the marriage, exciting or not. Harriet feared that Hank
had missed much of the meaning. For example, the
youth speaker was a young person pretty much
on her own. Her parents had dropped her off at
the church as they headed to Evanston for their
monthly shopping spree, not even coming in long
enough to hear their daughter. They were nominal
members but did not participate, not even to the
extent of helping her prepare the talk. Despite this,
she was doing well so far. Her friends and teachers
were her support. Harriet knew she would have
some challenges ahead and took every opportunity
to encourage her.
The first farmer to speak, George Hail, had
achieved a victory. He had an intense fear of speak-
24 IRREANTUM
ing in public, a leftover from his general lack of
confidence. Harriet knew George had anguished
about his talk, but she was proud of him because he
spoke without making any excuses or even hinting
at his anxieties. The last farmer frustrated Harriet.
It seemed he had not taken the assignment very
seriously, appearing to have given it only a cursory
thought that morning. He was comfortable and
confident, but said nothing of significance when he
could have used his talents to cap the meeting with
sound insights. These realities Hank likely missed,
Harriet mused.
The ride home to Round Valley drove in the
stakes of permanency. By this marriage both Hank
and Harriet had tied themselves to this land, to
Bear Lake Valley. They would never get it out of
their sinew now.
Hank was nothing without this land. As a roving
cowhand in Wyoming he would never have earned
the money to buy a farm. His marriage to Carmen
had not been bribery to get this land, far from it.
Initially Grandpa Ridges did everything he could
to keep Hank from it, to persuade his daughter to
reject Hank’s marriage proposal. When he saw that
he was driving them away, he reversed directions
and it was effective. Hank and Carmen took up his
offer to live on the farm well before Grandpa had
his stroke. It was a fortunate negotiation and a land-
fall for Hank. Yet he saw it only as a base so he could
be a free man, free to ride the range, free from debt.
Carmen’s sudden, if not mysterious, death threat-
ened Hank’s lifestyle. Now the marriage to Harriet
freed him from obligations to nurse Grandpa and
from raising his own son alone. She had been very
delicate on the issue of religion, brewing his coffee
for him but staunchly abstaining herself. In recent
months he suddenly stopped chewing tobacco, unan-
nounced. What was the meaning of this, Harriet
queried. It was a great relief. But did it have any
further meaning? She assumed that there would be
a blessing at each meal and that Hank would take
his normal turn. Fortunately he had learned a con-
venient wording from Carmen. He didn’t balk
about that.
It appeared that Hank was doing some thinking.
Everyone nearby saw that Harriet filled in the gaps
IRREANTUM
in his life. Surely he realized that. Also, he couldn’t
miss that Harriet had a keen wit and was so lively.
She sometimes bounced and sparkled, and Hank
returned the smiles. But what people and especially
Grandpa noticed most was that Harriet was not
intimidated by Hank, despite his decade-plus of
seniority. Yes, all this was giving Hank pause. I could
see from the first day that she wasn’t going to let me
boss her, and I can live with that as long as she doesn’t
preach or nag.
There hadn’t been any formal negotiations prior
to the wedding. Both assumed that life would go
on much as it had been going for eight months.
Naturally Hank would join Harriet in her bed.
Both of them looked forward to that. But the rest
would be the same. Harriet would care for Grandpa
and the two boys, manage the kitchen and the
money. Hank would farm and ranch and ask for
help when necessary with watering turns and milk-
ing. He would prepare the ground for a garden; she
and the boys would weed it, raise a substantial por-
tion of their food—melons, squash, peas, corn, apples,
berries—while tending chickens and pigs. With all
that activity they could avoid the larger issues.
It was understood that Harriet would try to
stimulate Hank’s interest in religion and Hank
would enjoy sidestepping the net.
Each had reasons to keep some private latitude.
Hank didn’t ask Harriet about what it meant to be
sealed to Everett. She had a hunch he already knew,
but since he hadn’t thought much about eternity, it
was comfortable to settle for “until death do you
part.” On the other hand, Harriet tried to make a
generous inquiry into his feelings about Carmen:
“Don’t you think there ought to be a picture of
Carmen hanging in the house?”
“That would confuse the boys as much as post-
ing one of Everett,” he replied.
She could tell he didn’t want to talk about Car-
men, even though Harriet would like to have told
Hank about Everett. She wondered why. What had
caused Carmen’s death? Had she gone into prema-
ture labor? Or was it something else? They had
come to an uneasy truce on those subjects. Nearing
the farm after church, Harriet realized they hadn’t
exchanged a word. They had both been alone in
25 Spring 2003
their private worlds. The boys were somehow sub-
dued too. She chose not to ask Hank’s reaction to
the meeting. It was his first since his marriage
to Carmen. She had her own hunches about how
he felt. But she didn’t want to box him in. She sus-
pected he really feared becoming absorbed into the
ward more than anything else.
Hank had run away from home and school after
the eighth grade. That had been possible in wide-
open Wyoming. He drifted—riding freight trains,
catching farmhand jobs, and eventually becoming
a cattle driver. His own family disintegrated with
the joblessness of the 1930s depression. He never
contacted them. When he settled into the Ridges
family, he brought the bravado of the range and the
decisiveness of a survivor. But underneath he felt
the absence of education and heritage. As he sat in
that Laketown Ward, he may have seen that he was
not tied by blood to anyone but his son, a son who
already linked himself primarily to Harriet, who had
been like a mother to him for nearly a year now.
Hank was obviously unaccustomed to lay reli-
gion. What little he knew of churches was that its
business had been a matter for pastors and priests.
But in Laketown and all of Bear Lake Valley and
even the whole Great Basin, Mormons did their
own preaching, their own praying, their own teach-
ing, their own blessing. It didn’t take two minutes
for Hank to figure out that if he let Bishop Jaggi
baptize him, he would be expected to tithe, to
abandon tobacco and alcohol, to teach, to preach—
to become a Saint!
Harriet surmised that the real issue was not
tobacco, maybe not even tithing, but the preach-
ing. She recognized a long habit of running from
feelings of inadequacy, a feeling that others were
smarter, or more glib, or more given to faith. After
all, they were descendants of pioneers. Hank was
just one step away from hobos and horse thieves. It
was a lot easier to stay an outsider.
Spring 2003
E S S A Y
Los escogidos y los despreciados: Latino
Influences in LDS Literature
By John Alba Cutler
I cultivate white roses
In January as in July
For the honest friend who freely
Offers me his hand.
And for the brute who tears from me
The heart with which I live,
I nurture neither grubs nor thistles,
But cultivate white roses.
—José Martí (87)
At the heart of the Latino/Latin American1 expe-
rience in the LDS Church abides fantastic para-
doxes. Latinos occupy a special place in the doctrine
and folklore of the Church as Lamanites, remnants
of the House of Israel; but in conservative LDS pol-
itics and culture, Latinos remain either a monolith
of uneducated, warlike foreigners or motley of ille-
gal immigrants who steal American jobs and carry
crime with them like a disease. Latino identity—
already complicated by years of U.S. interventions
in Latin America and by domestic discrimina-
tion—thus takes on a new dimension of complex-
ity in the Church. We are God’s chosen people, but
not until we learn how to be good Americans. An
impetus to create a Latino presence in LDS litera-
ture should naturally come from a desire to grapple
with these issues of identity, promise, and dispos-
session.
That such a presence would have to be “created”
hardly needs proving. Unfortunately, Latino influ-
ences in LDS literature are scarce; in this short
study I will examine only five key texts, but those
texts represent the bulk of explicit Latino references
in LDS literature. And of the five writers of those
texts, none is Latino. Hence, the questions that
pervade my project, as yet unanswered: Why the
silence? Why, in a church with over two million
Spanish-speaking members—with entire Spanish
26 IRREANTUM
stakes in the United States—should there be no
Latino fiction writers? Why would a literature so
uniquely concerned with the building of the West
ignore Latinos, who have been among the founda-
tion builders of the West? The answers to these
questions are complex because the Latino experi-
ence (especially in the Church!) is complex. As we
will see, Church members who perpetuate igno-
rance of that fact do a great disservice to Latinos in
the Church.
Looking at the trajectory of American literary
studies, we can see that a project such as what I am
attempting here is not only timely but expedient.
Latin American writers, such as Nobel Prize win-
ners Octavio Paz from Mexico and Gabriel García
Márquez from Colombia are matched in their
growing prestige by Latino-American writers such
as Rudolfo Anaya, Sandra Cisneros, Junot Díaz,
and Helena María Viramontes in the United States.
These writers challenge the limits of contemporary
fiction and literary theory, as well as positing a new
“border space” from which to revise traditional
constructions of ethnicity and “American” history.
Latino literature will be an important site for future
literary studies in the United States.
Additionally, strict immigration laws passed in
recent years appear impotent (not surprisingly) to
stop the wave of illegal immigration into the U.S.
from Latin American countries, immigration that
does not pause outside Utah’s borders. Historiogra-
pher Jorge Iber notes that “in 1997 Hispanics
accounted for almost 117,000 (or about 6 percent)
of Utah’s inhabitants and pumped almost $1.4 bil-
lion (after taxes) into the state’s economy” (ix).
Practically, Latinos represent a segment of the pop-
ulation that American Mormons cannot afford to
overlook.
We will consider later how such circumstances
should resonate with Mormon belief that “the
Lamanites must rise in majesty and power”
(Spencer W. Kimball, qtd in Fyans). My more
immediate project is to demonstrate that just as
Latinos are rising to the forefront of the American
literary scene, so will they become a potent force in
LDS literature. I hope to do this by looking first at
some background to the Latino experience in the
IRREANTUM
Church; then by examining some LDS texts—both
prose and poetry—which are not directly tied to
these issues, but which show important Latino influ-
ences; and finally by surveying two texts—My People
by Gordon Laws and Salvador by Margaret Blair
Young—which rely heavily and explicitly on Latino
themes for their development and characterization.
My intent is not to give an exhaustive survey of
Mormon allusions to Latin America,2 nor am I com-
menting on the status and problems of LDS fiction
generally (a master’s thesis!). Rather, I want to
briefly survey recent work to show why I believe
critical treatment of race in Mormon literature
bears immediate relevance. In doing so, I will uti-
lize postmodern theories advanced by bell hooks
and Emmanuel Levinas about the confrontation
between the Self and the Other, positing Anglo-
American writers and readers as the Self and Lati-
nos as the Other. Ultimately, I hope readers, both
LDS and non-LDS, may understand that Mormon
culture is not a monolith. As members of the
Church, we come from different places; we speak
different languages; we have different cultural and
political values. Our unity and survival depend on
such recognition—the Lamanites are not going away.
Background—
The Importance of Names
While the Church’s first contact with Latin Amer-
ica came with Parley P. Pratt’s mission to South
America in the 1850s, Daniel Webster Jones led
perhaps its first establishment. Church History in
the Fulness of Times notes that in 1876, along with
Meliton G. Trejo, Jones “located an area in the state
of Chihuahua that [he] felt would be suitable for a
future Church colonization” (413). The site was
further approved in 1879 by Elder Moses Thatcher,
an apostle (413), and the “Mormon Colonies” were
born. Since that time, Mexico has served as the
Church’s doorway into Latin America. As the flood
of converts from European countries—once the
lifeblood of the Church—has ebbed, converts from
Latin American countries have flowed to the
Church en masse. Spanish-speaking Latin Ameri-
cans account for one-third of the membership of
27 Spring 2003
the Church, with over 800,000 members in Mex-
ico, 400,000 in Central America, and over two mil-
lion in South America (LDS). Of the 125 operating
or announced LDS temples, 28 are in Latin Amer-
ica (LDS). Throughout this tremendous growth,
the moniker typically reserved for members of the
Church with Latin American heritage has been
“Lamanites.”
The use of the term Lamanite has not been with-
out controversy, however. Latin American members
of the Church question whether such a label can
accurately describe a group of people with such
widely varied racial, social, and economic back-
grounds.3 From the Book of Mormon, the term has
distinctly negative connotations, often referring to
those who were “rebellious and estranged from the
Lord” (Brown). Many Latinos have understandably
hesitated to embrace the term. Also, Latin Ameri-
cans of European descent may feel reticent about
accepting a label designated for descendants of the
Native Americans. Church member Julia Perez
comments that “the Argentina North Mission and
the mission in Paraguay have many Lamanites, but
we hardly ever see an Indian in the main part of
Argentina and in Uruguay, where I lived for a time”
(qtd in Brown). As Mormon critic Eugene England
has pointed out, however, Lamanite has become
largely a geographic rather than ethnic marker: “If
we are going to use the term [Lamanite] at all, it
must be . . . as a morally and racially neutral desig-
nation for all the post–Book of Mormon but pre-
Columbian inhabitants of the Americas and
Polynesia and all their descendants, whatever their
ancestry” (31).4
Also, Arturo De Hoyos notes that the label
Lamanite has experienced various levels of prestige
within the Church, comparing the use of the label
to when “the first saints in this dispensation were
called Mormons by people who intended to
ridicule” (6). The analogy seems apt, as Latinos in
the Church have also appropriated the name given
to them. Hence, while early Church members may
have used the term pejoratively in reference to the
“bloodthirsty people, full of idolatry and filthiness”
(Enos 1:20) described in the Book of Mormon,5
Latino Mormons since Margarito Bautista’s work
Spring 2003
in the 1930s have used the label to “[focus] on the
importance of Hebraic lineage”(Murphy 196).6
This shift not surprisingly accompanies the post–
World War II civil rights movement in the United
States, with that movement’s emphasis on minority
groups’ right to self-definition. Its importance to
Latinos in the Church cannot be understated.
Thomas W. Murphy rightly observes that “the
movement of Lamanite from object to subject dis-
rupts social and racial hierarchies” that have domi-
nated the Church since its inception (187).
Spencer W. Kimball was a key figure in the
empowerment of Latino Church members as
Lamanites. In a landmark 1947 conference address,
Kimball proclaimed, “The Lamanites must rise in
majesty . . . we must look forward to the day when
they shall have economic security, culture, refine-
ment, and education” (qtd in Fyans). From the
beginning of his ministry as Church president on
the eve of 1974, Kimball continued to emphasize
the need to take the gospel to the Lamanites, insist-
ing that they would become a mighty people in the
Church and the world: “The development and
growth and progress of the Lamanite people are
of prime importance to all Mormondom, to the
whole Church program, to Christianity” (Kimball).
Effectively, this endorsement from the highest level
of church hierarchy has meant that Lamanites have
enjoyed a special status in the Church since the
mid-1970s. They represent the future of the Church,
doctrinally and practically.
If this were the whole story, the Latino LDS con-
flict would likely be much less volatile than it is,
but conservative American politics, which have
dominated in Utah for most of the twentieth cen-
tury, color these immense feelings of promise with
an unfortunate sense of discrimination and second-
class membership among Latinos. Speaking specifi-
cally of Mexican-Americans, Juan Gonzalez asserts
that “Anglo America continues to deny how much
the social, cultural, political, and economic reality
of the West and Southwest has been shaped by
Mexicans” (107). Closer to home, Jorge Iber observes
that “many Hispanics [in Utah] still live in substan-
dard housing, in crime- and drug-infested neigh-
borhoods, and with limited access to the educational
28 IRREANTUM
programs that they need in order to improve their
lives” (135). Undoubtedly, Latinos in Utah, many
of whom are members of the Church, have been
hurt by dominant right-wing government policy in
recent decades, including strict immigration laws
and the passage of an English-only initiative in
2000. Iber points out one aspect of the problem:
“There are no locations [in Utah] in which [His-
panics] form the overwhelming majority of the
population” (135), the result of which is an effec-
tive political silencing of both LDS and non-LDS
Latino constituents.
All of which may explain why Latinos are under-
represented in LDS fiction. Abstractly, the Latino
experience in the Church is complex—the chal-
lenge of representing such experience is thus daunt-
ing. More practically, Mormon Latinos continue to
lack education and opportunity in both the U.S.
and Latin America. Also, the only LDS publishers
are located in Utah, with a middle-class Anglo-
American marketing base. At what point does such
a publisher, especially a small publisher, become
interested in distributing a book with a marketing
base thinly spread over so vast an area as Latin
America? But as the makeup of the Church contin-
ues to evolve, we will see the answer to that ques-
tion. As has happened in American politics in the
last forty years, we are quickly approaching a time
in the Church where Latinos make their voice
heard, not in the subversive sense of undermining
existing authority but in the dignified tradition of
the right to aesthetic self-representation.
Mystical Encounters:
Bennion, Mitchell, and Larsen
By far the most common of Latino influences in
LDS literature—and Anglo-American literature in
general—is what I call the “mystical encounter”
between an Anglo protagonist and a Latino, the
Self and the Other. At worst these encounters may
be examples of what bell hooks describes as “eating
the Other” (424), a strange kind of fascination with
those of differing ethnicity, a desire to consume
their difference, to make it a part of the Self. At
best these encounters demonstrate the immensity
IRREANTUM
of, as Emmanuel Levinas says, “access to the face
[of the Other]” (85). Confronted by the Other in
this manner, the Self sees the infinite depth of the
individual human soul and recognizes in that soul
his or her ethical responsibility to the world. Look-
ing first at passages from John Bennion’s Falling
toward Heaven and Alan Mitchell’s Angel of the
Danube, then at two poems by Lance Larsen, we
will see that most of these encounters actually engage
combinations of both these theories.
Bell hooks’s intent in her landmark article “Eat-
ing the Other” is to explore the psychology behind
the desire that dominant races, genders, classes,
etc., have to consume Otherness, a metaphor she
uses to describe the appropriation of difference.
Essentially, hooks recognizes in contemporary cul-
ture a “commodification of Otherness,” which “has
been so successful because it [Otherness] is offered
as a new delight, more intense, more satisfying than
normal ways of feeling and doing” (424). This
recognition resonates with the brief representations
of Latinos in both Bennion and Mitchell’s novels.
The situations are surprisingly similar. In both
novels, a (returned) missionary who is struggling
with his own identity and sense of purpose has an
interaction with a Mexican-American. The interac-
tion in both stories is a kind of turning point or
moment of recognition. For Howard Rockwood—
Bennion’s protagonist—when Grace Montoya tells
him he is “a seeker, muy authenticia [sic]” (30), he
feels within himself the suggestion that he may
be as far from understanding the truth as any of his
investigators. For Barry Monroe—Mitchell’s narra-
tor—Hermano Zapata provides the impetus to
finish his missionary journal: “He . . . had just
mopped up some beans with his tortilla when he
looked me in the eye and waved the tortilla at me
and told me to finish writing the experiences of my
mission” (1).
Both texts represent the Other as mystical, which
relative to hooks may signify cooption: “The ‘prim-
itive’ is recouped via a focus on diversity and
pluralism which suggests the Other can provide
life-sustaining alternatives” (427). Grace Montoya
dreams of the missionaries before they ever visit her
and receives all the missionary discussions in a day,
29 Spring 2003
demonstrating “perfect charity” (Bennion 30).
Hermano Zapata functions as a Mojave Desert ver-
sion of Delphi’s oracle for Barry Monroe: “I rode
my motorcycle into the desert in search of myself
and came upon this Mormon patriarch and laid my
life before him” (1). In these accounts, the Latinos
play important roles as representatives of simple
faith and spiritual power. From hooks’s point of
view, such characterization is reductive, and it cer-
tainly seems possible that Bennion and Mitchell are
capitalizing on the mystique of the Lamanite in
Mormon consciousness.
These representations
of Latinos can be a
double-edged sword.
In contrast, Lance Larsen satirizes Anglo atti-
tudes that lead to such consumption in his dra-
matic monologue “Peach,” which traces a narrator’s
thoughts as he is “eating [his] way / south” (64).
The poem alludes to well-known Latin American
political and literary figures, such as Chilean dicta-
tor Salvador Allende and Nobel Prize–winner
Gabriela Mistral, framing these allusions with the
metaphor of devouring a peach. In “Peach” bell
hooks’s argument is made explicit, as Larsen’s nar-
rator declares, “And now I’m down to the pit, which
I’m / biting. An entire hemisphere in my mouth, /
Pablo Neruda between my teeth . . . When I marry,
it will be for exquisite / black eyebrows and wide
hips” (65). All the while we as readers understand
that mere consumption is illusory, always unable to
effect a total appropriation of the Other’s experi-
ence, which is infinite. Like hooks, Larsen recog-
nizes the inherent foolishness of the Self ’s desire to
eat the Other.
Emmanuel Levinas offers another lens through
which to view these representations, an ethical
approach more sympathetic than hooks’s. Where
hooks asserts that Anglo fascination with the Other
leads to a kind of insidious appropriation, Levinas
asserts that “the Other, in the rectitude of his face,
Spring 2003
is not a character within a context . . . if I am alone
with the Other, I owe him everything” (86, 89–
90). For Levinas, interaction with the Other should
result in a sense of the infinite profundity of the
Other’s experience and personality, resulting in
the Self ’s realization of his or her ethical responsi-
bility to the Other. Where hooks denigrates repre-
sentations of the Other that rely on mystique,
Levinas might say that mystique is the only possi-
ble result of an ethical interaction with the Other,7
since we can never fully understand another human
being. He marks an important shift from mod-
ernism’s obsession with metaphysics and Being, to
postmodernism’s turn toward ethics and the Other.
Levinas’s perspective casts the representations we
have already seen in a different light. Both Howard
Rockwood and Barry Monroe, in their short but
important interactions with Latinos, receive this
glimpse of the Other’s face. Howard certainly senses
something infinite in Grace. After she tells him,
“You are a seeker,” he replies, “No . . . you have
described yourself,” thinking that “God should be
more like her” (30). And one of the overall themes
of Bennion’s novel is our inability ever to arrive at
a total knowledge of life, of other people. As Lev-
inas asserts, this understanding should lead us to
treat others (or the Other) with compassion.
Similarly, Barry Monroe comes away from the
Zapata household certain that God has spoken to
him through the Mexican patriarch: “I figured I
didn’t deserve . . . my parents, my friends, or my
easy life. Seems like the Herr Gott has been cod-
dling me all along. Look at the Zapata family—
where would they be if they had my opportunity?”
(177). Hermano Zapata impels Barry into his most
important ethical realization of the novel, that God
has been with him at every point of his adventure.
In this understated epiphany (literarily, perhaps the
only acceptable kind of epiphany), we hear echoes
of Levinas’s statement that “in the access to the face
[of the Other] there is certainly also an access to the
idea of God” (92).
Larsen also explores this interaction with the Other
in his poem “Interview.” Here Larsen narrates the
experience of a young missionary shocked into a
relationship with the Other when a young woman
30 IRREANTUM
he is interviewing for baptism tells him she has “a
problem muy adentro” 8 (33). Moving through a sur-
real scene, the missionary tries “to build a church
for her out of words” (33) but finds he cannot ade-
quately express ideas like redemption through lan-
guage, an imperfect medium. In the poem the
Other again provides a turning point for the Self, as
through the young woman the missionary “crosse[s]
some barrier, he knows, / this boy who in nineteen
years has been / with no one but himself ” (34).
Here also the Other provides “access to the idea of
God” (Levinas 92), now a clear pattern in all of
these encounters.
What we see, then, is that these representations
of Latinos can be a double-edged sword. On the
one hand, the temptation exists to capitalize on
the easy mystique of the Lamanite subconscious
in the Church; we can see that Bennion and
Mitchell certainly leave themselves open to such an
interpretation. However, these representations of
Latinos can also signify as truly ethical attempts to
interact with the infinite. In fact, we can take quite
literally in all three of these works Levinas’s intima-
tion that the Other can lead us to God. And we
have good reason to believe that these representa-
tions should signify in just such a manner. After all,
these writers also share Mormon consciousness that
only after the Lamanites “shall be restored unto the
knowledge of their fathers, and also to the knowl-
edge of Jesus Christ . . . [shall] the Lord God . . .
commence his work among all nations” (2 Ne.
30:5, 8). The Lamanites are the key.
Going Native: Young and Laws
The works we have analyzed up to this point
demonstrate Latino influence, but mainly in the
form of passing allusions or Spanish-language phrases.
In both Bennion and Mitchell’s work, Latino char-
acters appear only briefly, though significantly. Only
a handful of Larsen’s poems show Latino influence.
In contrast to these works, My People, a recent
novel by Gordon Laws, and Salvador, by Margaret
Blair Young, both rely heavily on Latino settings,
characters, and themes. While both works are inter-
esting, Laws’s book ultimately falls flat, not daring
IRREANTUM
to penetrate beyond simple action, and hence
falling to the temptation hooks identified of “eating
the Other.” Young’s book, on the other hand, is
passionate, challenging. The difference comes in
the approaches Laws and Young take to common
problems of language, characterization, and social
and racial divisions in the Church; Young is not
afraid to engage her readers in ambiguity, the world
of the Lamanite.
Any writer dealing with the intersection between
two cultures has to deal with the issue of language,
negotiating between making a work accessible to as
wide an audience as possible and using language as
a tool of rhetoric and realism. Laws uses Spanish
and caló (slang) freely, but chooses generally to
translate these passages for Anglo readers: “‘Era
nuestro barrio.’ It was our neighborhood” (32);
“‘¿Quién es?’ Who is it?” (68); “‘Ándale, carnala.’
Let’s go, girl” (75); and so on. Also, all Spanish
words in My People are set off in italics. One advan-
tage to these strategies is that Laws can and does
use Spanish quite freely without fearing that he
may alienate Anglo readers who may not under-
stand. And to his credit, Laws appears to have
researched pachuco9 slang carefully, so that the dia-
logue reads smoothly. But these strategies can also
be quite distracting; especially for readers who
already know Spanish, the constant translation can
seem like constant redundancy. And using italics to
highlight Spanish words can lead to a sense of mar-
ginalization for Spanish-speakers—English is the
real language; Spanish is merely the exception. These
moves cater to Anglo appropriation, offering up a
more palatable product for the kind of ethnic con-
sumption hooks decries.
While she also foregrounds Spanish words with
italics, Young refuses to translate for her readers,
letting the language stand on its own. This could
prove demanding for Anglo readers not familiar
with the language. Often, the Spanish phrases are
thematically significant: “The seat I shared with
two old men said, ‘Vivir es morir; morir es vivir’ [To
live is to die; to die is to live]”10 (87). In this way,
Young marginalizes Anglo readers who cannot
speak Spanish, much the same way Julie (Young’s
protagonist) feels marginalized in El Salvador. In a
31 Spring 2003
novel concerned with representations, with the
complexities of the human spirit, Young employs
Spanish in such a way as to remind readers that we
may not ever fully understand the Other.
In addition to using Spanish liberally, both Laws
and Young forge new territory in LDS fiction by
exploring Latino characters of depth and dramatic
importance. Laws especially takes a risk in using a
Latino gangster as his protagonist, a character type
surely stigmatized in conservative Anglo culture.
But the risk pays off as Ruben’s character is initially
quite engaging. Laws paints him as a young man
devastated by the death of his brother and touched
by the gospel of Jesus Christ as presented to him by
two missionaries. Stylistically, though, Laws hurts
Ruben’s characterization by the stark, quasi-action-
movie technique he employs throughout the
novel.11 We are rarely let into a character’s mind or
even physical being, resulting in a lack of complex-
ity in Ruben’s character. For example, the baptism
scene presents an interesting tension as one of the
missionaries acknowledges to Ruben, “I know the
whole gang life, some of the things you have prob-
ably done . . . The water does not change you . . .
but . . . leave everything behind” (63). But we see
only the barest reaction, “Ruben nodded” (63),
before the tension is resolved by the actual baptism.
Salvador is, in contrast, intensely personal. Due
much to the strength of the voice Young gives her
narrator/protagonist, we are led through a wide
range of human emotion and thought in the novel,
from Julie’s desire “to make [her] home a haven of
silliness . . . to be everything Mom wanted [her]
to be” (2), to her horrific realization of her uncle
Johnny’s apostasy:
I could barely make out Alberto’s profile in the
dark. When I did, I saw that it was Johnny’s
profile too. “Tell me about your father,” I
murmured, my rage over, abruptly replaced
by the horror of what was before me. Numb-
ness was spreading through my body like a
rush of cancer, starting in my stomach, branch-
ing out to my arms and legs . . . This moment
was my apotheosis—or anti-apotheosis, as it
happened. (187–8, 190)
Spring 2003
Young spares us no emotion in these passages; as
readers, we engage the profound complexity of her
narrator’s experience just as surely as Julie engages
the infinite complexity of Alberto, Cordelio, Prim-
itivo, and the other Lamanites with whom she
interacts. This is not merely a stylistic argument.
Much can be said for the power of sensory images
as opposed to abstracted emotion; but Laws takes
the rule of concrete over abstract to an extreme,
while Young negotiates a careful balance between
the two. Because of this fleshing out, Young’s char-
acterization avoids the pitfalls of which hooks fore-
warns: Lamanite consciousness plays a central role
in Salvador, but it is never easy and never cheap.
Laws also drops the ball in his engagement of
social and racial divisions within the Church. While
readers may appreciate his commitment to telling a
story without politicizing, My People consistently
refuses to comment on obvious questions, such as
how Ruben digests his new status as a Lamanite.
Dean Hughes praises Laws for exploring what he
sees as a question central to the book: “Can mis-
sionaries help [Ruben], or does organized religion
only serve the middle class?”12 (back cover). But
Ruben doesn’t really face this question in the book.
The only time the issue is ever broached, Ruben
has a tense conversation with Brother Roberts—a
member of the Church with some obvious racist
tendencies—as they are driving to church. “A lot of
these people . . . come across illegally and take all
the jobs but don’t pay taxes,” Brother Roberts says,
to which Ruben replies, “That’s true, true. My
mother, when she first came across, she had to wash
floors for rich people in Alta Dena” (54). Laws
refuses to carry the tension any further. Instead,
Brother Roberts shares his testimony with Ruben,
and the two men reconcile. Ruben’s ethnicity doesn’t
play a significant role in the rest of the novel. In
fact, the total resolution of all tensions at the book’s
conclusion—Ruben joins the Church and receives
the priesthood; Maria falls for him and even comes
to church herself—implies a kind of naïve, utopian
ignorance of racial and class differences. My People
makes no significant commentary on what it means
to be a Lamanite, or even what it means to be a
minority in the Church. This may not be Laws’s
32 IRREANTUM
intent; but the conspicuous absence of such thought
in the novel signals an easy consumption of latini-
dad. Ruben is a stereotype of the Latino gangster,
which stereotype is not well mediated by his stereo-
typical conversion.
Young confronts head on the questions that My
People ignores. Fleeing to El Salvador after her bro-
ken marriage, Julie finds herself caught in a power
struggle between her Uncle Johnny, who claims God
has called him to establish a communistic society
called Zarahemla, and Piggot, the Church district
president whom Johnny accuses of being “too rich for
his eternal good” (85). Both men profess a love
for the Lamanites, a desire to see them blossom in
the gospel. But both men see the Lamanites blos-
soming on their own terms. Piggot creates for them
“a little America. White pre-fab houses . . . lined up
in neat little rows, separated by palm trees” (108).
Both Johnny and Julie are disgusted by what they
view as this crass materialism and deculturation of
the Lamanites. But Johnny, who plans to make “the
Lamanites . . . a white and delightsome people”
(189) through polygamous interracial marriages,
repulses Julie even more than Piggot.
Through the end of the novel, Julie maintains
the feeling that the truth about these people, and
about herself, is interwoven in layers and layers of
complexity. Her father laments that “the Church
is huge, gigantic, and your mother wants me to
swallow it like Tylenol” (94). Johnny and Piggot
seem to take a similar strategy toward Julie with
regards to the Lamanites. But answers about people
are never easy, as Julie discovers and rediscovers:
“Alberto would not admit his confusion or ambiva-
lence, but it was around him like a stink” (191).
Young refuses to ignore tough questions of racial
appropriation and class struggle within the Church;
she also legitimizes Julie’s encounter with the Other
by refusing to give easy answers to those questions.
When Alberto asks her desperately, “How do I
know where to turn?” (195), Julie answers out of
love, out of a responsibility not to reduce the gospel
or a person’s experience into aphorism, “I have no
idea” (195). We see Levinas’s definition of the ethi-
cal encounter beautifully portrayed in Salvador. As
Julie learns, a Lamanite is not just a word or a cat-
egory; a Lamanite is a person.
IRREANTUM
Conclusion
All the works I have examined here were pub-
lished after 1990, signifying an increasingly hard-
to-ignore Latino presence in Mormonism. Latinos
have flocked to the Church in astounding numbers
since the end of World War II, and not to the
Church only but to the United States. Juan
González warns that “the number of Latinos in the
country will mushroom to more than 40 million by
the year 2010. By that time, Hispanics . . . will
be the largest minority group in the country” (xi).
Despite the concerns mestizaje13 presents to calling
all of these people (along with the Native Ameri-
cans) Lamanites, we are assured that these are
indeed a “remnant of [Lehi’s] seed . . . and that they
are the covenant people of the Lord” (1 Ne. 15:14).
Sheer numbers promise that each of us in the
Church will have his or her own interaction with
the Other. We have seen how these interactions
have been represented by various LDS writers—the
temptation to package Otherness into a consum-
able discrete unit, the recognition of the profundity
of human experience.
These writers navigate the murky waters of
latinidad with varying degrees of agility; but even
their willingness to try, to gaze at the face of the
Other, demonstrates that we are entering an impor-
tant new stage in the development of LDS fiction.
Traditional LDS stories will always be needed, sto-
ries of the forging of the West and of Mormon
attempts to locate ourselves somewhere in the tap-
estry of American consciousness. In this literature
we discover much about ourselves, but we cannot
afford to ignore such a vital part of our history as
the story of the Lamanite. We should not fool our-
selves into thinking that Zion will be populated
with individuals who look and think just like “us”
(“us” because I am, myself, the child of an interra-
cial marriage, a mestizo of American and Lamanite
descent). Our literature is turning outward because
that is what the gospel demands.
We have not found many answers yet about what
it means to be a Lamanite. Is it a mystical existence,
filled with bloody visions of the Aztec god Huitzil-
opochtli and the incantations of Native American
shamans? Is it always a meager existence, scratching
33 Spring 2003
out a living from poverty? Is it an angry existence,
marked by the violence of unstable governments
and corrupt dictators? Is it none of these, subsumed
under the more powerful sense of being a Mormon?
Bennion, Mitchell, Larsen, Laws, and Young all
comment, directly or indirectly, on these questions,
but they remain questions nonetheless. In this, my
own modest attempt to address the same issues, I’ve
found that a state of irresolution is perhaps the best
we can and should do. Irresolution is, after all, a
space familiar to the Latino/Lamanite: a space filled
with turmoil and the search for identity and peace,
with the need for a Savior, for transcendence—
something akin to being human.
John Alba Cutler lives in Los Angeles with his wife,
Karolyn, and daughter, Hermila. He is working
toward a Ph.D. in English at UCLA, with a specialty
in Chicana/o literature. He thanks his BYU honors
thesis advisor, John S. Bennion, for help with the con-
ception of this article, as well as the rest of his thesis,
entitled Lamanite.
Notes
1. Henceforth, just “Latino.” I realize this will make
the term Latino, which is already problematic, almost
useless. By using the term this way—to refer not only to
Latino-Americans (people of Latin American descent in
the United States) but also to Latin Americans (inhabi-
tants of Latin American countries)—I will put millions
of people from vastly different backgrounds into the
same category. But I will continue to do so out of expe-
diency. (If I were really to talk only about Latinos, only
three of the texts I have chosen would be relevant: Falling
toward Heaven, Angel of the Danube, and My People.)
2. Or even allusions to Lamanites. Readers will note
that I have chosen not to discuss authors such as Michael
Fillerup, Levi Peterson, and Douglas Thayer, all of whom
display influences from U.S. Native American cultures.
While others may disagree with this decision, I feel that
the dynamic of Native American relations to Anglo-
Americans is quite different from that of Latinos and
would thus have made such an inclusion unmanageable
in an essay this size.
3. The rhetoric in this debate is quite similar to that
surrounding the terms Latino and Hispanic.
Spring 2003
4. Arturo De Hoyos echoes this sentiment, declaring
that the term Lamanite signifies “much the same way as
the words Chinese, Greek, French, Jew, Roman, etc.” (3).
5. An obvious over-generalization. Many early Church
members, including Joseph Smith, were deeply com-
mitted to sharing the gospel with and helping the
Lamanites. Nineteenth-century Church members were
not immune to dominant American colonial ideologies,
though, as we may like to believe.
6. In fact, historiographer Thomas W. Murphy
observes that “Bautista’s writings were some of the earli-
est publications that clearly expressed a Lamanite self-
identification” (196).
7. Levinas’s Other differs, however, from hooks’s, as he
uses the term to refer to anyone that is not the Self, not
necessarily bearing any relation to ethnicity.
8. The problem is described as a “metal loop like a
piece / of Satan” (33), probably referring to a copper coil
that has been inserted into the uterus as a form of con-
traceptive, a common method of birth control in poor
Central and South America.
9. Term for Latino (generally Mexican-American)
gangster youth, especially in Southern California.
10. Translation is my own.
11. This is possibly a result of the series in which Laws’s
book is published, billed as “Novels for the Next Great
Films.” The theory behind the series is, apparently, that
visual imagery captures the full intensity of human emo-
tion; hence, the novel reads almost like a screenplay.
From my perspective this is unfortunate, as the novel
loses much of the abstract ability that distinguishes it
from film in the first place.
12. Hughes also says that “the conclusions to that ques-
tion are thoughtful, realistic, and touching” (back cover),
while I would alternately characterize them as far too
quick and easy. Did we read the same book?
13. I.e. race-mixing.
Works Cited
Bennion, John. Falling toward Heaven. Salt Lake City:
Signature, 2000.
Brown, Harold. “What Is a Lamanite?” 21 Jan. 2002.
Ensign, Sep. 1972. Gospel Library Page. <http://
library.lds.org/>
De Hoyos, Arturo. “The Old and Modern Lamanite.”
Institute of American Indian Services and Research.
Provo, UT: Brigham Young U P, 1970.
34 IRREANTUM
Church Educational System. Church History in the Full-
ness of Times Student Manual. Salt Lake City: The
Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1993.
England, Eugene. “‘Lamanites’ and the Spirit of the
Lord.” Dialogue 18:4, Win 1985. 25–32.
Fyans, J. Thomas. “The Lamanites Must Rise in Majesty
and Power.” 21 Jan. 2002. Ensign, May 1976. Gospel
Library Page. <http://library.lds.org/>
Gonzales, Juan. Harvest of Empire. New York: Penguin,
2000.
hooks, bell. “Eating the Other: Desire and Resistance.”
Media and Cultural Studies Keyworks. Eds. Meenakshi
Gigi Durham and Douglas M. Kellner. Malden, MA:
Blackwell, 2001. 424–438.
Iber, Jorge. Hispanics in the Mormon Zion, 1912–1999.
College Station, TX: Texas A&M U P, 2000.
Kimball, Spencer W. “Of Royal Blood.” 21 Jan. 2002.
Ensign, July 1971. Gospel Library Page. <http://
library.lds.org>
Larsen, Lance. Erasable Walls. Chelsea, MI: New Issues P,
1998.
Laws, Gordon. My People. Provo, UT: Brigham Young
U P, 2001.
LDS.org. Media Resources Page. 21 Jan. 2002. <http://
www.lds.org/media2/library/display/0,6021,198-1-
168-12,FF.html>
<http://www.lds.org/media/templelist/0,7801,1240-
1,00.html>
Levinas, Emmanuel. Ethics and Infinity: Conversations
with Philippe Nemo. Trans. Richard A. Cohen. Pitts-
burgh: Duquesne U P, 1985.
Martí, José. “Simple Verses.” The Latino Reader. Eds.
Harold Augenbraum and Margarite Fernández
Olmos, trans. Elinor Randall. New York: Houghton
Mifflin, 1997.
Mitchell, Alan Rex. Angel of the Danube. Springville, UT:
Bonneville, 2000.
Murphy, Thomas W. “Other Mormon Histories: Laman-
ite Subjectivity in Mexico” Journal of Mormon History
18:2. Fall 2000. 179–214.
Young, Margaret Blair. Salvador. Salt Lake City: Aspen,
1992.
IRREANTUM
P O E T R Y
Drawing
I stand before my son’s last crayon-on-scratch-paper
family portrait, smiling back at myself.
To be that age again, rendering life
without any mistakes! The three blobs
match each other perfectly:
me with dots of beard and cilia on top,
his mother, smaller, sporting wild flagella,
and next to her a little smile-streaked meteor.
Good enough to put on the fridge, I told him.
It hangs next to his sixty-four-color sunset
and the yellow and purple lions he drew
flawlessly, his fisted crayon crawling along,
then darting, zigzag, over the page.
Since then he’s turned five, has a baby sister,
and can’t draw us anymore. He gets it wrong
from the very first head, too big for a body.
We tried again tonight. Like this, I said,
sketching out four heads with all the face parts
and body ovals underneath, the right
shapes and sizes for our relationships.
But he still couldn’t see both his crayon
and the paper’s edges at once.
The head’s too big again, he shrieked,
and clawed the piece of paper to the floor.
For a while I didn’t know what to say.
He sat there, seething, forehead clenched
between locked fingers, a gesture he learned
from me. Then I picked up the wrinkled page
and smoothed it out on the counter. Hey look,
I said, It’s almost a perfect circle.
—Kevin Klein
35 Spring 2003
 E S S A Y Henry David Thoreau began Walden asserting
Elegant Angst: Mining the Treasures of
Mormon Personal Essays, 1982–2001
By Cherry B. Silver
When we speak of literature, we think first of
poetry, fiction, and drama. But I nominate the per-
sonal essay as literature of the first order, offering
perceptive humor, philosophy, and language.
Essayists say much to us in a conversational but
thoughtful way. Like visiting a friend, we read in
order sometimes to laugh at ourselves or gain
courage, sometimes to find peace, and at other
times, on the contrary, to get a needed prodding of
the feelings or intellect.
Where do we find Latter-day Saint essays? BYU
Studies, Sunstone, Dialogue, and Exponent II regu-
larly publish personal voices. A collection of that
name edited by Mary L. Bradford in 1987 covers
two-dozen provocative writers. She edited an ear-
lier anthology titled Mormon Women Speak (1982),
as well as her own writing in On Leaving Home
(1987). Books on contemporary life by individual
essayists, like Eugene England’s Dialogues with
Myself (1984) and Making Peace (1995) or Elouise
Bell’s Only When I Laugh (1990), sit as classics
alongside the sprightly exchanges between poet
Emma Lou Thayne and historian Laurel Thatcher
Ulrich in All God’s Critters Got a Place in the Choir
(1995). Environmental issues were addressed in
New Genesis: A Mormon Reader on Land and Com-
munity, edited by Terry Tempest William, Bill
Smart, and Gibbs Smith in 1998. Louise and Tom
Plummer regularly publish their humorous medita-
tions. Mary Ellen Edmunds entertains and edifies
in Love Is a Verb (1995) and Happiness: Finders-
Keepers (1999). Karen Lynn Davidson attacked
stereotypes in Thriving on Our Differences (1990),
and Chieko Okazaki continues to publish in her
distinct voice. Other thoughtful anthologies appear
with each BYU Women’s Conference. And we can
add the reflections on growing up Mormon by Ed
Geary, Marden Clark, and Karl Sandberg. The
health of Mormon personal essays is sound.
Spring 2003
that he had “a good deal in Concord” and asked “of
every writer, first or last, a simple and sincere
account of his own life” (“Economy,” 2). Thoreau
himself demonstrated that good essay writing
grows in complexity of personality and outlook.
One of our mentors in writing Mormon essays,
Mary Bradford, further encapsulates the compo-
nents of the personal essay: “I maintain that the ‘I’s’
are what distinguish the personal essay from other
forms of literature and that all the best ones com-
bine the best use of three ‘I’s’ [‘I,’ eyes, and the
affirmative aye]” (“I,” 7). Bradford describes the
results: “Many are saying essays are written testi-
monies. . . . In fact, most of the essayists I have
mentioned bear their testimonies to life itself, its
variety, its humor, its pain, and to the many lessons
it teaches” (9–10).
Last summer I met a woman who said, “I hear
you’re with AML [Association for Mormon Let-
ters]. I can tell you why Mormon writers will never
produce great work.” “Why?” I asked. “Because,”
she said, “great literature derives from asking impor-
tant, painful questions. And Latter-day Saints have
too many answers!” In other words, for people like
her, Mormon writing appears insincere, shallow,
and unquestioning.
Her remark caused me to reflect that the Mor-
mon writing I like best works on two levels: a sur-
face level where essayists show life issues working
out—that reconciling level, however, responds to
the lava layer below, where life questions and anxi-
eties continually churn. Latter-day Saint essayists
are often writing above a subsurface of unexpressed
questions. We may produce answering essays, but
their validity comes from the subterranean ques-
tioning they imply.
So I argue that the Mormon essays we remember
contain a quality of anxiety, or angst, in the Ger-
man sense of inner tension. Perhaps this is related
to the command to work out our salvation with
fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12; Mormon
9:27), so that “making” or creating anxiety in this
sense pushes us toward divinity. While Latter-day
Saints may downplay the deep-seated nature of our
concerns in order to emphasize a “turn-out-right-
36 IRREANTUM
in-the-end” scenario, we actually write essays
because we are wrestling with difficulties, yet hope
to resolve them, as Thoreau said, in a manner sim-
ple and sincere.
Ten years ago I read about two hundred letters
from Latter-day Saints around the world on what it
means to be a woman in the Church today. These
short accounts, like the more formal essays pub-
lished in Balm of Gilead after the BYU Women’s
Conference of 1996, recite story cycles of the
answering sort, beginning with anxiety, progressing
through faith, and culminating in relief and belief.
We project such story cycles onto life experiences, I
think, to testify that there is a reason behind our
suffering and that a providential hand always
guides us.
I catalogue our underlying angst, or uncertain-
ties, into six categories:
1. Genealogical angst—Who are our people?
2. Epistemological angst—How do we know God
and does He know me? Is there such a thing as
truth? Does faith work?
3. Existential angst—Who are we in this huge
universe?
4. Power angst—What do we control? Who lis-
tens to me?
5. Cultural angst—Where do we belong in seem-
ingly alien culture?
6. Environmental angst—Are we good stewards
of the earth?
Genealogical Angst—
Who are our people?
I note several recent prize-winning essays in
BYU Studies focusing on ways to connect with
grandparents. Brett Walker, in “Vernal Equinox,”
recovers his heritage through a harmonica because
learning to play the mouth organ connected him to
his taciturn grandfather. Christin L. Porter recre-
ates his grandmother’s life through her bottling of
vegetables and fruits. A more sophisticated version
of the genealogy essay is Karl Sandberg”s study of
divisions in his hometown of Monroe, Utah, also
his poems on John’s Valley. He searches the past in
order to find relevance for feelings in the present.
IRREANTUM
Epistemological Angst—
How do we know God and build a
relationship with him? What is faith?
Does prayer work?
BYU law professor Frederick Mark Gedicks
responds to the death of his college-aged son Alex
in an essay entitled “Irony and Grace.” He says that
he wrestled with the irony, the cruelty in the sud-
den illness and death, the lack of answer to prayers
and blessings, the inadequacy of the ordinary
rationalizations. Tender reaching out by a near
stranger did, however, soothe him. The father of a
boy killed in a car accident six years earlier, whose
bishop Gedicks had been, “and his wife had driven
down from Centerville to mourn with us for our
son, whom they had never met. When I embraced
this father, the world seemed to recede for a long
moment, leaving him and me by ourselves, holding
onto each other” (214).
After an effort to understand God’s presence in
human affairs, Gedicks came to see truth as sta-
bilized in relationships. “Truth is not just a static
relationship between an idea and a thing; it is a
developing relationship between one person and
another . . . [or, with God]” (216).
Gedick’s writing represents to me Latter-day Saint
essay writing at its most effective, because he pon-
ders important trials, reasons and wrestles with the
whys behind suffering, and links to scripture and
Western thought, all in reasoned, balanced prose.
In quite a different manner, Mary Ellen Edmunds
amuses us with another image of loss, as she earnestly
but judiciously prayed for the return of a missing
set of scriptures. Edmunds speaks to our concerns
about how to draw down the powers of heaven.
Her familiar style of language and her simple re-
telling of providential happenings affirms that “He
always answers me, even though sometimes He says
no, or later, or we’ll see.” She discovers that her dif-
ficulty led to a blessing for her friend Yoyo from
Indonesia, to whom she passed on the scriptures
she had purchased, before her prayer was answered
(Love 54–55).
Anxious reflections about how to cope during
the difficult transitions of life have led to significant
37 Spring 2003
Mormon essay writing on grace. During the time
her husband was seriously ill, Bonnie Ballif-Span-
vill counseled hearers at the 1997 BYU Women’s
Conference on “The Peace Which Passeth Under-
standing.” Notice her play on words:
First, manage with grace. Notice that I did
not say gracefully manage. Most of us are
hanging on by our fingernails. But you can
manage with grace. You must realize that of
course you cannot handle illness and divorce
and difficult children and a host of other prob-
lems by yourself, and that you are not alone.
The Holy Ghost and God’s grace will help. Get
up in the mornings, get dressed, and work on
one thing. The next day, work on something
else. Keep holding on to God’s hand. He has
promised to lead us through our trials. Hold
on. Manage with his grace. (130–31)
Existential Angst—
Who are we, really?
The humorist Elouise Bell explains anxiety about
who we are with a suitcase metaphor. She observed
that it is harder to unpack a suitcase after a trip
than packing it in the first place. Bell, who taught
a course at BYU on the quest myth in literature and
the search for the “I,” compares the unpacking to
our quests for self-understanding:
An important truth we women confront is
that a great many of us have rarely had oppor-
tunities to “unpack” from the ongoing life jour-
ney we all take, have had little or no chance to
say where we have been and what we have
seen and felt. Instead, we have had to keep
that precious baggage within ourselves, all our
lives long.
If you wonder why we are seeing more and
more published biographies, autobiographies
and oral histories of women these days—and
not just of so-called distinguished women—
the answer is that at last we are starting to
value and to search out the still-unpacked
treasures from the attics and the basements of
women from all neighborhoods of life, past
and present. (37–39)
Spring 2003
Power Angst—
Who listens to us? Is this life logical or
fair? What do we control?
Neal Maxwell wryly commented on the occa-
sional lack of logic in church callings: “When at
times we encounter a situation in church service in
which a pigeon seems to be supervising an eagle, we
need to be accepting even if our evaluation seems
accurate” (51).
Living in a family also stirs power angst. Harried
parents can feel out of control. Quoting an essay by
Elinor G. Hyde:
There are days when the two-year-old mixes
Karo syrup in the sack of oatmeal, smears
toothpaste on the bathroom mirror, dumps
perfume on his teenage sister’s bed, and care-
fully drops plastic parts of a favorite game
down a heat vent. . . .
Do you laugh—or cry?
Recently I needed a large hank of rope for
my Blazer scouts. I was expecting a few quizzi-
cal glances and stares as I waited at the check-
out counter, and I had a clever answer ready.
I was surprised though, when a little grand-
mother reached out, patted my arm and whis-
pered, “That worked for me. When you come
to the end of the rope, tie a knot and hang on.
And when you’ve worn the knot thin, send for
more rope.” Her step was perky as she paused
at the door and turned with a smile, “Good
luck, dear.” (79)
Louise Plummer, in Thoughts of a Grasshopper,
found Mormons cynical about using pulpit meth-
ods to solve family problems.
Sometimes living in a family means suffer-
ing. . . .
I believe I know why those ten women
answered, “Pray, read the scriptures, and hold
family home evenings” with varying degrees
of cynicism. It is because they have all had
times in their lives when that model didn’t
work. The good news is that nothing stays the
same. . . . Families change. . . . I think we
38 IRREANTUM
 should share our stories and not hide them. . . .
Sharing stories with each other gives us the
strength to move on. (46–48)
Plummer’s dramatic, confiding voice illustrates the
two-level personal essay at its best, questioning
the conventional with humorous directness and
then suggesting the practical solution with ironic
affirmation.
Cultural Angst—
Where do we belong in an alien culture?
This significant question underlies several recent
essays. Alien culture may be as remote as that expe-
rienced by an exchange student in Zanzibar or a
couple teaching English classes in China. Or the
alien culture may be the youth cult in our own
town, seen from the lap-swimming lanes at the
local pool.
Tessa Santiago wittily reflects on motherhood
and self-criticism in a bathing suit:
I am struck by the incongruence of what I saw
this summer. Why was it that the women who
had contributed the most felt the least confi-
dent? Why did they cover their bodies as if in
shame, plunging themselves to the neckline,
barely emerging above their breasts as they stood
watching children swim? Why did the girls,
who knew nothing of what breasts and hips
and wombs are meant to do, rule, queens of
the roost? In a better world, in a kinder, more
saintly world, a mother’s body would be kindly
regarded, with respect and honor for what she
has given, for what she has done. (83)
Carol Clark Ottesen and her husband Sterling,
teaching English in China, wished to bridge the
wall between Chinese and American cultures. So
Carol listened to her students and their life stories
with respect, but sometimes wondered what she
had to offer them—until the day she didn’t want to
go to school at all.
One morning I woke up with a bad cold. I
was tired. A button flipped off my skirt, I felt
unprepared for my class, and I was sick of
IRREANTUM
hand washing clothes in the bathtub and
drinking bad-tasting water out of a thermos.
Besides, I was late. I grudgingly . . . marched
off to class on a run, dabbing at my nose,
wondering why I had ever decided to come to
China and what good on earth I was doing
anyway. . . . I uttered a quick, desperate prayer
that I would be able to give this class what was
needed. The class went all right, and I breathed
a sign of relief. Afterward, a group [of ] three
or four female students approached me. “We’ve
been talking, and we want to ask you a ques-
tion. We don’t understand something. What
is it that happens when you walk into our
room? It’s kind of like a light or like the sun
shining in and it happens every time and we
want to know what it is.” I nearly choked . . . .
I fought a huge lump in my throat and man-
aged to feebly express my thanks and gave them
a hug. I so wanted to tell them where the light
came from, that I had received a direct gift from
Him, the “Father of Lights,” to overcome my
puny humanness. (93–94)
Ottesen’s voice of affirmation could not register
without first the questioning—of self, culture, even
God. But true to the cycle of our storytelling, and
essay writing, faith affirms ultimates.
Environmental Angst—
Are we good stewards of the earth?
I conclude by recommending Gene England’s
personal essay, “Gooseberry Creek: A Narrative of
Hope,” published in New Genesis: A Mormon Reader
on Land and Community (1998). Gene’s anticipa-
tory account of teaching his oldest granddaughter
the art of fly fishing progresses from a geographical
tribute to Cottonwood Canyon near Fairview in
the Manti National Forest to a history lesson on
overgrazing and denuding the watershed. The “hope”
in the title addresses teaching moments he wishes
to have with his environmentally alert granddaugh-
ter Charlotte, who he will ask during an upcoming
summer outing to simply love all people who struggle
to use God’s earth wisely, within their understand-
ing of human stewardship.
39 Spring 2003
 Thus the Latter-day Saint essay tradition grows
widely and wisely. Elegance suggests polish, flair,
aesthetic pleasure. Angst defines the emotional depths
that feed the personal essay, helping it grow from
simple and sincere to complex and nourishing. Min-
ing these depths requires us to read for shared anx-
ieties, but also to anticipate a bolstering of hope
and faith in relationships, in divine nurture, and in
self-expression.
Cherry Silver has had three careers: academics, family,
and church service, including two stints in French-
speaking black Africa. Developing courses in women’s
literature in the Washington State community-college
system brought awareness of the power of the essay form.
Silver has degrees in English literature from the Uni-
versity of Utah, Boston University, and Harvard
University. A past president of the AML and recently
an instructor of American literature at BYU, she is
now a part-time research historian for the Smith
Institute of Church History. This essay was originally
presented during the 2002 AML conference luncheon.
Works Cited
Ballif-Spanvill, Bonnie. “The Peace Which Passeth
Understanding.” Every Good Thing: Talks from the
1997 BYU Women’s Conference, ed. Dawn Hall
Anderson, Susette Fletcher Green, Dlora Hall Dal-
ton. Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1998. 130–31.
Balm of Gilead: Women’s Stories of Finding Peace, comp.
by Lynn Clark Callister. Salt Lake City: Deseret
Book, 1997.
Bell, Elouise. Only When I Laugh. Salt Lake City: Signa-
ture Books, 1990.
Bradford, Mary L. “I, Eye, Aye: A Personal Essay on
Personal Essays.” Personal Voices: A Celebration of
Dialogue. Ed. Mary L. Bradford. Salt Lake City: Sig-
nature Books, 1987. Rpt. in Eugene England and
Lavina Fielding Anderson, eds. Tending the Garden:
Essays on Mormon Literature. Salt Lake City: Signa-
ture Books, 1996. 147–159.
—. Mormon Women Speak. Salt Lake City: Olympus
Publishing, 1982.
—. On Leaving Home. Salt Lake City: Signature Books,
1987.
—, ed. Personal Voices: A Celebration of Dialogue. Salt
Lake City: Signature Books, 1987.
Spring 2003
Clark, Marden J. Morgan Triumphs. Salt Lake City:
Orion Books, 1984.
Davidson, Karen Lynn. Thriving on Our Differences:
A Book for LDS Women Who Feel Like Outsiders. Salt
Lake City: Deseret Book, 1990.
Edmunds, Mary Ellen. Happines: Finders, Keepers. Salt
Lake City: Deseret Book, 1999.
—. Love Is a Verb and Other Thoughts on the Greatest
Commandment. Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1995.
England, Eugene. Dialogues with Myself: Personal Essays
on Mormon Experience. Salt Lake City: Orion Books,
1984.
—. “Gooseberry Creek: A Narrative of Hope.” New Gen-
esis: A Mormon Reader on Land and Community. Eds.
Terry Tempest Williams, William B. Smart, and
Gibbs M. Smith. Salt Lake City: Gibbs Smith Pub-
lisher, 1998. 82–89.
—. Making Peace: Personal Essays. Salt Lake City: Signa-
ture Books, 1995.
— and Lavina Fielding Anderson, eds. Tending the Gar-
den: Essays on Mormon Literature. Salt Lake City: Sig-
nature Books, 1996.
Geary, Edward A. Goodbye to Poplarhaven: Recollections
of a Utah Boyhood. Salt Lake City: University of Utah
Press, 1985.
—. The Proper Edge of the Sky: The High Plateau Country
of Utah. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press,
1992.
Gedicks, Frederick Mark. “Irony and Grace.” BYU Stud-
ies 40.2 (2001): 213–219.
Hyde, Elinor G. “Tie a Knot and Hang On.” Mormon
Women Speak. Ed. Mary L. Bradford. Salt Lake City:
Olympus Publishing, 1982. 77–81.
Maxwell, Neal A. The Neal A. Maxwell Quote Book. Ed.
Cory H. Maxwell. Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1997.
Okazaki, Chieko N. Aloha! Salt Lake City: Deseret Book,
1995.
—. Cat’s Cradle. Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1993.
—. Disciples. Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1998.
—. Lighten Up! Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1993.
—. Sanctuary. Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1997.
Ottesen, Carol Clark. “The Great Wall.” BYU Studies
39.4 (2000): 89–97.
Plummer, Louise. Thoughts of a Grasshopper. Salt Lake
City: Deseret Book, 1992.
Plummer, Tom. Eating Chocolates and Dancing in the
Kitchen: Sketches of Marriage and Family. Salt Lake
City: Shadow Mountain, 1998.
40 IRREANTUM
—. Second Wind: Variations on a Theme of Growing Older.
Salt Lake City: Shadow Mountain, 2000.
Porter, Christin L. “Home Production.” BYU Studies
40.3 (2001): 239–41.
Sandberg, Karl C. “Getting Up a History of Monroe:
The Long Shadow of the United Order.” Sunstone
104 (December 1996): 37–45.
Santiago, Tessa. “Take, Eat.” BYU Studies 37.3 (1997–
98): 81–89.
Thoreau, Henry David. “Economy.” Walden. 1854.
Quoted in Nina Baym, et al., eds. The Norton
Anthology of American Literature (New York: W. W.
Norton, 1999): 868–910.
Ulrich, Laurel Thatcher, and Emma Lou Thayne. All
God’s Critters Got a Place in the Choir. Salt Lake City:
Aspen Books, 1995.
Walker, Brett. “Vernal Equinox.” BYU Studies 40.2
(2001): 181–86.
Williams, Terry Tempest, William B. Smart, and Gibbs M.
Smith. New Genesis: A Mormon Reader on Land and
Community. Salt Lake City: Gibbs Smith Publisher,
1998.
IRREANTUM
E S S A Y
Relief Society Women Read the
Tao Te Ching: Stories of a Mormon
Book Club
By Melody Warnick
Two weeks before I am to leave Maryland for
good, I am, unbelievably, the only one to come to
Diane Jensen’s house for book club. This doesn’t hit
us at first; one must always allot an extra ten or fif-
teen minutes for Mormons in general, then toss in
five more for women trying to disentangle them-
selves from husbands and children for two hours
on a weeknight. But there we are, alone at eight
o’clock with our library copies of Russell Baker’s
Growing Up in our laps, and it seems sensible to
begin thumbing through the pages for something
to discuss.
I do not, admittedly, go to book club meeting
every month, because first I must read the book, a
daunting task if the baby fails to cooperate with
long naps. Some women stopped coming alto-
gether, finding the reading of a book to be impos-
sible in a house where children actually live. Then,
of course, there is the meeting itself, which can
sound rather unappealing for women harried by
Relief Society Enrichment and Cub Scouts and
children’s dance lessons. Our numbers shrink or
swell depending on the moods and quotidian obli-
gations of club members.
Hence, this evening at Diane’s with just two of
us. Flipping through Growing Up, we find that
we have little to say about Baker’s Pulitzer Prize–
winning memoir highlighting his childhood during
the Great Depression. It’s entertaining and well
written, so we aren’t sure what the problem is: that
it’s hard to criticize crafting choices like plot and
character when they’re drawn from reality? Or is it
just us? We’re trying to be erudite, analyzing the
role of the author’s mother and the unreliability of
the autobiographical narrator, but we’re half-hearted
about it. That the carpet is still ridged with vacuum
tracks, and a big pan of frosted pumpkin bars waits
in the kitchen, only magnifies the disappointment
41 Spring 2003
that no one else has come. And then, at 8:15, Crystal
Willis knocks. She’s been waiting for her husband
and trying to settle down her three daughters at
home, but here she is, at last, loud and sarcastic and
smart. We have needed her desperately, and with
her we have at last amassed the necessary quorum.
There is group to our book group.
The groupiness of it matters. We need the diver-
sity of opinions, which exists despite the fact that
our book club is composed entirely of Mormon
women from the same ward in Maryland, most of
whom are white, married, stay-at-home mothers
between twenty-five and forty-five years of age.
There are few exceptions to the demographic. One
woman is single, another married but childless,
another from Africa. Yet, even among those of us
who are the very embodiment of the traditional
Mormon homemaker, there is no typical response
to a book.
Once, on my recommendation, the group read
Wallace Stegner’s lovely novel Crossing to Safety,
about two men who meet as members of the Eng-
lish faculty at the University of Wisconsin, Madi-
son, where they and their wives became instant,
lifelong friends. A simple enough story. Stegner
renders it beautiful with powerful, straightforward
language, complex characterizations, and true ren-
derings of difficult emotions like cruelty, jealousy,
and pettiness. Crossing to Safety was the first book I
had ever read by Stegner, and it turned me into an
ardent admirer. But Sheila Lundgren, the strong-
willed wife of the bishop, couldn’t figure out why
I was so taken with it. She declared it boring,
“a man’s book” (referring, I imagine, to Crossing to
Safety’s male narrative voice, or perhaps to a lengthy
description of a backpacking trip). I found myself
stammering, trying to explain why I loved it so
much, and concluded that, as a former English
major, maybe I just related to the literary angst of
the fledgling professors.
This experience, which happened early in the life
of the book club, floored me. Because Crossing to
Safety had resonated so much with me, I naively
expected the book to garner universal appeal. I’ve
since sat hunched on the other end of the phe-
nomenon, taking a hearty dislike to Daniel Quinn’s
Spring 2003
Ishmael, the novel-cum-philosophy tome about a
wisdom-filled, talking gorilla that expounds on
humans’ destruction of the planet. Ishmael was one
of Heather Awsumb’s favorites. At the meeting in
Heather’s apartment I said, politely, that I couldn’t
stand Ishmael’s pedantic tone and took issue with
Quinn’s dressing up an environmental diatribe as a
novel; meanwhile, Heather, our one died-in-the-wool
liberal, nodded sympathetically for, if not agreeably
with, my criticism. For me, this difference of opin-
ion with other bookclubbers has come to be part of
the appeal of book club. Our meetings not only force
me to read beyond myself by steering me toward
subjects I wouldn’t have chosen alone, but they
make me think beyond myself by tactfully reacting
to the responses of women who are not me.
Our club is, in my mind, a Mormon book club,
though Mormon-ness has had relatively little to do
with it beyond our common membership in the
White Oak Ward Relief Society. At the initial plan-
ning meeting in Crystal’s living room, we debated
the possibility of reading Latter-day Saint literature—
maybe A Mormon Mother by Annie Clark Tanner,
or The Giant Joshua by Maurine Whipple, which I
had read for Eugene England’s Mormon literature
class at BYU and loved. But being bound more by
finances than aesthetics or religion, we established
a bylaw that books be both widely available and
cheap. In Maryland, LDS books are neither.
By general consensus, the first book we chose to
read was Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis, some-
thing of a compromise. A month later, thirteen
women squeezed onto sofas and kitchen chairs in
Celeste Sessions’s third-floor apartment to talk about
the book or, in other words, to talk about trials and
sacrifice and faith, ours and everyone else’s. Mere
Christianity, it turned out, was merely the jumping-
off point for a deeper and more spiritual discussion.
Women took turns reading paragraphs, then elabo-
rating on why what Lewis had written was so won-
derfully true. We ended up talking some about our
own sins and weaknesses—everyone had a story to
tell about snapping at their children or struggling
to read scriptures—and then shared passages that
affirmed, simply and beautifully, that Christ would
make us over in his image and countenance. “Seek
42 IRREANTUM
ye out of the best books words of wisdom” (D&C
88:118), we are instructed; at this meeting, clearly
and triumphantly, we had done so.
Book club has not always gone that way, though.
At the original planning meeting, we decided
simply to take turns picking the monthly book
selection—the hostess, as some small payback for
the trouble of cleaning house and preparing refresh-
ments, gets to choose the book. “But,” I said, “I
wouldn’t want to recommend a book that I hadn’t
already read, because what if there was something
bad in it?” Crystal replied sensibly, “I think we’re all
adults. We can deal with that.” When hosting
duties rolled around to me, I chose Judith Guest’s
Ordinary People from the high school reading list in
our local library, assuming that if high school stu-
dents had to read it, it was a semi-safe choice.
Then, twenty pages into the story of a teenager
who survives a suicide attempt after the death of his
older brother, I decided to withdraw the book as a
selection because of its overload of profanity. So,
we try to be moral, not prim, but we do regulate
ourselves.
I replaced Ordinary People with The Awakening,
Kate Chopin’s classic 1899 novel about Edna Pon-
tellier, a young New Orleans society woman who
breaks away from the stifling confines of her life as
a mother and wife to instead pursue passion with
her lover and her art. In the end, I think The Awak-
ening was as “threatening” in its own way as Ordi-
nary People’s slew of swear words. The novel is
considered a feminist masterpiece, and for many
modern women Edna is something of a heroine.
But not in my living room. With Diane’s baby
daughter gurgling at our feet, the women at book
club that evening vilified Edna for being a cold,
selfish, and terrible mother and wife. I remember
being surprised at their vehemence—this was in
the days before I had children—and I wanted the
book-club ladies to admit that the circumscribed
life Edna had found so intolerable bore an uncom-
fortable resemblance to theirs. But Edna received
little sympathy. She had trespassed against her fam-
ily, a fault not easily forgiven by women who
believe that “No other success can compensate for
failure in the home.”
IRREANTUM
In the two years since the book club’s inception,
we have continually gravitated toward the religious
and the familial; this is what matters to us and what
most often affects us. Importantly, such books are
also the ones that give us the most to talk about.
Because every club member gets a turn to choose
the book, we have read self-help, memoir, and sci-
ence fiction, but the majority of the works lie in the
genre of what I affectionately call women’s fiction,
or literary novels written by and about women.
One of the most successful book club choices was
Tova Mirvis’s excellent The Ladies’ Auxiliary, about
the women of an east coast Orthodox Jewish com-
munity, much like that of our own Maryland town,
who are threatened by the arrival of an iconoclastic
convert to the faith. At the book group meeting we
raved about it, because although the story wasn’t
about Mormons, it could have been. There was the
same conservative, demanding religion, the same
fear of those who are different. We talked about
how we sometimes alienate newcomers to Mor-
monism by looking at them askance for wearing
jeans to sacrament meeting. Two years later, I was
still using passages from The Ladies’ Auxiliary to
explain to my husband the calendar of holy days
observed by the Orthodox women we saw walking
to synagogue each Friday evening.
When our book club met to discuss Anita Dia-
mant’s The Red Tent—a novelized portrayal of the
family of the Old Testament patriarch Jacob, from
the point of view of his little-mentioned daughter,
Dinah—we sat cross-legged on the floor and ate
fresh fruit, roasted nuts, and pita bread dipped in
olive oil. For an hour and a half we talked about
Diamant’s alternate way of looking at Jacob—as
human, not demigod. Her Jacob was bad-tempered
and sexual, which was an uncomfortable departure
for some of us. But it made us think intensely
about who Jacob and his four wives were, and ulti-
mately who we were as modern Latter-day Saint
women, inheritors of that original gospel. Long
after we should have gone home, we laughed and
interrupted each other about husbands, children,
the gospel, and work—the four pillars of most of
our lives. I had found a community of women who
were smart and feisty and independent. For the first
43 Spring 2003
time since moving to Maryland a year earlier, I felt
incredibly integrated.
That’s the thing about book club: Mormon women
don’t talk this richly or intimately in the halls at
church on Sundays or at Enrichment meeting. Per-
haps it’s the simple openness and physical dynamic
of sitting in a circle, looking at other faces. Or the
idea that there are, for once, no right answers, and
you don’t have to raise your hand to speak. But
there’s also an implicit knowledge that at book club
meetings it is as important to talk deeply about
ourselves as it is to analyze the book. Whereas
church talk sometimes encourages platitudes or
superficialities, book talk encourages the tangen-
tial, the racy, the rambling story about troublesome
children and annoying church callings. We can say
things in book club that we never dare to in Relief
Society for fear our name will be brought up in
scandalized tones at the next ward council meeting.
For another book club meeting at Catherine Tay-
lor’s house, we read Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching, bring-
ing as many different translations as there were
women. I had expected the discussion to turn into
a sort of revivalist meeting, a comparison of why
the topic of Mormonism beats Chinese philosophy
every day of the week and twice on Sundays, but
only the hostess’s visiting mother-in-law made a
passing comparison to the Book of Mormon. Eat-
ing Catherine’s homemade Thai noodles, women
talked about how certain passages in the Tao Te Ching
resonated with them, encouraging them to think
more internally, more spiritually. One passage in one
translation read, “The cup is easier to hold / when
not filled to overflowing. / The blade is more effec-
tive / if not tempered beyond its mettle.” Like our
standard works, the Tao Te Ching instructs readers
in personal righteousness, but also in personal seren-
ity and centeredness. It was the perfect meditation
for Mormon women, who, Martha-like, can become
“careful and troubled about many things” (Luke
10:41). The book is canonical for some, but for us
it was merely a helpful counterpart to our gospel
knowledge, not replacing but enriching it.
Ultimately, the women in our book club are all
faithful Latter-day Saints, and I believe we have
chosen books and reacted to them in certain ways
precisely because we are Latter-day Saints. We’re
Spring 2003
also thinking women, unafraid to read things like
the Tao Te Ching or The Awakening, books that
challenge our own dominant viewpoints, even if we
end up leaping to defend the familiar. There has
been no agenda, only that above all else the chosen
book is interesting and entertaining, otherwise the
women will not come.
Certainly forming a book club is not the cure for
all that ails the modern Mormon woman. We have
read things that I didn’t enjoy. Sometimes I run out
of time, inhale the assigned book at the last minute
like I’m cramming for a university final, then race
to the meeting and have nothing to say. And not
every meeting is loud and chatty and revealing and
outrageous. Some are quiet—either because, as with
Growing Up, the book isn’t fodder enough for us, or
because our minds are muddled from a full day
without adult conversation—and within fifteen min-
utes we move on to ward gossip and the distribution
of treats. But, now that I don’t have a book club,
I miss it even more than I ever thought I could.
Two weeks after moving from Maryland to south-
ern Utah, having created some semblance of order
from the contents of our packing boxes, I secured a
library card and started reading again. From the
new book section I checked out Anne Lamott’s Blue
Shoe, a gorgeous novel about a woman named Mat-
tie who muddles through her messy life, going to
church, praying to be Christlike, making thought-
provoking choices about tough problems. It is a
book in need of a book club.
I have thought about ways to form a new club
here in St. George where I now live: Post a flyer at
the library? Assert myself in Relief Society and
announce a planning meeting at my house? But
I’ve resigned myself to the fact that this might take
time. On Sundays I watch the women filling the
pews around me, picking out certain women who
seem interesting, who I want to get to know better:
the wife of the Sunday School teacher whose owly
glasses make her seem intelligent; a BYU grad who
gave a stunning talk in church; or my middle-aged
visiting teaching supervisor, who often wears a black
leather jacket over her church dresses. Mentally, I
size them up, gauge the number of children they
have and whether or not they hold a day job, trying
44 IRREANTUM
to decide how much in their lives would keep them
from coming to a book club meeting. I try to deter-
mine their extracurricular activity threshold. Figur-
ing out who reads—not who is literate, but who is
literary—is more difficult.
Two weeks ago, my next-door neighbor, Jodi,
invited me to have lunch at the park. As we pushed
baby strollers down the sidewalk, she mentioned a
book she was reading: Anita Diamant’s The Red Tent.
It was a revelation! Jodi, who has three children and
a yard full of Little Tikes toys, who never went to
college and does hair in a makeshift salon at the
back of her garage, is literary. Instantly, Jodi was my
new best friend, the one woman in St. George who
could talk to me about Anne Tyler’s Ladder of Years.
The catch is that Jodi already has her own book
club, a tight confederation of seven women who
meet faithfully each month, eat dinner at each other’s
houses on off weeks, and plan a women’s retreat
together each September. Her book group has evolved
into the group, the set of friends with whom Jodi
spends her time and shares her children and talks
about everything from plastic surgery to sex. But
books are tertiary. Each month, the St. George book-
clubbers take turns picking the book and hosting
the meeting (in February the selection was, as a
joke, O Magazine). And I imagine that, at times,
the meetings and the books are what hold the
friends together.
I don’t expect this exact kind of group for myself,
though its existence—in St. George, no less—encour-
ages me. I will, I am certain, form a book club here
someday, and it will change things. The women in
my ward will start to do more than nod and mum-
ble hello in the hall after sacrament meeting. We
will know and be known by each other. We will
gather in someone’s living room, settle into worn
couches, and eat fresh fruit, roasted nuts, and pita
bread dipped in olive oil. And when we open the
novels in our hands, we will become a quorum.
Melody Warnick is, among other things, a full-time
mother, a part-time editor, and a great procrastinator
of writing projects. She lives in St. George, Utah, with
her husband, Quinn, and their daughter, Ella.
IRREANTUM
E S S A Y
The Legacy of Legacy
By D. Michael Martindale, IRREANTUM Film
Editor
With my April issue of the Ensign a new Church
DVD showed up. A new approach in missionary
work. And a new Church film.
I immediately plugged it into my DVD player,
even before reading the article explaining what it
was all about. I get apprehensive whenever the
Church puts out another film. But I tried very hard
to withhold judgment until I viewed it.
My apprehension stems from the legacy of the
trend started with the film Legacy. That film was
the first real attempt the Church made to produce
a quality, state-of-the-art film for general consump-
tion. It started a trend of films geared toward reach-
ing out to the public for proselyting purposes, a
trend whose count is now up to three with this
latest DVD addition.
The clear purpose of these films is to pique inter-
est in viewers to learn more about the gospel. This
is important to keep in mind as we consider them.
It is the vital ingredient in determining whether the
films are effective or not.
For indeed they are films meant to be effective.
Why else spend precious tithing money to produce
them?
Legacy, as the first of such films, stirred a bit of
excitement. A cool movie from the Church for
once. They even built its own theater in the one-
time Hotel Utah, now the Joseph Smith Memorial
Building, and named the theater after the film.
Sadly, Legacy is the best of the films so far. Sadly for
two reasons: one, the Church should be getting
better at this, not worse; and two, Legacy was noth-
ing to crow about in the first place.
The biggest problem with Legacy was its scope. It
bit off much more than a 52-minute film can chew.
If it had had the time of a Ben-Hur or a Gone with
the Wind, it could have had the potential for great-
ness. As it was, it was more a sampling of a moving
story rather than an actual moving story of the
45 Spring 2003
early few decades of the Church as seen from the
intimate viewpoint of a fictional family.
If one can ignore the iconic portrayal of minor
character Joseph Smith as represented by a look-
alike but certainly not sound-alike (one hopes) bad
actor, the film actually does a lot with the limited
resources allotted to it. Of course, I may be biased,
as I’ve had a crush on starring actress Kathleen
Beller for many years, but for a proselyting film
produced by the Church, Legacy actually does a
decent job disguising the proselyting intent, pass-
ing itself off as an interesting story from American
history that happens to be about a religious people.
Sure, there were healing miracles. (Why did no one
complain about the healing ordinance performed
on screen by Joseph Smith like they did the ordi-
nances in Richard Dutcher’s God’s Army?) Sure,
there was a conversion in England through the
efforts of a preaching missionary.
But you can’t tell many stories about Mormons
without these things cropping up now and then.
And there were at least as many tribulations, human
foibles, and crises of faith as there were inspiring
spiritual moments. There was even a moment of
sophisticated irony as the background music choir
sung the words “All is well” from the hymn “Come,
Come Ye Saints” while the protagonists’ covered
wagon slipped completely into the drink in a
downpour.
Sure the history was one-sided, as some have
criticized, leaving out virtually anything controver-
sial. (What does one expect from a Church film?)
That’s perfectly justifiable from an artistic stand-
point. The film tried to do too much already—its
theme was the trials of the early Mormons, not his-
torical controversy. But it also indulged in a refresh-
ing love triangle subplot where the “dangerous” (by
Church film standards) love interest won out over
the bland but archetypically righteous (and bespec-
tacled) man of God.
The heroine had a crisis of faith, her brother had
a crisis of faith, her husband had a crisis of faith—
practically everyone had his or her turn at a crisis of
faith. And if all these crises were resolved quickly in
the next scene, one has to blame—once again—the
limits of time, not necessarily the filmmakers.
Spring 2003
Legacy was not a great film, but it could have
been, had it been given the necessary resources.
Then one day the Church released Legacy on
video and replaced it in the theater with The Testa-
ments of One Fold and One Shepherd. (Happily, the
theater’s name wasn’t changed to Testaments The-
ater.) Where Legacy was competent in its technical
quality (minus the obvious matte painting of the
Nauvoo Temple), Testaments was positively block-
buster in its quality and cool disaster effects. But
that’s where the improvements end.
A DVD sent to every
subscriber, titled Finding Faith
in Christ? This was something
I had to check out.
You can’t even enter the theater without a sure
knowledge that you are here to be converted.
Where Legacy kept the proselyting intents of the
Church in the background, the Testaments environ-
ment reeked of proselyting with a capital P. From
numerous pre-film Spirit-inviting speeches by mis-
sionaries to the exit music that continued to play
after fade-to-black while the lights slowly rose, the
proselyting intent of the Church was more naked
than a colony full of nudists. The Spirit doesn’t
work on you while you view Testaments—it slaps
you upside the head.
The story is about some Nephites or Lamanites
or whatever—who could tell? They are divided up
into believers and disciples of the villainous Kohor.
Jacob is the son of Helam, a prominent believer.
But—surprise, surprise—Jacob has doubts and is
courted by Kohor to be his right-hand man because
he’s such a good artist—excuse me, artisan, in pseudo-
Nephite-Lamanite lingo. He can carve the mighty
jaguar well, and for some reason that matters to
Kohor. Also, Jacob is in love with a non-believer’s
daughter who—surprise, surprise—becomes a
believer with the ease of a Jack Weyland character
and who sports the occasional tear-tracks on her
46 IRREANTUM
cheek to prove it, as the medicine man—I mean,
presiding believer—preaches.
Things play out as the Book of Mormon says it
does—the government falls apart, tribal kings arise—
intercut with standard-issue scenes of the life of
Christ, complete with direct quotes from the King
James version of the New Testament as the only
dialog, because, by gosh by golly, that’s just too
sacred a story to actually make seem real. The cru-
cifixion scene was okay—but Franco Zeffirelli’s
miniseries Jesus of Nazareth had a much better one.
Then the Savior appears to the
Nephites/Lamanites/Samoans/Navajo—whatever
the heck they all were. This is just about the tacki-
est rendition of a dramatic scene I have ever wit-
nessed. “We’re running long, we need to cut
somewhere.” That’s the most charitable interpreta-
tion I can give to director Kieth Merrill’s motives
for presenting this scene the way he did. A couple
quick mumble-mumbles to depict God’s voice
coming from heaven, but not understood by the
people, then a clear quote of God’s words. A bright
shaft of light and a quick, light-footed descent on
wires by the Lord, and it’s over. Marvelous anticli-
max.
The one shining moment in the film was at the
end, when some fine filmmaking and some fine act-
ing by Rick Macy as Helam (also seen in Brigham
City, Little Secrets, and Out of Step) actually evokes
an honest emotional reaction.
But perhaps the most irritating part of Testa-
ments is the portrayal of Jesus. I’m sure Danish
actor Tomas Kofod did his best—it wasn’t his fault.
He should never have been cast in this role in the
first place. A baby-faced, Aryan Jesus? That alone
would earn Testaments a thumbs-down.
Three years have passed since then, and my dis-
gruntlement at the Church’s foray into filmmaking
had settled into the background. Until I leafed
through the mail and found a strange attachment
to my copy of the April Ensign.
A DVD sent to every subscriber, titled Find-
ing Faith in Christ? This was something I had to
check out.
I fired it up and sat back to watch. I wanted des-
perately to like what appeared on the screen—truly
I did. Who wouldn’t want their church to produce
IRREANTUM
something to be proud of?
The film opens with a dramatic scene of a fish-
ing boat tossed on the stormy waves of the Sea of
Galilee. As with the other two films, the technical
quality of Finding Faith is admirable. The tone of
the film is established right away: more scenes
from the life of Christ, like Testaments, with dialog
lifted verbatim from the scriptures.
Just how much like Testaments I was about to
find out. For the camera focuses on Jesus, and I cry
out in dread, “No! It can’t be!” One of my greatest
fears is realized.
The Aryan Jesus is back.
There are no credits, as with all Church films, so
I can’t be one-hundred-percent sure, but it certainly
looks like that baby-faced Dane Tomas Kofod. I guess
this is what they call job security—if you can stand
being typecast. Forever more Kofod will be cast as
Jesus in every Church film. At least as long as he
can pass himself off as a thirty-something individ-
ual, I suppose.
In fact, everything seems lifted from Testaments.
The same motif of scenes from Christ’s life, unin-
spired and by the numbers, with nothing but swelling
music to evoke any emotion. And look there, isn’t
that the same John the Baptist as in Testaments? It’s
hard to be sure through all that fake beard, but it
sure looks like actor Jongiorgi Enos, best known as
Ed Gray in Brigham City. For all I know, these are
actual clips from Testaments recycled. I only saw the
film once, and it has been three years.
But these scenes are the better half of Finding
Faith. This time the original and fictitious plot
interwoven with scenes from the life of Christ is
absolutely horrendous. The idea is actually clever
and fraught with potential: Thomas the Doubter,
after receiving his conversion-by-sight, now has
to confront a doubter like himself and teach him
faith without being able to see the resurrected
Christ in person. But is the Church-sponsored
screenplay up to the task of developing the poten-
tial of this concept?
Is the pope Jewish?
Rehashed straw-man arguments about faith are
what pass as inspiring debate here, the same sort of
thing the Church has been grinding out for years in
47 Spring 2003
their productions. And it’s hard to tell if it’s the
stilted dialog in the script or just bad acting (or
both) that makes these scenes tedious and embar-
rassing. (I vote for the script—Laurence Olivier
couldn’t salvage this dialog.)
The screenwriter subscribes to the tenet that rev-
erential dialog and contractions cannot coexist. Brent
Spiner managed to pull it off as Star Trek’s Data,
but I don’t recall any other example of an actor who
could make contraction-free dialog sound natural.
Then there’s the apparently obligatory cute little
girl that has become a standard tool in the Church’s
arsenal for tugging at the ol’ heartstrings. Who
could resist the wide-eyed cherubic glow of such an
angel and not immediately call for the elders?
That’s what chafes me about these films. Their
purpose is to proselyte. It’s bluntly stated in the
case of Finding Faith, both in the magazine and on
the DVD. Not even a feeble attempt to hide it this
time. The purpose of this DVD, says the Ensign
article, is for we members to pass it around to our
friends and get them to talk to us about Mor-
monism. Apparently it’s no longer good enough to
wait for prospects to come to Salt Lake City and
get their dose of inspiration in the Legacy Theater.
We are now supposed to don our every-member-a-
missionary hats and take the film to the masses.
But the Church isn’t even counting on that.
Accompanying this project is a nationwide ad cam-
paign trying to get the masses to come to their LDS
neighbors’ doors and ask to see the thing. This
scheme is in fact Big Stuff.
All of which would be fine with me, except for
one small detail. The film is embarrassingly lame,
and I would never share it with any of my friends.
Embarrassing to a depth that disturbs me. Not
because it’s deeply embarrassing objectively. It’s
standard-issue Church stuff. Embarrassing because
this is The Church of Jesus Christ, the official rep-
resentative of the Savior on earth, and in a big,
expensive continent-wide push to spread the Good
News, this is the best they can come up with?
It’s not so much that I’m embarrassed to repre-
sent my church with this DVD. It’s that I’m embar-
rassed to represent my Lord and Savior with it.
The good news of the redemption of Jesus
Spring 2003
Christ is a powerful message—virtually by defini-
tion the most powerful story in existence. And the
Church that represents Him and His message can’t
come up with anything cinematically more inspir-
ing than some run-of-the-mill swelling music?
What is wrong with this picture?
I compare the healing scenes in Finding Faith
with the healing scene in God’s Army and wonder
why viewing an imaginary Mormon elder healing
an imaginary investigator of injuries from an imag-
inary beating is orders of magnitude more powerful
and emotionally inspiring than viewing the Creator
of the universe performing healings that actually
happened on people that actually lived who suf-
fered from diseases they actually had. I compare the
depictions of Christ’s life in Finding Faith to the
depictions in Franco Zeffirelli’s Jesus of Nazareth
and wonder why the supposedly apostate under-
standing of a Catholic about the meaning of
Christ’s mission is more powerful, more moving,
more inspiring, than the efforts of the entire True
Church of God.
I also ask myself, what on earth is there in Find-
ing Faith that will motivate anyone to seek out
Mormons, of all people, for their introduction to
Christ? There is nothing in the scenes of this film
to make anyone care about what’s happening
except for those for whom Christ’s miracles already
matter—no developed character to care about, no
meaningful, relevant conflicts to weave together
into an arcing plot with a climax. There’s nothing
there but by-the-numbers images of New Testa-
ment events, presented as a disconnected montage
with bit players going through the motions of
people affected by Christ. The only viewers who
will be moved by that are people who have already
been affected by these stories, and that’s Christians.
But why, when there’s nothing within the film to
distinguish Mormons from any other Christian,
would they turn to Mormons to find insight into
the God they’ve already accepted? Or if they’ve
become casual about their faith and are inspired
into recommitment, why would they attend a Mor-
mon worship service instead of just going back to
their own?
At least Legacy and Testaments told uniquely
48 IRREANTUM
Mormon stories, giving the viewer some reason to
have their curiosity piqued about the LDS Church.
Finding Faith could have been made by literally any
Christian denomination.
It’s more of the same hypersensitivity over the
claim that Mormons are not Christians. The Com-
munity of Christ, once known as the Reorganized
Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, has all
but turned its back on its legacy from Joseph Smith,
from some of his most important teachings to the
name he was inspired to give the church right
down to the very book he called the cornerstone of
the religion he founded. The Reorganized Latter
Day Saints have, apparently through embarrass-
ment, become nothing more than another Chris-
tian denomination. Their unique legacy is now
nothing more than a memory and a corkscrew
temple they don’t know what to do with.
But the legitimate Church of Jesus Christ of Lat-
ter-day Saints, as we think of it, is doing the same
thing in its own way. The Church appears to be de-
emphasizing its own unique view of Christianity in
a misguided effort to pummel the notion into
everyone’s heads that we are indeed Christians. The
effort is misguided because it doesn’t matter. The
fraction of Christians who believe our uniqueness
disqualifies us from being categorized as Christians
will never change their mind no matter what we do
(unless we follow the path of the Community of
Christ and renounce our uniqueness), and the rest
of the Christian world doesn’t care. They’re happy
to label us as Christians along with everyone else,
even if they don’t exactly accept the validity of our
baptism. (But we don’t accept theirs either, so that’s
all right.)
Meanwhile, our missionary prospects have less
and less reason to choose us over any other Chris-
tian denomination, whether they think of us as
Christian or not.
In spite of any aesthetic reasons to like or dislike
the Legacy films—the recent films of superior tech-
nical quality whose purpose is to reach out and
share the gospel with the world—they are ulti-
mately failures. They fail because they do not fulfill
their purposes. Legacy probably comes closest to
succeeding but tried to be too big for its own run-
IRREANTUM
ning time. Testaments is fun to watch but too corn-
ball in its presentation to be powerful. Finding
Faith in Christ has stooped to levels so generic, it
was irrelevant before the first DVD popped out of
the mold.
If the Church had intended to produce some
films that would bring a warm fuzzy to the heart
and a tear to the eye of existing converted mem-
bers, then those films fulfill their purpose and are
successes. But that’s patently not their purpose.
They are intended as proselyting tools. As proselyt-
ing tools they fail, because the Church is so busy
being respectable and inoffensive, all artistic power
these productions might have to inspire is sapped
away by sentimentality. The cinematic Church
powers-that-be don’t know how to make a great
movie—and the Savior deserves nothing less than
great movies—and therefore only manage to crank
out film after warm fuzzy film that makes Mor-
mons feel good but has no power to reach out to
people yet to be converted, except a receptive few
who would probably be inspired to investigate the
Church even if Spongebob Squarepants played the
Savior.
This is the unfortunate legacy of Legacy, the so-
so movie that started the illusion that the Church
could produce films with power to convert, when
all they can do is make converted Mormons cry.
49 Spring 2003
 I N T E R V I E W You make references to Mormonism directly
Orson Scott Card
Interviewed by Bob Gersztyn
Note: The following interview first appeared in
The Door Magazine, a print magazine billed as
“The World’s Pretty Much Only Religious Satire Mag-
azine.” This interview is reprinted by permission. For
more information about The Door, visit TheDoor
Magazine.com.
Orson Scott Card has written 88 books, covering a
number of genres. He is the only writer to ever win
both the Hugo and Nebula awards (science fiction’s
highest honors) two years in a row. He won them in
1986 and 1987 for Ender’s Game and its sequel,
Speaker For the Dead. He has also written contem-
porary novels, romantic fantasy, and alternate history
novels. He has written an American fantasy series, set
in colonial times, using real historical figures, like
Napoleon and George Washington, titled The Tales of
Alvin Maker. His writings have been translated into
dozens of different languages.
Card received degrees in literature from Brigham
Young University and the University of Utah. He
served as an unpaid missionary to Brazil for two years,
after graduating from college. He was and is a Mor-
mon, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints, along with his one wife Kristine
and their five children, who are each named after
famous writers, in Greensboro, N.C.
We asked our only correspondent who had actually
read 88 books of any kind—Bob Gersztyn—to con-
duct the interview. He watched God’s Army, a film
about Mormon missionaries in Los Angeles, prior to
an hour-long phone interview with Mr. Card, as part
of his preparation.
As befitting someone with two first names, Card
has also written dozens of plays that have been pro-
duced in regional theater as well as scripts for ani-
mated videos for the family market. His book How to
Write Science Fiction and Fantasy won a Hugo award
in 1991. He has taught writing courses at several uni-
versities, as well as at a number of major writing
workshops.
Spring 2003
or indirectly in your work, yet it really hasn’t
hampered your success as a writer in the secular
world. Why?
Because I’ve been very careful.
The simplest way of saying it is, the reader should
not be compelled to make a decision whether they
accept a particular religion or not while reading the
story. I’ve written fiction that included characters
who were believers in a particular religion. Not
always Mormonism. In fact, not even usually Mor-
monism. I never require my readers to decide
whether it’s true. I only let the story depend on the
fact that the characters believe it’s true. And I give
them ample justification for that belief. That way
my readers have never had to decide whether they
agree with me on a particular point, or even on a
fact, in most of my books.
Nor have I even given them any reason to believe
that what they’re hearing is what I actually believe
myself. Because quite often I’ll include the religious
beliefs of characters who don’t share my beliefs—
sometimes presented critically, but often presented
quite sympathetically.
Do you consider the Book of Mormon and
the other Mormon scriptures to be equivalent to
the Bible?
Absolutely. Yes.
Would you consider Joseph Smith to be a
prophet equal to Moses or Jesus?
I don’t consider Jesus to be a prophet. I consider
Him to be the Son of God. And therefore no other
prophet is equal to Him. But Joseph Smith cer-
tainly functions in the same role in our time that
Moses served in his.
How do Mormons view traditional versions
of Christianity such as Protestantism, Roman
Catholicism, Coptic, Eastern Orthodox, and
others?
To the degree that traditional Christianity appears
to be the actual teachings of Jesus in the New Tes-
tament, we have no disagreement with them at all.
In fact, the place where most of our disagreements
usually come is in the areas of mainline Christian
belief that actually stem more from neo-Platonic
philosophy that was current in the second and third
50 IRREANTUM
century A.D. than to anything in the New Testa-
ment. Those are the places where our disagree-
ments sometimes become quite clear. But when it
comes to the actual teachings of Jesus and belief
about the divinity of Christ, we have no quarrel.
We are right down the same line with them and
believe that the New Testament is as reasonably fac-
tual an account as one can hope to get from wit-
nesses, from diverse witnesses, that are writing after
the fact.
It’s interesting that the main characters in The
Tales of Alvin Maker and the Ender Wiggin
series are children.
It’s an easy impression to get, but I’m not writ-
ing about children, I’m writing about people. When
I write about a human being, in order to understand
him well, I have to begin when he’s a child, because
that’s when life begins. And most of the major deci-
sions in our lives that shape who we are take place
during that period. My major works all take the
child beyond childhood, into adolescence and then
to adulthood and taking a responsible role in soci-
ety. So I suppose that in a sense I would say that
most of my books are not really about children,
they’re about the education of training a human
being, so that the Alvin Maker books indeed begin
with Alvin as a child, but we’ve been several books
away from his childhood now. So to say that I’m
writing about a child is really kind of wrong.
Ender’s Game specifically used children because I
was saying something about the way that we use
children to fight our wars for us. We make them
18-, 19-, or 20-year-olds, rather than 9-, 10-, or
11-year olds. But nevertheless that is who fights our
wars; it’s our young men in that precise passionate
age. And so there have been times when I’ve defi-
nitely used the child, the fact that my characters are
children, to great effect in the stories.
What science fiction is best at, I think, is taking
things that are true, but hard to see, and by exag-
gerating them in a science fiction story we can make
them easier to see. When a society is in a time of
crisis, to protect itself it hurls its expendable young
men—and I use that “expendable” in quotes—at
the enemy until we either win or lose. And such
is the nature of the human being that those societies
IRREANTUM
that are best at doing that are the ones that tend to
prevail in the long run. And those that lose the will
to do that, that can no longer bear to send their
young men out to fight, are actually, as I read his-
tory at least, on the road to dissolution and decay.
What about your book Xenocide?
That’s where I face the issue quite squarely. It’s
really about the right of society to fight, to defend
itself. Right now I hear so many people, in the
name of tolerance, say, “Let’s be more understand-
ing of the Muslim culture and make sure we blame
only the ones in Muslim culture who are bad.”
That’s all well and good, but it’s like looking at
Germany in the era leading up to World War II and
saying, “Remember, we don’t hate Germans. We
only hate the Nazis.” But you have to realize that
somehow the German people allowed the Nazis to
act, to gain power, to use their armed forces, and
even if regular Germans didn’t all agree with Nazi
beliefs, nevertheless it was the might of Germany
that we had to fight and defeat in order to destroy
the Nazis.
Right now we’re facing a terrible threat. There
is enormous public support in many parts of the
Muslim world for what Osama Bin Laden did, and
would do in the future. We may not like it, but our
war will not be over until the Islamic world repu-
diates those views.
There are interesting parallels in Xenocide
with what’s going on right now—even though
you wrote it years and years ago.
Does a society have the right to destroy another
in order to protect itself? In other words, is there a
right, an absolute right of self-defense?
As a Christian, I have to face the “turn the other
cheek” view. On an individual level, one can make
a strong case for the idea that, “No, there is no right
to self-defense. It is better to die than to kill.” But
do you have a right to allow someone else to die
rather than kill?
In Mormonism we have many examples in our
scripture that go both ways—like pacifism, radical
pacifism where you endure slaughter in order to
remain right with God, and in almost the same
story, those who are willing to lay down their lives
51 Spring 2003
to protect the helpless, and those who are willing to
kill to protect the helpless.
My own conclusion is, “Woe unto those by
whom offenses come, but if war has been forced
upon you, then you have not just a right but an
obligation to the society that you are part of to
fight to preserve that which is good.” That’s one of
the places where I have my deepest quandary in the
present war.
Which is again the fundamental issue of Xeno-
cide: Do we have a right to destroy an alien species?
It’s really saying, do we have a right to destroy
another society that is trying to destroy us? The
rules I set up in Xenocide say that if you can talk to
them and reach an understanding and trust that
they have changed their mind about destroying
you, then you have no right to destroy them. But if
you cannot talk to them and be heard and have any
hope of any kind of agreement between you, then
you owe it to your own people to eliminate the pos-
sibility of the other side destroying you.
In Xenocide you up the ante again for clar-
ity—there is a weapon that could absolutely
destroy the human race.
What Islam has cannot possibly destroy the
human race. But what it could do is bring down
American culture as we know it. Now my question
is, “As a people we have a right to defend ourselves
against a physical attack, but is our society so great
and wonderful that we deserve to prevail over the
values of their society?”
Frankly, I think that right along with fighting
this war and eliminating the ability of our enemies
to kill us, we have an obligation to address the areas
where our society is in fact not better than theirs
and in many ways considerably worse. Where our
influence is in fact destructive, when we spread it
abroad. In other words, we need to become a bet-
ter people before we have the right to judge other
nations. We do have a right to defend ourselves
in the meantime. Even imperfect people have a
right to defend themselves. But we don’t necessar-
ily have a right to impose our culture on others
against their will.
In the latest introduction to Ender’s Game,
you say: “In science fiction, however, the whole
Spring 2003
point is that ideas are fresh and startling and
intriguing. You imitate the great ones not by
re-writing their stories, but rather by creating
stories that are just as startling and new.” Please
elaborate.
There are those who think that what they need
to do with science fiction is come up with a “cool
new idea.” I tell my writing students there are no
new ideas. In terms of story, we’re going to tell the
same stories over and over again, but with different
twists and turns and causal relationships. So what
makes the story worth telling is that the writer
believes in it and cares about it and then hopes to
find readers who will also believe in it and care
about it.
Fantasy, science fiction, literary stories, they’re all
the same stories we’ve been telling ever since
human beings gathered around campfires. There’s
nothing new. Because there’s nothing new in
human relationships. We haven’t changed.
Some people feel that the books of the Bible
were the equivalent of present-day works such as
your own. That is to say, literature mixed with
history, theology, morality, ethics, and wisdom
to assist in the upward ascent of man.
The books of the Bible have some key differ-
ences. Most of the books have very separate origins
and were gathered together long after they were
originally written.
The individual books have very different pur-
poses. I mean, the book of Obadiah and the collec-
tion of Psalms and the legends collected in the
book of Judges and the five books of the Torah are
radically different.
The book of Job is probably the closest thing to
what science fiction writers or what fiction writers
do, because I think of it as a work of fiction. I don’t
think God actually hangs around with Satan and
makes bets with him. I don’t think that represents
anything other than the conceit of a writer, of
a poet, trying to explain why bad things happen
to good people. And I think he blew it and got
it almost entirely wrong. But that’s my personal
judgment.
When we talk about something like Genesis
and Exodus, we’re talking about the very ancient
52 IRREANTUM
accounts of the dealings of real people with the P O E T R Y
very real God. That’s far from anything I’ve ever
attempted to do in my fiction. I write about made- Boogeyman
up people. What you’re getting is out of my head.
Not out of any revelation. I claim no authority for Boogeyman,
what I write that is even remotely comparable to walking the side of the freeway.
what is claimed for—and I believe is present in— Boogeyman
say Exodus. thumb out
Finally, why is science fiction important? trying to stop me in my slick car.
Science fiction, to me, is valuable not for the Home to Idaho?
spaceship stuff, but because it’s the most open and Ha!
free genre of literature in existence right now. Way Detroit grease grime if I ever saw slime,
freer than the formula-laden, heavily controlled lit- Dog.
erary fiction where you scarcely can breathe with- Think I’m gonna stop for you, Filthy Bandana?
out having to run into somebody’s set of rules or Gonna stop for Salvation Army Backpack
another. Science fiction, in terms of the story you 7-11 Mug Tied On A String
tell, has an audience that is eager for new things. Bean? Lord, Lord!
And so the science fiction writer is far freer than in (Bless me, Ultima)
any other genre right now. No-oo, Sir.
Not gonna burn me, Whiskers,
not with the hair of your chinny chin chin.
Not even
gonna slam jamb knife me
Penny Ante Dagger
Knee High Black Boot
Army Surplus and Shades.
Think I can’t see those x-ray eyes,
Think I can’t See you
purse-snatching mother-mugging kidnapping
Bike Chain?
I’ve run away
from a little old woman
and a little old man.
Can’t catch me,
Boogeyman.
—Sundy Watanabe

IRREANTUM 53 Spring 2003

 S T O R Y They did. The demands of freedom were too
Thin, Scarlet Line
By Katherine Woodbury
In the brief moment before the city’s walls came
down, Sala heard the far-off birds cry.
The air surrounding Joshua’s army was still with
the cool anticipation of both dawn and dusk. If
Sala closed his eyes, he would be back on the
rooftop amongst the flax, Rahab whispering,
“Hush. Quiet.”
Rahab hated the city: for its corruption, its rapa-
ciousness, its haughty ways. She hated the closed-in
walls. Buried, she said. Burying me.
Caleb had been scornful. “She works for city
wages,” because Rahab was a whore.
But Rahab cared nothing for Caleb’s scorn, not
when she could mimic it so easily: scorn against
herself. She wanted to help Caleb, not Sala. Caleb
was righteous. He could give her clear-cut deeds
with clear-cut moralities. She listened breathless to
Caleb’s descriptions of Moses, that mighty man of
God: Moses who destroyed the Egyptian army,
who brought the Israelite people safely to Sinai,
who received from God’s own hand the command-
ments which their nation could obey and be
blessed or break and be cursed. Caleb spoke of the
rebellion against Moses—the golden calf—the well
of fire—the wrath of God towards an idol-wor-
shipping people.
This Moses was bold, strong, and expansive. He
quelled armies with a toss of a hand. “He speaks
with God,” Caleb said, eyes all-shining. Sala kept
quiet, didn’t give Rahab his images: Moses weary,
Moses frustrated, shattering the words of God into
fragments that ricocheted for eternity against the
mountainside.
“God Almighty brought you out of bondage,”
Moses had shouted, hands clenched against his
breast while the Israelites grumbled in their
groups—tribes, families, conspirators, a continual
spinning off from the center. “Do you want to be
an underpaid, underprivileged minority? Do you
want to go back to Egypt?”
Spring 2003
high, that is what they had discovered. Easier to be
slaves to men than to God. Sala had felt it himself,
the fear that ran through his dreams: of failure, of
hurtful choices—my responsibility, all mine.
“Will I meet Him?” Rahab asked, meaning Moses,
and Caleb shook his head.
“Joshua leads us now.”
He managed—being Caleb and absolutist in his
devotion—to present Joshua in stark, unchanging
colors, and the Joshua that Sala knew—who swore
and spit like any soldier—was lost amid Caleb’s
grand words of great deeds. Caleb didn’t lie, he sim-
ply excised the negative—because he was loyal,
because he loved Joshua, and that was what one did
when one loved.
Sala preferred the whores—love that appraised
one’s partner at his just amount.
“How much do you ask?” he’d said to Rahab
when he and Caleb took cover in her house.
“Too much, for you.”
“Are you so selective?”
“No, but you know better.”
Perhaps. He released her arm. She went up the
ladder to the second floor, and he heard her speak-
ing to Caleb, her voice losing the edge of malice.
Caleb, she admired.
“I’ll hide you on the roof.”
Amid swaths of flax that smelled like hot oil. Sala
gathered the slender stalks into a corner and slid
beneath them. Caleb grunted approvingly and made
a similar pile between Sala and the wall.
He muttered, “She’ll show us a way out tonight.”
A faded blue flower bobbed before Sala’s eyes.
He said, “Is this the hand of God?”
“God can use even a whore for righteous
purposes.”
Caleb’s God worked through a series of con-
stantly shifting alliances, a trickster with loaded
dice. Odd because Caleb himself was stunningly
honorable and upfront, but then, Sala admitted,
I believe in a good God who makes no bargains
with imperfect creatures. Which of us is more the
hypocrite?
A low parapet enclosed the roof. Sala leaned his
head against it and gazed across the dusty stones to
54 IRREANTUM
where the ladder vanished into the floor below. He
could hear Rahab’s family, their voices questioning.
He could pick out Rahab’s confident replies.
She ought to be more ambiguous. For a whore.
He had thought she would doubt them: their mis-
sion, their right to conquer the city, their claims of
holiness. He had wanted to hear her suspicions, not
for the sake of disbelief but to remind himself: God
is not so tidily comprehended. Humans want defi-
nite answers, he reminded himself. Would they
search for God otherwise?
He wore no armor and
carried his sword loosely. An
easy target. Desert marauders
had more sense and more
self-preservation. An Israelite
soldier would have kept
himself low and watched
the far corners.
Torches spurted in the room below. Light fled up
the ladder to stain gold the stones. It was followed
by a slim figure, a young girl. She paused and then
walked confidently towards their corner of the roof.
She set bread and meat carefully at their feet.
Caleb said, “Thank you.”
The torchlight outlined her, accenting a curly
tilted head.
Sala said, “Are you Rahab’s sister?”
The girl shrugged.
“There are many of you?”
“Grandfather, mother, my brothers. They have
wives and children.”
For her family’s sake, that was why Rahab was
helping him and Caleb, although she claimed other
motives.
“This is city of greedy opportunists,” she had told
them. “Tyrannical rulers with their multiplying
IRREANTUM
sycophants,” and then, “If I help you, will you
spare me and mine?”
Sala was grateful for that last demand. It under-
cut the bitterness, Rahab’s condemnation of her fel-
low citizens.
“They live for nothing but the moment,” she’d
told him—not Caleb who had gone to look out
into the street, checking that they had not been fol-
lowed. “Riotous galas and gaudy feasts. They trade
nothing, create nothing. The leaders don’t govern
or keep peace or maintain laws, they are so busy grab-
bing for pleasure. This is a city of empty hearts.”
“Why not leave?”
“I should have”—fists clenched—“I should have
gone, years ago.”
She made none of the excuses that Sala made for
her: where to go and how else to live with so many
to support? The city sat on a wide plain at the break
of the hills, near the river. A day’s march, Sala
judged, to the nearest town, which might not wel-
come twelve strangers.
He ate the bread and meat: a king’s portion, more
than he had had in many months. Thus, Rahab val-
ued them. Sala stirred uneasily, licking his fingers.
Their server had descended the ladder to the
lighted room—the family quarters. Rahab enter-
tained her customers on the ground floor. The fam-
ily used the floor in-between for storage. It was a
narrow house, which clung to the city’s outside
wall. Sala and Caleb lay under the flax at the corner
that overlooked the street and market square. Even
so high up, Sala could hear the shrill cries of a slave
being whipped.
Harsh voices echoed up through the three floors.
Caleb stiffened. There were soldiers inside the house.
“—no spies here, I can promise you.” Rahab’s
voice, properly outraged. The male voices moved
upwards, grumbling:
“Desert marauders—”
“I had two male customers early this afternoon.
They got what they wanted and went—”
“How much—?”
“She hides her payments—”
A shout of wrath from Rahab, the patter of scat-
tered coins.
55 Spring 2003
 “Not right to show foreigners your private
places—”
Coarse laughter. Sniggers mounted the ladder to
the roof. A man stood at the edge of the opening.
He wavered there, backlit. He wore no armor and
carried his sword loosely. An easy target. Desert
marauders had more sense and more self-preserva-
tion. An Israelite soldier would have extinguished
the light below, kept himself low, and watched the
far corners. This man gazed aimlessly from side to
side, then, “I hear you, bitch,” to Rahab’s cries, and
he was gone.
Caleb sighed softly. The investigators muttered
down the three floors. One phrase loosened from
the tangle of invectives and grumbles:
“—give you a better ride than what foreigners
can do—”
“Get out!” Rahab slammed the door.
The house rustled into quiet. Sala watched the
torchlight flicker and wondered how she made
love. If she mocked enjoyment, if she was proud of
her ability to make men groan, if she cared whether
they got their money’s worth or whether she con-
sidered herself beyond price and gave only what
was required for satisfaction.
Caleb nudged Sala. They crawled from under
the flax towards the opening, peered over the edge.
The grandfather ate his dinner below them.
Opposite the table, the young girl folded blankets
into a bundle. She saw them and stilled, and the
torchlight pushed and pulled her shadow against
the wall.
She watched them until Rahab returned, bright,
quick, with a face that craved violence.
“Go back,” she said fiercely, her voice a muted
shout. “Get out of sight. I’ll come for you later.”
She came past the dead of night. The sun was
struggling with the horizon when Rahab led Caleb
and Sala out a side door into a narrow alley that
curved around the outer wall. They stumbled after
her, arriving finally at a wooden gate buried behind
rubble. Rahab watched as Sala and Caleb pushed
aside broken pottery, refuse, and animal bones. The
gate was rotted along the bottom. They kicked it,
and it sagged open.
Spring 2003
Beyond the gate, a tunnel sloped towards the
outside. Light stroked the tunnel’s edge, and Caleb
hesitated.
He whispered, “There’ll be guards on the wall.”
Rahab’s voice held contempt. “They’ll be asleep
or whoring. You heard those who came to the
house. They never watch—saturated with pride.”
The light caught eyes dark with fury, lips trembling
with rage. “Remember your promise,” she said—to
Caleb, not to Sala.
“I will not break a vow.”
Caleb slid through the gate’s opening. Sala hung
back.
He said to Rahab, “Hang a scarlet cord from the
roof. So we can find you—”
She nodded curtly. He wondered whether he
should have Caleb repeat the instructions. Sala’s
requests meant so little to her.
And yet the streak of red cord was there when
Joshua’s army arrived on the plain, days later. Joshua
had listened to Caleb and Sala, had heard their
descriptions of the city’s walls, of the laxity within.
Joshua had stroked his lips and considered and
gone to his tent alone.
“We will march,” he had proclaimed that morn-
ing. “Seven times around the city,” under a hotly
shimmering sky. “This is God’s command.”
Now they halted. The army curved in a great cir-
cle around the plain. Feet stamped and rested and
stamped again.
Hoarse commands from the captains: “Blow the
trumpets! Shout!” And the city’s walls crumbled,
the massive stones tumbling into disorder. The
destruction began slowly, after the last call had
faded, with a tremor that rippled across the highest
ramparts. The tremor grew to a shaking. A deep
rumble rushed across the plain to where the Israelites
waited. Soldiers flinched and backed away, brought
to a standstill by their captain’s harsh cries: “Don’t
move. Wait.”
The city’s outside wall shook like a tent in the wind.
Sala had never seen rock so malleable, as malleable
as water. What have we done? Surely, she will perish.
The wall, the city’s buildings crashed into trem-
bling piles, and Rahab’s house, with its long, scarlet
thread, stood alone, a tower amidst heaped rubble.
56 IRREANTUM
 The last stone fell. Dust settled. Sala had never
heard such silence, had never realized how quietly
men breathed and spoke.
“Advance,” and Joshua’s army pressed forward.
Sala could hear wails from the city—thin and far-
away, like gulls’ cries.
Closer, and he could see people running out of
the ruins, heading down the gully to the river. Sala
tripped, and his hands pressed the ground, that
hard earth.
“No looting,” the captains barked. “Take nothing.”
Another of Joshua’s inspirations. He would not
be the leader of mere marauders. This triumph was
only the first step in a campaign of thoughtful
endurance.
Sala panted up the incline past where the city’s
gate had once stood. Caleb ran beside him.
Rahab’s family huddled on the ground floor of
their home. They gripped bags to their chests and
stared wide-eyed through the doorway. Caleb
shooed them into the open air.
“Where is she?” Sala clutched at Rahab’s sister.
The grandfather answered: “She left the house.
She saw you—we all saw you—marching round
and round the city—”
“She said she had to go, to help.” The girl’s voice
shook, a falling of pebbles. “She couldn’t bear to
watch. She said she’d stayed in the city too long,
too many years. She’s gone—” She wailed, a wail to
join the other wails that filled Sala’s ears, no longer
thin and remote, but pressuring and harsh.
He ran from the house. Stones and cracked
wooden beams lay over the street and square. Sala
stepped around shattered doors, split bedding, the
crushed carcasses of a goat, smashed doves near a
splintered cage.
Except for Rahab’s house, not a single building
remained intact. Towards the interior of the city,
piles of stones rose like dark fortresses. Sala slid
beneath two leaning monoliths. He entered a thick,
black cavern. He crept in further, his eyes adjust-
ing. He could make out sprawling legs and arms,
flattened heads.
He crawled into a shaft of light, peered upwards
at the sky, blue and cloudless as befits a victory day.
“This way, sir.”
IRREANTUM
A deep voice with an undercurrent of melody,
such sound as the sea makes. Sala had not heard such
music in fifteen years.
A man came towards Sala out of the dark shad-
ows: a stocky figure with a cap of short, thick hair
and the unblinking eyes of a bird. He paused
beside a gray slab, rested a hand against its surface.
It had come from a monument and was covered
with worn designs: winding circles, neat pyramids,
squares within squares. Fresh images, for all their
age, engraved during the city’s youth.
The waiting man seemed born of the designs.
His dirty white robe with its triangular hood, rolled
from his shoulders in straight lines; his face—its
curving lips and fathomless eyes—was a pattern of
overlapping circles.
Sala said, “You’re not an Israelite.”
“Not precisely.”
“Or a citizen of this city.”
“No.”
“Will you give me a name?”
“I was there when Abraham bargained for the
children of Gomorrah. I watched fire rain down
upon the cities of the plain. I fought with Jacob at
the ford that he feared to cross to meet his brother.
I stood at the garden gate with sword and fire so
Adam would not turn back and take from the tree
of life.”
“Are you evil then?”
The man laughed. The sound rippled as waves
do over wet sand, and Sala breathed in air as fresh
and salt-laden as new sea breeze.
“If Adam had cheated death, man would live
now in perpetual torment, a life without the final
settlement. I am the watchman who allows no
cheating”—a brusque phrase, but a smile flashed in
it, and the man’s eyes glittered—“except, some-
times, for saints and whores. Come—”
Sala followed the watchman into a maze of fallen
stones. The path wound haphazardly, doubling
back on itself more than it moved forward. The
watchman strode purposefully, and his dirty-white
robe glimmered against the dark.
They entered a space where the earth had rup-
tured and spilled down into a large hollow. The dirt
sank beneath Sala, deceptively light. Under the
57 Spring 2003
man’s telling eyes, Sala began to dig. Dirt clung to those other less tangible traits that all humans pos-
his hands and choked his throat. He unearthed a sess. For whim—nothing reasonable.
child’s dead body and a man’s battered head. He God himself could not love and be reasonable.
pushed onward. Dirt rode upwards into his mouth, Rahab went ahead of Sala through the center of
and he spat out flecks of clay and sand. destruction to the outside world. She stretched back
His hands found fabric, a sash. He wrenched at her hand to grip his, and he saw her sash where
it, wound it across his palm and round his wrist. it encircled her hips, crossing at her belly before it
Shoulders straining, he pulled. He lifted Rahab out dropped to the earth: a thin, scarlet line.
of the coarse clay. He carried her to stable ground.
“Why the exception?” he said to the watchman Katherine Woodbury is a fantasy/science-fiction writer
as Rahab coughed spastically across Sala’s arm. That with an interest in fairy tales, folk tales, legends,
there should be exceptions, Sala had no doubt. myths, and biblical stories. She is an alumna of BYU,
That rules and absolutes resided on a base of uncer- where she won several awards: second place in the Ann
tainty, double guesses, and random luck did not Doty Fiction Contest (1990); co-second place in the
surprise him. But from a perfect God—was such Vera Hinckley Mayhew Playwriting Contest (1990);
capriciousness possible? and first place in the Mayhew Short Story (Specialty
The watchman said, “There are those who try to Division) Contest (1992). She has been published in
close God in, to remove from Him His agency as several magazines: Space & Time, Dark Regions,
well as their own. Because they want things fair— Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine, and
for themselves. Fair is the farthest thing from mercy Cicada. Katherine lives in Portland, Maine, where
or justice. You could call this . . . whim.” she spends her hours pondering story ideas, teaching
Sala helped Rahab to her feet. seminary, taking books out of the library and trying to
He said, “Where do we go?” find time to read them, and admiring the beautiful
“Back—follow me, follow me—” and the watch- Atlantic Ocean.
man ran into the maze.
Rahab and Sala followed slowly. The watchman
was lost to them, and they meandered bewildered
in shadowed paths, shoulders propped against each
other.
Sala said, “Caleb got your family out. They’re
safe.” Rahab didn’t speak, and he rattled on, push-
ing his words through the gathering dark. “Caleb
remembered his promise.”
They stepped out abruptly into the open space
where Sala had met the man of chance. The sky
above had faded to faint violet.
“Caleb—” Sala tried again, but Rahab wasn’t
listening.
“It rained deaths,” she said. “So many bodies,
I could hardly see the buildings fall.”
He waited, and she looked at him with eyes of
dark grief and no anger.
She whispered, “I do not cost so much.”
He disagreed numbly. His palm and wrist bore
the marks of her sash. He desired her, valued her:
for her body perhaps, for her family devotion, for

Spring 2003 58 IRREANTUM

 P O E T R Y
By Road, and By Sky
Hit and left for dead, this porcupine. A mess of flesh
and entrails in a smear of blood. It jerked a little,
then tried dragging itself away. My father pulled
over and rummaged in the trunk for something to
finish
it off. My father was coolness that night. Or was he
grace?
He straddled that twitching porcupine and raised
a tire iron above his head. I watched. Still, it was
my mother
I loved. My mother in the front seat, with her pill-
box hat
and apricot skirt. My mother, with a sweet armada
of moles above her collar bone and her left front tooth
overlapping the right. She turned away from the
slash
of high beams across asphalt and the valley opening
below.
I was not her first son, or favorite. But the one lucky
enough to be in the backseat that night. The one
whose face
she used as a mirror to watch my father rain down
six shivering blows. She reached for me across the
seat,
then turned on the radio, as if I or the evening needed
serenading. The wedding reception we were late for
could wait.
And the city juggling its neon promises. And my
father
explaining that bad driving is to accidents as a tire
iron
is to mercy. My mother held me. The ghost of the
porcupine
hovered over its remains, then rose with the moon
and drifted south. The crickets sang darkly, and the
road
said never and the sky said always and both told the
truth.
—Lance Larsen
[Originally published in Southern Review]
IRREANTUM
R E V I E W S
Year in Review: 2002
By Andrew Hall
Generally I believe the world of Mormon litera-
ture is moving in a healthy direction. There are not
nearly enough adventurous and original works being
produced, but there are a few, and I get the impres-
sion that the general writing level of the authors
producing mainstream inspirational and/or escapist
works is improving. Certainly there is lots of dreck,
but that is true of all areas of the publishing world.
If consumers of Mormon literature want to find
quality material, it is out there waiting for them.
Novels
Focusing first on the national market, I think the
most interesting trend of recent years has been the
large number of Mormon authors writing excellent
novels in the national juvenile and young-adult cat-
egories. In 2002 thirteen such novels were pub-
lished, which I think is a record, and almost all of
them garnered rave reviews. Among the most well
received were two pieces of historical fiction about
young women in the early days of the Church:
Kimberly Heuston’s The Shakeress (Front Street
Press) and A. E. (Ann) Cannon’s Charlotte’s Rose
(Wendy Lamb Books). Reviewers praised both
authors for their careful attention to historical details
and straightforward approach toward describing
religious faith. Heuston’s novel is an internal jour-
ney of a girl searching for God, going from the
Baptists to the Shakers and ultimately to the Mor-
mons. Cannon’s novel is a more dynamic story
about a Welsh girl who becomes a baby’s surrogate
mother while on the pioneer trail. It was given the
2002 AML young adult novel award. It is exciting
to see two such high quality juvenile novels that
both incorporate religious faith among their main
themes.
As for novels about boys, there was Chris
Crowe’s Mississippi Trial, 1955 (Phyllis Fogelman
Books) and Ron Woods’s The Hero (Knopf ), both
of which were about boys coming of age in the
59 Spring 2003
1950s, and both of which were the first national
novels by the respective authors. They received excel-
lent notices, particularly in their ability to flesh out
characters. Crowe’s novel was given the 2002 AML
novel award. Thelma Wyss Hatch, Martine Bates
Leavitt, Lael Littke, Jannette Rallison, Laura Torres,
Carol Lynch Williams, and Randall Wright also
wrote nationally published young adult/juvenile
novels, which have received good to excellent reviews.
This is an amazing flowering of talent, of which I
think those of us who read Mormon literature are
not well enough aware. John Bennion has done
some excellent work analyzing Mormon young adult
novels, a recent example being his essay “Austen’s
Granddaughter: Louise Plummer Re(de)fines
Romance” in English Journal (July 2002).
Two well-regarded literary authors with Mor-
mon connections, Judith Freeman and Brian Even-
son, published novels in 2002. Freeman’s novel Red
Water (Pantheon Books), a work of historical fic-
tion about the John D. Lee family told through the
eyes of three of his wives, probably was the Mor-
mon novel that received the most national atten-
tion in 2002. Utah librarian Gail McCulloch called
it “an achingly beautiful and eloquent story of
friendship and faith,” while the New York Review of
Books said it “upends the Mormon order, in which
men are privileged and women passive.” Evenson’s
novel Dark Property (Four Walls Eight Windows) is
a gruesome tale of multiple murders and religious
fanaticism, set in a post-apocalyptic world. One
reviewer commented on Evenson’s amazing ability
to use such “dulcet language” about such horrifying
topics.
Two literary novels that look at Utah/Mormon
society through the eyes of non-Mormons trying to
fit in, as well as portraying painfully dysfunctional
family dynamics, are John Fulton’s More Than
Enough (Picador) and Nicole Stansbury’s Places to
Look for a Mother (Carroll & Graf ). Both received
strong reviews, and Salt Lake Tribune reviewer
Martin Naparastack listed them among his “2002
Best of the West.”
Among more popular fiction, several Mormon
authors have found success with sentimental family-
centered novels. Many of these authors first came
Spring 2003
to the attention of national publishers through
their self-published works. Richard Paul Evans, the
most famous of the group, found himself in the
middle of a Utah publicity storm when Deseret
Book refused to stock his newest novel, The Last
Promise (Dutton), because they felt it implied an
adulterous relationship between two characters.
Whatever its moral content, reviewers consistently
dismissed the novel as wooden and clichéd, and
one compared Evans’s writing style to a Williams-
Sonoma catalog. Cameron Wright’s 2001 self-
published tearjerker about an elderly man leaving
messages to his disintegrating family was repub-
lished by Simon and Schuster, elevating Wright to
the big time. James Michael Pratt, who has received
reviews even worse than Evans, also belongs in this
category.
In a more encouraging direction, Kenny Kemp’s
novel The Welcoming Door (HarperSanFrancisco) is
the first in a series of historical fiction about Christ
as a young journeyman carpenter, observing and
participating in events that he would turn into
three of his future parables. Some people are nerv-
ous about novels that fictionalize important histor-
ical characters, so Kemp shows considerable
bravery by inventing scenes and imagining the
thoughts of a young Jesus. What makes Kemp’s
work so interesting is that rather than portraying
Jesus as a teacher, which is his role in most of the
gospels, he creates scenes in which he is a laborer or
an older sibling and thus imagines answers to the
“What would Jesus do?” question in a variety of
workaday situations to which a reader might relate.
He creates a Jesus who is both endearingly mortal
(he playfully teases his younger brothers and feels
frustration during difficult jobs) and also inspir-
ingly wise and kind, befitting a Son of God prepar-
ing for his ministry. Kemp succeeds at creating
an “inspirational” book that I think will have
wide appeal, without resorting to cheap emotional
fireworks.
Orson Scott Card released one novel this year,
Shadow Puppets (Tor Books), the third in his popular
Bean series. I have found the series to be as exciting
as any of Card’s previous works, but not as memo-
rable. Speculative fiction authors Tracy Hickman
60 IRREANTUM
and Rebecca Lickess published novels in 2002.
Popular mystery author Anne Perry published
installments of both her Pitt and Monk series over
the course of the year.
Turning now to the Mormon market, the major
Mormon publishers (Covenant, Deseret, Cedar Fort,
Signature, and Granite) produced 58 literature titles
in 2002, a record number. This was largely due to
a significant increase in the number produced by
Covenant and Cedar Fort. Deseret Book, Signature,
and Granite published about the same amount as
they did in 2001.
Of the many authors publishing for the LDS
market over the last few years, I feel Margaret Blair
Young has created the most significant body of
work. She seems to specialize in pain, probing great
hardships and suffering in nearly all her novels.
Last year she pulled off the nice feat of having
works published by Deseret Book and Signature in
the same year (last achieved by Ann Cannon in
1997). In both books she goes to the edge of Mor-
mon cultural respectability, ultimately affirming
faith in the gospel and allegiance to the Church but
also exploring the pain and doubt felt by Mormons
who have been cut to the core by other Mor-
mons or God Himself. I found Bound for Canaan
(Deseret), the second volume of the Standing on
the Promises series co-written with Darius Gray, to
be among the most achingly beautiful works I have
read in years. In their descriptions of the lives of
black Church members during the Church’s fron-
tier period, Young and Gray put together a kalei-
doscope of characters and settings, jumping back
and forth between at least ten reoccurring points of
views, up from the four or so in the first volume.
Rather then making the story disjointed, however,
the multiple voices become a symphony of faith
and pain which I haven’t been able to get out of my
head nearly a year after I read it. Her other novel,
Heresies of Nature (Signature), is also a study of the
anguish of believers, this time about the shattering
impact of multiple sclerosis on a woman and her
family. Several members of the family turn to self-
destructive behaviors in response to the pressure
and despair, and the husband, worn down by the
decade-long sacrifices of caring for an invalid wife,
IRREANTUM
turns against God and violates his temple cove-
nants. In the end the family members repent of
their rebellions and pin their psyches on God-cen-
tered hope. It is a tattered kind of hope, which does
not erase the pain of the disease and the sins but
does keep the family together.
Two other 2002 novels published for the Mor-
mon market I can whole-heartedly recommend are
Linda Hoffman Kimball’s The Marketing of Sister B
(Signature) and Dean Hughes’s Troubled Waters
(Deseret). Linda Kimball, in a gentle but very
funny farce, tells the story of a woman catapulted
to national fame by the reaction to a perfume she
created for a Relief Society event. Since Kathryn
Kidd has gone several years without releasing a
novel, Linda Hoffman has taken her place as the
Mormon novelist who can best make me laugh
without leaving a saccharine aftertaste. Troubled
Waters is the seventh novel overall in the saga of the
Thomas family, now into the mid-1960s. Hughes
is one of our best storytellers, and he is one of the
few writers of mainstream Mormon historical fic-
tion who asks his readers to look at the difficult
parts of our history as well as the heroic. His depic-
tion of the lifestyles, experiences, and worldviews
of Mormons rejects the commonly held monolithic
stereotypes, displaying instead a fascinating kalei-
doscope of differences, despite a common belief in
Christ and his prophets. I am impressed that Hughes
can get me to care equally about such a wide range
of characters.
Four other 2002 Mormon-press novels received
good reviews and which I hope to read at some
time in the future. Jeff Call’s Mormonville (Salt/
Cedar) is a first novel that features a look at Mor-
mon Utah culture through the eyes of a cynical
Eastern reporter. Marilyn Brown’s Ghosts of the
Oquirrhs (Salt/Cedar) and The Light in the Room
(Salt/Cedar) represent a new novel and an old one,
respectively, by one of our best literary stylists.
Kelly Blair’s Closing In (Covenant) has received
raves by several readers about how well she blends
humor and adventure.
Deseret Book released eight literary works in 2002,
down slightly from their total of nine in 2001. For
the second year in a row, they introduced no new
61 Spring 2003
authors. I have heard rumors that the staff was
reduced considerably and several book contracts
were cancelled early in the year, so it appears the
company went through some restructuring. Still,
with the talent they have under contract, Deseret
must be considered the strongest publisher in the
LDS market. Young and Gray, Hughes, and Card
are all in the middle of producing multi-volume
series for the publisher. With them, the company
has managed to gather some of the best storytellers
in LDS literature, people who can write “faithful”
fiction while still challenging their readers. Add to
that Gerald Lund, the best-selling author in the
field; Jack Weyland, the best-selling juvenile author
in the field; Robert Farrell Smith, a talented
humorist; and Tom Plummer, an excellent essayist,
and you have a strong collection of authorial talent.
I would like to see them take the success and pub-
lic trust they have developed and use it to push for-
ward in the publication of adventuresome works.
The recent conservative retrenchment in the book-
selling division signaled by the Richard Evans
controversy is troubling, but it is yet to be seen
whether the new policy will simply act to exclude
works with overly explicit romantic scenes or will
also keep the company from publishing any kind
of literature that takes Mormons out of their com-
fort zones.
Covenant published 25 novels in 2002, up from
19 in 2001, an amazing amount. Covenant tends
to produce escapist fantasies, heavy on adventure
and romance, with a few LDS references hovering
in the background. Covenant is generally more
conservative than Deseret in its content. With so
many new books and not a lot of newspaper or
AML-List reviews, it is hard to get a handle on the
overall quality of the material. Jennie Hansen
reviewed many of the novels for Meridian maga-
zine, but she consistently goes very easy on her fel-
low Covenant authors, so it is hard to figure out
when she really thinks something is great and when
she is just being nice. I get the impression that
Kelly Blair, Betsy Green, Jeffery Savage, and Hansen
herself are among the better writers of the group.
Anita Stanfield, David Woolley, and Nancy Allen
produced the company’s biggest sellers of the year.
Spring 2003
Cedar Fort published around 19 novels in 2002,
up from 13 in 2001. (Since Cedar Fort’s authors
are not necessarily Mormon, it is hard to tell from
some of the blurbs whether a book should be con-
sidered Mormon literature.) Several of these novels
were published in conjunction with Marilyn Brown’s
Salt Press. Besides the strongly reviewed novels by
Brown and Call, recent novels by Veda Hale, Dou-
glas Adler, and co-owner Lee Nelson look intriguing.
Rachael Nunes, a popular author who published
several novels with Covenant, switched to Cedar
Fort mid-year and produced the company’s best-
selling novel of 2002. Also, former Covenant
author Marilyn Arnold came over to Cedar Fort.
The company appears to have a more open edito-
rial policy than Deseret and Covenant, as seen by
their publication of several borderline-oddball non-
fiction books, so I believe it has a potential for pro-
ducing some interesting pieces of literature, filling
the kind of role Aspen and Hatrack provided in the
early 1990s. As Cedar has also published some very
poorly written novels, they really are the wild card
of the Mormon publishing world.
Signature boasts the highest overall literary stan-
dards of the LDS publishing world, although they
have averaged only two literary pieces a year for the
last several years. This year they published two
quality novels by Margaret Blair Young and Linda
Hoffman Kimball. Critics of Signature might be
surprised to hear that both are, at their core, “faith-
ful” novels.
Granite continues to plug along like a junior
Covenant, publishing four romance/adventures in
2002. A new publisher, American Book, published
two novels by Mormon authors toward the end of
the year, although it is not primarily a Mormon
press. Gibbs Smith, which is also not primarily a
Mormon press, published its annual Carol Lynn
Pearson book, as well as a Christmas storybook for
missionaries. Cornerstone declared bankruptcy early
in the year, and Horizon, the target of its failed
merger, did not publish any new novels. Greg Kof-
ford Books, which until now has specialized in
limited-run fine-binding books, announced that it
would start publishing for the general Mormon mar-
ket, including fiction, and that it would distribute
62 IRREANTUM
its books through Covenant. The music and film
distributor Excel did not publish any more film tie-
in books in 2002, although I expect it will next year.
There seems to be more self-published and van-
ity-press novels appearing in the Mormon market.
Richard Paul Evans, Kenny Kemp, and Cameron
Wright have parleyed their self-published works
into national contracts in recent years, and several
Covenant and Cedar Fort authors self-published a
novel or two before they got contracts with those
companies. It is hard to be sure how many of these
novels were published in 2002; I am aware of 13 so
far. Some are found at most Mormon bookstores,
such as Richard Lloyd Dewey’s series about Orrin
Porter Rockwell. Others probably are available in
few places besides the Internet. Jeff Needle gave a
very strong review to one self-published novel this
year, Dave Shield’s The Pendulum’s Path, which he
called “literate alternative Mormon fiction.”
Short Stories
No new short-story collection or anthology by a
Mormon author was published in 2002, only the
second year since 1986 that has happened. Two
paperback versions of previously published hard-
back collections were released, however: Darrell
Spencer’s 2000 collection Caution: Men in Trees
(paperback published by W.W. Norton) and Brian
Evenson’s 1994 collection Altmann’s Tongue (paper-
back published by University of Nebraska). The
Spencer collection is identical to the hardback ver-
sion, but Evenson’s contains a few additions, includ-
ing his 1997 story “Two Brothers,” which won the
O. Henry award; a new introduction; and a post-
script by Evenson describing the reaction at BYU
to his work, which lead to his resignation from the
university. Orson Scott Card edited a science-fiction
anthology, although it included no stories by Mor-
mon authors.
IRREANTUM, Sunstone, and Dialogue published a
total of 18 stories in their 2002 issues. I thought
the overall level of the stories was quite high. Dia-
logue published only two stories, both of them
excellent. Sunstone published five stories, and IRRE-
ANTUM published eleven. I especially enjoyed the
spring IRREANTUM, which included five engaging
IRREANTUM
stories, almost all of which explored the spiritual
lives of Mormon women. Sunstone and Dialogue
appear to be back to full strength after difficult
transitional periods; for the first time in quite a
while, both published four issues in 2002. Dia-
logue, in its effort to catch up with its publishing
schedule, released two double issues, although one
was made up entirely of previously published mate-
rial and the other was only slightly larger than a
normal issue.
I had a hard time tracking down references to
stories published by Mormon authors in literary
journals. I found a few by Brian Evenson, one by
Robert Hodgson Van Wagoner, and one by Brett
Alan Sanders.
Because of the Church’s decision to no longer
publish fiction in the Friend and New Era, there are
no longer any strictly Mormon outlets for juvenile
short stories, although Mormon authors continue
to frequently publish in children’s magazines such
as Highlights and Cricket.
The number of stories published by Mormon
speculative-fiction authors was down slightly in
2002. M. Shayne Bell continued his prolific publi-
cation rate, with three stories published in 2002,
one of which was nominated for a Nebula award.
Orson Scott Card published two stories in hard-to-
find venues. Susan J. Kroupa and Melva Gifford
published stories. I was especially impressed by the
poignant stories by Bell and Kroupa.
Theater
The main stories of the year are the establish-
ment of a theatrical company dedicated to Mor-
mon plays, a string of notable premiers in Utah and
Idaho, two plays becoming staples of regional the-
ater outside of Utah, and the premiers of more har-
rowing works by the one really famous Mormon
playwright on Broadway and London’s West End.
Although existing on a smaller scale than some
of the other works I will mention, perhaps the most
significant event in Mormon theater in 2002 was
the Nauvoo Theatrical Society’s establishment of
the Center Street Theatre, a small 130-seat black-
box theater in Orem. Founded by Scott Bronson,
Thom Duncan, and Paul Duerden, the theater exists
63 Spring 2003
for the express purpose of producing plays by Mor-
mon authors or with Mormon themes. Over the
past three decades, Brigham Young University pro-
vided a training ground and performance space for
young Mormon playwrights and directors, which
has resulted in a significant body of plays about
Mormons. Those who did not return to BYU to
teach, however, have struggled to find performance
space for Mormon-themed plays. In the theater’s
first season, the company has produced a series of
revivals of works by LDS playwrights over the last
twenty-five years. The two plays in 2002 included
Carol Lynn Pearson and Lex de Azavedo’s 1977
musical My Turn On Earth and Tim Slover’s 1996
play Joyful Noise, both of which received excellent
reviews. The Nauvoo Theatrical Society has sched-
uled four plays so far for 2003.
A large number of works by LDS playwrights
premiered in 2002. Perhaps the most noteworthy
was Tim Slover’s BYU production of Hancock
County, which was the university’s entry in the
State Cultural Olympiad. Slover based the play on
the historical record of the 1845 trial of five men
accused of conspiring to kill Joseph Smith. He said
he hoped the play would take the audience beyond
the historical story to illuminate the nature of
inter-cultural conflicts between neighbors. Review-
ers raved about both the script and the production.
Eric Snider of the Provo Daily Herald said, “It is a
clear, rich drama that is satisfying even when it
doesn’t go the way we want it to.” R. W. Rasband
said the play was “an intelligent, thrilling, tightly
drawn courtroom drama/tragedy that unfolds into
a meditation on America, violence, and forgiveness.”
Also, as mentioned above, Slover’s 1998 drama Joy-
ful Noise, about Handel and his creation of The
Messiah, was produced by the Nauvoo Theatrical
Society later in the year, again to rave reviews. Eric
Snider said, “The script is brimming with fantastic
dramatic conflict, but it also is so rife with great
lines that it is nearly Oscar Wildean . . . wit, emo-
tion and loveliness abound in this stellar produc-
tion.” It was hoped that a production of Joyful
Noise in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, early in the year
would lead to a Broadway production, but a poor
review in the New York Times put an end to that
momentum. Still, there were at least three other
Spring 2003
regional productions of the play in 2002 and more
are in the works for 2003, so the play may be on its
way toward becoming a regional theater standard.
It would be one of the first times a play produced
originally for a Mormon audience has moved beyond
that audience to find a place in the national the-
atrical world. Slover created a screenplay version
that won a writing award early in the year.
BYU campuses hosted two other important pre-
miers during 2002, both tragic in nature: LeeAnne
Hill Adams’s Yellow China Bell (Provo) and Reed
McColm’s Hole in the Sky (Idaho). Adams, a BYU
graduate student, made quite an impact with her
first play, about the life of an Armenian who, as a
15-year old girl, was raped, kidnapped, and forced
to marry a Russian man. Genelle Pugmire from the
Deseret News and Eric Snider both strongly praised
the work—“one of the most provocative and pas-
sionate plays ever to hit a BYU stage,” “intense and
cathartic”—while recognizing that many in the
audience would struggle with the harrowing events
portrayed. In a postscript to his review, Snider said
“the joke was that this show was performed with-
out intermission because they knew no one would
come back if they gave them a chance to leave . . .
[particularly] after the initial rape scene.” In early
2003 BYU presented a second Adams play on the
main stage, Archipelago, about a group of impris-
oned Soviets, based in part on selections from
Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago.
In Hole in the Sky, playwright Reed McColm
took on the September 11th tragedy, creating a
story about fifteen people stuck on an upper floor
of the World Trade Center’s north tower from the
time of the first impact until the tower’s collapse.
The two-week run sold out and was held over for
three nights. I have not seen any reviews, but the
play was awarded the 2002 AML drama prize, so at
least one person thought it was a high-quality
work. Together Again for the First Time, a comedy
McColm originally produced in 1985, appeared at
BYU–Idaho earlier in the year.
The peripatetic Eric Samuelsen had his finger in
several pies, as usual. Peculiarities, a tragicomedy
about Mormonism and sexuality, was directed and
performed by BYU students at the Villa Playhouse
in Springville. The Salt Lake Tribune said it was “a
64 IRREANTUM
brave exploration of what often bubbles just under-
neath a seemingly virtuous society.” The majority
of AML-List reviewers spoke very highly about the
work, calling it a “thoughtful” and “fearlessly hon-
est” look at loneliness and sexual frustration among
young single Mormons. In addition, Samuelsen
adapted the script of Magnificence, a medieval moral-
ity play, which was performed at BYU in tandem
with Everyman. I attended the plays, my first taste
of the genre, and was deeply moved and highly
entertained by both. I have never seen religious
devotion and raucous humor mix so well in my life.
Finally, Samuelsen presented another new play at
the BYU Writers Directors and Actors Workshop.
Titled Mount Vernon, it imagines a meeting between
an aging George Washington and a (time-traveling?)
African-American history professor from the 21st
century. One of Sameulsen’s students at BYU, Melissa
Larson, premiered her play Wake Me When It’s Over
in July, which received strong reviews on AML-List.
Other premiers included Tony and Karrol Cobb’s
Book of Mormon musical The Promised Land at
the SCERA in Orem, Utah; George Nelson and
Daniel Larson’s musical comedy Soft Shoe at BYU,
about an aging vaudevillian and his family; Doug
Stewart and Merrill Jenson’s 1940s-style musical
comedy Almost Perfect at Utah Valley State College;
and Bill Brown’s comedy Throwing Stones at the
Villa in Springville. Except for some positive words
I heard about the music in The Promised Land, I do
not get the impression that any of these works are
headed for theatrical immortality.
Several plays that premiered in Utah over the last
few years returned in refashioned productions in
2002. The most successful was a Thanksgiving
Point production of Michael McLean and Kevin
Kelly’s musical The Ark, based on the story of Noah
and his family, which premiered in 1998. After a
small string of productions in Utah, the authors
took the play to the prestigious Festival of New
Musicals to be critiqued, which resulted in simpli-
fying the plot to focus on the relationship between
Noah and his doubting son, Ham. Eric Snider said,
“This is a show of great humanity and beauty. It is
sometimes uproariously funny, and other times
uncommonly moving.” Ivan Lincoln of the Deseret
News placed it in his top-ten semi-professional
IRREANTUM
plays of the year. Following in the footsteps of Joy-
ful Noise, it appears that The Ark has some legs.
Two productions outside Utah opened late in the
year, one at Eastern Arizona College and the other
at the Starlight Mountain Theater in Idaho. The
Village Theater in Issaquah, Washington, is plan-
ning another production for spring 2003.
Two other plays reappeared on Utah stages after
a period of adjustment, although that is the only
point of similarity between them. The pageant-like
Tuacahn musical Utah! returned, the fifth version
to appear so far, after a hiatus of a few years. The
author of the current script (following versions by
Robert Paxton, Reed McColm, and Tim Slover)
was “Stallion Cornell,” the pen name of Jim Ben-
nett. This version retained the previous music by
Kurt Bestor and Sam Cardon and lyrics by Doug
Stewart. It focused on Joseph Hamblin’s efforts to
act as mediator between the Mormon settlers and
the local Native Americans, avoiding the emphasis
on polygamy and the Mountain Meadows Mas-
sacre in some earlier versions. Ivan Lincoln gave the
production a fairly good review.
On the other end of the spectrum, Steven Fales
brought his one-man show Confessions of a Mor-
mon Boy back to the Rose Wagner Center, where
he previously performed in 2001, after appearances
in New York City, San Francisco, and Las Vegas.
Through monologue, comedy, song, and dance,
Fales tells the story of his struggle with and even-
tual acceptance of same-sex attraction, which
resulted in his excommunication. The most recent
version, which he hopes to eventually take to an
Off-Broadway theater, includes more about his life
in New York City since his decision to come out.
From the oversized and the unconventional,
three revivals of small, familiar plays received warm
reviews from the press: the Nauvoo Theatrical Soci-
ety’s My Turn on Earth, Joseph and Mary: A Love
Story at the Bountiful Performing Arts Center, and
The Educated Heart at the Hale Center Theater.
Viewers of My Turn On Earth, one of the first of the
popular-but-frequently-mocked 1970s Mormon
musicals, were reminded that it contained some of
the best songs and one of the most engaging prem-
ises of the genre. Ivan Lincoln said that the late
Ralph Rogers Jr.’s semi-musical Joseph and Mary
65 Spring 2003
was a “heartfelt Christmas story . . . [which] more
than any other show encapsulates what Christmas
is all about.” Eric Snider said Ruth and Nathan
Hale’s The Educated Heart was by far the most
enjoyable of the nine plays by the Hales he had
seen. “Unlike most of the other plays written by the
godparents of Utah community theater, the charac-
ters . . . are not sitcom-inspired smart-alecks . . . the
humor here comes, gently and unforced, from nat-
ural situations and believable characters.” Margaret
Blair Young’s AML award-winning historical play
I Am Jane was revised in productions in Provo and
Los Angles over the course of the year.
Several theatrical events were scheduled to coin-
cide with the Olympics in February. The Church
put on its own pageant at the Conference Center,
Light of the World. It was a big, impressive produc-
tion, with over 1,000 people in the cast. The script
tried to cover all the bases of Mormonism, Olympic
history, and universal brotherhood, which resulted
in a bit of a muddle. Still, it was a lot of spectacle
for only five dollars a ticket, and it was without a
doubt the most well-attended Mormon theatrical
event of the year. Down the street the Salt Lake
Acting Company put on its own event called Cab-
bies, Cowboys, and the Tree of the Weeping Virgin, an
omnibus of short plays with Utah settings. They
included Mike Dorrell’s “The Dome”, about pio-
neers building the church house which now serves
as the SLAC’s theater; “Eager” by Mary Dickson,
about a young LDS woman with a departing mis-
sionary boyfriend who has spread rumors about
her; and “The Unsettling” by Pete Rock, about a
young LDS girl drawn into drug use and possible
madness.
Neil LaBute continues to make a name for him-
self as both a creative force and an unsparing
moralist in theater as well as film. While his most
recent films (which he directed but did not origi-
nally write) have shown some rays of hope through
the gloom, he continues to write and direct some of
the most depressing, misogynistic plays ever to
reach the big time. His 2001 play The Shape of
Things was performed in at least four regional the-
aters in North America in 2002, and his film ver-
sion will be released in 2003. He premiered three
new plays in 2002. The first, The Distance from
Spring 2003
Here, at the Almeida in London’s West End, told
the story of “six young Americans trapped in a
suburban wasteland, on the brink of revolt.” One
young man, believing he has been sexually betrayed,
kidnaps a baby and uses it as a means of extorting
the truth from his girlfriend. John Lair in The New
Yorker wrote, “There is no playwright on the planet
these days who is writing better than Neil
LaBute. . . . LaBute, in his most ambitious and best
play to date, gets inside the emptiness of American
culture, the masquerade of pleasure and the evil of
neglect.” Lair said the play is “a new title to be
added to the short list of important contemporary
plays.” A reviewer for the Guardian was less com-
plimentary, commenting that it was “a dismayingly
cold piece: a vision of the spiritual emptiness of
American suburbia recorded with the scientific
detachment of a zoologist. LaBute presents the evi-
dence without analyzing the causes of the U.S.’s
descent to the abyss.” The play was to be produced
on Broadway in 2002 but was replaced by another
new LaBute play, The Mercy Seat. It will appear in
the 2003–2004 season instead.
The Mercy Seat, staring Liev Schreiber and Sig-
orney Weaver, played on Broadway in December
2002 and January 2003, and it was held over for
four performances. The play tells the story of an
adulterous couple on the morning of September
12th, who had just missed being killed because
they were in her apartment instead of at their
offices in the World Trade Center. LaBute “casts the
couple’s narcissism and moral abdication into
relief,” according to Tom Sellar in the Village Voice.
New York reviewers for the most part strongly
praised the actors and direction but felt the script
lacked direction. Ben Brantley in the New York
Times wrote, “Ultimately you feel he’s not digging
any deeper than the tabloids that made heroes out
of everyone who died in the terrorist attacks . . .
The Mercy Seat feels lazy. It doesn’t build, breath-
lessly but carefully, in the way of each of the trans-
fixing monologues in bash. Thus the play’s stars
must constantly invent new ways to tread water.”
In addition, LaBute’s one-act play Land of the Dead
was performed at Town Hall in New York City
on September 11 as part of Brave New World, a
three-day memorial benefit for the victims of the
66 IRREANTUM
terrorist attacks the year before. Starring Kristin R E V I E W S
Davis (Sex in the City) and Liev Schreiber, it tells
the story of a man who tries to force his girlfriend A Mystery Novel Addresses a Larger
to have an abortion. Unlike his 1999 play bash,
none of his 2002 plays appear to contain any refer-
Mystery
ence to Mormons or Mormonism. A review of Paul Edwards’s The Angel Acronym
(Signature, 2003)
Reviewed by Jeffrey Needle
P O E T R Y
The copy I’m reviewing is an advanced uncor-
Baptism rected proof. As such, there is no guarantee that ref-
erenced page numbers will match the official release.
Bishop Allen had asked Also, please note that this book is centered in the
me if it was RLDS Church tradition. I’m aware that they are
all right if someone now familiarly known as the Community of Christ,
else got baptized on but this old reviewer has not yet caught up with the
the same night I did; change. My mind, and my fingers, still say “RLDS.”
when I saw her standing I trust forgiveness is available.
outside the chapel, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”
I was I paraphrase: “Can anything predictable come
glad I’d said yes. out of Signature Books?” With each new release,
this influential publisher establishes itself as a vital
When we were all player in the pantheon of Mormon studies. One
inside, the bishop asked may try to pigeonhole Signature Books, but then
us who wanted to go first; one is likely to be surprised at the variety of fiction
I said she could, I and nonfiction titles that come from its presses.
wouldn’t mind The present volume, The Angel Acronym, subti-
tled “A Mystery Introducing Toom Taggart,” was a
(She used to work at complete surprise to me. Generally, when opening
a piercing salon, but a book, I can at least approach an idea of what the
she only had one book is about. Here we have a thoroughly enter-
hole in each ear; taining, and mildly discomfiting, work of fiction,
nothing else self-described as a mystery novel but ultimately
anywhere I could see, subsuming the fictional mystery in the larger mys-
tery of religion, faith, and organizational behavior.
so I figured that Some readers should prepare themselves to dis-
whatever she was being cleansed like this book. Edwards makes no effort to resolve
of would be fun to many of the questions he asks. He abandons the
soak in Western approach of solution-finding by selecting
for a moment or two the best fit and instead sees questions, especially
those posed in the areas of faith, history, and human
before I went under relationships, as answers in themselves, resolvable
the water.) only as one accommodates the reality of no resolu-
—Kris Bluth tion at all.
Linear thinking goes by the wayside; binary
approaches to religion must step aside. Toom Taggart,

IRREANTUM 67 Spring 2003

a most unlikely protagonist in a world of mystery
and religiosity, finds himself involved in a death at
RLDS world headquarters, and thus begins a tale
that challenges and entertains the reader.
The story begins in Palmyra in 1829, at the home
of a fellow named Owen. No friend to the Prophet
or to the Mormons, Owen has cooked up a plot to
embarrass Joseph. Owen is relating to some friends
his fiendish plot—he has successfully forged several
pages of the Book of Mormon, yet to be published
by the Grandin Press, and several letters purport-
edly between Joseph and Hyrum Smith, admitting
that the Book of Mormon is a fraud. Owen planned
to have the fake pages slipped into the handwritten
corpus, then awaiting publication at the Grandin
plant, pages identical to Joseph’s dictation, with the
exception that a few words had been altered, caus-
ing the initial letters of the words, the acronym, to
spell out “Angel Moroni.” After publication, Owen
can claim that Joseph never noticed the switch and
thus embarrass the Smiths. Owen hides the forger-
ies in a piece of furniture built by his father, with a
secret drawer well hidden from the casual observer.
But the plan never comes to pass. Running an
errand for his wife later that night and venturing
into a fierce storm, Owen is killed. The pages remain
in the secret drawer. Fast forward to today. Several
pieces of authentic Palmyra furniture are on dis-
play, including Owen’s piece with the secret drawer.
Ralph Hastings, church archivist for the RLDS
Church, accidentally allows the piece to drop. The
secret drawer pops open, and there, to his amaze-
ment, are these documents. They look authentic.
But if they are, then all is lost. The church is a
fraud. Joseph Smith was a fraud. The Book of Mor-
mon is a fraud. Etc., etc., etc.
What do to? Ralph approaches his boss, James
Pincer, church historian for the RLDS Church,
with the problem. Pincer wants him to keep quiet
about the whole affair. Ralph doesn’t know what to
do. And then, one night Ralph enters a facility
maintained by the church and equipped to investi-
gate the authenticity of documents. He wants to
know whether they’re fraudulent or not. The next
morning, Ralph is found dead in that facility.
The church hierarchy is very quick to pronounce
the death an accident. But Toom doesn’t buy it.
Spring 2003
And it isn’t so much that there are clues in evidence
but that Toom doesn’t think anything can be quite
that simple. Toom’s mind works in ways not entirely
compatible with his Covey-trained coworkers. They
want nothing more than for him to be still, to not
make waves. Of course, if that were to happen, we
would have no book. (And yes, Covey is mentioned
by name, and his seminars are sent into the strato-
sphere as meaningless exercises attended by boring
bureaucrats.)
How can Toom continue his investigation with-
out losing his job? Should he follow his feelings
against the wishes of the brethren? A real dilemma.
Edwards takes the rest of the book working out
such problems, exploring the many options we all
face as we confront life’s challenges.
Now, acknowledging that the author of a book
has little, if any, input into the typesetting and man-
ufacture of a book, I’m not clear exactly where the
joke of the book begins. Immediately following
the opening Palmyra narrative, we have duplicated
for us the two pages of the Book of Mormon that
old Owen forged and planned to substitute for the
authentic pages. And what nice pages they are! Spelled
nicely, punctuation, paragraphs, the whole thing.
Is this what author Edwards intended? If so,
then perhaps here is where the joke begins. How
could anyone not spot such an orderly presentation
of the Book of Mormon as a forgery? I’m no genius,
but even I know that there was no paragraphing,
etc. And we are to believe that Owen thought that
Grandin wouldn’t notice and, worse, that both the
church archivist and the church historian of the RLDS
Church would be incapable of spotting the forgery.
If, however, the author didn’t realize this was how
Signature would present the forgeries, then maybe
we have to wait a while for the joke to begin.
But not long. Consider this early cite, where we
learn of Toom’s own attitude toward his job:
President Olympia’s predecessor, the last of
the Smiths, called him a word spinner. “We
need someone for whom language is a friend,”
the tall gray eminence had said, beaming blind-
ingly. It meant that Toom was on call, some-
times on short notice, to provide justifications
for whatever irrational expectations were passed
68 IRREANTUM
 off as church policy. He was, by his own iden-
tification, a cranial prostitute. He was pretty
good at it.
Like most prostitutes, he was in business
because he needed a job. (8)
If this all sounds fairly cynical, then you’ve
caught the spirit of the book in toto. And since it
was penned by a former church archivist, one has
to wonder how true to life the characterizations are.
Some of the discussions, the barbs, are so broad
that it’s easy to see where Edwards is just flexing his
funny bone. But some of the observations hit very
close to home. Here Toom is discussing the role of
history, reflecting on the tendency of the church to
dismiss those aspects of history that don’t perpetu-
ate the myth:
“History! Look at what we’re doing to our
history. Here’s Williams spending a whole
chapter on polygamy in Nauvoo. There’s Ralph
Hastings and his dissertation on environmen-
tal influences on Joseph Smith, thinking that
information is the same as understanding. That
‘tell everything you know’ crap is killing us.
There’s nothing left worth remembering. The
myths are what have kept us alive as a church
and we’re sterilizing them as if they were
bacteria.” Pincer’s face was scarlet with inten-
sity. (91)
Another character who plays an important role is
Marie, an attorney, who is the confidant of Toom
and a potential love interest. Only one hitch—
Toom is married. His wife was injured in an acci-
dent and currently resides at a permanent-care home.
She cannot communicate and is, as the rude phrase
goes, a vegetable. But both Toom and Marie under-
stand that their relationship cannot go beyond pla-
tonic friendship. Too bad—they make a great couple.
Some of the best reflections take place when
Toom and Marie are by themselves. As the plot of
the book progresses, and as it becomes clear that
poor Ralph was actually murdered, both Toom and
Marie continue to explore their own relationship
and what meaning, if any, remains in their involve-
ment in the church and in religion at all. The
church’s recalcitrance in the death of the archivist
IRREANTUM
provides many opportunities for Toom and Marie
to explore their place in the cosmos. In the follow-
ing, Toom speaks first, and then Marie:
“I think we’ve been caught believing in a
kind of absolute God whose primary ability
seems to be avoiding detection, denying respon-
sibility, and harming the hell out of philoso-
phy majors.” [. . .]
“I’m not a philosophy major any longer.
[. . .] I’m a hard-working woman who has to
defend the church’s idiocies against its own
people. The only justification I have for what
I do is the rightness of the larger cause I serve.
If that cause is misdirected, then I have no
legitimacy for what I do.” (120)
A fellow named Cannon is—well, I’m not quite
sure, kind of like an enforcer for the presidency.
They want Toom to stop investigating the death of
the archivist, Cannon sees to it that it’s done. The
presidency wants Toom to write a book, Cannon
makes sure it gets written. You get the idea. At one
point, Cannon is tiring of all the striving, all the
pressure. He asks Toom, “Why does it all seem so
desperate? Why are there so many power plays?” To
which Toom answers, with a resounding thud, “I
think the politics are so desperate because the out-
come is so meaningless” (184).
And here, I think, the book pivots. For Toom,
meaning is everything. And if what he’s doing is
ultimately meaningless, then he has permission
to continue his work, so long as he doesn’t take it
seriously.
Is this the source of Edwards’s angst? Has he lost
a sense of meaning in the work he did and may be
doing today? Is this mystery novel really about the
meaning of one’s life, one’s chosen vocation, and
the institutions for which we strive?
This is from the blurb on Signature’s website:
Paul Edwards is the former vice-president
of Graceland University and former director
of the RLDS Temple School, currently direc-
tor of Graceland’s Center for the Study of the
Korean War. He has served as president of
both the John Whitmer Historical Association
and Mormon History Association. His Ph.D.
69 Spring 2003
 is from St. Andrews University in Scotland,
and he has also studied at Cambridge, Clare-
mont, and Oklahoma universities. The author
of many books (see Preface to Faith, for
example), this is his first mystery.
Much like An Insider’s View of Mormon Origins,
also published by Signature Books, The Angel Acronym
is written by someone who has been inside the
workings of his church and writes with a certain
authority. But unlike the Origins book, the present
volume uses fiction as the vehicle to bring his ideas
to the fore. And he does this very, very well.
Conclusion
If you’re looking for neat solutions to all the
problems in this book, forget it. But maybe, just
maybe, that’s the whole point. The exercise of
being human, of being a spiritual being, isn’t just
about finding answers but about the process of
finding one’s place in the universe. Is God really
in charge? Does He really take an active interest in
how the church conducts its business? If so, then
why is the whole thing so messed up?
Such questions are too often asked, and answered,
within the confines of ecclesiastical officialdom.
Edwards suggests that, perhaps, the institutions
intended to enable may become a stumbling block,
a wall through which one must pass before coming
to terms with ones’ own confusions.
The Angel Acronym is a mystery novel, but it’s
much more. In fact, the murder is incidental to the
deeper mysteries explored in its pages. I found myself
more interested in the resolution of Toom’s life
problems than in finding who the murderer was.
This is a terrific book that will likely unsettle the
brethren in Independence. That’s okay. After all,
there must needs be opposition in all things. With-
out strain there is no growth. Without questions
there can be no understanding. I’m grateful that
Signature has released this title. I predict it will be
the topic of conversation for a long time to come.
Jeff Needle lives in Southern California with his books
and his computer and spends far too much time read-
ing. He won the 2001 AML award in criticism, and
Spring 2003
his reviews have appeared in IRREANTUM and on
AML-List. A self-described Jewish Gentile, he remains
on the outskirts of Zion, despite the elders’ best efforts
to get him under the water.
Strong Characters, Rewarding Read
A review of Douglas D. Alder’s Sons of Bear Lake
(Salt Press, 2003)
Reviewed by Lavina Fielding Anderson
Sons of Bear Lake begins and ends with funerals.
The first, in 1932, is Harriet’s farewell to her first
husband, Everett. At the second, about thirty years
later, her second husband, Hank, is buried. The
“sons” are Everett Junior, barely conceived before
his father’s death of meningitis; Peter, the two-year-
old son of Harriet’s second husband; and Alan, the
son they have together.
The locale, as the title suggests, is Bear Lake, col-
onized by Mormons in the mid-nineteenth century,
and just over the border into Idaho from Cache
Valley in northern Utah. A beautiful painting by
Steven Sonder on the book’s cover captures its com-
bination of natural beauty and domesticated farms.
Just as important a character in this promising first
novel is Round Valley, an even higher, steeper moun-
tain valley above Bear Lake with its harsh climate,
its brief growing season, its wild glory, its open sky,
and its challenge to survive, which its people meet
only by a combination of strenuous physical com-
petence and tight-knit neighborly care.
All three boys grow up with a legacy of hard
physical labor on the farm, academic challenges and
rewards in the local schools, adventures in Round
Valley’s wild terrain, Harriet’s intense activity in the
ward, drum-roll emphasis on Mormon values, Hank’s
passive support of these values, and a view of a larger
future outside the valley. All three take Bear Lake
values into exotic places. Peter, a smart but sneaky
leader, runs away at age seventeen and joins the army.
He thumbs through a barracks-mate’s girlie magazines,
does not resist an introduction to a willing woman,
and is stationed in Austria, where he has an affair
with a local girl (Brigitte), whom he eventually mar-
ries and even, after he repents, baptizes. At the novel’s
end, they are the parents of two unnamed sons.
70 IRREANTUM
 Junior, who throws himself into his studies by
way of compensating for Peter’s “betrayal,” discov-
ers a penchant for mathematics that leads him into
an engineering career in Chicago, after a mission in
New York. Alan, a high school debater who serves
his mission in France, is fascinated by philosophy
but troubled by its relativism and fearful of devel-
oping the cynicism he sees in some of his profes-
sors, including bitter lapsed Mormons. He studies
the effects of community at a monastery in Nepal,
on a kibbutz in Israel, and in Round Valley itself.
Neither he nor Junior is married at the novel’s end.
The way all three sons combine intellectual explo-
rations, identity, and faith is an intriguing theme.
Some problems typical of first novels remain to
be solved. Long stretches of third-person omnis-
cient exposition have a “lecture” feeling. The women
characters are underdeveloped. After a strong intro-
duction, Harriet is relegated to a nonspeaking role
until the end of the novel. Brigitte’s only dialogue
comes on the way to the funeral when Peter is express-
ing guilt at not having been a more attentive son.
There is some slippage in the chronology. Twenty-
two-year-old Peter refers to his two brothers as
returned missionaries, but Junior would have been
on his mission and Alan would have still been in
high school. Although Hank eventually joins the
church (the stake president asks him to be Sunday
School superintendent, then tells him after he
agrees that being a member is a prerequisite), Alder
underdevelops four intriguing possibilities in the
marriage: (1) the fact that Harriet is sealed to a man
she lived with only briefly, (2) the doctrine that
Alan will be Everett’s son in the next life, (3) Har-
riet’s unexplained infertility after Alan’s birth, and
(4) Hank’s lifelong guilt over his first wife’s death,
disclosed only in the last chapter.
These technical matters aside, Alder’s ability to
create strong and diverse characters, his affirmation
of Mormon community values, and his lyrical skill
in celebrating the Idaho landscape provide many
rewarding moments for the reader.
Lavina Fielding Anderson is a past president of the
Association for Mormon Letters. She is president of
Editing, Inc., in Salt Lake City.
IRREANTUM
Humor, Emotion, and Suspense
A review of Kerry Blair’s Closing In (Covenant, 2002)
Reviewed by Katie Parker
This is a classic example of the kind of book not
to judge by its cover. The cover in question features
a stark design with a single enlarged fingerprint,
making it look completely like a suspense novel.
While there are some suspenseful scenes near the
end of the book, the majority of it is a fun rela-
tionship story, full of humor and emotion.
Elisabeth Jamison, the young and beautiful owner
of Jamison Enterprises, is one of the most powerful
and wealthy women in the world. However, she
prefers to live under the name of Libby James in
the small town of Amen, Arizona, where she works
as the elementary school librarian and helps keep
the eccentric Amen residents in line. David Rogers
is a handsome undercover CIA agent sent to keep
an eye on Libby because the government suspects
she’s selling classified information to terrorists.
Both Libby and David are LDS, and many folks in
the town expect that they’ll pair off. They get off to
a rocky start, though, and despite their mutual
attraction they are each sure that nothing could
ever happen between them. As the story proceeds,
they admit their attraction and finally their love for
each other. David wrestles with the idea of building
a trust-based relationship with Libby when he can’t
even tell her who he really is. Libby believes that
David doesn’t know the truth about her. Mean-
while, David quickly realizes that Libby knows
nothing of the espionage occurring at her company,
but it’s important that he find the people involved
before they eliminate her the way they have elimi-
nated some of her coworkers.
I really enjoyed this book and felt that it was
solid, competently written entertainment. It’s all
tied together with literary themes, as Libby is a bib-
liophile and converts David to a love of books as
well. There are some hilarious scenes and charac-
ters, but there are also quiet moments of pondering
and an overarching theme of our Heavenly Father’s
love for us, how he takes care of us and puts us in
the situations that we need most.
71 Spring 2003
 But the colorful locals really steal the show.
Among them is Estelle, Libby’s next-door neighbor
who believes the Ten Tribes will be returning—
from outer space—at any moment and is only too
happy to let David set up a telescope on her bal-
cony. It’s to keep an eye on the goings on at Libby’s
house, but Estelle is blissfully oblivious to that rea-
son. There are also Max, who is the school princi-
pal as well as the bishop, and Shenla, a movie-star
wannabe who wears a different wig every day. And
then there are LaVerne, LaDonna, and LaRae.
LaVerne works at the elementary school and is the
most normal of the three. Her sister LaDonna
owns the only restaurant in town, The Garden of
Eaten, and her tastes in food are a bit off kilter.
LaDonna’s daughter LaRae is on the prowl for a
husband and has decided that David is perfect for
the job:
[David] walked up the sidewalk toward the
church with roughly the same enthusiasm as
the cranky two-year-old next to him being
dragged to worship by his mother. [. . .]
He felt worse once he was inside. LaRae
Flake was waiting in the lobby and attached
herself to his arm tighter than the seal on an
air lock. [. . .]
Only the yank that nearly separated his
arm from his shoulder caused him to pause.
“We sit in back,” LaRae said, the words curt
and clearly enunciated. [. . .] “Dinner’s at two.
I’m making dumplings to go with the gopher.”
It might have been the only thing she could
say to distract him from Libby, but it worked.
His head swung toward her. When she smiled
he thought that he’d never seen more teeth on
a human being. [. . .] “You didn’t say ‘gopher,’
did you?”
Stiff, copper-colored ringlets bobbed as she
nodded happily. “You’ve never had gopher,
David? Well, aren’t you in for a treat! Daddy
traps ’em in the garden and skins ’em fresh.”
She reached up to puff out the sleeve on her
frilly pink dress. “Well, fresh yesterday. We don’t
butcher on the Sabbath, naturally.” (61–62)
Spring 2003
Closing In has a little bit of everything, and the
mix works well here. My only complaints are
minor. The first chapter seems rather superficial,
focusing too much on Libby’s physical beauty and
David’s bulging muscles and giving a glorified info
dump. It does give quite a bit of background infor-
mation, but it would have been better if Blair could
have provided these details as effectively as she tells
the rest of the story. One other thing that didn’t
quite work for me was the inactive, desperately
poor family (specifically the young son who was
paralyzed in an accident, and he stutters) whom
Libby and David help. This situation didn’t seem to
quite fit with the rest of the wacky residents of
Amen, and their story was a bit too much of a con-
trived feel-good tale for my tastes. But even this
subplot comes off better than many of the same
genre.
The rest of the book, though, leaves you feeling
good without trying so hard.
Katie Parker graduated with a B.A. from the Univer-
sity of Oklahoma. She currently lives in Salt Lake
City with her husband and son, where she works as an
editor. Her work has appeared in the New Era and
Westview.
For the Defense: The Life of Hugh
Winder Nibley
A review of Boyd Petersen’s Hugh Nibley: A Conse-
crated Life (Greg Kofford Books, 2003)
Reviewed by Greg Taggart
Boyd Petersen, Hugh Nibley’s biographer, is also
his son-in-law. And he’s my friend. This past
August, I e-mailed Boyd, asking for some help on
an assignment I was preparing for my freshman
writing class at BYU. I wanted to send my students
on a sort of footnote scavenger hunt in the Harold
B. Lee Library. Their job would be to take a few
well-annotated pages from any book and check the
actual sources to see how the book’s author had
used or abused those sources. Could he recommend
any books or articles? Boyd wrote back, “I have a
couple of suggestions. One, [Hugh’s] talk ‘Leaders
72 IRREANTUM
to Managers: The Fatal Shift,’ has a couple of mis-
represented quotes in it from Brigham Young.”
Boyd has always spoken his mind, but his sugges-
tion surprised me. I’d heard that Nibley sometimes
got it wrong, but I never expected to hear it from
his son-in-law. Nevertheless, I checked the quotes
against the Journal of Discourses, the original source,
and sure enough, Boyd was right: His father-in-law
got it wrong—at least that time.
Hugh Nibley: A Consecrated Life, on the other
hand, got it right. No hagiography, Nibley’s author-
ized biography is a balanced and thoroughly engross-
ing tale of Mormonism’s gadfly scholar by someone
willing to rummage though the closets without
losing sight of the spectacular view. Take those
Brigham Young quotes, for example. Petersen’s
book explains how errors like that could creep in.
According to Gordon Thomasson, Nibley’s gradu-
ate research assistant, they were once in the “cage”
of the church historian’s office studying the original
volumes of Brigham Young’s manuscript, filling out
a three-by-five note card anytime they found some-
thing interesting. To avoid the possibility that
A. William Lund, senior assistant church historian,
might confiscate any of their notes, Nibley asked
Thomasson to take “accurate but indecipherable
word-for-word notes.” Thomasson, in turn, sug-
gested that they use the “Spanish equivalents for
English words but write them using the Greek
alphabet.” As Petersen explains, that was fine with
Hugh because he had “always done his own notes
in Gregg shorthand, with assorted Arabic, Hebrew,
Greek, or Egyptian notes thrown in.” Once again,
Petersen balances the account: Lund was only doing
his job. Quoting Thomasson, “No one else was
going to embarrass the Church by exploiting the
Historian’s office as Fawn Brodie had done, if Lund
had anything to do with it . . . Neither of us
enjoyed the subterfuge. That was simply a reality of
working there.”
If you’re a Nibliophile like I am, you’ve been
waiting for this book ever since you read his short
autobiographical essay, “An Intellectual Autobiog-
raphy,” published in 1978. Who is this man behind
all these essays and books—half text, half foot-
notes? What’s the real story behind the briefcase he
IRREANTUM
acquired during World War II? Did he really ask
Phyllis to marry him the first time he met her? And
most importantly, is the private man any different
from the public one? The answers to the last two
questions are no and no. You’ll have to read the
book to answer the first two.
Organized in alternating chronological and top-
ical chapters, Petersen’s book covers Nibley’s life
and contributions, starting in 1810 in Scotland with
Hugh’s great-grand parents, James and Jean Nibley,
and ending with Nibley finally turning over chap-
ters of his last baby, One Eternal Round, to his edi-
tor. (Until recently, this 92-year-old scholar and
defender of his faith put in three to four hours in
his office each weekday.) The book’s topical chap-
ters cover Nibley’s roles as social critic, naturalist,
and educator. They tell of his faith and his defense
of the Book of Mormon and Pearl of Great Price.
They reveal a man as opposed to war as he is in love
with the temple.
Petersen drew extensively on interviews, private
correspondence, journals, and other never-before-
published materials, in addition to Nibley’s large
corpus of published writings, to tell the story of
this extraordinary man. We read from a letter from
Klaus Baer to the Tanners that Nibley’s “articles in
[the Improvement Era on the Book of Abraham] hit
very close to home if you know something about
the field.” We learn from a letter from Spencer W.
Kimball to his wife, Camille, that “we are fortunate
to have such men of his scholarly attainments and
sweet faith in our University.” But best of all, we
discover from his correspondence with his son Alex
that this very public defender of his faith also bore
frequent testimony of its truthfulness in private.
For example, quoting Brigham Young, he writes
Alex, “‘Tell the Saints to get the Spirit of the Lord,’
and ‘Don’t be in a hurry.’ On the few occasions
when I have been willing to take that advice seri-
ously I have flourished like the green bay tree—the
rest of the time has been a struggle, and no need for
it.” This man is not the conflicted scholar some
have maintained, a man playing mind games with
the faithful even as he fought battles in his own
mind over his own faith. This man believed what
he wrote and wrote what he believed.
73 Spring 2003
 Well written and thoroughly researched, Petersen’s
biography is a must have for anyone struggling
to reconcile faith and reason. For Nibliophiles, it
should stand at the top of their wish list. (By the
way, the book’s forward, written by Nibley’s daugh-
ter and Boyd’s wife, Zina Nibley Petersen, is alone
worth the price of the book. Among the many
vignettes of Nibley family life she relates is the one
when she remembers—in high school—calling her-
self a “daughter of a false god,” in reference to her
father’s fawning groupies. “I think this is funny,”
she continues. “I think if I told it to the groupies
sitting at Daddy’s knees they would not get it.”)
I think I got it.
Greg Taggart is a freelance writer and regular con-
tributor to Bloomberg Personal Finance and
Bloomberg Wealth Manager magazines. He teaches
freshman writing in the honors program at BYU.
Heartwarming Lessons from a Lifetime
of Sharing
A review of George Durrant’s Scones for the Heart
(Bonneville Books, 2002)
Reviewed by Arlene Miera
Scones for the Heart stars (mostly) George Dur-
rant as Durrant. This collection summarizes a life-
time of sharing and can be read straight through or
helter-skelter. This popular teacher and former
mission president targets teenagers and adults with
anecdotes that demonstrate how average church
members can reach great spiritual heights and hap-
piness. Not tomorrow, but right here and right
now. Brother Durrant’s can-do approach makes me
think of the game, “Do as I do. Follow, follow me.”
For instance, “A Counter Attack [sic] on Bad
Language” sums up Brother Durrant’s experience
with army language. At first he was disgusted.
“I find that being disgusted all the time is disgust-
ing.” Then he kidded his companions. He devel-
oped a repertoire of corny jokes. “I was raised on a
farm where we had chickens and we sold chickens
for a living. I used to have to work around those
chickens and that is where I learned to dislike ‘foul’
Spring 2003
language.” He ends, “I came to have a deep love for
those men and I believe they felt the same toward
me. But it was humor and not disgust that pro-
vided the oil to make things run more smoothly.”
Many of the incidents focus similarly on attitude
and how to adjust to numerous daunting circum-
stances, such as administering to the sick for the
first time or feeling homesick. One very tender
story describes Brother Durrant’s feelings as he left
his terminally ill mother to serve as mission presi-
dent and how he found comfort at her death.
Often the brief items allow the reader to draw
her own conclusions and to look at everyday situa-
tions from unique perspectives—whether it’s laying
patio paving or being a teen or taking the lid off the
popcorn popper while the corn still pops.
Part of Brother Durrant’s charm is his ability to
admit error. He tells about his attempt to reform
his family. “I decided it was time to really lay down
the law.” After his lecture, he asked his subdued
children, “What can we do to make family home
evening better?” His oldest son meekly replied,
“Next week, could we have Mom teach the lesson?”
Although I have few reservations about the mes-
sages, I would discuss “Marry Her. She Is a Tough
One” thoroughly with teens. In spite of my con-
cerns, the end made me laugh and appreciate
strong-willed women!
As for the book production, nitpickers might be
put off by scattered typos and inconsistent punc-
tuation. I would like the original publication
credits to be listed so I could look up “the rest of
the story”—such as “Be a Number One Christian.”
And when I wanted to find different pieces, the
table of contents often wasn’t helpful. But that’s
small stuff.
Cheerful and cheering, Scones for the Heart
makes good bedtime stories and a good gift. My
copy has been spoken for by a favorite teenager!
Arlene Miera is a freelance writer and eternal student
of literature. Her current studies concentrate on chil-
dren’s picture books and beginning readers.
74 IRREANTUM
Stone and Sea
A review of Margaret Blair Young’s Heresies of
Nature (Signature Books, 2002)
Reviewed by Lavina Fielding Anderson
Ben does rocks. He teaches geology. His father
died in a coal mine. He polishes gemstones as a
hobby. And his wife, Merry, is turning to stone. He
calls her “Mer” (French for “the sea”), which is
where they met. He tries to recreate its feeling with
a mural, an aquarium, and a recording of ocean
sounds. A photograph of their honeymoon in
Hawaii shows Ben “standing on a tower of lava
rocks, Merry diving into an inlet of water. Her
arched body was above his, arms spread to mag-
nificent welcome, neck strained up so her face
showed fully, joyous and intent” (75). But multiple
sclerosis has taken her agility, her mobility, and
now even her speech. She cannot communicate
except by blinking in a code for yes and no.
Are Merry and the tasks her illness impose on
Ben and their three daughters the core that gives
the family its identity? Or are they the forces that
are eroding them into separate dysfunctions? The
“diagnosis was the Rosetta Stone that translated
every feeling Merry described in her feet or legs,
her falls, the halts of her gestures, the growing slur
in her speech. The innocent letters—m.s.—made
accidents into symptoms” (109). One daughter,
panicked at the long-desired release of Merry’s death,
thinks, “Merry—the real Merry, who had so little
to do with that bone jail she lived in—was the cen-
ter of their world, focus of family grief, their touch-
stone. Who would they be without her?” (162).
Not least of the beauties of this exquisite and
profound novel is its transmutation of biography
into art. Those who attended the AML’s annual
conference in 2001 remember Margaret, beautiful
and exhausted from an I Am Jane road tour, speak-
ing movingly about the death of her sister-in-law,
Nancy, who died of multiple sclerosis just two
hours before the opening of Dear Stone, a play also
drawn from her life (see AML Annual 2002,
61–62). Heresies of Nature begins as a letter to
Nancy, who was “the inspiration behind Merry—
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although this work is decidedly fiction” (183).
Margaret remembers: “You used the motorized
wheelchair. You could still move a little, could still
talk. I can almost remember your voice.” And the
book, for Margaret, is “a way, I suppose, of speak-
ing for you” (2).
Imperceptibly, this recollection of anguished expe-
rience shifts into art—the scene in which Merry’s
husband Ben, surrounded by the rocks of Zion
National Park, is meeting Cody, a mystic who
promises she can heal Merry. At first she seems to
restore peace and harmony to the household, taxed
beyond its resources. She cooks; cleans; reads Merry’s
thoughts; pays for Elizabeth’s gymnastic lessons
partly as a gift for Merry, who hungrily watches her
daughter’s flying movements; and seeks a way to
reach past Janny’s angry defiance. This wise, calm-
ing, intuitive healer seems too good to be true. And
she is.
The essence of Merry seeps into Cody, who even
begins to look like her. The girls’ hostile suspicion
that she wants to become Merry becomes eerily
literal. “Your love for Ben came too,” Cody tells
Merry, “only I had my own body to give him—but
in your name, don’t you see? You’ve got to believe
me. Every time I’m with him, it’s for you. Every
time!” (139). Merry’s whole being shouts an
unyielding no, her final protection of her family.
In a chilling scene that speaks more deeply than
Cody’s New Age mysticism, she lets a spider walk
across the paralyzed Merry’s hair. Ultimately,
Cody’s “service” was motivated not by love but by
her own loneliness.
Merry must be institutionalized (at the ironically
named South Beach Haven), and Ben divorces her
to make her eligible for Medicaid coverage. He
becomes engaged to Cody and faces a disciplinary
council for his adultery. “Is this an all-expenses-
paid guilt trip,” he bitterly asks the bishop, “or do
I need to up my tithing to cover costs?” (147). But
ultimately he does not marry Cody. In a rocky
canyon, he tells her instead, “I don’t need Merry. In
a lot of ways, I don’t even want her . . . I choose
her” (168).
An important subplot is the daughters’ own
hopes of healing past their hurt. Penny, the oldest,
75 Spring 2003
leaves her husband, Joe, without telling him that
she is afraid she has MS. She wants to spare him the
slow erosion of love she has seen her own father
experience and does not realize that it is a toxic
pregnancy until she very ill. She and Joe are recon-
ciled in a touching scene of reborn love and trust.
“You walked yourself out of my life months ago,”
he tells her, between kisses, “and I haven’t even
taken your curling iron out of the bathroom
drawer” (133).
Janny, whose desperate searching for love has
left her pregnant, insists that Joe and Penny will
adopt her child. Disappointingly, her pregnancy
and those negotiations are oversimplified, almost
skipped over. But the title comes from the poem
Janny writes when Merry dies: “That ocean waves
should swell and surge for shore, / That sparrows
should fly— / These are the heresies of nature. /
There should have been one moment / When the
world froze” (175).
Elizabeth, in Joe’s high school English class, falls
in love with him during the period of his baffled
and hurt estrangement, a relationship he encour-
ages. “You used me,” she accuses. He denies, then
admits it: “No. Not on purpose” (157). But she,
too, begins building a healthy friendship with a “good
boy with a bad complexion” (150) who responds
sensitively during a fishing trip when she panics,
seeing in the fish he has just caught a “vision” of
“Merry, dangling on God’s hook, flailing against
the beautiful deceptions of faith, twitching in the
fist of fate” (152). Significantly, he gives her a new
name, “Elly,” in contrast to the “Lizzie” and “Eliz-
abeth” others call her.
A brief review cannot adequately explore the
depth and richness of imagery in this tightly com-
pressed novel: the twin suns that are also Merry’s
“lion” eyes; the ghosts that haunt/bless all of
them, including the Holy Ghost; the echoes of
A Winter’s Tale, which Elizabeth’s English class per-
forms as readers theater with its climactic scene of
a statue coming to life; the salt of Merry’s beloved
ocean, the salt of their tears, and the pillar of salt
she has become; the voice that speaks to Cody from
Merry’s diary and then falls silent after its last
word, “God.”
Spring 2003
Equally significant is the piercing accuracy of
what a chronic illness does to caregivers. “I hit her
once,” confesses Elizabeth. “I hate myself ” (160).
Here in vivid, utterly convincing vignettes are the
exhaustion that unravels love; the anger at and on
behalf of the patient; the combination of dailyness
and the enormity of death; Merry’s valiant struggle
to maintain faith despite her terror and anger—a
struggle they all must make in their own ways; and
the moments of transcendent understanding, far
surpassing autobiography, to be captured and com-
municated by Margaret Young’s art.
Clean and Likable, Though Lacking
Substance
A review of Cheri Crane’s The Girls Next Door
(Covenant, 2002)
Reviewed by Katie Parker
The Girls Next Door is the latest LDS young-
adult offering from Cheri Crane, who is best known
for her Kate novels. In the new novel, a few of the
characters who had major trials in Following Kate
and Kate and Sabrina are now off to BYU–Idaho to
face a new life, new challenges, and new roommates.
There are six girls together in the same apart-
ment, and they each have emotional baggage that
they’ve brought with them. Essentially, there are
three who are withdrawn and hurting for some rea-
son, and they each have a fun-loving roommate
who wants to help. Among the trials that the girls
face are bulimia, effects of previous abuse, steppar-
ents, and boyfriends. The fun-loving girls basically
have the same personalities, as do the boyfriends
and the stepdads. The good mothers and an aunt
are also all the same—wise, loving, and concerned
but not overbearing. Those mothers who have
caused their daughters psychological problems
quickly repent when they realize what they’ve done.
The bulimia storyline ties everything together and
is dealt with in a little more detail, but the others
are handled with all the depth of a twenty-two-
minute family sitcom. Some of the storylines are
visited only a couple of times. In the end, a wed-
ding brings everyone together, and although not all
76 IRREANTUM
problems are completely solved, all the girls are at
peace with themselves. There is plenty of room for
a sequel.
That all being said, it does make for a fun read.
I think young-adult readers could really enjoy this
one. It doesn’t need to be a literary masterpiece to
be something that readers can identify with. The
roommates behave much like real teenage girls, and
their problems are interesting. They confide in each
other, they get into mischief together, they solve
problems together, and they also occasionally get
mad at each other. And it isn’t set up to preach a
sermon to the youth. Yes, the girls learn lots of les-
sons, and their wise mothers always pop in at the
right times to explain how life really works. But the
focus is still on the girls and their problems and
friendships. While none of the storylines are explored
in great depth, Crane has put them together skill-
fully, leaving an illusion that readers have seen
more development than they really have.
The writing itself is mostly fluid, although occa-
sionally a bit clunky with details:
“So you think the girls will be okay?” Gina
Henderson asked as she brought Edie a small
mug of caffeine-free herbal tea.
“Thanks,” Edie said, taking the tea from
the attractive brunette. (83)
But the girls talk like teenage girls:
Karen laughed and shook her head. “Sounds
like you two will have a fun trip home.”
“Oh, we will,” Brett said, wiggling his eye-
brows. “The best part is making up.”
“I so didn’t need to hear that,” Bev replied,
laughing (82).
Before I harp too much more on what I see as
shortcomings of this book, I want to emphasize
that this is a fun book and one that young-adult
readers can really enjoy. This book accomplishes
what it sets out to do; it’s an entertaining read for
young adults with characters they can identify
with, along with nuggets of wisdom that they can
take with them. But while it brings up some inter-
esting topics, the lack of depth is a concern.
IRREANTUM
For example, Bev is falling in love with a
returned missionary whom she fears may be Mr.
Right, which opens the door for discussion about
how you know when you’re in love and how mar-
riage will alter her plans for the future and her rela-
tionships with her friends. These are things that
interest teenage girls, and it’s good for them to be
able to see these situations illustrated in fiction.
Unfortunately, she worries about getting that ring
on her finger like she would worry about whether
he would ask her to the prom. There’s very little
indication that either Bev or Tyler is ready to build
an eternal relationship. Fortunately, they are both
good, levelheaded kids, so we can hope that they
figure it out. But their relationship with each other
doesn’t seem to go anywhere past flirting and some
kissing. Why does this mean that they should run
off to the temple together? What are we teaching
our youth when we portray relationships like this
in the fiction we give them? Of course, showing
such a relationship is probably more realistic than
many of us would like to admit.
Another problem was Karen’s mother, Edie. In
an earlier book, she was an alcoholic. As an accom-
plice to a robbery committed by Karen’s biological
father, she spent three years in jail. During this
time, Karen lived with her grandma, who was a
very wonderful and stable person. So Karen turned
out pretty well, except for not being able to trust
men. And her mother has completely reformed and
talks like any other wise mom in an LDS young-
adult novel. While repentance and the changes it
brings are wonderful to portray, does repentance
really mean that she becomes like everyone else?
What about those aspects of her personality that
led her to fall away in the first place? Isn’t she still
the same eternal spirit with the same personality?
Wouldn’t she still be a bit rough around the edges?
Some of the more serious problems, including
bulimia and abuse, are mopped up pretty neatly as
well. But this is a fun book for young Latter-day
Saint readers. It’s clean, with likeable characters and
intriguing storylines. Those looking for more sub-
stance in their reading may be disappointed, but
there are many out there who will love a story just
like this.
77 Spring 2003
Marriage Proposal Prompts Pondering,
Yields Perceptive Look at LDS Culture
A review of Carolyn Howard-Johnson’s This Is the
Place (AmErica House, 2000)
Reviewed by Katie Parker
This Is the Place is a richly written book that
explores the lives of several fictional Utah charac-
ters. It’s not a novel in the traditional sense but a
series of vignettes that let us peek into the lives of
several generations.
The story centers around Sky Eccles, a young
journalist working in Salt Lake City in the late
1950s. Her father, Garret, is a Latter-day Saint from
a family with pioneer roots, but he does not associ-
ate with the church or adhere to its teachings. Her
mother, Stella, is Protestant. Hence, Sky grew up as
a Protestant in Salt Lake County with a multitude
of LDS relatives. She loves them as her family and
feels a connection to them and an indirect connec-
tion with the church, but she also feels alienated
from them all and from Utah society in general.
Her feelings are exacerbated by her developing rela-
tionship with Archer Benson, a lifelong Latter-day
Saint from a prominent LDS family who has never
experienced such ostracism. His proposal of mar-
riage prompts a great deal of soul-searching for Sky.
Her feelings run as follows: Of course he was what
she wanted. “But was he what she needed? And was
she going to be good for him?”(79). Having grown
up trying to straddle both worlds, she wonders if
Archer realizes what problems their differences in
religion will cause them in Utah society, among
other things. And will he expect her to give up her
career?
In her search for answers, Sky turns to stories of
her ancestors. Sky’s grandmother and her great-
grandmother were both of other faiths until they
converted to Mormonism around the times of their
marriages to Latter-day Saint men. They too faced
unique challenges, although they resolved them in
different ways.
Sky’s paternal grandmother, Harriet, was bap-
tized into the church on the same day she married
her husband. One gets the sense that she went
Spring 2003
through the ordinance out of a feeling of obliga-
tion, not because she was really converted. Several
children followed quickly, and while Harriet feels
very protective towards her family, she forever car-
ries a bit of a grudge that she couldn’t follow her
dreams and become a concert pianist or even truly
express herself in any way. Sky’s paternal great-
grandmother, Crystal, is more complacent with her
life but has seen her share of hardships and ostracism
as a polygamous second wife.
While there is more of a bleak bitterness to the
story than an active anti-Mormon bent, the book is
far from impartial. Completely missing from the
story are any Latter-day Saint characters who are
who they are because they love it. There aren’t any
characters who are dedicated to the church because
they truly love and believe it and who carry the
happiness with them that comes from the hope the
gospel offers. Instead, they’re grim, oppressive robots
who expect everyone else to think as they do. Some
of them are nice occasionally, but they’re still over-
bearing and manipulative. The church isn’t a source
of joy and comfort; it’s a predator that invades
souls. These thoughts are recurrent fodder for Car-
olyn Howard-Johnson’s ruminations in her poetic
prose. We see many passages such as the following,
which happens in a childhood flashback of Garret’s
when his mother makes him labor at his grand-
mother’s farm even as he is developing a case of
appendicitis:
Anger with the oppression he had felt back
then stayed with Garret. The realization that
his mother also felt it fermented in his soul.
All the tales of Mormons persecuted, Mor-
mons who had grappled their way to Utah for
relief had festered in their legends like boils
infecting the following generations. The Puri-
tanical work ethic had destructed into discon-
solate survival tactics, Utah oppressed. (131)
The church is not portrayed in an overly omi-
nous way, but its followers seem to be a bit brain-
washed. Another example:
[Sky] hadn’t connected with the Mormon
belief that it is only through marriage that
a woman could be a complete entity. Most
78 IRREANTUM
 everyone accepted the Mormon attitude as
their own; it subtly invaded the subconscious
of the population already imbued with similar
attitudes from, maybe, Puritan times. [. . .] It
wasn’t even recognized as a concept that needed
analysis. It was so ingrained that it took an
especially independent type like Nora [Sky’s
friend] to be aware of its scurrilous character
as well as its truths. (79)
This book is not one complete smooth plot but
rather a series of vignettes from different narrators.
An overall theme is established, and a running plot
keeps them loosely tied together. But it is a bit dif-
ficult to really get into the story.
Much of the writing itself is very good. There are
some wonderful descriptions, such as: “The mem-
ories Stella shared with Sky were like confetti
strewn in neutrals, snippets colored by the depres-
sion with no bright spots at all” (95). Or another
passage: Aunt Leah “was tall with hips that looked
as if they had been abbreviated with an ax, no
width to them and no depth, either—so flat at the
back that it must have hurt to sit” (22).
Sometimes, however, the poetic wording and
wise observations are put in as dialogue, where they
don’t quite belong, such as in this passage where
Archer is speaking to Sky:
“Sky, a Benson has never lost an election in
Utah yet, maybe never will. If we write a
book, it gets published. If we open a business,
it succeeds. If we smile, the world smiles with
us. We all have the idea that we were just born
with a divine compass. I think it has as much
to do with the might of the Church as any-
thing else. It’s a curse. It robs a person of the
satisfaction of knowing you did it yourself, of
the glory of risking failure. It’s what makes
Dad use the power he does have, and try for it
where he doesn’t.” (189)
This sort of thing happens multiple times through-
out the book, where the author’s observations are
placed in the mouth of a character. This isn’t
the sort of observation I would have expected
Archer, the golden boy, to come up with on his
own at this point.
IRREANTUM
After spending the entire book exploring Mor-
monism as the cause of major chips on the shoul-
ders of several characters, the resolution of the story
ultimately has nothing to do with religion. Sky
spends the book turning to the stories of her ances-
tors and their religion to better understand herself
and the choices she needs to make. Her answer is
that her soul yearns for the freedom to be who she
is, and not who any religious or societal expecta-
tions press her to be. However, the oppression the
women before her have felt could have just as well
been due to the times they lived in. Regardless of
religion, most women in the 1950s and earlier were
simply expected to marry and have families. They
were not expected to forge lives and careers for
themselves. It just wasn’t done much. The fact that
Sky’s mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother
all chose marriage probably would have happened
whether Mormonism was involved or not.
But Carolyn Howard-Johnson has an axe to
grind, and she’s going to grind it. While this is not
a story for Latter-day Saints who want to have their
testimonies strengthened as they read (or for any-
one who wants to be particularly uplifted; the
whole thing is pretty bleak), it’s important for us
not to discount this story just because it doesn’t fit
that mold. Not all Latter-day Saints are like the
ones portrayed here, and hopefully not all those of
other faiths feel that they are. But obviously some
are and some do. Carolyn Howard-Johnson, who
grew up as a Protestant in Salt Lake County, has
some very valid observations about church mem-
bers. It’s good to peek inside someone else’s heart
and see how they perceive us. We can’t assume that
others see us as we see ourselves.
Thrice Retelling John D. Lee
A review of Judith Freeman’s Red Water (Pantheon,
2002)
Reviewed by Brooke Williams
Red Water takes a compelling route in form,
telling Freeman’s version of John D. Lee and the
Mountain Meadows Massacre mainly through the
voices of three different wives of John D. Lee. And
79 Spring 2003
each of the women’s voices is distinct, convincing,
and consistent. Emma, being the strongest charac-
ter of the three and the most steady, takes a more
major role as storyteller, her section stylistically
reminiscent of oral storytelling. The other perspec-
tives in the book take on slightly different forms:
Ann’s through the careful lens of a third-person
narrator in limited omniscience, and Rachel’s story
told through her compulsive journal writing,
revealing all her insecurities, anxieties, weaknesses,
and gentle proclivity for boasting.
Freeman has descriptive powers as a writer,
demonstrated most clearly in her characterization
of the territory and wilderness. This power is used
to her advantage as she constructs symbolic con-
nections through the land to the story, and there
comes a real, concrete sense of colorful, deeply
rooted geography and place throughout the novel.
One passage placed soon after Lee is executed reads
appropriately:
Everything was red. Red or orange or some
shade thereof—the water, the stream banks,
the earth, and the rocks that rose up from the
fresh greenness and the cedar dotted slopes.
All red, shades of rust and dried blood. Every-
where the snow was melting and trickling
down the rich red earth. And everywhere the
rock columns rose up and formed towers and
pinnacles and other fanciful shapes. (7)
One wonders, however, if Freeman sometimes
spends too many words on scenery, especially the
bleakness of the snow, sky, and wind in the open-
ing pages.
Still, the rich descriptions serve as a rather useful
symbolic marker, the land itself becoming one of
the more important ways readers may get
acquainted with the characters. Through their
voices, we see the land uniquely reflecting their
individual feelings and personalities. Each woman
is attached to the land in a different manner, seeing
nature and the country around them in a way that
is consistent with how they see their own relation-
ships with Lee. Emma seems drawn to it and loves
its harshness, its challenges. On her honeymoon
with Lee, she sees the southern regions for the first
Spring 2003
time much in the same way she experiences being
newly married:
It was a strange land to which he brought
me as a young bride, fresh from the comforts
of the city. Nothing could have prepared me
for the world that awaited me in that region
far to the south [. . .] the most lurid color, so
vivid and extreme. [. . .]
It was as if the mountains had broken open
to reveal their hidden molted cores. [. . .] Bare
of all vegetation, they seemed made of no
earthly substance, unless it be fire. [. . .]
[I felt] as if I had finally reached the true Zion.
The land of the burning rocks. (29–30)
And she burns with passion for Lee throughout
her marriage to him. Her account relates quite vis-
ibly her intimacy with and resulting bottomless
desire for Lee. Likewise, we see how Ann and
Rachel envision Lee as a man and their marriages to
him through their reflections on the wilderness,
Freeman’s most effective and powerful literary tool.
Even though the narrative is told from the point
of view of the women, Lee is the central figure.
Ann’s perspective is especially valuable, since she
seems to know Lee better than her fellow sister
wives. “It had always seemed to her that he was a
man with a great need to be liked—not just liked
but loved—and this caused him to change his
shape and sentiments to fit the circumstances in
which he found himself. [. . .] He tried to be all
things to all people” (238–39). Significantly, she
seems the only of the three wives convinced of the
possibility for violence in his character:
Focusing on the landscape around her
[. . .] she could see a great distance, to both
the south and the west, and she felt the space
around her as a kind of freedom and blessing.
A person could acquire an exaggerated notion
of mastery over destiny from the simple act of
riding horseback [. . .] across such spaces, she
thought. Perhaps this is what this land had
done to them all—given them a bloated sense
of power—and why such willful violence, in
all its forms, had marked their lives. (239)
80 IRREANTUM
As this passage demonstrates, Freeman’s style is rich
and complex. A dark thematic tension lies through-
out the novel. To be sure, this is not a book for the
more conservative, lighthearted Mormon. Issues of
violence, death, sex, and lesbianism are all given
ample weight. Accordingly, one may leave the book
feeling somewhat empty and sad, but not only
from the heaviness of the issues. Such feelings
reveal Freeman’s very successful effort to portray
the emotional and social complexities of early Mor-
mon polygamy. Freeman has written with assur-
ance that her readers do not finish the book with
the rosy, patriarchal view of polygamy as a site of
feminine strength or liberation. On the contrary,
the book dramatizes with painful clarity the stark
loneliness of a polygamous society, its complex infi-
delity, and its inevitable emotional violence.
In the end, the book is as much about John D.
Lee and the massacre at Mountain Meadows as it is
about the massacre of the romantic individualism
of monogamy—something I think Freeman wants
her readers to experience with an intense and vicar-
ious agony.
Brooke Williams is a Utah State University graduate
in English, a full-time mom, an avid reader of
Mormon literature, and a writer of poetry. She lives
with her husband and son in Irvine, California, near
the beach.
Mormon Feminist Memoir
A review of Alison Comish Thorne’s Leave the Dishes
in the Sink: Adventures of an Activist in Conserva-
tive Utah (Utah State University Press, 2002)
Reviewed by Charlene Hirschi
Leave the Dishes in the Sink—who could resist a
title like that? Although the book is marketed as
feminist, don’t let that turn you off. Believe me,
Alison Comish Thorne’s text is much more than
that. In this engaging book, you will find a combi-
nation of warm personal memoir; Cache Valley,
Utah, and Utah State University history; and astute
political and social commentary.
Alison Thorne’s life has been one of intellectual
inquiry. She received her Ph.D. in economics at a
IRREANTUM
time when few women even aspired to such a goal.
Although a self-proclaimed feminist, she certainly
doesn’t fit the Betty Friedan or Gloria Steinem mold.
Companionably married with a large family, hers
has been a life of family and community service—
with a twist. Denied access to teaching because of
anti-nepotism laws in Utah, she turned to writing,
activism, and the study of philosophy.
Reared in a conservative Mormon family, her
liberal leanings got her into hot water more than
once with church hierarchy. In the fifties, she caused
quite a stir in her ward by mixing philosophy with
the sanctioned Gospel Doctrine and Relief Society
lessons. She writes, “Not until years later did I learn
that our Fifth Ward Sunday school superintendent
protected Wynne and me from attempts of higher
church authorities to oust us from teaching.” Dis-
illusioned with what she saw as conformity for con-
formity’s sake, she now describes herself and her
children as “ethnic Mormons.”
She was always into one cause or another, and
her husband supported her without reservation. At
one point he is quoted as saying: “I never know
what I will find when I come home. Taffy, tele-
graph wires [. . .] projects take precedent over a
neat house. [. . .] I’ll bet I’m the only man in the
state of Utah who wears shirts ironed by a school
board president.”
The wife of a university president once said to
her, “I may be the woman behind the man, but you
[are] the only woman with a man behind you.”
Thorne continues: “I was quite startled because, in
the dimly lit auditorium, I had not seen that Wynne
was there. Yet this was wholly in character.”
Thorne relates how Utah law denied qualified
women of the 1940s, ’50s, and ’60s the right to
teach in higher education if their husbands were
employed by a university or college. When Wynne
needs someone to complete an important research
report that had been started by a researcher who
was no longer on staff, he asks Thorne to coauthor
“two bulletins” without pay and, as it turned out,
nearly without authorial credit. She writes, “For a
time there was even debate over whether my name
could appear on the bulletins, even though I was
the principal writer.”
81 Spring 2003
 Thorne regales her reader with personal stories
of her housekeeping habits. Stressed-out, over-
worked young mothers will especially appreciate
her unconventional approach to homemaking:
“The danger of the too perfect housekeeper was
that she visited her ideals of cleanliness on her fam-
ily with constant admonitions of ‘Wipe your feet!
See the marks you left on the towel? Don’t cut out
paper dolls now: they make too much mess!’” A
“casual” housekeeper herself, she gives advice on
the best kind of carpet to allow fledgling skaters to
practice their sport in the living room. One of the
most endearing illustrations in the book is a stick
drawing of three children on roller skates, with
a caption that reads, “You let us roller skate in the
living room.”
She kept a child “underwear drawer” in the
kitchen and a junk drawer for odds and ends,
where they could always find anything that came
up missing. She refused to dust the windowsills
because nobody ever saw them behind the curtains.
But her most ingenious, tongue-in-cheek idea is to
invite only nearsighted people to your home
because they can’t see the fingerprints on the cup-
board, the dirt behind the door, or the chipped
paint on the woodwork—of course, they must
leave their glasses at home for this to work.
Thorne gives the reader some idea of what it was
like to live through the communist paranoia of the
late fifties. During a trip to Iraq for the U.S.
Department of Agriculture, a telegram was sent to
the United States embassy giving her husband
travel instructions for the next leg of his trip to the
USSR. When Wynne went to the embassy to
retrieve the message, he was refused access to it
because it was “classified information.” He was
finally allowed to read the telegram, but embassy
personnel refused to let him take possession of his
own correspondence.
Later, the Thornes hosted some of the Russian
scientists Wynne met while in the USSR. On greet-
ing a Ukranian member of the team with a wel-
coming hug at the Salt Lake airport, Wynne received
hostile stares and a “bystander muttered ‘Commu-
nist’” at him. Despite this rather disconcerting
start, the Thorne family and the USU community
Spring 2003
enjoyed an interesting visit. To the chagrin of the
Thornes, it was later learned that one of the inter-
preters was actually a CIA agent—high political
intrigue in the little town of Logan, Utah.
She has crusaded for women’s rights, contributed
to her family and community in meaningful ways,
and fought social injustice and conformity at every
turn. Her philosophy of life can probably be summed
up in her own words: “A stormy life has more
chances for happiness than a quiet life with never a
ripple. Happiness seems to be a byproduct of activ-
ity.” I left this book feeling refreshed and as though
I had just come from a stimulating conversation
with a dear friend.
Charlene Hirschi’s book-review column, Regional
Reads, appears monthly in Cache Magazine. She
teaches writing at Utah State University.
Threads Offers Audience Appeal
A review of Sammie Justesen’s Common Threads
(Bedside Books, 2002)
Reviewed by Charlene Hirschi
Looking for some escape reading? If you like sus-
pense, a well-crafted plot, and believable characters,
this book will surely fit the bill. In Common Threads,
first-time novelist Sammie Justesen has spun a tale
of drug dealers, FBI agents, and a cop with a score
to settle.
Setting her story in a small Idaho town, Justesen
has written a mainstream novel with three central
characters who happen to be Mormons. The novel
is devoid of questionable language, sexual innu-
endo, and preachy rhetoric and will appeal to a
wide range of readers, from young adults up. At the
same time it is skillfully written and contains
plenty of action-packed scenes. The suspense
begins when a drug-money runner mistakes Molly
Logan’s truck for that of a local scum bug and drug
dealer known as Coyote. In the mix-up, the runner
makes his money drop in the bed of Molly’s truck.
Shortly thereafter, a hit-and-run driver in a black
truck forces Molly off a canyon road, and the
money disappears.
82 IRREANTUM
 Buck Hancey, Salt Lake detective turned small-
town cop, vows to vindicate the drug-related death
of his only daughter. As he returned home after
identifying Rachel’s body, “Buck’s vision blurred
with tears as he walked inside, peeled off his jacket,
and carried a cup of coffee through the house.
Things were exactly as he’d left them, yet every-
thing was different. Rachel wasn’t coming home.
[. . .] After all the years he’d spent defending the
public from criminals, Buck hadn’t protected his
own daughter. [. . .] Someone was going to pay for
Rachel’s death.” His vendetta leads him to Spring-
ville, Idaho, where his plans for revenge become
entwined with the Logans’ fight for their lives, after
Coyote and his cronies are convinced that the
Logans still have the money.
There is more to this story than the usual cop–
drug dealer–innocent victims triangle. Through the
Logan family, Justesen examines the relationships
of a family who are only incidentally members of
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The author has done a credible job of placing an
unsuspecting Mormon family in harm’s way,
chronicling their efforts to extricate themselves
from circumstances they have little experience with
and, in the process, healing some old wounds that
separate two of them from their faith, their church,
and each other.
Refreshingly, the Logans are not the typical, too-
good-to-be-true Mormon family many Utah
authors prefer. Caleb and his father harbor deep
resentments, not only against their church but also
between themselves. The untimely death of his wife
and a younger son leaves Hyrum bitter and unre-
sponsive to the needs of the teenage Caleb. After
age and declining health force Hyrum to turn over
the operation of the family ranch to Caleb, their
differences reach the boiling point, and their
mutual love and concern for Caleb’s wife Molly are
the only things they seem to agree on.
But the Mormon theme is only one thread in
this rich tapestry of human events and interrela-
tionships. Through Buck, we see what happens
when a good cop becomes too personally involved
in his work. It is mainly because of his overzealous
efforts to catch Coyote that the Logans are pulled
IRREANTUM
deeper and deeper into the morass of the drug
world, and a young woman planted in Coyote’s
home as a spy ends up in the hospital fighting for
her life. A couple of rookie cops provide a bit of
comic relief, while Coyote’s dimwit sidekicks and
the requisite bad cops can also be found among the
cast of characters.
Unfortunately, the reader will find some of the
editing errors that have become all too common in
our PC world of publishing, but they do not inter-
fere with the story line, nor do they detract from
my overall enjoyment of the book. Common
Threads is a page-turner from the first two chapters
on. Justesen leads the reader through a series of
twists and turns that kept me wondering what
would happen next, and the final chapters include
a plot twist worthy of O. Henry himself. This book
can be purchased online at www.commonthreads
novel.com.
Sinful Concoction Yields Hilarity
A review Linda Hoffman Kimball’s The Marketing
of Sister B (Signature Books, 2002)
Reviewed by Jeffrey Needle
Few of my friends would describe me as a macho
kind of guy. I don’t own a cowboy hat; I don’t drive
a pickup truck; I don’t smoke cigars (or anything
else, for that matter).
Further, I have a habit, when my snail-mail vol-
ume is high, of grabbing it all and taking it out to
a place where I can eat a meal and read or discard
as much of the mail as possible before bringing the
rest home. So when the package from Signature
Books arrived the other day, along with about 25
other pieces of mail, I trundled off to dinner with
my stack of correspondence and junk mail.
I had been invited to a restaurant to eat with the
manager and a few of the fellows who slice beef and
mop floors. The manager is LDS. I dumped my
mail on the table and was asked, “What’s in the big
envelope?”
“A book for review!”
“Ooh, open it now. Don’t wait until you get
home.”
83 Spring 2003
 And obeying their wishes, I dumped the book
onto the table. Silence. Out came a pink book! Any
little bit of macho I’d ever had was now forever
gone.
And it is indeed the cover, and the cover art, that
strikes you first thing when you grab a copy of this
book. If you’re lucky enough to get a review copy
from the publisher, it will include a little slip of
paper with all the book information listed. Yes, it’s
a pink slip of paper.
So, who is Sister B? She is Donna Brooks, wife
of Hank, mother to several children, busy Mormon
housewife, resident of Rottingham, Massachusetts.
Sister Brooks leads a full life, caring for her family
and staying heavily involved in church functions.
So far, so good.
And then one day Sister B receives a phone call
asking for help with an upcoming women’s func-
tion. She needs to come up with some idea that she
can transform into little keepsakes for the women
who attend the activity. She decides to concoct a
cinnamon-based perfume/potion that can be pack-
aged in little bottles and left at each place setting as
a memento of the event. A simple idea. But one of
the attendees brings a guest, a woman who works
for a marketing firm in New York. She falls in love
with the potion and thus sets the stage for the
national marketing of Sister B’s concoction.
Traveling to New York, Sister B signs a contract
without reading it (bad idea) and only then learns
that her product is to be called “Sinnamon.” Yes, as
in “sin.” It would be advertised as an erotic potion
that will drive your man wild. Not exactly the
image Sister B had in mind! Infuriated, Sister B
manages to redirect the effort, and it takes a more
wholesome direction. But the name stays.
The Marketing of Sister B is a hilarious look at the
effect of fame on a sister of the Restoration and its
residual effects on her family, her friends, and her
church. Being catapulted from relative obscurity to
national prominence can be overwhelming. It causes
the celebrity to see life from a new perspective and
forces that celebrity to reevaluate priorities. What
really matters in life? What remains when the fan-
fare is gone?
Spring 2003
Happily, Sister B has plenty of outside con-
science-buckets, from a rabid Sister Monson from
the Public Affairs Department of the church to a
vixen named Gloria who will stop at nothing to sell
product. Does Sister B have the internal resources
necessary to withstand both extremes, to find her
way through this sudden fame, this cataclysmic
change in her life?
The Sister Monson character plays an excellent
counterpoint to the character of Gloria. While Sis-
ter B is preparing for a media appearance, having
been somewhat embarrassed by a previous experi-
ence with the media, Sister Monson takes it upon
herself to give our heroine her marching orders.
Appearing at the TV studio just prior to Sister B’s
interview, Sister Monson recites her catechism:
“You have only so much time to make
some important points. First, family values.
Proclaim it as traditionally as possible. [. . .]
This would be the time to mention the
delights of reverent children, how you empha-
size obedience and respect in the family. I’ll
send you some pamphlets for remedial assis-
tance in that. Of course, you can bring up the
degrading effects of raucous laughter and
body mutilations.
“You’re not just selling hearth and home,
Sister Brooks. You’re selling heaven, if you
think about it. It’s a blessing and a weighty
responsibility you’re under!” Sister Monson
took a deep breath. She was not yet done.
“Where was I? Oh, two—no mention of
s-e-x. Nothing suggestive in the slightest!
Pretend you don’t understand the concept.
“Three, call it ‘The Church of Jesus Christ’
fortissimo, then add on the ‘of Latter-day Saints’
part but quieter. Don’t call it Mormonism.
Yes, I know it’s a little long, but it’s good to get
it out there over the airwaves.
“Four, if you can mention the missionaries,
all the better. Don’t mention that you’re using
the money from Sinnamon to finance your
children’s missions, though. The public just
won’t be ready yet for that. Believe me, I’ve
84 IRREANTUM
 learned that lesson from my own marketing
experience.” (88–89)
Well, you get the idea. Sister Monson is consumed
with how the church will be perceived, based on
Sister B’s appearance on this talk show. And it isn’t
just avoiding mistakes; it’s being assertive in her
pushing the squeaky-clean image of the church on
the public. (I will admit, with something of a gig-
gle, that it may have been Sister Monson who
wrote the new rules for Deseret Book!)
And in the middle of this maelstrom is Sister B.
She is being molded by everyone; everyone wants
her to project their idea of what the perfect woman
should be like. The New York publicist wants a
sexy, alluring female whose appeal can be dupli-
cated with a few dabs of Sinnamon behind each
ear. Sister Monson wants what is derisively termed
a “Molly Mormon,” whose own sexuality is at most
accidental and perhaps even regrettable.
In the end, neither party gets its way. Sister B
turns out to be stronger than all of them.
I’ve read so much Mormon fiction, and the
works I’ve enjoyed the most are those that picture a
strong woman who refuses to be pulled asunder by
the forces that surround her. She knows her mind,
acknowledges her responsibilities, and follows her
own inner guidance. Such women, in my mind, are
the heroines of Mormonism.
Which is not to say that our dear Sister B is
immune to the flatteries of the world. While wait-
ing for a flight, she overhears a discussion about her
product (the politics and the economy of the world
are preempted, by the way, by the appearance of
Sinnamon), in which a representative from the
U.N. is considering purchasing enough Sinnamon
to scent the world to peace and tranquility.
On the plane to Boston, Donna marveled
at how true the scripture was that says from
small and simple things are great things brought
to pass. So many lives enriched by her little
invention, so much hope and promise brought
by her tiny contribution. Businessmen feeling
“righteous”? Disarmament brought on by the
power of a scent? How honorable to be about
the Lord’s work selling Sinnamon to a needy
world. (94)
IRREANTUM
Sister Monson and Gloria are typical of the char-
acters in this book. Those that figure prominently
(with the notable exceptions of Sister B and her
husband Hank) are clearly caricatures, line-draw-
ings of certain classes of people who will likely not
behave individually as these do but who are amus-
ingly portrayed as a collective image. And there is a
sense in which Sister B stands, as it were, in the
middle of a whirling eddy, not knowing immedi-
ately which way to turn but anchored by her own
sense of self-identity.
In fact, the storyline itself stretches credulity and
is itself a caricature. But this is the intention of the
writer. It is so grossly over-exaggerated, so over the
top in its storyline, so simplistic in its telling, and,
after all that, a wonderful read. As soon as I figured
out that I needed to suspend any judgment as to
the believability of the plot and many of the char-
acters, I settled back, had a good laugh, and thor-
oughly enjoyed it.
Kimball’s parodies of ward life are sometimes
hilarious. Sister Schmidt is president of the ward’s
Relief Society. She opens a Sunday-morning meet-
ing this way:
Glad to have you all here. A few announce-
ments. Start thinking ahead for our Sub for
Saints collections for the Lake Avenue Shelter.
Be sure to contact Gladys Brockbank to make
your donations beginning Thanksgiving week-
end. Karma and Hjalmar Caputo just had their
first baby, a little girl they’ve named Pluto.
Weighed in at 9 lbs. 2 oz. I’m sure the Caputo
family would appreciate some help with meals
for a few days, so Sister Christiansen is pass-
ing around a list. And sisters, when you drop
off your food, please be discreet and don’t
laugh at the baby’s name.
Enrichment is next week on Thursday the
12th. Signups are going around. There are
three classes. One will be on Christmas crafts,
and you’ll need to bring lace, ribbons, and
tampons for that one. The second class is
about how to make good use of things that
expire in the back of your fridge. The last class
is a slideshow on fashion called From Twiggy
to Fabio. (115–16)
85 Spring 2003
 Kimball does hit on a few serious themes but is
careful to couch them in humor and pathos. In
fact, the whole book poses the question, Is fame all
that great? Should a church be seeking out famous
people for the sake of their fame? Should ordinary
people aspire to be famous, and should they accept
that fame if it should come their way, as it did for
Sister B?
Kimball is unrelenting in her critique of society’s
worship of fame and money. And she shows how
fame and money can be incompatible with a sim-
ple presentation of the gospel.
Kimball saves her hardest moments for a grip-
ping scene that takes place in the ladies room in
Sister B’s ward house. Sitting inside a cubicle, she’s
really hiding from her adoring fans, the constant
requests for autographs, the congratulatory hugs.
The sisters who enter the restroom are talking among
themselves, and it ain’t pretty. They’re angry, resent-
ful, spiteful, jealous of Sister B’s success. The stark
contrast between their public faces and those worn
when they think Sister B isn’t listening exposes a
level of hypocrisy and hurt that brings us back to
the real world.
Now, what does this book lack? (1) No sex.
(2) No murders or other violence. (3) No swear
words. (4) No questioning of LDS doctrine. (5) No
criticism of the leadership.
So, I ask, why didn’t Deseret Book publish this
book? Did Kimball submit it to them? Did they
turn it down? This is such an unlikely title to come
from Signature. In fact, inasmuch as an employee
of Deseret Book reads these reviews, I will urge her
to get her bosses to read this book and figure out
that it is safe to sell, even under the new rubrics.
Pink cover and all.
I liked The Marketing of Sister B. Kimball writes
simply and keeps the action moving. Her prose is
very spare, and her dialogue easy to follow. She tells
an over-the-top story, using over-the-top charac-
ters, primarily to entertain, but we must not miss
the serious undertones of the dangers of fame, the
value of family and friends, and the pain of hypocrisy.
Spring 2003
Selected Recent Releases
Alder, Douglas. Sons of Bear Lake (Salt
Press/Cedar Fort, $16.95). Set in the Bear Lake
Valley amid the stunning scenery and lively folklore
of the post-pioneer generation, three sons seek
to find their way to adulthood. Each young man
develops a different outlook on life, and as they
grow their faithfulness—and rebellion—give insight
into their unique cultural upbringing. Sons of Bear
Lake is a look at Mormon culture from the inside,
exploring the different ways Latter-day Saints prac-
tice their beliefs and worship in their families and
communities.
Bell, Michele Ashman. Pathway Home (Cove-
nant, $14.95). After just one year of a blissful mar-
riage, Cami Gardner is alone, mourning the loss of
her departed husband, searching for a reason to feel
alive again. But on a seemingly ordinary summer
night, a group of mysterious strangers checks into
the Sea Rose Bed and Breakfast that she tends. One
is a handsome man with eyes that hold a glimpse of
pain. The others speak of a lost treasure, the legend
of Spanish gold buried somewhere along the
nearby coastline. For Cami, the future holds an
adventure more exhilarating and perilous than any-
thing she’s ever imagined. And, with tensions near-
ing their breaking points, she’ll be forced to make a
choice that may cost her her very life.
Blackwell, Pam. Michael’s Fire (Onyx,
$15.95). In this third book in the Millennial series,
Ben and Peg Taylor and their friends learn that
emotional and spiritual purification come with a
price as they struggle in Zion to prepare for both
Christ’s Second Coming and a great influx into
Zion: The time has come for the great exodus of
the Ten Tribes from the lands of the north. As the
leaders of Israel gather their people, their journey is
threatened by the growing reach of Lu-Han, the
Anti-Christ, who has finally achieved complete
economic domination of the world—except for
those under the protective net in Missouri. Mean-
while, the clock ticks down toward the climactic
end at Armageddon and the Millennium.
Brown, Marilyn. The Light in the Room (Salt
Press/Cedar Fort, $12.95). Annie Wood is broken-
hearted when her oldest sister, Till, leaves home to
86 IRREANTUM
marry a young man of dubious character. Over the
years, Till’s visits home become fewer and then stop
completely. As the Christmas of 1964 approaches,
an older Annie remembers another Christmas
many years before—Till’s last with the family. As
Annie retraces the memories of her childhood, she
contemplates the choices we make that separate us
from our loved ones, and the power of Christ that
brings us back together again. This novel is a revised
version of Brown’s Goodbye, Hello, which won the
1983 Randall Book LDS Novel Contest.
Checketts, Candie. Another Chance (Cove-
nant, $14.95). Ten years ago, Maren Griffin faced
the most difficult decision of her life—having to
choose between two men she loved. Now, a decade
later, Maren finds herself alone and struggling to
rebuild her life as she faces the challenges of single
motherhood. But when Jake Jantzen, the man
whose marriage proposal she turned down, shows
up on her doorstep with broken dreams of his own,
Maren embarks on an unexpected journey of heal-
ing, friendship, and love.
Darrington, La Resa. Crossroads (Covenant,
$14.95). It was a night of bad decisions. Beth knew
she should have never gotten into the car with
Grant. But her regrets can do nothing to change
the events of that horrible night—a night that
resulted in a car accident that took the life of
Grant’s cousin and left Cameron, the innocent
driver of a farm truck, critically injured. Guilt-rid-
den, Beth visits Cameron in the hospital, unable to
foresee the profound impact this man, his religion,
and an unlikely friendship will have on her life. As
Cameron’s body heals, Beth begins a journey to
heal her spirit and soul as she faces the conse-
quences of that fateful night.
Daybell, Chad. Chasing Paradise (Cedar Fort,
$12.95). Tina Marlar’s family seems to have it all.
Her parents, Frank and Carmen, are loving and
supportive of Tina and her sister. However, Frank
carries a secret of eternal importance. When Tina
dies in a car accident, she is surprised to meet Lucille,
the paternal grandmother she never knew. She also
discovers her father had once been a member of the
LDS Church but had long ago abandoned his faith
and extended family. Despite opposition in spirit
IRREANTUM
prison, Tina embraces the gospel. Now her only
hope of being baptized and crossing into paradise
lies with her family. It will take one very deter-
mined spirit, and a missionary who follows spiri-
tual promptings, to save all their souls.
Decker, Richard. Winning (Cedar Fort, $13.95).
Sam Davis was a pretty good football player who
played for an exceptional coach on a great high-
school team. But no one is good enough to justify
what a rival team did to him, in the name of win-
ning. A player hit him out of bounds, ending a
promising career and changing his life. Sam later
discovers that rival coach Fred Hawkins encour-
aged his players to take him out of the game.
Twenty years later, Sam comes to teach English at
the rival high school, where Coach Hawkins’s latest
star is the son of Sam’s nemesis and the girl he loved
in high school. As the school year progresses, a past
no one else understands catches up with all of
them, and Sam must finally decide whether win-
ning is truly the only thing.
Dewey, Richard Lloyd. The Porter Rockwell
Chronicles, Vol. 4 (Paramount Books, $25.00).
Porter reunites with his daughter in the Deseret
Territory, their relationship goes through numerous
twists and turns, and he becomes a U.S. deputy mar-
shal. He falls in love with a new woman and takes
on not only outlaws and assassins but the cream of
the U.S. army—2,500 strong—as the U.S. govern-
ment invades their new home.
Edwards, Paul M. The Angel Acronym (Signa-
ture, $21.95). Little did Toom Taggart know when
he walked out the River Road doors, the sweltering
temperature outside would be welcome compared
to the bureaucratic firestorm about to sweep
through church archives. Forgery was something
new to the Latter Day Saints who stayed in the
Midwest. And if that was not bad enough, an
archivist would soon turn up dead. In Edwards’s
first bibliomystery, the author, who spent years as
a Community of Christ (RLDS) administrator,
introduces policies and practices of a church about
which most outsiders know little. Through his
characters’ eyes we learn the inner workings of a
community, including its conflict with sister reli-
gions that share a temple plot. Unlike most stories
87 Spring 2003
that tie up loose ends, this one leaves one thread
dangling.
Evenson, Brian. Dark Property (Four Walls
Eight Windows, $14.00). A woman carries a dying
baby across a desert waste, moving toward a fortress
harboring a mysterious resurrection cult. Menaced
by scavengers, she nevertheless begins to suspect
that the reality within the fortress may be even
more unsettling than the blasted environment out-
side. As she slips unobtrusively towards the city of
the dead, she is pursued by a bounty hunter who
cuts a bloody swath after her. On one level, Dark
Property is an exploration of religious fanaticism.
Although Evenson’s characters owe more to the
Book of Mormon than the Koran, their frighten-
ing intensity will spark recognition this brooding
tale, reminiscent of Cormac McCarthy’s Blood
Meridian and J. G. Ballard’s more disturbing works
of fiction.
Gardner, Willard Boyd. Pursuit of Justice
(Covenant, $14.95). After his many adventures,
Owen Richards looks forward to returning to his
relatively simple life as a SWAT team member,
learning a little more about religion, and winning
the heart of a beautiful Mormon woman, Julianna
McCray. There’s just one problem: Owen swears
he’s seen Raymond Hunt, the psychotic killer who
has been dead for months. Alone in his fears and
under investigation by the FBI, Owen decides to
discover the truth about Hunt on his own. But just
as Owen gets close to tracking down the source of
his paranoia, Julianna goes missing, and Owen
must use all his skill, training, and newfound faith
to rescue the woman he loves, and to keep them
both alive.
Guymon, Shannon. Justifiable Means (Cedar
Fort, $13.95). Nikki Truman triumphed over a
childhood of abuse with her spirit intact. She has
a happy disposition and a determination to make
her life as normal as she can. Hired on as Rory
McNiel’s housekeeper and cook, she’s well on her
way to making that happen. Changing Rory’s
couch-potato ways and his unhealthy eating habits
are a snap compared to overhauling his damaged
self-esteem. However, when Rory’s mother sees
Nikki cooking her way into her son’s heart, battle
Spring 2003
lines are drawn. Nikki knows that a dark secret
stands in the way of her bright future and her grow-
ing love for Rory. That secret won’t rest until it has
claimed her brother, and Nikki will use any justifi-
able means to protect him.
Hale, Veda. Ragged Circle (Salt Press/Cedar
Fort, $15.95). Forty-year-old Malena is about to
give birth to her ninth child. She loves her family
and her LDS culture, but she is also an artist. Will
there ever be an opportunity to develop her special
talents? A rebellious teenage daughter only compli-
cates the picture. Her husband’s freedom to
develop his talents and his demanding church call-
ing as bishop further exacerbate the problem.
Heimerdinger, Chris. Tennis Shoes Adventure
Series: Tower of Thunder (Covenant, $14.95). In
a world where the great patriarchs of the Bible still
reign, Rebecca and Joshua Plimpton face a terrible
struggle to save not only themselves but a small
baby from a power-hungry king, a mighty hunter
of the souls of men: Nimrod. Meanwhile, Harry
and Steffanie Hawkins must face the warriors of
Shinar—and another villain whose objectives are
the most chilling of all.
Jones, Kathryn Elizabeth. A River of Stones
(American Book Publishing, $18.00). Samantha is
searching for answers that no one has been willing
to give her. Growing up is hard enough for any
adolescent, but her parents’ divorce has added a
new level of pain and confusion. A River of Stones
explores the deepest recesses of Samantha’s hopes,
dreams, and fears, taking the reader on a journey of
self-discovery and promise.
Justesen, Sammie. Common Threads (Ameri-
can Book Publishing, $22.00). In the shadow of
Idaho’s Mount Baldy, a ranching family copes with
evil, facing dangers well beyond the quiet rhythm
of country life. A vicious drug ring has corrupted
local law enforcement, and meth labs are hidden
throughout the empty rangeland. The Logan fam-
ily closes ranks as darkness falls across Big Bend
Ranch and their future. Officer Buck Hancey has a
vendetta against the drug ring, but he needs the
Logans to help him lure the leader into his snare.
The Logans must decide: Should they trust an out-
sider who may be their only hope?
88 IRREANTUM
 Kemp, Kenny. The Welcoming Door: Parables
of a Carpenter (HarperSanFrancisco, $18.95). In
the tradition of Joseph Girzone’s Joshua, Kenny
Kemp introduces Jesus as a participant in his own
parable stories, offering a unique look at Jesus and
the world in which he lived. In accounts of “The
Prodigal Son,” “The Good Samaritan,” and “The
Talents,” a quiet carpenter transforms the world
forever. The first of a trilogy.
Kilpack, Josi S. Surrounded by Strangers
(Cedar Fort, $15.95). To protect her children, Glo-
ria Stanton left everything behind: her home, her
family, and her friends. She started a whole new life
with a new name, a new background—and a new
understanding of the importance of the gospel.
Through it all, she had absolute faith that her
greatest responsibility was her children. Now work-
ing as a night waitress, Gloria can’t afford to con-
tact anyone from her former life, and she can’t
involve herself in anything that will reveal her true
identity. But time is running out. Can she keep her
children safe and keep her faith alive? Can she resist
falling in love with a man who has risked so much
to help her?
Kimball, Linda Hoffman. The Marketing of
Sister B (Signature, $14.95). Donna Brooks is a
43-year-old mother of four and a member of the
Commonwealth Falls First Ward. All she wanted to
do was make a party favor for a visiting-teaching
luncheon. Little did she know that, when she
plugged in her Crock-Pot that morning, she would
be throwing herself and her family into an emo-
tional pressure cooker and altering the course of
church public relations forever. This humorous
novel follows an ordinary Mormon mother and her
overnight success. Along the way, she enlightens us
to the intriguing politics and inner workings of one
of Mormonism’s most mysterious institutions: the
ward Relief Society. Wafting through this affection-
ate frolic are some serious questions. Who defines
us? What constitutes our identity as individuals, as
Mormons, as the Kingdom of God on earth? What
is authentic, and what is marketing?
McKendrick, Lisa. A Life of My Own (Cove-
nant, $13.95). Wilhemina “Whimsy” Waterman is
all grown up now—at least, that’s what she tries to
IRREANTUM
tell herself. She’s a freshman at BYU, she lives away
from home, and she has a boyfriend, but her best
friend doesn’t end up as her roommate; her mom is
marrying a man Whimsy hardly knows; and
Whimsy’s boyfriend is going on a mission without
realizing they have feelings for each other. So when
Whimsy meets Colin, a cute returned missionary
who is terrified of taking English 115, the obvious
solution is to take it with him, even though she
doesn’t need that class. Before long, Whimsy must
face the fact that while she’s spent a great deal of
time trying to get Colin to fall for her, once he does
she’s far from ready for what he’d like to happen
next: marriage.
Nunes, Rachel Ann. Twice in a Lifetime
(Cedar Fort, $16.95). The finale of the Ari-
ana/Perrault series. On a beautiful summer day,
Rebekka’s life changes forever. Devastated, she
struggles to find the will to go on—to live without
the one person she thought she could never live
without. Handsome widower and longtime friend
André Perrault would like to help her find joy and
love again, but Rebekka’s determination to hold
onto the past makes a future relationship doubtful.
Or does it? Can André find a way to heal Rebekka’s
broken heart?
Pearson, Carol Lynn. Consider the Butterfly
(Gibbs Smith, $12.95). Carol Lynn Pearson has for
years carefully tracked the coincidences in her days,
looking at them with a poet’s eye for metaphor and
meaning. She has discovered that synchronicity is
not just something spectacular that strikes like light-
ning—here, there, rare and wild—but is a force
available to be harnessed, to be used for light and
warmth, delivering messages that are never fright-
ening, constantly encouraging, sometimes hilari-
ous, frequently mysterious, and always fascinating.
Pontius, John. Millennial Quest, Book 2:
Angels Among Us (Cedar Fort, $14.95). The sequel
to Spirit of Fire, Angels Among Us continues the saga
of Samuel Mahoy’s life, following his pathway
through peril, piercing sorrow, and soaring joy. The
Millennial Quest series takes readers on a journey
from the premortal world, through the trials and
joys of mortality, into the glorious Second Coming
and beyond.
89 Spring 2003
 Reid, Pamela. Something Familiar (Covenant,
$14.95). Ever since he left his mission in New
Zealand, Wade Fenton has been haunted by the
fleeting memory of a beautiful woman with strik-
ing blue eyes. Now, years later, he’s back in New
Zealand to do some photography. When he meets
his hostess for the duration of the trip, he can’t
believe his eyes. Growing up on a secluded sheep
ranch, Mackenzie Cameron has always been a
tomboy. She has resigned herself to a life dedicated
to the ranch and an inevitable marriage to her
neighbor. But when she meets the handsome
American who will be spending some time at the
ranch taking pictures, she is immediately attracted
to him and curious about his religion.
Roberts, Alene. Heart of the Rose (Granite,
$15.00). Set against the oftentimes confusing and
confused background of an LDS singles ward, this
story presents a rollicking tale of mistaken identity,
a marketing scheme run amok, and the bewildering
search for a modern-day old-fashioned girl.
Roberts, Laird. The Swan Hunter (Cedar Fort,
$12.95). All his life Danny Anderson was taught
of the grace of God and of his miracles. With all
his heart Danny believes God surely will protect his
mother, who was the purest person he knew. When
she dies after a long and terrible struggle with can-
cer, he loses faith in everything he once believed
and is plunged into life-threatening darkness. This
novel, set in a mid-1950s Utah town, shares a
young man’s journey from despair to true belief.
Siddoway, Richard M. The Christmas Quest
(Deseret, $15.95). After granting his grandmother’s
Christmas wish, Will Martin has settled down to
run the family real-estate business. As he and his
new wife, Renee, approach their first wedding
anniversary, Will decides the time is right to adopt
Justin, Renee’s son from her previous marriage. Before
approaching Renee and Justin about his decision,
Will decides to seek permission from Renee’s ex-
husband, Gary Carr. Thus begins the baffling
search for a man no one has seen in more than
three years. At the same time, Will is persuaded to
enter the world of politics. As he sorts through the
puzzle of Gary Carr’s disappearance, Will launches
a campaign against a determined, well-funded
opponent who will do anything to win.
Spring 2003
Stansfield, Anita. Gables of Legacy, Vol. II: A
Guiding Light (Covenant $12.95). Armed with
the love of a good man, Jess Hamilton, Tamra
Banks has made the difficult decision to reconcile
with her estranged mother. Over the years, Tamra
has had to fight through the ugly memories of her
abusive childhood, the complete absence of her
father, and her mother’s angry reaction to Tamra’s
conversion to the church. When the encounter
with her mother goes badly, memories and doubts
threaten to suffocate Tamra with long-buried emo-
tions. The Gables of Legacy series explores the
powerful grasp of a horrible childhood, the guiding
light of the gospel, and the healing that comes
when you learn to forgive others—and yourself.
Stansfield, Anita. Gables of Legacy, Vol. III:
The Silver Linings. (Covenant, $14.95). After a
lifetime of emotional trials and heartache, for
Tamra Banks this day brings a unique and almost
impossible joy. It’s the long-awaited moment of her
marriage to the love of her life, Jess Hamilton. But
in this time of unparalleled happiness, Tamra and
Jess will be plagued by challenges unlike any they’ve
yet faced—challenges that will test the very limits
of their faith, while deepening their gratitude for
the divine and fragile blessing of family. Jess and
Tamra are about to learn powerful lessons of life
and love in this story about personal revelation, the
power of the Comforter, and a discovery about the
meaning of eternal bridges.
Steenhoek, David. The Plan (Cedar Fort,
$13.95). John Edwards thought he had it all figured
out. He had a simple plan when he returned from
his mission. He wanted to go to BYU, major in
business, return to Southern California, join a For-
tune 500 company, and work his way up the exec-
utive ladder. He’d find a beautiful woman to marry,
or maybe she’d just fall into his lap. That was the
plan. There was one problem: It didn’t work. John
was stuck in a pointless, dead-end job, where he
punched numbers for a living. Then one day he finds
out that Charlotte, a girl he still has feelings for, is
engaged. John throws away his life in Southern
California, packs his car, and chases after her.
Warnick, Julie. One Silent Night (Covenant,
$4.95). December 24, 1914. Private Daniel Mor-
gan finds himself apart from his wife and young
90 IRREANTUM
child as he fights a war with a German enemy that will be forever silenced. Against such powerful
he does not understand but finds he cannot hate. odds, there remains but one person who can save
As the day of Christmas Eve turns to night, the Uriah: the prophet Lehi, but only at the risk of his
gentle strains of a Christmas carol, sung in German, own life and the lives of his family members.
are overheard. What happens next is a Christmas Wright, Julie. Loved Like That (Cedar Fort,
miracle. Based on a true story, One Silent Night $16.95). Love had simply escaped him—at least,
speaks of a rare moment in history when hatred that’s what James, a 32-year-old police officer, had
brought about by war is overcome for a brief inter- decided. He would have given up on dating alto-
lude by the power of brotherly love. gether were it not for the fact that friends and fam-
Weldon, Virginia. Bound by Honor (Cove- ily kept setting him up. Then he meets Katherine,
nant, $14.95). After British tribes rebel in A.D. 43, and he is immediately smitten. James is certain he
Rome displays a terrible show of force, decimating will spend the rest of his life with her. Convincing
the populace and taking slaves. Among the enslaved her of that, however, proves to be a monumental
are Alana, a brave, faithful young woman, and Regan, task. When he finds out she is already engaged, he
a proud, angry man whose rash behavior incurs the must struggle with his personal code of honor. Is it
wrath of his captors, resulting in a savage beating. fair for him to pursue Katherine when she appar-
With Regan barely alive, his actions spur Alana to ently loves someone else? Or is it his only chance to
plead for his life. She is sent before Valerius, an be Loved Like That?
honest young commander, who regrets making
an example of Regan. Attracted to Alana by her
passion and zeal, Valerius protects her by arranging
to have her sold into the home of a kind merchant.
But he is unable to help Regan, who is forced to
fight as a gladiator for the entertainment of others
and for his life.
Weyland, Jack. Cheyenne in New York
(Deseret, $13.95). Ben Morelli is a brash, up-and-
coming New York City ad-agency executive. He’s
just landed a huge account, and his future looks
promising. Bright, outspokenly moral, and unfail-
ingly honest, Cheyenne is everything Ben thinks he
dislikes in a woman. She’s also a Mormon, what-
ever that is. It doesn’t help, either, that his most
important client thinks Cheyenne is terrific. And
so does Ben’s family. The love story of this pair of
strong-willed, seemingly mismatched characters,
whose family backgrounds, interests, and ambi-
tions are worlds apart, is played out in the after-
math of a horrific national disaster.
Woolley, David G. The Promised Land, Vol.
II: The Power of Deliverance (Covenant, $24.95).
600 B.C. The prophet Uriah is on trial for treason,
having intercepted sensitive military letters from
Captain Laban. If Laban and the elders in the
Jerusalem City Council have their way, Uriah, and
the secrets that could prove to be Laban’s undoing,

IRREANTUM 91 Spring 2003

 M O R M O N
L I T E R A R Y
S C E N E
Compiled by Christopher Bigelow
Books
• Analyzing the increasing popularity of LDS
romance novels, an Associated Press reporter
noted that the genre’s typical main relationship
“usually involves a man giving up his scurrilous
ways to convert to Mormonism and marry the
woman he loves, or a Mormon couple coming
together after death, divorce, or estrangement.”
After five rejections, Anita Stansfield’s novel First
Love and Forever was published by Covenant in
1994, opening the floodgate for Mormon romance,
including more than 600,000 copies of Stansfield’s
22 novels. Discussing how LDS publishers and
retailers are cracking down on supposedly immoral
content, Stansfield said she was required to delete
the following sentence describing a couple’s wed-
ding night: “He laughed and kicked the door
closed.” Regarding Stansfield’s novel A Promise of
Forever, about a woman recovering from breast can-
cer and her relationship with her husband, the
reporter wrote: “The novel’s bedroom scene dealt
sensitively and obscurely with the topic of sex,
referring more to the woman’s feelings than the
couple’s activities. And yet Stansfield doesn’t believe
those scenes would make it through the editing
process today.” Of the 33 novels published last year
by Covenant, 16 were Mormon romance titles.
• Deseret Book’s retail division decided not to
carry Chad Daybell’s recent novel Chasing Para-
dise (Cedar Fort). “Despite the fact that the book
has no swearing and no sex, one buyer felt ‘uncom-
fortable’ about the scene where an angel dropkicks
the wicked spirit Ruby through the wall,” said
Cedar Fort’s publicist. Daybell commented: “It feels
so subjective. Is this the new standard, no swearing,
no sex, and now no conflict? If this is the new stan-
dard, LDS novelists might as well put away their
word processors because potentially anything can
come under fire.” According to a Deseret Book
Spring 2003
letter, the decision was “not based on one sentence
or paragraph, as some have suggested through e-mails,
but in fact the book in its entirety was reviewed and
assessed, and the decision was based on several fac-
tors.” According to the Deseret News, “Gail Brown,
publicity manager for Deseret Book, said perhaps
Daybell’s book wasn’t of high enough quality to
warrant being included in the stock.” Daybell is
employed as managing editor at Cedar Fort.
• Published by Cedar Fort’s Salt Press imprint,
retired BYU English professor Marilyn Arnold’s
new book Fields of Clover “deals with a particu-
larly sensitive topic, that of placing aging parents in
a rest home and facing the potential of their
deaths,” according to Deseret News reviewer Dennis
Lythgoe. “It also deals with Alzheimer’s disease
from the standpoint of the one affected by it.”
Lythgoe concluded, “This is a compelling, disturb-
ing book written with sensitivity and warmth.
Arnold is especially gifted with dialogue.”
• Currently at work novelizing Richard Dutcher’s
film Brigham City, Marilyn Brown announced she
has stopped working as an editor at Cedar Fort,
where she published her own and other authors’
books under her Salt Press imprint. “They did
refuse my next two projects I offered them,” Brown
said. “I still have good relations with them, even
though that occurred, because I completely under-
stand what happened. I was publishing literary
books that did not sell. And so how could they add
more and more of those kinds of books? They
couldn’t. It is not their fault. They tried so hard.
But the Mormon market does not respond well.”
• New York neurologist Peter Q. Warinner,
a recent convert to Mormonism, has published
Birth into Dreams (Wysteria Ltd.), book one of
a speculative-fiction tetralogy. According to an
Amazon.com reviewer, “This is a story based on the
premise of an alternative evolutionary branch of
human beings called the Sumdar. Sumdars are fasci-
nating, seemingly immortal beings that live amongst
ordinary humans. They look just like ordinary
humans, and only Sumdars can recognize the dif-
ference. Sumdars have a fascinating and rich cul-
ture, a utilitarian and philosophical religion, a
unique language, but, most importantly, Sumdars
92 IRREANTUM
have extraordinary-yet-plausible abilities that are
far beyond what ordinary humans can ever imag-
ine.” Book one features “a character-driven plot that
is rich in its use of imagery. The main character, a
young American man of French ancestry, Pierre, is
forced into a metamorphosis of both mind and body
as he discovers that he is not the ordinary human
he thought he was. As he experiences numerous
adventurous encounters with several fascinating
and eccentric Sumdar characters, he is haunted by
the mysterious disappearance of his first true love,
Grace. The story builds up with almost unbearable
suspense in anticipation of answers that are laced
into the countless unexpected twists of fate.”
• A new novel by William F. Buckley Jr., titled
Getting It Right (Regnery Publishing), features
several Mormon characters, including the main
protagonist. According to R. W. Rasband on AML-
List, this novel by the “godfather of modern Amer-
ican conservatism” tells the story of “two extremist
groups that could have derailed the new insurgency:
the John Birch Society and Ayn Rand’s ‘Objectivists.’”
Buckley’s Mormon characters “are defiantly idealis-
tic, even as they are backsliders who drink and
cohabit with their girlfriends. They are tolerant,
compassionate, and committed to truth, although
their forceful presence in the John Birch Society
suggests they are susceptible to unwise fanaticism.
Buckley captures well the feverish intoxication of
extremist ideas, of how systematic ideologies take
flight from reality.”
• Publication of Jon Krakauer’s Under the Ban-
ner of Heaven, the best-selling author’s examina-
tion of Mormon-related religious crimes, has been
moved up to July due to “heavy advance buzz.”
According to the Salt Lake Tribune, the earlier
release will “capitalize on interest in the Elizabeth
Smart case. After the missing teenager was found in
March, Krakauer dashed off a chapter about her
and Brian David Mitchell, the excommunicated
Mormon charged with kidnapping Elizabeth,
allegedly to be his plural wife.” Other chapters will
cover “the murder of Joseph Smith, the Mountain
Meadows Massacre, and modern-day polygamist
communities on the Utah-Arizona border and in
British Columbia. But the core of the book is the
IRREANTUM
chilling story of the Laffertys, brothers who slaugh-
tered their sister-in-law and her infant daughter
after Dan Lafferty said he received a divine revela-
tion.” According to his publisher, Krakauer calls
the book “my attempt to understand religious pas-
sion and the terrible things people do in the name
of God.”
• Mountain Meadows Massacre novel Red Water
author Judith Freeman, who has not practiced
Mormonism in 30 years, told an Associated Press
reporter about a letter from her Los Angeles stake
president requesting an appointment “to discuss
your feelings about the church and what, if any-
thing, should be done about them.” Calling the let-
ter a disciplinary summons, Freeman said it was
“intended to silence or punish or intimidate me as
a writer.” The letter “brought up all kinds of feel-
ings. One of the feelings was, ‘I’m about to be
ejected from the tribe,’ a tribe my ancestors had
served for generations.” The author of three previ-
ous novels and a short-story collection, Freeman
said she decided to write Red Water after discover-
ing Juanita Brooks’s 1950 history The Mountain
Meadows Massacre in 1996. In addition to the mas-
sacre, Freeman’s novel addresses polygamy: “As she
immersed herself in the 19th century diaries, includ-
ing those of her own ancestors, Freeman concluded
that polygamy, which church founder Joseph Smith
said was an edict from God, caused plural wives to
suffer emotionally and physically from the hunger
and harshness and emotional privations of their
lives. In Red Water, [massacre scapegoat John D.]
Lee’s excommunication terrified his wives, depend-
ent on him for sustenance on earth and a place in
heaven.”
• Brian Evenson was featured in the second
issue of The Believer (May 2003), the new literary
monthly with connections to best-selling mem-
oirist Dave Eggers (www.believermag.com). In an
article titled “The Bad Mormon,” Ben Ehrenreich
claims that Evenson’s “sacrilegious” writing got him
“kicked out of the Mormon Church.” However, as
Evenson makes clear in an afterword to a new edi-
tion of his story collection Altmann’s Tongue (Uni-
versity of Nebraska), he asked to have his own
name removed from Church records. Reviewing
93 Spring 2003
Evenson’s entire body of work, Ehrenreich calls
Contagion (Wordcraft) Evenson’s “most accom-
plished” and “most explicitly Mormon” work,
“crowded with polygamists, heretics, visionaries,
self-proclaimed prophets, and killers of all stripes.”
He writes, “It is hard not to see Evenson’s work in
part as rebellion, as an attempt to cleave some rifts
in the unrelenting cheeriness of contemporary
Mormonism, a culture of firm handshakes and
toothy smiles stretched hopefully over a bloody and
painful history.”
Film
• Commenting to the Deseret News about Walt
Disney Home Entertainment’s distribution of his
film The Other Side of Heaven, filmmaker Mitch
Davis said he “doesn’t really think of The Other
Side of Heaven as a ‘Mormon movie,’ and he hopes
the rest of the world will feel the same way.” He
finds validation in the fact that the movie is appear-
ing under the closely guarded Walt Disney label
rather than one of the company’s other labels. View-
ing rights have been purchased in 73 nations, and
Davis has been “especially surprised at the number
of Muslim countries that have bought the movie.”
He noted that, in his audio commentary on the
DVD, he was able to say, “There is a God, and he
loves us, and he answers prayers. That’s pretty amaz-
ing.” He continued, “The hardest group to convince
that this is not a Mormon movie is the Mormons
themselves. For us to think that only Mormons can
understand our movies is like saying only Mor-
mons can understand the Mormon Tabernacle
Choir. We’ve got to make movies that reach or sur-
pass the standards of the world stage, and we’ve got
to have the guts to pay the price to be on that stage.
We should make no apologies for what we are and
who we are and how we behave. If we sit on the
sidelines and allow others to define who and what
we are, we shouldn’t be surprised when caricatures
of ourselves permeate the media.”
• According to BYU Magazine, BYU professor
Dennis J. Packard’s BYU-sponsored “multifaceted
mentoring project” Lifesong will release the second
in its Novels for the Next Great Films series this
summer: Creekwater Bends, by Nathan K. Chai.
Spring 2003
Filming of the first novel in the series, My People by
Gordon Laws, is slated to begin in summer 2004.
“In his classes, Packard and his students analyze
scriptural stories, break down their narrative form,
and apply similar elements to their own stories. A
developed understanding of this sacred form of sto-
rytelling, Packard believes, allows his students to
deal with worldly subjects in a distinctively spiri-
tual manner.” The article continues: “He encour-
ages student writers to refrain from manipulating
their fictional characters to behave in certain ways.
Instead, writers should respond naturally to their
characters as they emerge. As a result, characters
won’t force situations to a desired end but will
respond generously to each other and to conflicts.
The final result, Packard hopes, is that the audience
will also react to the story generously, allowing
themselves to be naturally moved by characters and
affected by resolutions.”
• Salt Lake producers Alan Stoddard and Allen
Dial are teaming up to produce a film called Trial
by Faith, with a targeted release date of August
2003. “In the tense southern regions of the Philip-
pines, two Latter-day Saint missionaries find their
courage—and their faith—being tested to their limits
when they are captured and held hostage by terror-
ists. LDS missionary Elder John Kimball is a hot-
shot BMX Dirt Jumper with plenty of attitude but
a somewhat tenuous testimony. Through his ordeal
as a hostage, he discovers both the strength of his
gospel convictions and the courage to act upon
his newfound faith to save himself and his fellow
captive Americans.”
• Previously shown at Sunstone, a missionary
comedy written and directed by Brent Jones made
its theatrical debut in Salt Lake City. Calling Mes-
sengers of Truth “excruciating” and “worse than
bad,” Deseret News critic Jeff Vice wrote, “It’s exe-
cuted so poorly and is so completely unfunny that
you might think it’s just a joke. There were times I
wondered if it was purposely produced and released
by the Halestorm Entertainment guys to make their
amateurish ‘road-show’ comedies The Singles Ward
and The R.M. look better by comparison.” Salt
Lake City Weekly gave the film 1.5 stars out of 4 and
called it “slightly more irreverent” than God’s Army.
94 IRREANTUM
“Every gag probably looked hysterical on paper. An
earnest young elder who gets a raging hard-on right
before a home meeting? Funny. A mission president
running a scam operation selling his testimonial
video? Funny . . . But eventually Jones had to com-
mit those gags to video, and the result is yet another
piece of earnest bargain-basement Mo-movie silli-
ness full of amateur-hour acting and a nonexistent
sense of pacing.”
• Interviewed by the Salt Lake Tribune about his
new film based on his play The Shape of Things,
Neil LaBute confirmed he is “working to restore
his status as a participating church member, in part
by avoiding writing about LDS characters.” (LaBute
was disfellowshipped after his 1999 play bash por-
trayed Mormon characters committing acts of
violence.) “I’m just trying to be a guy who thinks
through everything that comes out of his pen,
rather than just letting it flow,” LaBute said. His
disfellowshipment “is not a final state. You have to
either move forward or backward. I hopefully am
moving in a positive direction.” Asked if he con-
siders himself a good Mormon, LaBute said, “I do,
but one can always be better. In my case, I could
probably be a lot better. I’m a couple rungs down,
but I’ve still got some climbing strength in me.”
The story of an art student remaking the image of
a nerdy museum guard for ulterior purposes, the
new film is receiving mixed-to-positive reviews, with
more than one critic calling it “didactic.” Giving
the film a C+, Entertainment Weekly described it as
“LaBute’s latest misanthropic meat grinder.” LaBute
is declaring “the death of love, and damned if he’ll
let any human beings get in the way of his thesis.”
• Richard Dutcher is slated to direct a feature-
length documentary film titled The Eleventh
Hour: Blacks in the LDS Church. According to a
press release, the film will “introduce us to the first
pre–Civil War black converts to Mormonism in the
1830s. It will remind us both of the civil rights
activists who fought the LDS Church in the 1960s–
70s and of the black Mormons who stayed with the
Church during these turbulent times. The docu-
mentary will conclude with the stories of current
black Mormon priests, leaders, Church authorities,
and members.” The project is being produced by
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Robert J. Foster, the first African-American stu-
dent-body president at BYU, and Wayne L. Lee,
the African-American filmmaker behind the Gloria
Film Festival. For more information, including
how to donate money for the nonprofit project,
visit www.the11thhourlaborers.org.
• Following are several snippets of film news
from Preston Hunter at LDSFilm.com: Christian
Vuissa’s AML-award-winning short film Roots &
Wings has been released on DVD and is now
distributed by Thomson Productions. T. C. Chris-
tensen is currently in pre-production on a feature-
film adaptation of Saturday’s Warrior. Film and
game rights to the best-selling Runelords fantasy
novel series by LDS author Dave Wolverton (writ-
ing as David Farland) have been acquired; Terry
Kahn will write a script for possible autumn 2004
theatrical release. John Moyer, screenwriter of The
Singles Ward and The R.M., has posted some
“provocative articles” on the state of LDS cinema
on his personal website, www.johnmoyer.net.
Drama
• Regarding LeeAnne Hill Adams’s new play
Archipelago, which premiered at BYU in March,
AML-List reviewer R. W. Rasband wrote, “Aside
from some Shakespeare tragedies, this may be the
darkest play ever presented on the BYU stage. Con-
gratulations to BYU for stepping up to the plate
and presenting it. If there is any justice, it should
get tremendous acclaim.” Like Adams’s previous
play Yellow China Bell, a drama about an Armenian
woman kidnapped by a Russian man and forced to
be his wife, the new play is based on true stories.
Set in one of Stalin’s Siberian gulags in 1938, all the
play’s events are taken from survivors’ personal
accounts. “I’m really drawn to true stories, espe-
cially stories about people overcoming extraordi-
nary hardships,” Adams told the Provo Daily
Herald. In this play, “the tone goes back and forth
from this really dark, black comedy to some pretty
difficult subject matter. The audience goes back
and forth from laughing and choking.” Playwright
and BYU professor Eric Samuelsen said that Adams
is “as gifted a writer as we’ve produced at BYU, and
95 Spring 2003
that would include Neil LaBute. She’s that good.”
Adams now lives in California and is writing a
romantic-comedy screenplay.
• Written 20 years ago with Broadway plays as
inspiration, Jack Weyland’s play Home Cooking
was recently produced at BYU–Idaho. Described as
a farce about college life, the play follows Cher, a
Mormon convert who spends much of her time
cooking for an apartment of young men. Plot com-
plications ensue via a concerned and wealthy
father, a planted spy, a bodyguard, and the mafia.
“It’s pure comedy—just for fun, which I think
comedy should be,” Weyland said. “I am so
excited, because I want to hear people laugh. When
people read my books, I don’t get to hear them
laugh.” The play was originally produced at
BYU–Provo in the early 1980s.
• Interviewed by a New Zealand newspaper about
the Auckland opening of his play The Shape of
Things, Neil LaBute said the play took him only
two weeks to write and was first produced just four
months later. “There’s more to humans than what
you see in my work,” he admitted. “But my passion
is storytelling, and to me it’s fascinating to write
about the way relationships turn into power struggles
and manipulations. If the stories are improbable,
that just means they’re not documentaries.” He con-
tinued: “I’m on the side of the characters and let-
ting them be true to themselves, and if that means
things don’t end the way you want them to end,
that’s too bad for you. That’s just the way stories
often unfold. They don’t come to a perfect conclu-
sion, and people who have done things don’t pay
for what they have done.” Discussing his Mormon-
ism, LaBute said that his play bash “was not about
the church but about people who happened to be
members of the church. But I got into some trouble
with the church, and I continue to be in that [trouble].
Ultimately I will be asked to decide whether I want
to continue in the church or continue to work the
way I am. I understand the dichotomy for some
people that the church and my work don’t seem to
go hand in hand. I’ve been able to reconcile it quite
easily—but then, I’m a great self-justifier.”
• Encore Performance Publishing is calling for
entries for the 2003 Max C. Golightly Memorial
Spring 2003
Playwriting Competition. “We are searching for
the best plays by Latter-day Saint authors. The
prizes awarded will be a publication contract,
entrance into Encore’s catalog of plays, and a write-
up on Encore’s website. In addition, there will be a
small advance on the royalties. First prize will
include a production at BYU–Idaho, directed by
Hyrum Conrad. Other scripts may receive read-
ings, even staged readings, by the Nauvoo Histori-
cal Society under the artistic direction of J. Scott
Bronson.” The deadline for submissions is Decem-
ber 31, 2003. For detailed instructions, visit
www.encoreplay.com/encoreplay/contestpage.html.
• LDS theater pioneer Ruth Hale passed away at
age 94. In partnership with her husband Nathan,
who died in 1994, Hale wrote more than 75 plays,
acted in most of them, and opened four theaters in
California and Utah. Thom Duncan of the Nauvoo
Theatrical Society wrote: “The Center Street The-
atre exists today because of Ruth and Nathan Hale.
As a teenager in Southern California, I knew the
Hales and was inspired by their success in operat-
ing their theater on California Street in Glendale.
If you were LDS and you loved theater, the Hale
Center Theater was the place to go. When the idea
started forming in my head that maybe, just
maybe, the world was ready for an all-LDS-all-the-
time theater (as J. Scott likes to call it), I was greatly
heartened by the fact that the Hales had already
done a version of it.”
• Reviewing a Bountiful, Utah, production of
Huebener, the true story of a German LDS teen-
ager who goes against his LDS branch president to
resist the Nazis and ends up both excommunicated
and executed, Deseret News theater editor Ivan M.
Lincoln called the script “powerful and provoca-
tive” but added that it could still use “some tinker-
ing and tightening.” He concluded: “Huebener is
an important piece of literature, focusing on a
major incident in the church's history in Europe. It
deserves a broad audience.” AML honorary lifetime
member Thomas Rogers wrote the play in the
mid-1970s, and it caused some controversy during
its successful BYU premiere. Rogers directed the
Bountiful production, which was the play’s first
appearance in the Salt Lake area.
96 IRREANTUM
Miscellany
• According to Reuters, Orson Scott Card is
writing dialogue for a new video game titled
Advent Rising, “in which an alien species tries to
destroy mankind before it can unite the universe.”
When the game is complete, Card plans to write a
book based on the game’s story, the first in a
planned trilogy, and also turn it into a movie.
“We’re going a long way past the ‘shoot-everything-
that-moves’ kind of games,” Card said. “There are
choices, really brutally hard choices, you make that
affect game play from a moral standpoint.”
Majesco Sales plans to release the game in spring
2004. In other Card news, he is running a web log
called The Ornery American (www.ornery.org).
• BYU will sponsor its fourth annual Writing
for Young Readers Workshop July 7–11. This
five-day workshop is designed for people who want
to write or illustrate for children or teenagers. In
daily four-hour morning workshops, participants
will focus on a single market: picture books, book-
length fiction (novels), illustration, or general writ-
ing. The afternoon workshop sessions will feature a
variety of topics of interest to writers for all ages.
An option to attend only the afternoon sessions is
available for those who would like to hear from the
workshop authors and editors without spending
the mornings working on their own manuscripts.
Workshop teachers include authors A. E. Cannon,
Candace Fleming, Tim Wynne-Jones, Lael Littke,
Claudia Mills, Rick Walton, Sally Warner, and Lisa
Wheeler, as well as two editors and an agent: Nancy
Hinkel of Knopf Crown Books for Young Readers,
a division of Random House Children’s Books;
Judy O’ Malley, editorial director for Houghton
Mifflin Children’s Books; and Tracey Adams of the
McIntosh & Otis Literary Agency. For more infor-
mation, call BYU Conferences and Workshops
at 801-378-2568 or visit the workshop website at
ce.byu.edu/cw/writing.
• Through e-mail and his website at LDSLiving
.com, Matt Kennedy has become a major force in
the LDS marketplace by selling books, videos, CDs,
and other merchandise to as many as 7,000 cus-
tomers a month. He sends out 180,000 e-mails daily,
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and his new print magazine LDS Living has more
than 10,000 subscribers. The company, which sold
over 100,000 copies of The Singles Ward, has dou-
bled its earnings every year for four years and
is expected to make about $5 million this year.
Kennedy’s other LDS Living–branded ventures
include an Internet service provider, a line of inter-
active scriptural software, PDA software for the
national market, and a possible morning TV show
featuring family, cooking, and book segments.
• To explore Latter-day Saint women’s lives in
the 20th century, the Smith Institute will sponsor a
one-day symposium at BYU on March 20, 2004.
The organizers are seeking proposals for scholarly
papers, particularly papers that place Mormon women
within the context of religious and historical stud-
ies. For more information, visit smithinstitute.byu
.edu and click on “News” and then “Announce-
ments” to download the call for papers as a PDF
document. Proposals are due by July 1, 2003, to
symposium co-chairs Carol Cornwall Madsen and
Cherry B. Silver at ldswomen-history@byu.edu.
• The Utah Arts Council is holding its 45th
annual Original Writing Competition, which has
honored numerous LDS writers in the past. For
complete information about this year’s categories,
prizes, and submission requirements, visit www.arts
.utah.gov. Entries must be postmarked by June 27,
2003.
• The L. Tom Perry Special Collections at
BYU’s library is the official repository for the papers
of the Association for Mormon Letters. According
to the curators, “We would be happy to discuss the
donation of your personal, family, and literary col-
lections.” Representative manuscript and literary
collections include the papers of Orson Scott Card,
Dean Hughes, B. H. Roberts, Virginia Sorenson,
and James E. Talmage. For more information, con-
tact Kristi Bell at kristi_bell@byu.edu or 801-422-
6041, or John Murphy at john_m_murphy@byu.edu
or 801-422-6370.
97 Spring 2003
 A M L - L I S T Far East, or Western philosophers, doctors, healers,
H I G H L I G H T S
Compiled by Marny K. Parkin
AML-List provides an ongoing forum for broad-
ranging conversation and a stimulating exchange of
opinions related to LDS literature. Discussion during
November, December, and January included topics
such as gospel allusions in films, the role of the reader,
Johnny Lingo, New Age Mormons, the sacred in
writing, movie adaptations, the Book of Mormon
in film, and the new Deseret Book policy. Read on for
a sampling of the sentiment on some other interesting
topics. If you find yourself champing to chime in, send
an e-mail message to majordomo@lists.xmission.com
that reads: subscribe aml-list. A confirmation request
will be sent to your e-mail address; follow the direc-
tions to complete your subscription. AML-List is mod-
erated by Jonathan Langford.
Pain and Art
Glen Sudbury (Nov. 18): A question we seem to
be struggling with is not only the quality issue of
Mormon literature and art but more fundamen-
tally if we even need any. After all, the reasoning
goes, isn’t a bit presumptuous to read literature,
poets, when we already have “the most correct book
ever written”?
Besides that, our language of the restoration sug-
gests to some almost an overwhelming amount of
truth already in our possession. Phrases such as “the
dispensation of the fullness of times, the times of
the restoration of all things, a time when all that is
hid is revealed, truth floods the earth, and so
forth . . . suggest satiety,” as Dr. Terryl L. Givens
recently pointed out in a talk at BYU.
With such ideas it is easy for some to assume
that simply knowing the Church is true, or the
gospel is true, is supposed to solve all the problems
and questions for all of us. (Or others falsely assume
that as good as it gets is peace and acceptance of “all
that the Father seeth fit to inflict upon us.”)
So is it presumptuous, redundant, and even
maybe a slap in Brother Joseph’s face to look to the
Spring 2003
medicine men, poets, authors, and such? Or can we
only be true to the faith that our parents have cher-
ished by hacking in on the wisdom of the world?
I have a brilliant friend who has read nothing
except the Book of Mormon and other scriptures
for five years. Is this an ideal for all, as he seems to
suggest in conversation, or dangerous reading by
the light of his own understanding, as it appears
to me?
If our individual and collective pain, sorrow, and
suffering is most often caused by our own igno-
rance, stupidity, and sin, which it seems to be, then
taking personal responsibility for learning wherever
and however we can and sharing however and
whenever we can seems to be what love is all about.
Both self-love and love of others.
Western medicine, like churches, even the
Church, often assumes or pretends to have answers
because it has become very good at putting labels
on problems. Literature, good literature, goes
about doing good as the Savior did. Prevention, in
every area of our lives, is better than cure.
To me, “New Age Mormons” suggests a taking
of responsibility to be a prophet oneself, accepting
the reality that the heavens are opened not to just
prophets but that answers can come to us as we
read and think about the words and between the
lines of all good books.
Great art is often produced by those who have
suffered and struggled physically and metaphysi-
cally, body and mind. Church members and the
body of the Saints have suffered much of body in
these latter days. I wonder, however, if we have suf-
fered enough in mind to produce the great litera-
ture for which we hunger on this AML-List and in
our private lives.
Scott Parkin (Nov. 19): I’m not sure what this
means. I’m not sure on a number of levels.
I don’t know if “we” have suffered enough to
produce much of anything, but I know a fair num-
ber of individuals (who happen to be Mormon)
who have suffered more than enough in their per-
sonal lives to tell deeply powerful—perhaps even
great—stories of what it means to have those
unique and personal experiences.
98 IRREANTUM
 I know Mormons who have suffered crippling
poverty, grotesque injustice, grievous bodily injury,
public humiliation, political upheaval and alien-
ation, racial violence, and spiritual disenfranchise-
ment. I know Mormons who have been wrongfully
accused and convicted by both secular and church
courts. I know Mormons who have suffered physi-
cal and emotional abuse, and others who have been
ostracized by both family and their community for
bad reasons.
Mormons as individuals are not immune from
the ugly things life has to offer—nor are we more
prone to it than anyone else. So I always have a
hard time with the idea that “we” have not suffered
enough to produce great literature. Some of us
have. So to me the question is not whether we’ve
suffered enough, but whether we’re willing to face
up to the real suffering we have known as individ-
uals (and even as a community) and tell the stories
honestly and forcefully.
As Margaret Young wondered at the AML writ-
ers conference a couple of weeks ago—have we
given ourselves permission to tell the stories that
have harrowed our souls and tested our hope?
Because that’s the only limit, in my mind—giving
ourselves permission to speak the truth as we know
it, and to risk the fact that others’ experiences can
be different yet equally true.
There’s an idea reflected in Mormon culture that
we’re too content to know pain, that as American
Mormons we’re too affluent to know real want,
that we’re just too pampered to experience real
hardship. But I don’t buy it. It’s a form of self-flat-
tery, of cultural laziness. Pain comes in an infinite
variety of packages and takes an equal number of
shapes. The question to me is whether we are will-
ing to expose our private pain to others, whether
we are willing to share the personal and intimate
struggles we have to live and strive and struggle to
know both ourselves and our God. Are we willing
to make ourselves the bad guys of our own stories?
Epic sweep is not necessary to create great litera-
ture. Personal struggle, introspection, a desire to share
our experience, and an ability to arrange words
pleasingly is. That and giving ourselves permission
to write, to dare to be spectacularly wrong. Because
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only then can we ever hope to learn how to be sim-
ply and obviously right—as great literature is.
Isaac Walters (Nov. 21): It seems to me that this
response and the statement it was responding to
both fall prey to the same fallacy: that an artist has
to suffer in order to create great art. Those of you
who know your literary history better than me can
correct me on this, but I believe that the idea of the
suffering artist is a relatively new idea in the artistic
community, only dating back to Byron and the
Romantic period. If that is true, then what can be
said for all of the poor unsuffering artists before
that time? Is the work of Racine, Moliere, Shake-
speare, or Euripides of less value because they didn’t
live starving in a garret with the entire world
against them?
As I look at the writers outside of the church that
I find the most moving in a spiritual sense (e.g.,
Lewis, Jacpone da Todi, Rumi), I find a yearning
for the divine that moves through all of their work.
A desire for a personal encounter with God, and in
some way their work is part of that reaching and
yearning.
Now, I will admit that that yearning can be
strengthened by suffering. One has only to look at
the writings of Joseph Smith in Liberty Jail or Nephi
in 2 Nephi 4 to see powerful examples of this from
our own culture. But it seems to me that the suf-
fering is not the thing that causes the experience.
Alma 62:41 says, “But behold, because of the exceed-
ingly great length of the war between the Nephites
and the Lamanites many had become hardened,
because of the exceedingly great length of the war;
and many were softened because of their afflictions,
insomuch that they did humble themselves before
God, even in the depth of humility.” What is the
difference? I think it has to be something happen-
ing inside the individual, since the suffering around
them as a group was very similar.
I know that relating our suffering to our spiritual
progress is a popular Mormon literary form, com-
ing straight out of fast and testimony meetings, but
I think that if this is the form we limit ourselves to,
we are denying ourselves many more opportunities
to create truly spiritual art. I guess in this sense I
am a true Mormon mystic. I want to create art
99 Spring 2003
where my audience and I share in the experience of
an encounter with God.
Filling Our Minds
Rebecca Talley (Nov. 25): My father-in-law
used to say that whatever you’re full of runs out
your mouth. So I guess whatever we choose to read
will influence us one way or another. I wonder if
we’d be anxious to share certain books with the
prophet? The Savior?
[. . .] I shall also take a stand, just as passionately,
that there is enough evil that surrounds us every
day and surrounds our children that we do not
need to purposely fill our minds with it under the
justification and rationalization that somehow it
will make us better people because of it. Spiritual
starvation does not come because we don’t read
“great literature”; it comes from not obeying the
commandments and not following the prophet.
Spiritual starvation occurs when we are so desper-
ate to be “of the world” that we allow ourselves to
be tainted by it and forget who we are.
Justin Halverson (Nov. 28): This is an interest-
ing idea, that “there is enough evil that surrounds
us every day [I’m leaving out the children because
that’s a different story] that we don’t need to pur-
posefully fill our minds with it under the justifica-
tion and rationalization that somehow it will make
us better people because of it.” It’s interesting espe-
cially in the context of literature and what makes
good/appropriate literature for Saints (by which I
mean good people in general regardless of religion,
people who want to be good just to be good—
Kirby’s “Genuine Mormons,” maybe). What does
literature do to our minds, and how does it do it?
A few assumptions:
1) I’ve heard all my life that all good literature
needs conflict, that no one ever wrote a classic,
moving piece of literature without it.
2) Conflict, in a great many cases (especially in
literature), arises from one person acting badly toward
another person. That is, a lot of literary conflict is
a result of human sin (or at least transgression),
which seems to me the same as saying that a lot of
literary conflict can be ascribed to human evil (and
Spring 2003 100
I’m not sure there’s any other kind of evil than
human evil).
3) Great literature is great—and those good
people who read it do so—because “somehow it
will make us better people.”
If we grant these three assumptions, then the
conflict in great literature—which is the result of
evil—somehow has the potential to make us better
people. Of course, that’s not the whole statement.
I should say that the reaction of the reader—NOT
the author—to the evil described in great literature
can somehow make us better (or, to be fair, worse)
people. If Rebecca and the many, many others from
whom I’ve heard this assertion are right, why, after
Shakespeare, Milton, and I don’t remember who
else rounds out the oft-quoted list—Dante?—(not
to mention the many, many, many other amazing
artists from virtually every artistic, linguistic, cul-
tural, and religious tradition), are we still writing
literature? That is, why do some of us keep trying
to “fill our minds with it,” which is essentially
what must be done to read and write about human
conflict?
There may be enough evil that surrounds us
every day, but I wonder if it’s true that “we do
not need to purposefully fill our minds with it” to
become better people. Maybe my problem is with
the rather extreme word fill, which seems to over-
state the case. We cannot expect to be good if our
minds are full of evil—but neither can we be good
people if our minds are full of the opposite (by
which I don’t mean good; I mean rather not-evil, or
the simple absence of evil, which is not at all the
same thing as good). I think that’s at least one rea-
son that good people read literature—to fill their
minds not simply with evil but with experience,
which in this world always, I think, contains a mix-
ture of good and evil—or rather, contains neither
absolutely.
But I’m getting too abstract. I think of literature
in terms of Enoch’s experience in Moses 7, where
the Lord asks him to look at the great evil (as great
or greater than anything we’re reading or writing,
I would imagine) in the earth and then teaches him
that part of loving perfectly (our goal, no?)—part
of godhood, even—is sorrowing for the mistakes
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and pain of all humanity. I don’t know what the
Lord’s mind was full of, but we can read that Enoch
“looked upon their wickedness, and their misery,
and wept and stretched forth his arms, and his heart
swelled wide as eternity; and his bowels yearned;
and all eternity shook” (v. 41). Then the Lord shows
him “the day of the coming of the Son of Man . . .
and his soul rejoiced” (47). I wonder if the sequence
is important, if he had to see (read) the evil in the
world—and at this point, the “book” he was “read-
ing” was completely evil, since the righteous had
been called up into Zion—before he could really
understand the Atonement. (I’m not saying this is
the definitive interpretation of this story, simply
offering my reading of it.)
Anyway, what I’m suggesting is that:
1) no one on this list is advocating that we “fill
our minds” with evil, even if they do advocate read-
ing literature that describes evil things; and that
2) while there is certainly enough evil in the
world to go around, if I’m going to read books at all
(and this is an important caveat, because I know a
lot of people who spend less time reading books
than I do because they’re out “reading people”—
serving them and witnessing their lives directly),
I am morally, ethically, and religiously bound to
read those books that acknowledge—and that thus
include some of—that evil, because
3) if I don’t, if I seek exclusively to read books
that ignore the evil that as a human being I am con-
stantly in danger of doing to other people, I am
simply escaping the world without coming any
closer to heaven. I’m turning my back, in effect, on
my brothers and sisters and their pain and my own
pain and the Savior’s pain, refusing the Lord’s invi-
tation to Enoch to look and love.
I understand and appreciate Rebecca’s passion
for what she reads; I think everyone on this list
does, even if we don’t all direct that passion in the
same way. I think also that reading—and writing,
and especially publishing/consuming/criticizing/
analyzing—is a luxury to which many people in the
world don’t have access (to the degree that those of
us on this list do), and that as a luxury it is not
essential to our salvation, though it can help or
hinder us in regards to that salvation. I know I’m
not grateful enough for this marvelous luxury, or
IRREANTUM 101
heedful enough of its resulting ethical demands,
but I—in the spirit of the season :)—am thankful
for the opportunity to discuss it with people—like
everyone on this list—who remind me to be both.
Jim Wilson (Dec. 4): This question comes down
to the actual definition of what reading about evil
is. The example of Enoch is not the sort of reading
about evil that (almost) anyone on this thread has
been talking about. Every great book and almost
every halfway decent book has a depiction of evil in
it to a greater or lesser degree. There is a moral dif-
ference, however, between Jane Austen and the
Marquis de Sade. Evil in Pride and Prejudice is
the sort of low, dishonest, common type that one
meets with quite frequently. The asinine French-
man is reveling in his darkest dream—he’s promot-
ing and desiring evil. I read Jane Austen’s books just
about every year, but one time was more than
enough for Sade.
The biggest problem in most fiction today is that
immature and utterly dishonest intellectual pose
known as cynicism. Since everyone’s bad, every char-
acter is bad, and thus the book is bad—the charac-
ters are evil; it’s just a matter of degree. The “good”
guys are slightly less evil than the “bad” guys. I rarely
meet a person that I can despise completely, but
I read about them all the time. The one I really
despise is the writer, however, because not only is
cynicism dishonest, it’s also stupid. If one actually
can’t come up with a single likable character in a
book, then it’s time to try a less difficult art. I would
suggest underwater BB stacking. I can only sup-
pose that someone writing about uniformly despi-
cable people must live in a world filled with
despicable people, and therefore is stupid as a
stump and blind as a stalactite because that’s not
the real world, nor any reasonable facsimile thereof.
I’m sure there are wholly despicable people in
the world. I’m sure plenty of them are in congress
and governments around the world. There are
probably a number of Mormons who fit that cate-
gory as well. They are not a widespread species on
earth, however. Cain is not waiting under every
bush. It takes a lot before the Lord stops striving
with us—the Nephites ended up raping and eating
Lamanite girls before God gave up on them. Now
I would love to never have heard of pedophiles and
Spring 2003
the very concept of rape. It would be bliss to be
ignorant of such things. If I read about them or
write about them, however, I will not treat them as
“Ho-hum, there go I but for the luck of the draw.”
Any story with a pedophile ought to end with a
beheading. Any story with rape ought to end with
a hanging. If they don’t then the perpetrators ought
not to be treated too sympathetically, but even if
they are they ought never to be celebrated. And
such things are celebrated in some books. I feel no
need to read them. I have no respect for those who
write them. [. . .]
I wouldn’t recommend Sade to anyone. I do
recommend Jane Austen. One will give you evil
thoughts, the other won’t. Anything designed to
destroy good isn’t worthy reading, unless one
approaches it forewarned and with great caution.
I’ve read most of the great books of evil—Das Kap-
ital, Mein Kampf, Rousseau’s Confessions, Beyond
Good and Evil, God and the State—but I did not
read them as a guilty pleasure. I did it to repair the
holes in my education, because ideas from all of
those books were fed to me uncritically in school,
and the authorship was never revealed. It is nasty,
grinding work, the equivalent of wading through a
sewer, and though they are untruth they are not
novels. Novels deal with untruth to reveal truth as
the writer sees it, while the books I listed (and many
others) just preach untruth and evil as if it were
good. On a daily basis I’d rather read something
that will put a smile on my face with characters that
I like and that I root for. As Rebecca wrote in the
first snip above, there’s plenty of evil that surrounds
us. A steady diet will turn one away from reality
and into the realms of bitter and deadly fantasy.
Amelia Parkin (Dec. 5): I must say that I won-
der what it is that you are reading. I read a lot of
contemporary literature and find that very little, if
any of it, is as you have described here. I could
point to many books that do not include only bad
characters or good characters that are simply
slightly less evil than the bad characters. It actually
frustrates me a great deal to hear this kind of con-
demnation of contemporary literature. For years,
hearing such judgments is what kept me from ever
reading a book written in the latter half of the 20th
century. Finally when I picked some up for myself
Spring 2003 102
about five years ago, I discovered works of incred-
ible beauty, both aesthetically and morally. I found
works that forced me to think about myself far
more than the classic literature (which I loved and
still love passionately) ever did.
I agree with Justin Halverson that we should
“read books that [do not] ignore the evil that as a
human being I am constantly in danger of doing to
other people” (I hope I am understanding that
statement correctly). What better way to under-
stand our own very human capacity to do things
that are not good? Sometimes those things are the
little things that Jim points to in Austen’s literature.
But sometimes they are big things that we always
think we would never do (read The House Gun by
Nadine Gordimer or Waterland by Graham Swift
for a couple of examples). I will never forget the
moment when I realized that the Nazis were people
just like me. I was 17. I was watching a documen-
tary about the Holocaust in my European history
class, and I saw these German soldiers watching as
hundreds of Jews were herded into concentration
camps and then into gas chambers. And inside I
was screaming at these people, these Nazi monsters,
who were able to look into the faces of children and
send them to their deaths. And somehow, it clicked
that they weren’t monsters. They were human
beings, people like me with families and brothers
and sisters and neighbors, people who laughed and
cried. And somehow their sense of right and wrong
had become warped until they assumed the appear-
ance of monsters. But they had started just as I had
started, which meant that I could end just as they
had ended. It was a powerful realization to make.
I have a lot of friends who object to studying the
horrors of history. I remember one year a friend of
mine asking why we had to study the history of the
Holocaust. He was objecting because it was so
depressing and really not relevant to his life. Poor
guy; he probably felt like he had been chewed up
and spit out by the time I was done with him. But
I feel very strongly that we have to understand the
evils of our world and recognize that the potential
for those evils lies within ourselves and that some
of the most powerful potential for those evils lies
within the very things that we think are the most
beautiful, good things on earth (like Christianity).
IRREANTUM
If we don’t acknowledge our potential to do wrong,
to commit evil in all of its variations, how do we
expect to combat it?
Contemporary lit forces me to stare these things
in the face. The situations of the characters are
utterly real. I encounter them in my own world in
the very same forms, and those situations are both
beautiful and ugly. Please remember that what we
as authors write is contemporary literature, and the
more we try to ignore that fact or to emulate the lit-
erature of the past, literature that wasn’t so “dark”
or however you may describe it, the more we will
fail. There are reasons that literature changes, both
aesthetic and social/cultural reasons. Perhaps we
should be less hesitant to condemn and seek more
diligently to find the beautiful in our own world
instead of looking down on it from our lofty moral
high ground.
Thom Duncan (Dec. 5): I think the Bible and
the Book of Mormon ought to be the prime exam-
ples of how we Mormon writers can write about
evil. How is it done in Holy Writ? Again, I remind
my Gentle Reader of the story of Lot and his
daughters, a story of incest but without a moral of
any kind. The act is nowhere condemned and is
in fact seen as practical in order to perpetuate the
family. Judges 19, where a man of God cuts up a
woman into twelve parts. And countless other
examples where there is no clear moral (despite
what Sheri Dew says, the Bible stories are often free
of morally clear messages).
The Book of Mormon does a better job of show-
ing people getting their just deserts if they do
something wrong. But then you have that hard-to-
understand story of Nephi being commanded of
God to kill a man. That’s about as morally ambigu-
ous a story as you can find. Make Nephi a guy
named Ron Lafferty and the victim a young mother
and her nineteen-month-old daughter, and you
have yourself quite the nasty villain.
And how graphic should we be? As graphic as
the Bible and the Book of Mormon might be a
good milestone. So we should be able to describe
without repercussions from our official publishing
arm a righteous man looking out his window and
seeing a lovely woman sun-bathing and then that
man sending the woman’s husband off to war to die
IRREANTUM 103
so he can have the woman. Or we should be able to
describe a degenerate race of folks who shave their
heads and drink the blood of their dead victims
without too much concern that we are not writing
the way God wants us to.
Do our scriptures have blood and gore? Then
our stories ought not to shy away from that.
Do our scriptures have sex and violence? Then
our stories ought not to shy away from that.
Do people who do bad things in the scriptures
always get their comeuppance? Then we shouldn’t
worry about our characters getting away with it
either.
Do our scriptures contain stories that uplift, that
show the positive side of human nature? Of course
they do, but sometimes we like to pretend that
those are the only kinds of stories they have.
Russell Asplund (Dec. 11): But then again—
when it came to the dealing of the people of Ether
and their secret combinations, God does step in
and tell the prophet not to put the details in the
scriptures. Even though it is historical fact. So are
there some things, in some ways and some times,
that are not moral to write about?
There are two books that I have read in the past
10 years that struck me that way. I’m not even sure
why—I’ve read more explicit or more profane books
that I found quite moving. But these two I left feel-
ing that the world would have been a better place
if they hadn’t existed. If I said what they were,
people here would probably pounce on me.
I don’t really care about Deseret Book policy, but
I do care about creating moral fiction, and I find
I’m stuck right now. A bout of severe depression
and social anxiety landed me in therapy a year or so
ago and uncovered some issues that I have no idea
how to deal with in my fiction. Lying about it doesn’t
seem like a moral thing to do. But neither does let-
ting the dark things overshadow everything else.
Rich Hammett (Dec. 12): I, for one, look for
the same type of wisdom about life in every book I
read, every movie or TV show that I watch, every
conversation I have or even those I hear on the
train. But maybe I’m more intense than your aver-
age reader.
[. . .] But implicit here is another angle, which
might be more difficult. I do look for wisdom
Spring 2003
about life everywhere, like I do in scripture. But I
also don’t depend on a single reading of a single text
for absolute truth. Everything I read, even in the
scriptures, gets passed through my own moral com-
pass. As somebody else said, it’s obvious that what
Lot did was wrong—well, it’s obvious to me
because of my moral compass. I have heard people
in many groups try to defend Lot’s action as moral,
based on the fact that it is in Holy Writ.
And I don’t see a problem with approaching all
literature like this. To put a more Mormon vocab-
ulary on it, to approach all things through the
inspiration of the Holy Ghost.
Love and Adultery and Consequences
Margaret Young (Nov. 20): I would have been
very surprised if Deseret Book had decided to sell
Heresies of Nature. It has long been my understand-
ing that DB has a policy on not selling Signature
books. [. . .] I’ll even be real honest and admit that
I was concerned that the advent of Heresies of
Nature before the last book of the trilogy (Standing
on the Promises) could discredit me to some Mor-
mon readers. (Signature had accepted it seven years
ago.) I went so far as to talk with a Desert Book
editor about it.
Now, I haven’t read Richard Evans’s book, but
from what I’ve heard, I’d say Heresies of Nature is
not nearly as morally dangerous as his—even
though the illicit lovers do indeed have sex
(implicit) in my book. In Heresies, however, the
whole route gets covered. A man whose wife is par-
alyzed meets a woman who seems somehow a mov-
ing version of his wife and falls for her. As the story
progresses, this other woman takes steps to actually
appear an exact replica. They commit adultery, and
the consequences follow. Ultimately, he stands up
for his marriage and returns to his wife. He knows
he will be excommunicated—or at least brought up
to face a disciplinary council—and he has already
told his bishop all about what’s happened, though
that confession is more a trial for the bishop, who
can’t find a good answer to the man’s pain outside
clichés. I suppose the unfaithful husband reflects
my own conviction that the violation of marriage
covenants somehow disrupts the universe. Anyway,
Spring 2003 104
it was controversial as a play script and was nearly
nuked before its debut at BYU. Eric Samuelsen and
I both had to go to bat for it. But we won. The play
was produced, and my sister-in-law (the basis for
the paralyzed character) died two hours before we
opened the show. So her nurses and her family all
saw the play, which became a tribute to her. (The
program even included a tribute written by my
husband about his beloved sister.)
Now, why would I say that my book is less dan-
gerous than Richard’s (as I understand Richard’s)?
Because I know what it’s like to be in an abusive
marriage. (No, Bruce Young is not abusive. I’m
talking about a prior marriage.) I don’t trust anyone
to portray an abusive husband who doesn’t really
know what it’s like. It’s far too easy to demonize.
And, frankly, it’s far too easy for a woman or a man
in a difficult marriage to demonize the spouse and
justify a little extramarital excursion—even if that
excursion doesn’t quite include sex. Nobody in a
difficult marriage needs any encouragement—liter-
ary or non—to seek “companionship” outside the
bonds. It’s about the easiest temptation out there—
and I’d suggest it’s an easy temptation for a writer,
too. Didn’t Anita Stansfield write something simi-
lar to Richard’s book? It seems I recall reading AML
comments about her book with a very similar plot—
except that the bad spouse either died or asked for
a divorce so the better marriage could happen.
Well, obviously, I believe in better marriages, since
I have one, but I also believe in the ethic of com-
plete fidelity. (C. S. Lewis responded to the issue in
an essay called “We Have No Right to Happiness,”
which list members might want to look up.)
I’m reminded of another student who visited me
and mentioned that one of my colleagues showed
The English Patient in class and announced that
anyone who was offended by the nudity had no
right to be offended. I responded to the student
(who hadn’t been troubled by the statement but
saw it as a call to sophistication) that the nudity in
that movie happens during a depiction of an adul-
terous relationship. If I had a student whose family
had been split up because of adultery, I believe that
student would have a right to be offended by the
presentation of the titillating side of it. That student
IRREANTUM
would understand what it had actually meant to
the family, what the repercussions had been,
how the universe had indeed been disrupted. [. . .]
Anyway, I would not even try to get Deseret to
carry Heresies of Nature, even though I consider it
highly moral, and I’m not the least bit offended
that no Deseret Book store will carry it. It’ll find its
own audience, which will no doubt be limited. But
I am not bothered by Sheri Dew’s moral decision
either. I suspect she heard many, many stories from
many, many women during her term in the Relief
Society General Board.
Katie Parker (Nov. 20): In [Anita Stansfield’s]
First Love and Forever (which is the first book in the
trilogy where the wife is sealed to her abusive first
husband instead of her wonderful second husband,
and the implications of the sealing are explored),
Emily was originally in love with Michael, who was
wonderful but he wasn’t LDS. So she married Ryan
who was LDS, and somehow she got this idea that
it was the right thing to do. Fast forward several
years—Ryan is emotionally distant and not very
wonderful, and Emily happens to run into Michael
again. Michael begs her to leave Ryan and run off
with him. Emily carefully considers it, prays about
it, and decides she’d better stay with Ryan. Ryan
starts shaping up, though, but just as things look
like they could work out with him, he’s killed in a
car wreck. So then Emily can marry Michael and
live happily ever after (except, of course, for that
sealing thing).
That’s something that’s bothered me about
Stansfield’s books—technically, they’re very proper;
Emily doesn’t leave her husband or commit adul-
tery or anything like that. But in spirit, she sure
wants to. But since she doesn’t actually do any of
the technical stuff, her straying feelings are okay.
They’re even right, since Ryan’s soon out of the
picture anyway, and obviously she and Michael
were always meant for each other and Ryan was
always slime.
A more realistic version of this would have Emily
choosing to stay with Ryan, and then having to
make that marriage work for another sixty years.
This would include overcoming her feelings for
Michael. Or perhaps she would leave Ryan and forge
IRREANTUM 105
a new life alone, but there would be no Michael
waiting for her. Probably the romance-reading crowd
wouldn’t buy it, though.
Barbara Hume (Nov. 29): I didn’t see that as the
message. The book said that you are on the moral
high ground to marry a creep who happens to be
LDS rather than holding out for a decent man. Of
course, Michael had to wind up converting, which
was a necessity in an LDS book. In his case, he was
sincere; the man’s conversion in My Big Fat Greek
Wedding bothered me, since I think he did it to
please her, not because he was a Greek Orthodox in
his heart. I suppose the “right” choice for a woman
whose two suitors include an LDS creep and a non-
LDS decent man is spinsterhood. That’s not a
happy ending for most women.
Tracie Laulusa (Nov. 22): While it is true that
the road from having feelings for someone can lead
to adultery, the having feelings for someone part is
not committing adultery . . . yet. (In my opinion.)
It is one thing I have observed in Mormon cul-
ture, and while it may also be in other Christian
cultures, I haven’t observed it there because I’m not
there: somehow we think we can control every little
thing that goes on in our minds. I have found from
personal experience and talked to enough people to
know I’m not alone in that experience, to know
that you cannot totally control thought and feel-
ings. Thoughts pop into our minds, and feelings
sometimes have minds of their own.
Entertaining those thoughts and feelings is
another thing. Most of us have the ability to choose
what we do with those thoughts and feelings once
they are there. However, even then sometimes get-
ting rid of them, or channeling them to another
path, can be a very long process. More than hum-
ming a hymn in your mind for a few moments. It
may be humming a hymn every time the thought
or feeling comes around for the next three years—
or praying about it, seeking heavenly guidance,
instead of gratifying your own desires.
From what you said of this particular book, it
doesn’t sound like she deliberately made a decision
to seek out Michael or to cultivate her feelings for
him. They were just there. Maybe there was more
to that interlude than you had time to state in your
Spring 2003
post. Does she want to commit adultery, or does
she want to be happy? Naturally, if she is in a rot-
ten relationship, something that offers an alterna-
tive looks really good. But she struggles with her
feelings, sublimates them to what she feels is right,
and tries to make a go of her marriage. Seems like
a pretty moral and upright scenario.
That Stansfield maybe copped out with the
marry-Michael-and-live-happily-ever-after ending
is another consideration. But this is, after all, LDS
romance. Not real life in the nitty-gritty. In real life
in the nitty-gritty, she probably would have found
herself with her feelings for Michael and wondered
if she was insane to suppose any man could be
trusted after her experience with Ryan, and
dumped both of them.
Scott Parkin (Nov. 23): There are many ways
that people respond to impulses, some of them
good and some not. What is the relationship
between physical impulse and free will? If a body is
part of being like God, does he also feel physical
impulses that are not entirely under his conscious
control? If so, is learning to both recognize and
respond to biochemical impulse a specific and
intended part of our mission in this life? [. . .]
I think we sometimes get hung up on the idea of
“as a man thinketh, so is he” to mean that if we
even consider an idea that we are somehow fallen
and evil and unclean. We come to fear the very real
fact of physical or chemical impulse. Sometimes
our imperfect brains fire off a random synapse and
all kinds of odd ideas pop into our heads—some-
times even grotesque or sinful ones. (I’ve told the
story before of the time it occurred to me to won-
der what it would look like to see someone shot in
the chest—as I stood on stage during the perform-
ance of a play while holding a prop gun, which I
promptly pointed at the lighting technician. I had
no desire to kill him, but the mental impulse
occurred and I acted out knowing that action to be
harmless. Later the mere fact of the impulse led to
some lengthy introspection.)
It’s hard to consider these issues without looking
like we’re excusing bad behavior. It would take a
skilled storyteller to explore the interaction of body
and mind and spirit. Because our theology is one of
Spring 2003 106
the few to include a specifically corporeal god, it
seems that we have a unique insight (or at least a
unique set of conceptual solutions) on those ques-
tions. Can we explore the nature of impulse with-
out necessarily excusing it? Can we do it with style?
Are we willing to try?
I can’t speak to Evans’s storyline, but I do have a
generic problem with the “love conquers all” idea
that’s often expressed as “love justifies all sins.” This
last idea is what I think some readers have responded
to in Evans’s book—not that she faces the impulse
to seek happiness (a godly impulse, IMO) or even
that she feels the impulse to adultery, but that she
believes adultery to be a sin and yet justifies her
extended entertainment of that sin in the name of
love. Some would argue that’s a slippery slope to
justification of any impulse, good or otherwise.
But what is love? Is it a mystical thing that takes
control of the soul and won’t allow any rebuke? Is
it an intellectual construct? Is it biochemical
response fired off by a complex combination of
visual, olfactory, experiential, and physical factors,
the subconscious mind’s attempt to encourage
behaviors in the machine of the body that will lead
to well-being or an escape from pain or injury? A
mix of the above? Is love really something that can-
not be denied? Is love a choice, or is it something
that happens to you? Is love necessary to a success-
ful relationship? Is it necessary to exhalation—at
least the romantic form of it?
Ramona Siddoway (Nov. 23): I had the same
feelings as Scott [Bronson] when I read this book
[First Love and Forever]. I thought, isn’t that [the
ending] convenient? I also agree with Tracie—
sometimes it takes years and fasting in addition to
praying. Has anyone read Anne Perry’s Tathea?
There’s a point in that book where after the
emperor has studied this “book from heaven” he
realizes he needs to forego his mistress and recon-
cile with his wife, whom he does not love nor has
had any warmth for—or from. But he makes this
commitment because it’s the right thing to do. I’ve
discovered feelings oftentimes have very little to do
with what is right and wrong. Sometimes you really
do have to sacrifice.
IRREANTUM
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