In Orson F. Whitney's ambitious plead for the LDS people to create and advance the artistic and technological advancements of the world, he practically begs for us to, "above all things, [...] be original." He reasons that we have a culture and a religious history that is so unique and innately different that it should be easy for us to create works of art that are, if nothing else, unique from anything else in the world.
Considering the time of Whitney's address (1888) and the release of Nephi Anderson's Added Upon (1898), I can't help but imagine Anderson hearing this plea, running home to his favorite writing spot, and putting pen (quill?) to paper (parchment?). His ambitious portrayal of the Plan of Salvation in its whole--including the parts wholly unique and original to our religion--is practically a direct response to Whitney's statement.
The question that must then follow this, is "was he successful?"
Successful in being original? Absolutely.
Successful in being good? Not quite.
I understand that this book comes from a time early in the church's history when fascination with our doctrine must have (understandably) been incredible. But to now read a book where we get to follow two characters through the War in Heaven and then find each other (as "soulmates" nonetheless--something of a dirty word among LDS singles nowadays) on Earth and then into the postmortal realm, gives me the same icky feeling that I get when I see a painting of people in robes standing around in what's supposed to be the pre-Earth life, or seeing old Church videos depicting heaven.
We have absolutely no clue what either of those places would be like. And until we do, any attempt to depict it will fall miserably, unsettlingly short.

The question that must then follow this, is "was he successful?"
Successful in being original? Absolutely.
Successful in being good? Not quite.
I understand that this book comes from a time early in the church's history when fascination with our doctrine must have (understandably) been incredible. But to now read a book where we get to follow two characters through the War in Heaven and then find each other (as "soulmates" nonetheless--something of a dirty word among LDS singles nowadays) on Earth and then into the postmortal realm, gives me the same icky feeling that I get when I see a painting of people in robes standing around in what's supposed to be the pre-Earth life, or seeing old Church videos depicting heaven.
We have absolutely no clue what either of those places would be like. And until we do, any attempt to depict it will fall miserably, unsettlingly short.