Communicating with the Dead
Would you believe I searched my house high and low for two Anne of Green Gables tins I have? I acquired them some years ago on a foray to Prince Edward Island on the trail of Lucy Maud Montgomery, but failed to find even one for a photo this week. However, I did come up with the Maple Syrup tin, which represents Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books to me. (Athough I discovered this “Product of Canada” on the grocery shelf in Chile!) Either way, reading these well-known authors from the past gives us a way of communicating with the dead…in a manner of speaking.
Oh no, not through seances and Ouija boards. But through their books, we can hear their voices, immerse ourselves in their stories, listen to the tales and messages they have to share. Reading offers us a way of knowing these people even though they’ve long ago “shuffled off this mortal coil,” as Shakespeare put it. “Although…long dead, (s)he still speaks to us…” (Heb. 11:4, NLT).
If you could meet with any fiction writer from the grave, who would it be? A couple of years ago, Tracy Higley (alive and well, to my knowledge) wrote a fantasy called Nightfall in the Garden of Deep Time. In it, a struggling bookstore owner and wannabe author attends a glittering evening garden party where she gets to know some of her favorite writers from the past.
While Higley’s character chooses more sophisticated writers than I would, the idea still intrigued me. Which (dead) writers would I like to chat up at a party? Perhaps it won’t surprise you to learn that many of the past bright lights on my list wrote for children and young adults. Some that I’ve never forgotten, you will never have heard of.
Haunting Heroes
Flitting from table to table, I’d love to encounter the classic icons, Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters, especially the enigmatic Emily whom I “met” as a teenager. Jane didn’t burst onto my horizon until I was in my 40s, but I’m so glad she did. RIP, ladies, all of you left us too soon.
You also may not be astonished to know that I’d put C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien high on my guest list. I longed to read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe ever since a PBS juvenile book-review program in fifth grade. But it didn’t seem to exist in the libraries I frequented, so my wish remained unfulfilled until a gringa friend lent it—along with The Hobbit—during my Chiloé days.
Soon after, I chanced upon the rest of Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia in a giveaway basket. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings didn’t enter my sphere of reference until later, with the celebrated film trilogy in the early 2000s. What a highlight for my daughters and me to tell these dead writers: Our acquaintance with your characters somehow upended the tectonics of our lives.
“We need our literary heroes. Life is dark and complicated, but they shine out. They’re the beacons that we follow.” –Anthony Horowitz, Magpie Murders
Some of my personal writer heroes are less well-known. One of my favorite books as a new and voracious child-reader disappeared from my radar for decades. By the time nostalgia brought the plot to mind again, I couldn’t recall the title, the author, or even the main characters’ names. What a letdown…until a recent book club selection, set during a ’60s childhood, mentioned Shadow Castle by Marian Cockrell! I was so thrilled, Ms. Cockrell. Like me, another young reviewer enthused, “This is the fairy tale I’ve waited for all my life.”
Wandering Wordsmiths
Then, as a seventh grader, I devoured The Abrus Necklace Mystery by Elizabeth Seibert (not the one of Wattpad fame). I sought out a second-hand copy as an adult, and much to my dismay learned that this YA story had never garnered much in the way of heartening reviews. How I’d love to dash up to Ms. Seibert and tell her how enthralled I was with Katy and Randy’s unique friendship. It may have had more influence on my Destiny at Dolphin Bay than almost anything else I ever read.
“A writer is a person on whom nothing is ever lost.” –Henry James
Then there’s the Newbery crowd—both the medalists and the honorable mentions. I’m committing a great injustice by failing to mention the majority of these great dead-and-gone children’s authors. My guest list can hardly be exhaustive. However, a few stand out to me—Madeleine L’Engle and her time novels, Elizabeth George Speare and her historicals, as well as Doris Gates and Julia Sauer at opposite ends of a literary controversy.
I don’t know if these two ladies ever actually discussed their supposed differing philosophies on the relative merits of fantasy vs. “realistic” fiction. Gates, a librarian, wrote Blue Willow to focus on the life of a girl in a Depression-era migrant-worker family. Her groundbreaking work in the area of realistic children’s literature stands in sharp contrast to, say, Sauer’s Nova Scotia time-slip tale, Fog Magic.
Over (china) cups of tea, perhaps they would agree with me that both their writings contained much wisdom about the way kids cope with difficult situations. Besides, Sauer’s The Light at Tern Rock is strikingly realistic, too.
Shining Examples
These dead writers still communicate through their works. I remember the first time my young daughters realized that books and movies were about something. That they were more than mere entertainment, that most taught a lesson, highlighted a theme, or reinforced a point. The girls spent that whole day analyzing the themes of stories they knew. From there it was only a short jump to discussing Shakespeare. I kid you not.
“As individuals, we find that our development depends upon the people whom we meet in the course of our lives… These people include the authors whose books we read, and characters in works of fiction and history.” –T. S. Eliot, Christianity and Culture
Did you know that the word “authentic” comes from the same root word as “author”? As each of us lives and writes his or her own story, the books of those dead (and living) writers often help to make us who we are.
First and foremost, I think, our books enable us to feel known and understood in a way we often don’t. While our story may diverge in significant ways from a character’s, we can internalize a sense of perspective that…it matters.
In our childhood, especially, books influence our mind, the formation of our character. For some, their impact burrows deeper than that of our own parents and may last our entire lives. Our imagination ignites into a blazing bonfire of creativity and originality. Through books, we can also glimpse—even roam—outside the confines of our ordinary world.
“People who read a lot gain a sense of language and style. They learn how to put thoughts together to tell a story. They gain a rich background of ideas and thoughts.” –Nancy Lobb, 16 Extraordinary Hispanic Americans
If you read between the lines of my life story, you’ll discover contributions from almost every author friend I’ve ever read. They truly communicate from the dead. Likewise, even though my own work isn’t necessarily autobiographical, you’ll find authentic pieces of me in everything I write.
Luminous Lights
And we need ALL kinds of stories.
Back at the fairy-lit garden party, enter Madeleine and Catherine.
I trust Ms. L’Engle and Mrs. Marshall will excuse my dropping the formalities here. But these women I feel I know. I’ve read their nonfiction too, and I’m somewhat familiar with their lives.
If I were to bump into Madeleine today, I wonder if I’d have the courage to remark: “You know, I like to describe my writing as ‘Madeleine L’Engle meets—’”
“Good heavens, why? Your Young Adult stories contain nothing remotely sci-fi or fantasy.”
I’d gasp. “You’ve read my work?”
“Why not?” she says dryly. “I have plenty of time now.”
“Oh. Well, it’s because I appreciate the character depth in your books, and the way you show the transcendent dimension behind different events. Especially in A Ring of Endless Light and maybe Dragons in the Water. There’s spiritual growth there.”
She clears her throat. “I am a Christian writer, but not a writer of Christian fiction.”
“Oh, I know. But I consider myself both, so I guess we disagree there.”
“Some themes are too obvious. On the nose.”
“True, but I see such a need for viable, credible, realistic Christian fiction. Especially for young people. They’re seeking adventure and hope—and that’s not bad—but in erotic romantasy and twisted psychological suspense. All trendy, but…”
“Lead them to the Rock that is higher. The Light that is brighter. Who were you going to mention I should ‘meet’?”
I shrug. (Sheepishly.) “Isabel Allende.”
“Seriously? Not that she isn’t good, but she writes some rather raw, edgy stuff.” Madeleine peers around. “I don’t see her.”
“Don’t think she walks among the dead yet.” I chuckle. “But she writes about Chile, you know, and I admire her vivid prose. Even with a story I don’t want to read, I’m hooked on the beautiful writing at the first page.”
“I get that. How about meeting Catherine? She puts those elements together very well in Christy. Your Chauquelín Island couldn’t outdo Cutter Gap for sticks-primitive.”
Glowing GOATS
There I have it. A Wrinkle in Time meets Christy. Madeleine L’Engle meets Catherine Marshall. It’s hard to imagine two more divergent people or plots, but they make a poignant counterpoint. Meg Murray’s misery and rebellion at school and Christy Huddleston’s struggles as a teacher in the backwoods of Appalachia combine to resonate with me. I want to weave those aspects of character, setting, and spiritual transformation into a rich story tapestry.
“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.” –George R.R. Martin
Though I read and loved Christy way back in high school, I now experience a moment of insight: Mrs. Marshall’s fictionalized portrayal of her mother’s life has nurtured me all my life. From the dead, she has probably inspired more of Legacy of the Linnenbrink Light than I am even consciously aware.
We gain so much from reading. Practical information, of course, but often life-shifting lessons and redirection. Moral guidance, emotional catharsis.
Rachel Haucke, a Christian romance author who is—happily—still living, often blends the mystical and magical (without the murk) in a contemporary setting. She explains in The 5th Avenue Story Society that one of her characters, a writer named Jett, “didn’t really care for fame and acclaim. He just wanted the rest of the world to know the beauty and power of a story. How truth woven into the prose could change a person.”
“Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality.” –The Cheshire Cat, Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
Fiction lovers everywhere know this bad, sad world isn’t all there is. Through the pages of a book, our God-given imagination can become a weapon for (not against) God’s true reality. A reality where we can grow and change.
Questioning the Queens
So what would you like to ask those dead creators of our imaginative landscapes? What can we learn from them?
If I spy Agatha Christie at the party, I’d be smart to pick her shrewd brain for clues to her prolific career, even sometimes amid tragedy and trauma. Secretly, I’d like to beg for her version of her mysterious disappearance during those eleven days in 1926, but (I hope) I’d be polite enough not to allude to the incident. And the elusive Queen of Crime is far too ladylike to babble. (Ah, something I could learn from her.)
There’s Eleanor Porter, a New Englander like myself. If you don’t know her, I have no doubt you’ve heard of Pollyanna. Or at least of “Pollyanna syndrome.” Some disparage her invincible positive attitude in the face of misfortune and disappointment as pathetically naïve and unrealistic—even downright wrong.
But, along with my grandmother, I grew up with Pollyanna and her Glad Game. Honestly, whatever happened to the transforming choice of joy and gratitude?
“Words have ever been and always will be the most forceful catalysts in the world.” –K. M. Weiland, Conquering Writer’s Block and Summoning Inspiration
Feisty Laura Ingalls taught me a LOT, too.
The beauty of the simple country life, the priority of family, the importance of hard work, the transforming value of lifelong learning. I learned from her that less is more and that poverty opens far more doors to creative challenge than wealth.
Little House on the Prairie wasn’t part of my childhood, except as a TV series in later high school. But I read the entire book series to my kids in the Chiloé Islands, as a young mother of three girls in a rustic setting myself. (Although Caroline Ingalls eventually had #4.)
We didn’t deal with North Dakota blizzards there, but we survived The Long Winter when it rained for three months straight. And while we never enjoyed a Wisconsin maple sugaring-off party, we went to clambakes and hog slaughters.
And finally…Lucy Maud Montgomery (L. M. professionally, Maud to her family), author of the Anne of Green Gables and Emily of New Moon series, as well as numerous stand-alones, mostly set on Prince Edward Island. PEI lies close to my home in Maine and, again through my Downeast Grammie, I grew up a “kindred spirit” of the red-headed orphan Anne Shirley.
Many of Montgomery’s books shared bits of her personal history. I liked Emily, but Anne—also feisty—reigned as Queen of Hearts. My own story both began and turned out quite different from hers. And yet, no one but Anne taught me more about life and love.
Lingering Legacies
From Anne (and Maud), I discovered that I wasn’t the only girl in the world whose head wandered in the clouds, who loved to study and read, who made up stories. Anne proved that you could become a beautiful swan even if you started out the ugly duckling whom nobody wanted.
Anne wanted desperately to love and be loved. She taught me loyalty as a friend, kindness and patience with the worst of children, contentment at home.
Anne’s benefactors, Matthew and Marilla, taught me the transforming impact of investing in the next generation. What a joy to introduce these characters to my daughters and younger sisters through the 1985 CBC miniseries one summer in Atlantic Canada. Call it a sizable chunk of their inheritance.
“Eucalyptus trees are for us, pine trees for our children, and cork trees for our grandchildren.” –Portuguese saying
The last three of the eight Anne books focus on the next generation: the Blythe children and their neighbors. My favorite, Rilla of Ingleside, takes place on the Canadian home front during the long years of the Great War (WWI). The story opens with Rilla, Anne and Gilbert’s youngest, at a beachside party the night the news of war breaks on the Island.
Rilla (and Maud) convince me that hope exists for the silliest among us, the laziest and shallowest, the most immature…and that hardships as well as books make us who we are.
That’s my Tin Tale for today. That’s why I write. Thoughtfully I consider what legacy I’ll leave behind, not only for my own children and grandchildren but for all those who may read my work and follow in my footsteps. Whether we realize it or not, we steward the present for those who will read our lives tomorrow. Let’s plant some trees, my friends.
What messages should I communicate from the dead and beyond the grave? Multiple thousands may be touched.
“God is out recruiting every writer, artist, musician, pastor, child, and parent he can find…to help us worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.” –Eugene Peterson, As Kingfishers Catch Fire
Which RIP writers would you want to converse with at a party? What did they teach you? And what would you like to tell them?