Truth, Beauty, and The Good

This semester I have spent a lot of time learning about the curriculum of the Truth, Beauty, and The Good, in relation to literature, religious pursuit, and life in general. Truth is also known as the meaningful life and primarily deals with epistemology or how we know what we think we know. Beauty, which is the rich life and stands out to us in form and aesthetics, and can act as an access point to Truth. Both of these correlate with The Good, which is known as the life of authentic happiness and is primarily seen through ethics. When combined, Truth, Beauty, and The Good for our ontology, or who we are and what it means for us to be and not just exist. 

The reason I give you this quick introduction to Truth, Beauty, and The Good is to better articulate what I believe is the authentic and innate connection between religion and literature. 

One of the first concepts that struck me while studying Mormon literature, was that in the early stages of LDS Literature, specifically Added Upon, the work and author seemed to be more concerned about portraying Truth than they were interested in portraying Beauty. Although I think this tactic accurately accomplishes its goal (yes, I can definitely see Truth in the book) it made it difficult for me to want to read the book because it was not first beautiful. This example highlights on of the main differences but also similarities between literature and religion. It seems to me, that in general, religion is most often primarily worried about Truth and The Good. Wishing for its devotees to live ethically and understand why they believe what they believe, is religions primary goal. On the whole, this approach works. It gives its followers a sense of the meaningful life of authentic happiness; at least, that is what I have felt from my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Similarly, literature also deals with Truth, Beauty, and The Good. But, its priorities are slightly different. Usually primarily focused on Beauty, literature uses Beauty, via aesthetics and form, to enlighten us to principles of Truth and The Good. All good literature leaves me feeling expanded in regards to questions about what I know and how I think I know it and what I believe to be ethical. In this way, literature often accomplishes all three aspects (Truth, Beauty, and The Good), whereas, religion often goes straight to the heart of the matter of Truth and The Good, hoping that it appears beautiful to the members. 

Both religion and literature seem to want to enhance our lives, although they often go about that goal in different ways. The only time that their different tactics present a problem, though, is when religion and literature try to join forces while still tugging their own directions.   

A perfect example of this tug-of-war is Mormonism and its efforts to create inherently religious literature. In many of the books we read this semester, I found myself always coming back to the same problem. The lessons and experiences of the book could be so impactful if they were portrayed with Beauty instead of just Truth. Religion doesn't necessarily need to present its information beautifully because easily-comprehended information ensures that everyone understands the doctrines taught. But literature, in order to be effective, must be beautiful. Obviously Beauty can be manifested in a number of ways. This doesn't require a prescribed style, but rather the qualities that will strike the reader because of the inevitability of what is written. Literature is less forceful than religion. The beauty of literature is that it embeds Truth and The Good subtly; it takes external reality and filters it through the internal workings of the human mind and soul. This is beautiful. Because of this Beauty becomes the access point to infinite amounts of Truth and The Good. Because literature is subtle, we can discover the truths that affect us, not just the truths that are prescribed and explained. 

Mormonism has a great potential to create literature that embeds immense possibilities for Truth and The Good. But in order to succeed, Mormon literature must not ignore Beauty. We must be prioritize Beauty and then, without doubt, the Truth, The Good, and the authentic happiness in our meaningful lives will be embedded into the pages of what we write. Others will find it through Beauty, and they will believe in the treasure they found.   

The Devil's Ploys: Book of Mormon Entry 2

I was so close to missing it. But luckily, I didn't.

I was quickly skimming over 2 Nephi 28:19-23, a passage about the Devil's ploys, the day active and passive voice became a little more important to me. I was skimming because who likes reading all about the Devil and his nasty tricks? I mean I don't. Anyway, while looking past versus 22 and 23, I noticed the word "grasps" on one line and "are grasped" on the next. "Why the difference?" I asked myself.

Photo by Victor
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

I knew the difference between active and passive voice. In active voice, the subject or actor in the sentence comes first with a verb immediately following, so "he grasps." In passive voice, the object, or what is acted upon, comes first making the verb become passive, or what is happening to the object and not what the subject is doing. The subject either comes later or remains unsaid, for example, "they are grasped," where no subject is said at all leaving "they" to be "grasped" by somebody unsaid.

Looking back over the versus with active and passive voice in mind, I began to see a pattern. Every time the Devil was referred to, he was the subject of the sentence. He, as the actor of the sentence, was constantly on the move, actively trying to "shake" us, "grasp" us, "pacify," and "lull" us. He "cheateth," "flattereth," "leadeth [us] away," "whispereth in [our] ears." He "rage[s]" against all that is good. Suddenly the Devil seemed powerful, frightening, and dreadfully busy. But what was worse came next.

Further down the versus, there was a sudden shift into the passive voice. The catalyst? "His awful chains, from whence there is no deliverance." Those who allowed themselves to be taken in and acted upon by the Devil suddenly became incapable of acting. The sentence structure itself showed it. "They are grasped with death and hell," they "have been seized" by the Devil. They cannot act for themselves, having given away their agency to the Devil and his ploys and rendering themselves objects to be acted upon.

Looking up from the page, I was shocked at how clearly the bondage of sin was embedded into the very sentences of the versus. It was terribly clear how existence would be if I was ever to relinquish my agency. I feel incredibly grateful that God gave me agency. After all, even those who give away their agency to the Devil's ploys will someday have to actively "stand before the throne of God" because God will not take away our agency. In fact, God requires us to be accountable. Perhaps that is why the Devil is so clever. He deceives us into thinking his way is easier, that no agency is better. But then at the last, when we must stand accountable before God, he abandons his followers and they are left not knowing how to deal with the consequences that will always come, regardless of active or passive choices.

Agency and accountability. Active and passive. To act and to be acted upon. What should we choose? Its pretty simple when put this way. 

We Are Not That Different: A revision of Book of Mormon Entry 1

The Psalm of Nephi, or 2 Nephi 4, is Nephi's most poignant and poetic work. Already being considered a sacred hymn by way of it being a psalm, it was adapted into a Mormon Tabernacle Choir piece called "I Love the Lord" based on the hymn "Be Still My Soul." And although I've studied this chapter frequently, listened to it's musical rendition, and visited it in my own times of sorrow, I've rarely thought of the chapter as more than just Nephi having a bad day. But then I read it again.

The psalm can be easily formatted to poetic stanzas since it is written to be a sacred hymn. Once it is in stanzas though, it is amazing to watch the poetic devices emerge. As I was reading the chapter in stanzas, I noticed that Nephi repeats the beginning few words of his lines, called an anaphora, all the time. For example "he hath" in versus 20 to 23, or "O Lord" in versus 30 to 34. Nephi uses anaphoras like I do? I was surprised. I began to wonder what type of man would use poetic device to self-reflect, to express sorrow, to show his faith and angst simultaneously? What type of man would write devotional poetry at all? 

I guess Nephi would. 

It suddenly dawned on me that Nephi, at about 20 to 30 years old, took the time to sit down and scratch a repeating opener (an anaphora) into metal sheets. Nephi took the time to molten the plates and show future generations that it is normal to feel inadequate, sorrowful, and even self-deprecating. Nephi took the time to write a poem so that we could see the beauty that comes from turning sorrow into self-reflection and angst into faith. 

As I read the versus again and again, more poetic devices kept appearing. Apostrophes and exclamatios were everywhere. Nephi used exclamatios, or emotional exclamations, to address himself "O wretched man that I am!" and "O my heart," showing just how intensely he was feeling. The apostrophes (addressing either an inanimate object or abstract or absent being) were addressed to God, "O Lord, I have trusted in thee," showing that Nephi felt actual distance from God. Could Nephi feel distant from God, the same way I have sometimes felt? Could Nephi feel upset with himself the way I sometimes am? Nephi's desperate cries while still sacred and emotional, were becoming more and more reminiscent of my own pleas to God.

Starting to feel more similar to Nephi than different, I wasn't surprised to see him use imperatives (or command verbs) to give himself personal pep talks, just the way I have: "Awake my soul! No longer droop in sin. Rejoice, O my heart, and give place no more for the enemy of my soul." It was almost contagious, as though whispering the motivating words to myself louder and louder would allow me to join the rally of souls, although both he and I were alone, him in writing the words and me in reading them.

In one last glance at the chapter, feeling like I'd made a new friend, I noticed Nephi's self-reflecting rhetorical questions sprinkled through his poetry. Yes, I have bad days just like Nephi. Yes, I sometimes write poetry just like Nephi. Yes, I cry against myself and to God just like Nephi. And yes, I give myself commanding pep talks just like Nephi. But, what I do best is self-reflect. So no, I am not surprised that Nephi, too, self-reflects: "Why should my heart weep and my soul linger in the valley of sorrow, / and my flesh waste away, / and my strength slacken, / because of mine afflictions?" Nephi talks to himself like I do? Nephi self-reflects like I do? Yes, of course he does.

After all, Nephi and I really aren't that different. I mean, come on, the guy writes poetry. 

Ink and Wax

I went to the session on writing personal essays. We were first told to go read a good sample size of personal essays starting with Eugene England. Then we were presented with a "nearly perfect" essay to look at called Joyas Voladoras by Brian Doyle. Some of the reasons it was so well created is because it began by asking us to consider. Then it began to give us further information to consider often starting with large units and reducing to smaller units. It also quickly alerted us to the theme of hearts by using well-placed repetition. Perhaps most importantly though was the skill with which the easy transitioned from interesting facts about the world to a personal, contemplative understanding.

One quote I really liked was "the world is everywhere whispering essays."

Photo by Bunches and Bits {Karina}

From there we moved into a workshop period where we applied what they called "the artful trick." We began by listing 10 things we considered ourselves masters of. This came from the idea that the most interesting and important things are found in the tiny masters of tiny domains that we all are. I only got to 6, but I listed 1) considering new perspectives, 2) Writing wax-sealed letters, 3) Reading what I want to read, 4) Having a one-on-one conversation, 5) Playing with Spencer's curls, 6) Missing my family. 

From there, we were supposed to choose just one topic and free write/free associate for five minutes. I wrote: "I've always felt romantically toward writing letters on parchment sealed with red wax. They way the wax bubbles and drips as it globs onto the crease only to be pressed into an identity, is fascinating. To watch it seal away secret contents and hidden feelings. Wax can be unwieldy though. I have a red stain on my pajamas and underclothes and a small red spot on my leg to prove it. But then again, so is ink. Just like wax being pressed into distinguishable form, ink etches itself into meaning.

Then we were to free write on a person somehow related to the topic. I wrote: "I always hoped to sometime have a person to give a wax-sealed letter to. When I met Spencer, I figured I'd found him; he was my wax-sealed match. And believe me, I wrote a few, got burnt in the process. But I have since stopped because there is no utterable word with which to etch in ink or seal with wax.

Finally, we were to free write the opening to our essay. I wrote two openings: "Contemplate the similarities of ink and wax." And, "Why must words inscribed with ink and wax be secretive?"

I even got some interesting feedback. The general tone they felt was a romance edged with mystery. Not what I was going for but, hey, no big deal. And a comment I really liked was the idea that ink is more permanent than other forms of communication, similar to the drafts of our lives and the desire to find someone to write to permanently. 

Jer3miah: What an introduction

Your birthday is actually April 11th . . .
Oh no! You lied to me, and now everything is changing!

Photo by ClaraDon

Duh duh duh duh! (moving into ominously lower tones)

This post is going to focus on the opening of the web series because beginnings are important to me. So my first impression included a little gagging at the stereotypical Mormon jokes and shallow characterizations. It seemed to me that the director expects a lot from his audience because his audience must be really specific to understand the jokes or even find them funny: faithful member, often male-specific, freshman-in-college-age, and undying patient. Fortunately the first few episodes also include some tactful foreshadowing, making the jumpy transitions less startling. But it is still jarring to enter non-stop fast cuts, constant danger, and surprising revelations at almost every moment. I mean, I get that it is supposed to "suck to viewer in" but really it just feels like a bad soap opera. This is also problematic because those who aren't looking for constant danger or fast-paced cuts find themselves not at all invested with the characters who are either still relatively shallow or dead by 33 % into the series, or those who don't mind the pace find themselves with too many questions, no information, and little hope for information.

Now let me pause here and say it gets better. Unfortunately though, the first few episodes don't set it up well.

Let's back up to characterization again. The main character is problematic because there is literally no reason to like him or think he is special other than the story is about him and we were told he is. That, in short, is frustrating. As a person who will always prefer characterization to plot, I find it frustrating to only ever see what is done to him, instead of who he is. Same with his parents. They were really back and forth with how they treated their 18 year old son and a bit cliche. But no worries, they're dead before we get to no them so as the audience we feel no sorrow. (Yes, that was biting. But my biggest pet peeve is when things should matter and they don't because of lazy characterization.)

Let's end with a few nice things about the opening episodes. I liked the moment when the roommate puts a blanket on Jeremiah and lets him curl up in bed silently. It is a nice moment of unspoken characterization. I like the fact that they took a risk with the filming and let is all be seen through the hand-held recorder. Yes, it made me motion sick, but hey, it was innovative. The Joseph-Smith-esque allusions were a bit trite, but at least they made an allusion when talking about the box and the dangers and the three things he must do.

Overall, it was hard for me to watch. But, I did watch it with my husband, so we had a fun time listing out the pros and cons as objectively as possible. 

The Psalm of Nephi: Faith-filled angst and sorrowful self-reflection

Photo courtesy of LDS Media Library

I have always loved 2 Nephi 4, or the Psalm of Nephi. Being his most poignant and poetic work, I rarely thought of the chapter as more than just Nephi having a bad day. But then I read it again.

If the psalm is formatted to poetic stanzas, it is amazing to watch the poetic devices jump out at you. As I was reading I noticed that Nephi repeats the beginning few words of his lines all the time. For example "he hath" in versus 20 to 23, or "O Lord" in versus 30 to 34. Nephi uses anaphoras like I do? I was surprised. I began to wonder what type of man would use poetic device to self-reflect, to express sorrow, to show his faith and angst simultaneously? What type of man would write devotional poetry at all? Well, I guess Nephi would. About 20 to 30 years old, Nephi would take the time to sit down and scratch into metal sheets a repeating opener (an anaphora). Nephi would take the time to molten the plates so that he could vent to future generations, God, and anyone else a frustrated human being likes to talk to when they wax poetic. Nephi would.

As I read the versus again and again, more poetic devices kept appearing. Apostrophes to himself "O wretched man that I am!" and "O my heart," and apostrophes to God, "O Lord, I have trusted in thee."  It became more sacred than ever before to listen in on the desperate cries of a emotion-stricken man. Imperatives were acting as commanding personal pep talks: "Awake my soul! No longer droop in sin. Rejoice, O my heart, and give place no more for the enemy of my soul." It became more motivating to whisper the words to myself louder and louder, like I could join the rally of souls, although both he and I were alone, him in writing them and me in reading them. Rhetorical questions were sprinkled through his poetry, showing his self-reflection: "Why should my heart weep and y soul linger in the valley of sorrow, / and my flesh waste away, / and my strength slacken, / because of mine afflictions?" Nephi talks to himself? He self reflects? Heck yeah, he does.

After all, so do I. And I guess Nephi and I aren't really that different. I mean really. The guy writes poetry. 

The Barren Fig Tree

Photo courtesy of LDS Media Library

An old gardener named Thomas tended a vineyard in Japha. He had wrinkly fingers and dirt-encrusted knuckles and kind, but firm, eyes. He has worked all his life for a great master who has a wide and sweeping vineyard. He had dedicated the past twenty years of his life to caring for the vineyard with his son, Peter.

While the son was young he would follow his father all the day and learn how to tend the fig trees. Thomas taught Peter how to prune and tend the trees so that the soil was lively and the tree could bring forth new buds. But most importantly, Thomas taught Peter, that the trees needed love.

Peter was assigned to care for one fig tree. But, he would often forget to dig about the tree, and he hated dunging it. The pruners were too big for him to cut the tree correctly. But Peter always sat with his tree. Many afternoons, after attempting to care for the tree, he would fall asleep under its leaves and dream of great things. He would tell his father about these dreams and endure his scolding for loving too much and caring too little.

Years passed and soon Peter became interested in “so-called” prophets. To Thomas’s frustration, he could not speak sense into Peter, and when Peter turned 21 he followed after an Essene named John the Baptist, and Thomas was left alone to make his rounds in angry loneliness.

The gardener did his best with the vineyard, but he was now old, and he had to cycle through which parts of the vineyard he could visit week by week. Most of the garden did quite well under this system, but Peter’s fig tree waned no matter what Thomas did. Whenever Thomas saw that fig tree it reminded him of the lost sunny days when Peter would follow him, and they would talk of life and trees. Soon Thomas avoided the tree completely.

Three years after Peter had left, Thomas was surprised by a visit from his master. The master stood by the barren fig tree. Thomas thought, “Of all the trees in this beautiful garden, my master has to notice this barren tree for which I can do nothing.” Nervously, Thomas approached his master and the tree and wondered if the tree would have become barren if Peter had stayed.

The master looked up at Thomas with a sad smile and said, “This morning I wanted to taste the fruits of my garden to calm my troubled heart and noticed this tree is still barren. On many mornings such as this, I have come walking and have noted that all these trees produce well except this one tree. It takes up needed space, in an otherwise plentiful vineyard. It is time to cut the tree down, Thomas.”

As the master turned to walk away, Thomas found himself saying, “Wait. Let me care for it one more year. I will dig it, dung it, and prune it, and we will see if it can bring joy to the vineyard once more.”

“You have one year.” And the master walked away.

Later that year, the news went abroad that a new religious leader has risen up and that John the Baptist had been beheaded. But Thomas remained in his vineyard, pruning, digging about, dunging, and loving the tree, hoping.

More than just a Parable

Photo by LDS Media Library

I really enjoyed The Welcoming Door. It was refreshing to touch on topics that are bigger than LDS culture, while still integral in LDS culture. Jeshua was written to be a very real, but good, perfect Jesus. I liked that He was so real, the moments when He got hurt, or seemed to almost be frustrated because it made his goodness and divinity even more beautiful in near contrast. What I liked most though, was the fact that in each parable there was more to the story after the parable ends in the scriptures.

One of the most obvious examples is the Good Samaritan story. True, everything occurred to fundamentally maintain the structure of the parable, but it doesn't end there. Achish isn't just the antagonist, some random force of misfortune. In Kemp's version of the story, it is as much a journey of redemption for him as it is for the merchant. In fact, it rather struck me that although from the perspective of a parable, we are trying to follow the Good Samaritan's example, the people who significantly changed were not the Samaritan. This made me feel the reality of layers that exist in parables. Even with just scriptural parables we know there are many layers of meaning, but add a narrative and the implications go crazy. I really enjoyed that aspect.

Finally, although the stories themselves were delightful, I really appreciated having them end, not with the conclusion of the story itself, but with the moment Christ uses the story in His ministry. This helped connect me back to the scriptural and historical context, making the scriptures feel situated in a reality and time frame I am a part of. 

Mountains Between Realities

Caution: This post expresses a soapbox that I have a hard time avoiding. Sorry Jenny Proctor that you tapped into it unknowingly. Also, I'm not a hater, I promise.

I've never really been one for the quick, happily-ever-after, romance. To be frank, I can't stand them. I have no problem putting down a "delightful" novel if it is no more than delightful. Because of this, I had a hard time with Mountains Between Us. I feel the story itself, though possible in the context of a perfect LDS world, is rather unrealistic and frustrating.

It is nice to see a main female character like Eliza feeling empowered to make changes, help others, and pursue love. But even so, faith, hope, and effort, don't always lead to happy endings. 

I worry that such representations function as more than just a quick, pick-me-up or nice story. Is a novel like this symptomatic of the paradigms that we as LDS people live under? Don't get me wrong: living righteously and using the gospel to overcome challenges is totally viable. But, we overdo it; we simply cannot write a story that doesn't work out, or doesn't end in cookie-cutter happiness because if we do, where is our faith? But let me tell you, faith is more than everything working out, but maybe we forget that or wish it weren't.

I also worry that such novels isolate those who don't fit this model and in result equate their situation's results to their worth, efforts, and righteousness. It may seem silly, but most of us have felt unjustly treated or responsible for circumstantial suffering at one time or another. And sometimes things don't work out. So why don't we portray a faith-building reality as readily as we portray our faithful hopes?

Before my rant comes to an end, let me say, this was a nice book. The characters were nice, the switching perspectives were nice. Unrealistic, maybe. Nice, yeah. But sometimes I want more than nice.

P.S. The last phrase of the "back-cover-catcher" is "will these two independent spirits realize they are meant for each other?" And I automatically think, "wait, wait, wait, since when do we believe in soul-mates?" Oh yeah, this is a pseudo-representation of what we wish we believed.

In the mind of a stereotypical teenage mormon boy . . .

This book was hard for me to get through. When stuck in the mind of a character for the duration of a book, it helps to enjoy the mind that one is getting so intimately acquainted with. And Kyle was so over the top for me. Part of me admires the fact that Thayer was willing to show the reality of a teenage boy stuck in the snow, cycling through the same type of thoughts constantly for nine days. And then the other part of me was so annoyed that Kyle couldn't think of anything new, instead plaguing every chapter with redundant thoughts, giving Kyle very little breadth or depth, unless of course that's all there is to Kyle and then I don't care anyway. 

Photo by JonoTakesPhotos
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

At the same time though, the situation Kyle was placed in was fascinating. His lack of maturity and rather shallow being was sharply contrasted with the dire circumstances he had to deal with. His communication and remembrances of his Grandpa gave him a greatly-appreciated depth to his character and his smart thinking was interesting as he raced against time and the symptoms of death to be more than he was and survive more than his seeming time allotted. 

Overall, I can't tell if I just couldn't stand the actual character or if the book was actually problematic for me. I don't think it was written poorly, it was just unfortunately the type of story I feel no reason to read because it offers me no enjoyment, enlightenment, challenge, or intrigue. 

Thayer did provide some refreshing and "liberal" views when Kyle remembered scenarios regarding his mother, but even that wasn't enough for me to enjoy the characters Will Wonders Never Cease provided.

Finding MIA

Finding blogs can be a nightmare. I had very little concept of where to start. I began by scrolling through blogs that followed my blog based on the "next blog" button at the top. Fail. Then I googled literary blogs and came up with book review stuff. Fail. Then I went to facebook and scrolled through friends and clicking on anyone I thought might have a blog. Nearly a fail.

But then I remembered Amelia. She and I worked together on the Stowaway Magazine staff for our editing capstone class. I was the Managing Editor and she was the Art Director. We both liked curry and V for Vendetta, and we were really good at supporting each other when a venting session was in need. But that was last semester and I hadn't really seen her since. So I clicked on her blog.

I know we were supposed to find knew people and build the foundation of potential blog-based relationships, but deciding to follow Amelia's blog was like finding a new side of her. The foundation of our relationship was built in person, but the realness of her life's worries and experiences I found while reading three or so of her posts. She writes in a short-burst, miny essay style. By short-burst, I mean she writes a thought leaves hard return spaces allowing for dramatic pause, reaction, sarcasm, etc. and then continues in that same way. When she begins to move into more profound thoughts or realizations her sentences become smoother and more connected. It was fascinating.

I found Amelia in her blog. I didn't expect to do that. I thought I knew her pretty well, enough for a curry date anyway. And I think I was wrong. Blogging may be the un-examined life we place out in the shadowed open for the world to see. But how many of us actually take the time to look? I'm glad I took the time to see Amelia because it turns out there is a lot to see.

https://ameliawallace.wordpress.com/

Wandering Spirits

Photo by Louish Pixel

Dispirited was an interesting experience. Trying to find the dividing lines between LDS influence and Young-Adult-Exorcist-type fiction was difficult. Because of this, I don't feel like the argument is whether the story supported LDS belief or cheapened it. Rather, I think that the story showed ways in which LDS belief is integrated into everyday life, can seem rather fantastic, and can be interpreted when put into a concrete representative sphere. One example is the idea of disembodied spirits.

The concept of the eidolon doesn't exactly match any LDS belief. It is very possible, on the other hand, that the Wekufe parallel our concept of the 1/3 of the hosts of heaven who were cast out and now roam the Earth. The concept of possession is certainly plausible as it is seen in the New Testament, especially with the focus the LDS people place on the importance of the body. But, eidolon? hmm . . .

Eidolon were a necessary function of Dispirited because Perkins needed a way to set up a plot, create a problem. But the very existence of eidolon, or human spirits separated and barred from their bodies, begs very important questions.

First, what of the state of the soul? 

If the soul in the union of spirit and body, as understood by LDS doctrine, does it disintegrate when placed under the circumstances of someone like Bunny? Then again, did Perkins even intend an LDS audience to draw parallels with Bunny's circumstance and our belief?

Second, what is the reciprocity between the physical body and spiritual being when possessed?

In Dispirited it is very clear that one spirit inhabits one body at a time. This does not necessarily seem parallel with depictions in the New Testament. Then again, has such an experience ever truly been made explicit?

Many more questions could be explored simply within the construct of wandering spirits within Dispirited in relation to LDS belief. But perhaps what is important is that Perkins is taking common LDS belief, such as spirit matter, body and spirit unity, family history, demons, and the like, and manipulating them into fascinating shapes. By reading Dispirited with an LDS eye, we find our beliefs examined and expanded by the epistemological questions that she uncovers. 

Feedback Fail: Round Two

So, unfortunately, this round of feedback was pretty much a fail for me. I posted two different short essays (one from devotional writing, and the other was the imitation essay I used for feedback round one). The devotional essays I posted just cause I wanted some feedback. I asked a specific person I thought would enjoy the content to give me feedback. No response. For the imitation essay, I asked someone I'm only just getting to know who commented in the first round of feedback. She said,

"Natalie, your words are so beautiful as always. And your specific example of your younger siblings were so emotion-provoking that I wanted to reject them. I hated that I could relate to it. (All these are because your writing is so good, btw.) One thing that made me confused a bit (until I had read the whole thing and then started over again) was that you used "loneliness" as the answer/topic, the first two paragraphs making the readers guess what you're talking about, but then you go into talking very specifically about your younger siblings, not just a general loneliness. I felt like there were sentences that were referring to general loneliness that everyone feels, but there were paragraphs that were specifically about your siblings. " It's loneliness, and I am really good at it." is such a bold one-sentence paragraph but it doesn't mention your siblings at all. So I'm still not 100% sure if you want the whole essay to be pointing to your siblings or not. I'm not sure if this makes sense to you. Maybe this was just me. But I still really loved how your words put images in my head and made me feel the love you have for your siblings. (also, sorry this is super long. I'm not very good at explaining myself.)"

I decided to revise by adding a short paragraph and one sentence that more quickly and definitively introduced the familial, if not sibling, concept sooner. I hope this will make up for the general tone of loneliness suddenly shifting into the specific sibling examples. I'm not sure though, because she hasn't responded. The revisions were fun, especially because they were feedback specific. It helped me feel like I was improving. But further feedback eventually would be swell also.

The Immediateness of Eternity

Photo by NASA

The Latter-day Saint community has begun to put to stage some of the most unique doctrines we have, adding to their possibilities by characterizing undefined moments within our eternal chronology. In Eric Samuelson's Gaia, we take a glimpse into the final moments before Adam and Eve are put on Earth. In a simple conversation between Gaia (eventually Eve) and Lucifer (eventually Satan), we are shown the LDS belief in the preexistence, divine parentage, divine potential, the fallen angel, agency, female role and influence, and the creation.

So how can so many theological concepts be placed within one conversation, in one play? Samuelson achieves it by having the conversation between Lucifer and Gaia. One of the first thing Gaia says is that she is the lead engineer of Earth. Wait . . . a woman helped with the creation? She wasn't ex-nihilo? A woman? Some might find even these implications shocking, but to an LDS audience, these concepts are familiar. But even so, Samuelson provides a reality and closeness to his characters that is very rarely felt, even among LDS communities.

Gaia and Lucifer talk like a brother and sister, appropriate since they are. But what is truly startling, is that Lucifer is frustrated, frightened, logical. He feels unjustly dealt with and while we expected all of those characteristics in Satan, he doesn't yet know he will be the devil. This puts him in an interesting position, especially in relation to our perspective on him since he is currently exercising his agency, not just trying to destroy us with ours.

At one point in the play, Lucifer references "Father's" mortal sojourn, alluding to one of the most unique and deep LDS doctrine's best summed up in Lorenzo Snow's couplet of our divine potential and eternal progression: "As man now is, God once was: As God now is, man may be." The moment in which Samuelson projects the type of person God may have been, we feel an immediateness of eternity, a reality to our doctrines. Gaia is truly a fascinating experience, whether LDS or not, showcasing our beliefs in a very palpable way.

Sharing my work on Facebook

This definitely took some guts for me. I'm not one who has ever been really great at accepting praise, especially when that praise surrounds my abilities to speak and write. I don't know why but when someone says something I said or wrote touched them deeply or some such comment I get a knot in my stomach and my eyes feel twitchy. It's dumb, I don't know why it embarrasses me so much, but needless to say, it was hard to ask for feedback for fear of the compliments.

So I shared my imitation essay "Fill me with lonliness; Drink it as love" on Facebook and got quite a few responses back. Here are some comments I got back:

• This is lovely and painful all at the same time. It definitely resonates with me (and, probably, many of us). You have a fantastic writing voice that very effectively evokes images and emotions. The obviously deep emotion of this piece is wonderful and heart-wrenching. On a more technical note, there was one line that I had to re-read a few times to understand what you meant: "It feeds off of white noise making me state more obvious." Maybe you could re-work this phrasing to make it clearer? Otherwise, the writing was spot-on for me.

• "Pregnant with homework" was a bit jarring at first, but maybe you meant to do that. Lovely writing, though. The concept behind the title is profound and inspiring. Also, I covet your ability to express a lot in few words.

• Natalie, your words are so beautiful as always. And your specific example of your younger siblings were so emotion-provoking that I wanted to reject them. I hated that I could relate to it. (All these are because your writing is so good, btw.) One thing that made me confused a bit (until I had read the whole thing and then started over again) was that you used "loneliness" as the answer/topic, the first two paragraphs making the readers guess what you're talking about, but then you go into talking very specifically about your younger siblings, not just a general loneliness. I felt like there were sentences that were referring to general loneliness that everyone feels, but there were paragraphs that were specifically about your siblings. " It's loneliness, and I am really good at it." is such a bold one-sentence paragraph but it doesn't mention your siblings at all. So I'm still not 100% sure if you want the whole essay to be pointing to your siblings or not. I'm not sure if this makes sense to you. Maybe this was just me. But I still really loved how your words put images in my head and made me feel the love you have for your siblings.

I even got a comment with someone thinking I was pregnant because of the way I used the word in a description. Awkward . . . And finally, one of my favorite comments was a friend I had in high school who messaged me telling me that she was going to skip over my post but felt like she needed to go back and read it. She said she was glad she did, that she needed to know someone understood, and she thanked me for the opportunity to read it. She offered to read my work any other time and to just talk if I needed to. 

Yes, I found awkward phrasing, typos, confusing ideas, and even a too-narrowed focus with my general-to-sibling shift, but overall I found that my writing could touch people I had never expected to ever even read it. So embarrassed or not, that was pretty cool.

Fill me with loneliness; Drink it as love

 

I was really frustrated by Becca Wilhite's essay "One Thing I Do Well" because it seemed to be so honest and raw, but then she just accepted guilt as reality, passed it on to her children. That's that guys, this is how it feels and now everyone can have some! Oh gee, thanks . . . is how I felt. So I decided to try and imitate her format, but I was going to try and tweek the outcome to not only reflect who I am, but to show something greater than lackadaisical acceptance.



It fills every silent corner and rolls across each room like the booming ticks of a small mantle clock. Frightening, pervasive, indelible, and ever-stalking the peace of solitude. How is it possible that nobody else notices it? It must be just me. If I'd taken more time when I had time, I wouldn't feel it either.

It highlights the pictures of family members I haven't seen in months. I feeds off of white noise making me state more obvious. It dredges up memories that I wish weren't so distant. It paints brilliant hypotheticals that I can only imagine I'm missing.

It's loneliness, and I am really good at it.

Where does it come from? I'll tell you where it comes from. Everywhere. From the fact that I just got off a phone call with words that couldn't be spoken in person. From empty evenings pregnant with homework instead of siblings orchestra concerts, soccer games, first words, and story time—I tell myself that it's okay, I'll make up lost time, I'll won't be so busy and isolated for much longer. It comes from having responsibilities that I can't ignore till I'm abandoned by any company because I first abandoned them. It comes from sitting silently wishing someone would knock on the door, going to sleep along, waking alone, walking alone, thinking alone.

It comes when I realize that my siblings are growing up and I'm not there. When "Hey it's Natalie!" becomes a frequent reference to a calling device instead of my face. When me coming home is an occasion and not the everyday. It comes when I remember that my five-year-old brother cried in a corner outside the temple because he though my wedding meant he'd never see me again. I held him and whispered promises; I prayed because I felt the gaps of time chasing me down. It comes when another brother tries not to cry when I leave, or a sister clutching me saying, "call me, we'll figure out what to talk about." When I say I'll teach her to crochet someday, or I'll read him Harry Potter, that I'll teach her French, we'll analyze Lord of the Rings, talk about boys, play frisbee, go on walks, go shopping, go to a movie, go on a double date, practice yoga, learn to draw, stargaze from the roof, roast s'mores, or sit and do nothing. 

Oh wait, I don't have time to do nothing, no matter how important, I'm too busy being laboriously lonely. 

Sometimes I am a well of loneliness. I can dig into my soul like deep earth and etch out the regrets of all that I'm missing. But, though I'm good at loneliness, the impression in my being, while a void to me, houses love for others. I fill up my cavity with water to share. Each voice mail, each letter, each picture might fill me with loneliness but I drink it as love. Some younger siblings may tell you that they were always alone or that their older siblings didn't care. Not my siblings. Phone calls and letters. Skype and short visits. And how do you think I feel about that?

Give you one guess.    

Choosing Redemption

Photo by Christ Tolworthy

Tonight we went to The Count of Monte Cristo. Spencer had managed to get tickets for $4.00, and I was very excited. When I pulled on a maxi skirt and a woolen scarf, I felt ready to watch a tragic musical. I first read The Count of Monte Cristo in High School. I didn't see the film adaptation until five years later and was shocked to find such drastically different endings. With each in mind, I still hadn't decided which version I found more moving. Was is more important to show the ruinous results of revenge, or man's miraculous capacity for redemption? I didn't know.

The De Jong was dark and the pit began to emanate orchestral music. As the actors danced around the stage and sang song after song, I grew nervous. The show was beautiful, the singing was stunning, the graphics projected behind were innovative, and the effect was great. But, as Edmond Dantes sank lower and lower, I just knew they couldn't let him stay there. It didn't matter that he had decided to hate, that he had decided to remain unmoved by his once-true-love's pleas, that he was everything his original perpetrators were, the story would force him to be redeemed. I promise I'm not morbid, unforgiving, or even a lover of sad endings, I just couldn't see how a man who had determined his choices and destiny would suddenly have a change of heart in the course of a song. (Oh wait . . . it's a musical and heart-changing songs are a blissful convention.)

Sitting in my chair, I slowly began to hunch over and mutter under my breath as the life-changing moment came. He would suddenly have an epiphany, conveniently after he'd gotten all his revenge, and still repent in time to get the girl. Spencer, watching me become more and more frustrated and my frame more and more contorted with disgust, just chuckled under his breath. But it wasn't funny! They were straight up doing it wrong!

After leaving the theater I stood off towards a side wall, waiting for Spencer to finish giving guidance to a fellow stage managing employee. I was really frustrated. The performance had been beautiful, the bows all tied. But it just didn't sit right. Why would we, as an audience, demand that a story be adapted to allow a main character sudden redemption? Why did we think it was okay to change the story just so he could have both his revenge and the love of his life? I was disturbed with myself. Did I really have such a problem letting a man repent?

I'm sad to say I still don't know the answer. I can guarantee from a literary perspective that Alexandre Dumas did not intend to have his self-ruined character suddenly redeemed by viewers or readers who couldn't take a realistic ending. What is the purpose of such characters as Anna Karenina, Edmond Dantes, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Dorian Gray, or even the Ancient Mariner from the poem, if their stories are nipped and tucked to be pleasant and devoid of consequences? When we remove consequences from our stories, we rob our stories of their power to display consequential reality. The problem is not that Edmond Dantes was redeemed; the problem is that The Count of Monte Cristo chose not to be redeemed. Themes such as the consequences of agency and the transformative effect of our choices morph into the cycle of vice, quick repentance, and a removal of responsibility.

All men may be redeemed; not all men will choose redemption. So what are we really looking for: a happy ending that highlights redemption, or fictional support that we may choose sin and still be redeemed?

Speaking with God

Inner Struggle Essay

Photo by Natalie Cherie Campbell

Standing on a sidewalk I was stopped at a fork in the path. Instinctively I looked down the right path to my apartment window. My friends would be waiting, including the man I was dating. Without hesitation, I began to walk down the left path. Soon enough, as I’d felt to be true, Spencer ran up behind me, holding my hand. Through his eyes I saw his soul sigh, and we kept walking.

Opening my eyes, I waited for the dreams to seep from my memory. I was accustomed to feeling forgotten dreams flee the daylight because I never remembered my dreams. But this morning was different: the dream didn’t leave. I had known Spencer for six months. We were folk dancers, and I lived for the moments when we danced together, talked together, laughed together, my feet burning with energy. But I also knew that he loved me and that I could easily love him if I let myself. So I didn’t let myself, instead choosing to spare with my conscious in an endless dance of self-denial as I remembered a priesthood blessing that told me "I'd know my future husband when I met him." Sometimes I decided that if Spencer was "the one" then he’d just have to wait. Sometimes I decided that God would have to fix my fear of marriage before I did anything. And sometimes I would dream. In the quiet moments of night, when fear had gone to sleep, I began to dream honestly, and refusing to let me forget, my dreams started to become a reality.

Scripture Essay

Photo by Dee West

In the summer of 2012 I would often sit on my roof, gazing up at God through speckled sunlight and leafy boughs. We would often talk, God and I; I would ask the questions and He would give answers. One day I climbed up onto roof from the side porch gap and lowered my head, shoulders sagging with repetitive weariness. I felt inadequate, frightened. I had received an email from Jerusalem, it was Spencer’s day to write, and he’s told me of his plans to work for the CIA. So I’d fled to my roof instead of arguing with mom over the wisdom of me loving a boy with such dangerous career goals. Feeling the warm shingles with my toes, I laid on my back, stared at God and began to speak:

“How is it done?” I paused as a bird flew from its nest. “God, how is it done, that you take such small people, move us so far, and use only those two actions to fuel your work? How?”

I sat quietly, waited, and began to speak. True to form, His answer emerged, simultaneous with the sound of my vocal cords. “By small and simple things, are great things brought to pass . . .”

Bombs bloom and poppies litter,

In realities where children shiver

From breath of hate and strain of woe

To such places my trusted go.

The small and simple are infinite,

When bringing with them the Omnipotent.

Wilderness Essay

Photo by Natalie Cherie Campbell

We were lost and it was my fault. I had gotten 25 people lost in a lush green wilderness of English footpaths. I’d spent the past month hiking through different parts of the United Kingdom with my study abroad group. On this particular day, we were trying to get to the London Temple because having gotten my endowments a month earlier, I had requested we go. Doing my best to book rail tickets, plan bus trips, and minimize walking, since my director didn’t want to, I thought I’d done a pretty good job until the bus didn’t arrive and we were left stranded in a small town a few miles away from the temple, ignorant of which way the temple even was.

“We could have been visiting tourist spots.”

“This is such a waste.”

“I didn’t want to come anyway.”

“So much for that plan.”

The words swirled around me like bee stings. Tears began to coat the stingers as each drop slid down my chin. “Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “please just help me find the Temple.” The gravel near my feet crunched as a tire filled my peripheral vision. Looking up, a silver passenger van had filled the road in front of our pathetic band of walkers, and a man in a white shirt and tie with silver tipped hair got out.

“Are you people looking for the temple?” he asked casually.

I was dumbfounded. As our director arranged to have our group driven to the temple in shifts, I got into the car. I was silent as everyone filled the air with thanks. The gentleman simply replied,

              

“Don’t thank me, I was just working in the temple when I was prompted that a group of lost brothers and sisters was looking for our temple and wouldn’t find it if I didn’t go and find them.”

As we drove away from our wilderness of English footpaths, I bowed my head once again, “Thank you for finding me Heavenly Father.” 

Impactful Because it is Written

Photo by Jason Devaun

The personal essay is always an experience. Writing style, writing ability, topic, authenticity, and image are always shifting depending on the person whose life you peek into. In reading some of the previous student's personal essays, I found many of them to be common stories of friends or loved ones passing away, mission stories, or best friends. Though this commonality made the stories less engaging or unique to me as a reader, I found that the actual experience and its impact was no less diminished. This difference was easy to see in the different formats through which the essay was presented.

In the video format, I found myself feeling an instant palpable insight into the life and person who was asking me to read the essay. I preferred essay intros that included a little about the essay, but were shorter and humble in the realization that the personal essay can be a very real vulnerability. Asking someone to read of your life and find it valuable is difficult, and I enjoyed those whose videos were real and less rehearsed. Within the blog format, I was much quicker to notice when the story became typical or explanatory, losing my interest because I couldn't see anyone in the story. As an artistic medium, I found that most of the stories didn't really move me or even impress me. But, importantly, they all still remained as proof of human emotion, human experience, and human truth.

One idea I enjoyed was the story of abuse. It was impactful because it took a circumstance that is traumatic and difficult to explain and filtered its rawness through an expressive medium. It leads me to believe that the best personal essay are not just impactful stories, but stories that are impactful because they were written. The best personal essays show emotion through color, images, sounds, tastes, sights, and smells, not by simply telling of events. Words can be powerful when we take an emotion and describe it in unique, often contrasting or even jarring terms and images that capture what we felt, not what we are supposed to feel. As I begin contemplating my own personal essay, I will have to look for experiences I have never tried to explain, or even understand; thus striving for truth and illumination through self discovery and not just meaningful occurrence.

The Analogous World of Unmakers and Magic

Photo by James Walsh

Upon finishing The Seventh Son, I laughed at finding a disclaimer in the back that claimed that all similarities to historical figures was purely coincidental. Uh-huh . . . But perhaps what is most interesting, is not just the one-to-one representation we could grant to the characters, but is instead the ways the world of The Seventh Son is different.

In addressing these differences, MR Collings says, "First, the Ohio territory represented is not the Ohio we know from history but an alternative-Earth Ohio;" (10). This automatically places the novel into a new genre. It is no longer historical fiction, and the characters are no longer bound to be anything other than vague shadows of their real counterparts. Collings continues, "The story may be less fantasy than science fiction, extrapolating to an Earth-analogue in which magic is a viable mode of knowing and acting. To understand this point alters the nature of the story" (10). By placing The Seventh Son in a new sphere of reality, this story opens itself up to a much larger audience. Though a Mormon audience can interpret the novel as an LDS allegory,  it can also double as simply good literature because "Card's meticulously re-created folk rhythms in speech, his carefully researched magical practices, and his curiously, off-beat references to historical characters . . . immediately set the story beyond the history we [LDS or not] know" (10).

This creates an interesting response in readers that highlights why differences in world and the characters of The Seventh Son are so important. When reading a fantasy/sci-fi novel, it is easy to swallow systems of magic as long as they are defined. We expect things to be fantastic, impossible, or simply beyond our understanding: it is a part of the genre. In The Seventh Son though, we have more experience-based orientation than many fantasy/sci-fi novels have in that we are reading of an Earth-analogue, so we do recognize historical tropes and trends, figures, and events such as the trek west, the French and Indian War, George Washington and Benjamin Franklin. It's true that here Washington is beheaded and knacks and magic exist. But even so, the unexplained can be immediately accepted in this format in a way that the Joseph Smith story struggles to be when functioning as a viable occurrence in people's understanding of reality.

So why not create a version of young Emma as a torch named Peggy, or Measure as the loyal Hyrum? People will read it, enjoy it, and understand it. And regardless of whether magic and Unmakers function in reality, the reality of the struggle still function in The Seventh Son.

Collings, MR. "The Rational and Revelatory in the Science Fiction of Orson Scott Card." Sunstone: (May 1987). 7-11. Web. 19 Jan. 2015.