Winter 01-02 issue.

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IRREANTUM
EXPLORING MORMON LITERATURE

MAGAZINE OF THE ASSOCIATION FOR MORMON LETTERS

WINTER 2001–2002 • $4.00

Brady Udall, novelist

Also featuring Camille Traveller Bell, Bill Caudle, Melva Gifford,
Diana Simmons, and Darlene Young
Fiction, reviews, literary news, and more
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IRREANTUM
MAGAZINE OF THE ASSOCIATION FOR MORMON LETTERS
E D I T O R
Christopher K. Bigelow . . . . . . Managing editor
Tory Anderson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Fiction editor
Harlow Clark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Poetry editor
Tracie Laulusa . . . . . . . . . Assistant review editor
Marny K. Parkin . . . . Speculative fiction coeditor
and AML-List Highlights editor
A M L
Gideon Burton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . President
Cherry Silver . . . . . . . . . . Annual meeting chair
Sharlee Mullins Glenn . . . . . . . . Board member
Gae Lyn Henderson . . . . . . . . . . Board member
A M L
Lavina Fielding Anderson . . AML ANNUAL editor
Christopher K. Bigelow . . . . . . Managing 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.
© 2002 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 con-
tributions of any amount are tax deductible and gratefully
accepted. Views expressed in IRREANTUM do not necessarily
reflect the opinions of the editors or of AML board members.
Winter 2001–2002
I A L S T A F F
Scott R. Parkin . . . . . Speculative fiction coeditor
Todd Robert Petersen . . . . . . . . . . . Essay editor
Jana Bouck Remy . . . . . . . . . . . . . Review editor
Edgar C. Snow Jr. . . . . . . . Rameumptom editor
B O A R D
D. Michael Martindale . . . . . . . . Board member
Tyler Moulton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Board member
Eric Samuelsen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Board member
Kathleen Dalton-Woodbury . . . . Board member
S T A F F
Terry L Jeffress . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Webmaster
Jonathan Langford . . . . . . . . AML-List moderator
Scott R. Parkin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Awards chair
Melissa Proffitt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Secretary
This magazine has no official connection 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.
2 IRREANTUM
Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 3:59 PM Page 3
IRREANTUM
Winter 2001–2002 • Volume 3, Number 4
C O N T
Letters to the Editor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
AML News . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Interview
Brady Udall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Novel Excerpt
The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint, Brady Udall 17
Memoir
My Innisfree, Camille Traveller Bell . . . . . . . . 26
Essay
To Fulfill the Vision of Mormon Literature
Diana Simmons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Stories
Companions, Darlene Young . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
Cinder-Relic, Melva Gifford . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
Who Needs Salt Lake? Bill Caudle . . . . . . . . 51
Poetry
Lo volví a ver, Paul Sexton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Shadows, Paul Sexton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
First Psalm, Kevin Peel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Canyon Cliff Swallows
Patricia Gunter Karamesines . . . . . . . . . . . 45
Diapason, Michael Collings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
Prayer, Michael Collings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
IRREANTUM
E N T S
Reviews
2001 Mormon Literature in Review
Andrew Hall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Artistry in a Missionary Story, Dean Hughes
A review of Gordon Laws’s My People . . . . 60
Unlikely Miracles, Katie Parker
A review of Anna Jones’s Haven . . . . . . . . 61
A Kingly Collection, John S. Tanner
A review of Arthur Henry King’s
Conversion: Poems of the Religious Life,
1963–1994, ed. Fred C. Pinnegar . . . . . . . 62
Promising New Series, Andrew Hall
A review of Dean Hughes’s
The Writing on the Wall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Plots in Hiding, Terry Montague
A review of Betsy Brannon Green’s
Hearts in Hiding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
Selected Recent Releases . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
Mormon Literary Scene . . . . . . . . . . . 71
AML-List Highlights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
Rameumptom
Confessions of a Former FARMS Filing Clerk;
or The Top-10 Rejected FARMS Papers
Edgar C. Snow Jr. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96
3 Winter 2001–2002
Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 3:59 PM Page 4
L E T T E R S But I wasn’t surprised in the least when I received
Influencing the Culture
Talking about Mormon culture, Stephen Carter
said, “Individuals must find their own unique ways
to liven this place up. It takes courage to do that.”
This brought to mind an experience I had recently
that I thought AML folks might find amusing. You
see, I was asked by my Relief Society presidency to
lead a Home Enrichment meeting about “something
in LDS literature.”
I said no. I knew better. I knew they didn’t really
mean it. But the Relief Society counselor kept insist-
ing, told me that during their presidency meeting
they had prayed to know which sister ought to lead
a class on LDS literature. Each reportedly received
inspiration that I should. I said no again. “But the
Lord wants you to.” I said no and courageously
hung up the phone.
Oh, the guilt. So I picked up the phone, called
the counselor back and said, “Listen, there’s this
magazine, IRREANTUM.” I went on to truthfully
describe the publication and agree to lead a discus-
sion if I could use one of the stories in it as a rep-
resentation of what is happening in LDS lit. She
was thrilled, of course, because, as she saw it, I’d
agreed to follow the Lord’s directives.
I then began to ask the Lord for directives.
I can’t say I received revelation, but I did prayer-
fully weigh all the stories published to that date and
chose one, “The Chastening” by Helynne Hollstein
Hansen (spring 2001). I photocopied it and passed
it out to all the Relief Society. It’s about a convert
branch president who socks a Christian preacher in
the nose. Courageous of me, huh?
Now, I’m living here in the buckle of the Bible
Belt. Around here the locals are trying to set a good
example for me, a deceived soul. And I know for a
fact that there isn’t a sister in our Relief Society who
hasn’t gone in circles with some Christian neighbor
in an attempt to prove her own Christianity (a fool-
hardy and needless endeavor). I chose this story
because I held out hope—though slight—that the
Relief Society might identify and even chuckle over
the character’s misadventure.
Winter 2001–2002
two phone calls, one from the counselor, one from
the Relief Society president, in which I was told
that there had been “complaints.” The sisters were
understandably convinced that it was a story about
a bishop who had lost his testimony. I suggested
that I ought to be allowed to proceed with the
Home Enrichment discussion so that I could show
that the character “lost his place,” not his testi-
mony, and encourage the women to think through
why these things happen and what our responsi-
bility is or is not when they do, etc. My argument
must have been effective because the Relief Society
president abandoned this approach and told me that
the story wasn’t appropriate because it contained a
curse word: bitch. (The word, not the Relief Soci-
ety president.) I was then asked not to be offended,
but they (the presidency plus my bishop) had prayed
and knew that the Lord didn’t want me to teach a
Home Enrichment meeting on LDS literature.
But would I perhaps consider an LDS classic,
The Christmas Box?
I said no. I hung up. And this time I felt no guilt.
The announced literature class simply vanished,
according to the Lord’s will. What remained was a
barrier of awkwardness felt throughout the Relief
Society.
So, does it take courage to liven things up or to
effect change? I suppose. But seeing as I’ve never
seen change or, for that matter, anything remotely
lively in the 20-some years I’ve been a Latter-day
Saint, I’m not sure that courage is what it takes.
Probably it’ll take a revelation.
Lisa Downing
Mesquite, Texas
Unfair Review
I realize your writers are busy people, and you
are lucky to get reviews. But I hope you will make
an effort to keep from printing reviews from people
who haven’t read the books carefully.
In your summer 2001 issue, Morgan Adair criti-
cizes Marilyn Brown’s Wine-Dark Sea of Grass for
its research because she wrote that the springs were
poisoned by the Missourians.
4 IRREANTUM
Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 3:59 PM Page 5
If Adair had read more carefully, he would have
found that she was only writing about what the set-
tlers thought had happened. In her notes she makes
it clear: “No one knows if the Missourians actually
poisoned the springs.” And in another note: “There
is no evidence that the immigrants really poisoned
the springs.”
Adair calls into question the entire quality of
research by being a bit careless. He also complained
that the novel still left him in the dark as to why the
massacre happened. Why didn’t the review editor
publish the AML-List review by D. Michael Mar-
tindale, which stated: “I felt Brown gave us some
good insight into how it happened.” Martindale
didn’t agree with everything in the novel, but it
wasn’t an inaccurate review.
Melissa Hathaway
Springville, Utah
Clarifying Lavina’s Role
Bravo for your beautiful issue on Eugene Eng-
land! How fitting that it should be his memorial
issue when IRREANTUM breaks into living color for
the first time. It made me miss him all over again.
I need to make an addition to my little article
about coediting Tending the Garden. I’m sure it’s my
fault—I must have sent the wrong draft to Gideon
in my rush. It should say something like this:
Fortunately for the history of literary criticism in
Mormonism, Gene’s name appeared first on the
book. Instead of “getting over it,” I carried my con-
cerns to Signature, and publicist Ron Priddis came
up with the winning and unanswerable argument
that Gene’s name would doubtless sell more books
among those likely to purchase literary criticism.
I think, however, we waited to tell Gene until it was
on the press.
Lavina Fielding Anderson
Salt Lake City, Utah
IRREANTUM
A M L N E W S
Outgoing President’s Message
By Cherry Silver
Some time ago I decided that reading good crit-
ical commentary was like eating an elegant dessert.
The ideas are rich, the blending professional, and
the stimulus to the system superb.
The AML continues to offer solid scholarship
and able analysis. These efforts concentrate during
the annual meeting of the Association for Mormon
Letters held on the Westminster College campus in
early March or late February. A publication of those
proceedings called the AML Annual goes to each
member. This year’s theme concerned “Walking the
Tightrope: Mormon Writers and Their Audiences,”
while next year’s will build around “Directions in
Mormon Letters: Voices and Vision for the Twenty-
First Century.”
We find Mormon scholarship in other venues.
This year 115 reviews of books and films have
appeared on AML-List and have been made avail-
able on the AML website (www.aml-online.org) by
Terry Jeffress. Debates on interesting literary issues
are summarized quarterly in the pages of IRREAN-
TUM; personalities explain their perspectives there,
and newsworthy events are announced. Now BYU
humanities librarians Robert Means and Connie
Lamb are maintaining a Mormon writers’ list and
are cooperating with literary historian Gideon Bur-
ton to put Mormon letters online. Add to these
media outlets our face-to-face meetings like the
remarkable writers’ conference at Thanksgiving
Point (Lehi, Utah) in November, and we can savor
an ample diet of good fare.
But I miss another element that the AML offered
when first organized. Two decades ago, the annual
meeting included criticisms of papers (I remember
my first presentation being cheerfully carved up by
Richard Cracroft). At its best there arises an urgency
among presenters, an aspiration for legitimacy, and
a sense that Mormon literary critics are developing
distinctive scholarly and critical stances suited to
our philosophy. AML annual meeting attendees
5 Winter 2001–2002
Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 3:59 PM Page 6
have listened to provocative theorists like Wayne
Booth, Michael Austin, and Terryl Givens. The AML
has fostered publications like Tending the Garden:
Essays on Mormon Literature, edited by Eugene
England and Lavina Fielding Anderson (Signature
Books, 1996). It has hosted memorable debates like
the one between Cracroft and Bruce Jorgensen over
critical approaches to our literature.
No one denies the abundance and growing qual-
ity of our imaginative literature, in fiction, in film,
in personal essay, in the genres. But the AML can-
not always present an award for criticism even in
alternate years, because we lack a body of work
in that field. In order for literature to thrive, it
needs all three actors—writers, readers, and com-
mentators—to have training and expectations, to
be interested in improving what we now do. To
achieve this growth, writers have writing groups
and publications like IRREANTUM; readers have the
AML-List discussions to provide an arena for inter-
change. I say, let critics and commentators con-
tinue to enter the jousts at the annual meeting and
keep their debates informing and expanding our
range of knowledge.
As Gideon Burton assumes the presidency of the
Association for Mormon Letters, AML members
may expect innovation and growth from this writer-
scholar-publisher who wants to ensure the AML’s
solidarity, financially and otherwise. Gideon will build
on fine traditions, supported by an excellent board
with interestingly diverse backgrounds. I have cer-
tainly profited from their creative ideas and indi-
vidual contributions, and I express my gratitude.
A toast to all AML supporters, as I turn over
the gavel. Let’s continue to savor the main literary
meal but not forget the dessert—a lively, informed
criticism.
AML President-Elect Neila Seshachari Dies
Only eight days after reading a paper on Terry
Tempest Williams’s book Leap at the annual AML
conference, AML president-elect Neila Seshachari
died of a ruptured aorta on March 10, 2002. Born
in India in 1934, Neila immigrated to the United
States in 1969, earned an English Ph.D. at the Uni-
versity of Utah, and became a professor at Weber
Winter 2001–2002
State University in Ogden, Utah. She published
short stories and critical essays and served as editor
of Weber Studies. The first non-Mormon woman
elected as AML president (she would have begun
her term in February 2003), Neila was a licensed
Hindu priest. Her husband, Candadai “Sesh”
Seshachari, served as AML president several years
ago. “We will miss her keen insights and precise
decision making, her fine scholarship and gentle
encouragement,” said recently released AML presi-
dent Cherry Silver.
AML Board Member Changes
At the annual meeting held on March 2, 2002,
the AML released two board members with a vote
of thanks. Carol Quist serves as associate editor and
mercantile manager at Sunstone, and Marilyn Brown
writes novels and runs the Salt Press imprint at
Cedar Fort.
New board member Sharlee Mullins Glenn was
born in Vernal, Utah, and graduated from high
school in Twin Falls, Idaho. After serving a mission
in Italy, she returned to BYU, where she earned
both a B.A. and an M.A. in humanities with
emphases in English and art history. She taught at
BYU for a number of years before giving up acade-
mia for the writing life. She has published essays,
articles, and poetry in The Southern Literary Jour-
nal, Women’s Studies, IRREANTUM, Wasatch Review
International, and BYU Studies. Recently she decided
to turn her focus to writing for children. Her first
novel for young readers, Circle Dance, was published
by Bookcraft in 1998. Other publications include
One in a Billion (a picture book), “No Bears Out
Tonight,” “Watching Baby Devster,” “Mom in the
Doghouse,” and “More Than Ice Cream.” Another
picture book, Gracie and Roo, is forthcoming from
G.P. Putnam’s Sons in 2004.
New board member Eric Samuelsen is head of
the playwriting and screenwriting program in Brig-
ham Young University’s Department of Theater
and Media Arts. He completed a Ph.D. at Indiana
University in 1991, and after a year at Wright State
University he joined the faculty at BYU in 1992.
Samuelsen’s plays have included Accommodations,
Gadianton, and The Way We’re Wired, all of which
6 IRREANTUM
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were honored with drama awards by the Associa-
tion for Mormon Letters. Other produced plays
have included Without Romance, What Really Hap-
pened, Three Women, The Seating of Senator Smoot,
and Derrida’s Dead Cat.
IRREANTUM Fiction Contest
The Association for Mormon Letters is pleased
to announce the second annual IRREANTUM fiction
contest. Because IRREANTUM is a literary quarterly
dedicated to exploring Mormon culture, all contest
entries must relate to the Mormon experience in
some way, either explicitly or implicitly. As long as
an entry doesn’t exceed 8,500 words, any fictional
form will be considered, including short stories and
excerpts from novels, screenplays, and play scripts.
Any fictional genre is welcome, including literary,
mystery, romance, science fiction, fantasy, histori-
cal, and horror. The first-place author will be
awarded $100, second place $75, and third place
$50 (unless the judge determines entries are not of
sufficient quality to merit awards). Winners agree
to give IRREANTUM first publication rights. To facil-
itate blind judging, entries should be submitted
with a removable cover sheet that includes the author’s
name, address, telephone number, e-mail address,
and manuscript title—the author’s name should
appear on no other page of the manuscript. Stories
should be double spaced in easily readable type.
Entries will not be returned. Submit manuscripts
by June 30, 2002, to IRREANTUM’s fiction editor,
Tory Anderson, P.O. Box 445, Levan, UT 84639.
Next Year’s Annual Meeting Announced
Plan now to attend the AML’s annual gathering
next year on February 22, 2003, at Westminster
College in Salt Lake City. Next year’s conference
theme will be “Directions in Mormon Letters:
Voices and Vision for the Twenty-First Century.”
Conference chair Cherry Silver will accept paper
proposals until September 1, 2002. Contact her at
cherry.silver@worldnet.att.net or 801-278-7141.
IRREANTUM
Writers’ Conference Report
By D. Michael Martindale
The success of the third annual AML writers’
conference, held November 3, 2001, at Thanksgiv-
ing Point in Lehi, Utah, exceeded expectations.
Attendance doubled from the previous year to more
than 150 people, and the AML was able to bring in
some badly needed funds for the coming year.
The guests of honor did a fantastic job. Richard
Dutcher, producer, writer, director, and star of his
two acclaimed LDS films God’s Army and Brigham
City, pulled no punches as he discussed the respon-
sibility of LDS artists to tell the stories of their
hearts, without regard to the reactions of others.
He reiterated his statement from previous inter-
views that others can be bishops and Relief Society
presidents, but only you can tell the stories you
have to tell.
Kenny Kemp was equally forthcoming in his
discussion on self-publishing. An award-winning
self-publisher who landed an impressive contract
with a national publisher, he graphically presented
his experiences with the publishing industry and
offered valuable advice on how to write and publish
successfully.
Representatives from Deseret Book, Covenant,
Cedar Fort, Cornerstone, and American Book spoke
about the opportunities they provide for authors.
The Read Leaf Bookstore from Springville, Utah,
did its usual wonderful job making available for
purchase books written by conference presenters.
The AML writers’ conference is strictly a volun-
teer effort. No one gets paid any fee or expenses for
participating. Yet we never lack for volunteers, both
for behind-the-scenes logistics and the high-profile
presentations that make the conference so valuable.
The most frustrating part of the conference is try-
ing to choose from among the great variety of sub-
jects offered in the sessions. We thank all who
volunteered, but we give particular thanks to Paul
Bishop, police detective and author, and Michael
Collings, professor, poet, and Orson Scott Card
expert, for traveling from California at their own
expense to present some very interesting and infor-
mational sessions.
7 Winter 2001–2002
Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 3:59 PM Page 8
The Thanksgiving Gardens building at Thanks-
giving Point in Lehi, Utah, was a magnificent venue
for the conference. Parking was close, the view was
pleasant, and the building itself provided a classy
environment for our sessions. There were the usual
minor glitches, but the Thanksgiving Point people
made up for them generously. We look forward to
meeting there again for the fourth annual confer-
ence, tentatively scheduled for November 2, 2002.
If you have any suggestions or questions about
the writers’ conference, contact me at dmichael@
wwno.com.
AML Website Improvements
By Terry L Jeffress
The AML website has gone through some sig-
nificant changes. Most importantly, the AML has
purchased its own domain name through which
you can now access the AML website: www.aml-
online.org. For backward compatibility, you can still
use the old address, but we encourage you to
update any old bookmarks.
The site has a completely new look. On the left,
you will find a universal menu bar that enables
users to quickly navigate to any part of the AML
site. The new home page also contains a brief cal-
endar of events related to Mormon letters. If you
want to have your event listed, send me a message
with details at jeffress@xmission.com.
The AML-List review archive has a new look to
match the redesign of the entire site. The archive
now contains over 500 reviews of books and other
works related to Mormon letters. You can easily
browse through the reviews by author, title, reviewer,
or publisher. I have updated the archive so that
individual review pages now display an image of
the product where available.
You can also now browse through a database of
the AML awards. This database contains all the
known awards given at the annual meetings. You
can browse the awards by recipient’s name, award
category, title of the works awarded, and year
awarded. (We have some definite gaps in the AML
records, as you will see from some missing years
in the chronological index. If you know of any
Winter 2001–2002
additional awards we should include in the data-
base, please e-mail me at jeffress@xmission.com.)
In addition, the review archive now fully cross-
references with the awards database. For example,
reviews for God’s Army have a link to the citation in
the awards database, and the awards database cita-
tion page for God’s Army provides links to the avail-
able reviews.
I hope you find the AML website a useful resource
for your interests and pursuits in Mormon letters.
AML-List Leadership Changes
By Jonathan Langford
As most of you know, Benson Parkinson was the
AML-List’s founder and guiding spirit for the first
five years of its existence. Since I took over as mod-
erator in 2000, he has continued behind the scenes
as AML-List administrator, handling the various
technical details at which I am so inept.
Ben has now chosen to bow out of AML-List
administration entirely—though not, we hope, out
of participation in the list, as time demands allow.
List administration is now being handled by Terry
Jeffress, the AML’s webmaster. In addition, Andrew
Hall has been brought on board as assistant mod-
erator. I’d like to express thanks to Debra Brown,
who forwards news items from Mormon News, and
to Jana Remy, who runs AML-List’s solicited
reviews program.
The AML board provides broad oversight of
AML-List policies. While AML-List is a free serv-
ice, the AML does pay some server fees and other
expenses. Contributions to help offset those expenses
are welcome.
To subscribe to AML-List, send an e-mail message
to majordomo@lists.xmission.com that reads: sub-
scribe aml-list. A confirmation request will be sent
to your e-mail address; follow the directions to
complete your subscription.
Marilyn Brown Novel Award
The biannual Marilyn Brown Novel Award will
next be presented in 2004. The winning novel
will be the well-written work for mature readers
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Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 3:59 PM Page 9
that best reflects Mormon values and culture and
fulfills as many of the following criteria as possible:
by a Mormon, about Mormons, for a Mormon
audience. Explicit Mormonism is not necessarily a
prerequisite, but, in tone and content, considera-
tion of high and moral values is.
Only unpublished novels are eligible. The author
may be seeking a publisher while the manuscript is
being judged, but to remain eligible for the award
a contract with a publisher must not be signed
until the award is presented.
Postmark deadline is July 1, 2003. Authors should
try to attend the AML annual conference in 2004,
as the winner will be revealed at that time. For
return, include SASE. Late manuscripts or manu-
scripts with format flaws will be considered only in
special circumstances. The prize is $1,000, and
honorable mentions may or may not be awarded.
Two anonymous judges from the AML will help
Marilyn Brown pick the winner. If the majority of
judges feels no entry is worthy of a prize, the prize
will be withheld for that year.
Manuscripts should be typed in double space,
copied on both sides of regular white paper, and
bound in a comb or spiral binding like a book.
Include a self-addressed stamped postcard if you
want to be notified that your novel has arrived. The
title of the novel and the author’s name, address,
and phone number should be placed in a sealed
envelope, which will not be opened until the day of
the 2004 AML conference luncheon. On the out-
side of this envelope, indicate only the title of the
novel. No other author identification should
appear on the manuscript in any shape or form.
Send your manuscript to: Marilyn Brown Novel
Award, 125 Hobble Creek Canyon, Springville, Utah
84663. If you have any questions, contact Marilyn
Brown at 801-489-4980 or wwbrown@burgoyne.com.
AML Writing Groups
By Kathleen Dalton-Woodbury
I am the online writing group coordinator for
www.hatrack.com, Orson Scott Card’s website.
Every so often an aspiring LDS writer signs up for
a Hatrack group, hoping to be put together with
IRREANTUM
other LDS writers. However, I don’t feel I can ask
people to tell me whether or not they are LDS on
the signup form I have them fill out, so I am not
able to give people LDS groups as they might like.
I think there might be enough aspiring LDS
writers out there to form some LDS-focused feed-
back groups. This would be especially useful for
those who live outside the so-called Mormon corri-
dor and would be willing to be put in contact via
e-mail with other aspiring LDS writers.
Groups could be organized by type of writing,
whether fiction, nonfiction, poetry, or perhaps even
scripts. Some groups would combine these types if
the members are interested in doing more than one
kind of writing. Groups could also be organized by
marketing category: romance, science fiction and fan-
tasy, mainstream, inspirational, children’s, and so on.
If you are interested, contact me at workshop@
burgoyne.com, and we’ll see if there is enough inter-
est to start some e-mail LDS writing groups.
AML Awards for 2001
Honorary Lifetime Member: Thomas F. Rogers
Playwright, Linguist, Essayist, Scholar
The Association for Mormon Letters honors
Thomas F. Rogers with its Lifetime Membership
Award for his commitment to creative work that
conveys Latter-day Saint values under pressure.
Standing among its first dramatists, Tom caught
the imagination of LDS Church audiences with his
historical play Huebener, depicting a Mormon youth’s
active resistance to Nazi propaganda. It is only fit-
ting that as a mission president in Russia from
1993 to 1996, Tom had his district members per-
form that play along with The Brothers Karamazov,
while a professional group presented a Russian trans-
lation of his play on religious dissidents in Stalinist
Russia.
Tom, as educator and creative writer, has written
short stories and personal essays, has encouraged
young artists through his work with the Mormon
Festival of the Arts, and has led study-abroad pro-
grams to Eastern Europe and Russia. He has served
the AML as a judge for awards and personally
received the AML drama prize in 1983. He has
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lectured for the Utah Humanities Council on Soviet
and earlier Russian culture. Through his studies of
languages, namely German, Russian, Serbo-Croatian,
Polish, and Hindi, he has become an interpreter,
not only of idiom but of ideology, for peoples often
neglected by Western humanists. Through his
scholarly and creative efforts, he has intensified the
expression of Mormon values in our region and
represented them superbly abroad.
Tom Rogers, now emeritus professor of Russian
language and literature at Brigham Young Univer-
sity, continues his distinguished career as an inter-
nationalist and spokesman for humane letters. It is
appropriate that he returns to Nanking, China, this
spring to study Mandarin in order to further under-
stand this important culture and reconnect with
the brilliant graduate students he taught last year in
Beijing. His plays and his essays persistently illus-
trate the motif scripture he printed on the frontis
page of God’s Fools: “Let every man esteem his
brother as himself” (Doctrine & Covenants 38:24).
Award for Children’s Literature: Don H. Staheli
and Robert T. Barrett
The Association for Mormon Letters presents an
award for children’s literature to Don H. Staheli
and Robert T. Barrett for The Story of the Walnut
Tree (Bookcraft, 2000).
In the first session of the April 2000 general con-
ference, President Gordon B. Hinckley told a story
about a black walnut tree he had planted many
years ago. When the tree died, rather than having it
destroyed he asked experts whether its wood might
still be useful. That walnut tree became the pulpit
that stands at the front of the new Conference
Center, the pulpit from which President Hinckley
spoke. “It is an emotional thing for me,” he said.
“I offer my profound thanks for making it possible
to have a small touch of mine in this great hall
where the voices of prophets will go out to all the
world in testimony of the Redeemer of mankind.”
In The Story of the Walnut Tree, Don Staheli has
transformed President Hinckley’s simple, heartfelt
story into a modern fable about unexpected beauty.
The walnut tree, planted on a whim, seems to lack
all the qualities that make the other trees special: it
Winter 2001–2002
is not as tall as the maple, not as beautiful as the
quaking aspen, not as full and richly scented as
the evergreen. But, as the “kind man” of the story
reminds us, sometimes things we discount as unwor-
thy turn out to be the best of all. Though this
statement and other morals are stated explicitly in
the story, the parallel to Christ’s life is more power-
ful for never being overtly stated. Robert Barrett’s
rich illustrations, with their predominance of trees
and foliage, suggest vitality and strength, a fitting
complement to the simple yet beautiful text.
While Mormon children’s literature has many
stories about Church history and many stories of
powerful metaphor, it has very few that are both at
once. The Story of the Walnut Tree combines deep
gospel principles with an engaging story, simply
told. It depicts a true story from contemporary
Church history without resorting to hagiography or
saccharine perfection. This is an exceptional book.
Award for Criticism: Dian Saderup Monson
The Association for Mormon Letters presents an
award for criticism to Dian Saderup Monson for
“Believing in the Word,” published in First Things:
A Journal of Religion and Public Life.
In “Believing in the Word” Dian Saderup Monson
brings a Mormon sensibility to a larger national
audience, challenging the skepticism of contem-
porary literary theory and boldly claiming that
language and literature, reading and writing are
inherently acts of faith.
The indeterminacy of language does not make true
communication impossible, but any communica-
tion miraculous. The inaccessibility of an author’s
intention does not make an absolute gulf between
reader and writer, but an opportunity for unusual
and compelling communion. And the ease with
which critics can dissipate literary meanings by ref-
erence to political or cultural conditions may sim-
ply be sophisticated dodges from the spirit of a text.
This is the case with a critic Monson describes
who, in reading a short story by Catholic author
Andre Dubus, looks so narrowly at gender issues
that the protagonist’s experiences of crisis and grace
are lost to her. Just as the protagonist in Dubus’s
story must learn to submit to God’s grace, so must
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we readers, according to Monson, be willing to sur-
render ourselves and our convenient interpretive
lenses to the mystery and manners of an author’s
work. It is only on the basis of such trust that lan-
guage and literature become mediating and not
maddening.
“As I read fiction and teach it,” Monson con-
cludes, “I will seek to maintain a certain faith, not
only in the precarious reliability of words, but in
the notion that authors use words with purpose
that readers may, by a combination of wit and
grace, divine.”
Award for Drama: J. Scott Bronson
The Association for Mormon Letters presents an
award for drama to J. Scott Bronson for Stones.
Stones is a perfect example of the three keys to
playwriting: story, character, and dialogue. Both
acts, thousands of years apart in real time, appear
outwardly to tell two different stories. But the sim-
ilarities in the themes of faith and family reach
across the years to bind the play into one coherent
story that is relevant today and will always be as
long as humans walk the earth.
Playwrights of lesser ability would have seen the
task of putting thoughts into the mind and words
into the mouth of the Savior of Mankind as some-
what daunting, if not downright sacrilegious; yet
Bronson’s Christ speaks words that are simulta-
neously human in their pain and divine in their
solace.
No less expertly delineated are the characters of
Abraham and, especially, Mary. The scene where
she becomes aware of her Son’s eventual sacrifice
on the cross is one of great dramatic and spiritual
power. Bronson’s dialogue successfully and seam-
lessly bridges two worlds. His characters speak
plainly in the modern syntax and vernacular and
yet slip effortlessly into lyrical soliloquies of great
poetic force.
Stones sets a new standard for Mormon drama in
the universality of its theme, the depth of its char-
acterization, and the poignant beauty of its words.
IRREANTUM
Award for Middle-Grade Literature:
Carol Lynch Williams
The Association for Mormon Letters presents an
award for middle-gradel literature to Carol Lynch
Williams for My Angelica (Delacorte, 1999), Carolina
Autumn (Delacorte, 2000), Christmas in Heaven
(Putnam, 2000), and Tish (Cornerstone, 2001).
In the past three years, Carol Lynch Williams
published four middle-grade books—three in the
national market and one for Mormon readers. Her
humor, storytelling ability, facility with language,
and courage to consider difficult issues place her at
the top of her field.
Her protagonists are generally young women
who face a web of serious challenges. Through the
course of her experiences, the protagonist discovers
the power to resist the trouble confronting her.
Christmas in Heaven explores the tension between
family and friends as the protagonist’s brother is
drawn away from himself by an emotionally dis-
turbed girl. Carolina Autumn shows a young
woman facing adolescence after losing her father
and sister through death and her mother through
emotional isolation. My Angelica, lighter than most
of her books, has a male protagonist and deals with
the issues of first love and distorted self-concept.
Tish shows a pioneer girl struggling with her grand-
parent’s anger about Mormonism.
Her books embrace the values of the best Mor-
mon literature—respecting each person as a child
of God, building solid relationships with friends
and family, and progressing toward maturity.
Award for the Novel: Brady Udall
The Association for Mormon Letters presents an
award for the novel to Brady Udall for The Miracle
Life of Edgar Mint (W.W. Norton & Company,
2001).
In The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint Brady Udall
writes of a world where miracles happen and religion
has the power to change people. The title character,
Edgar, has enormous physical, social, and cultural
hardships, but he maintains a natural innocence
and morality that enable him to persevere.
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Through Edgar’s experience in The Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Udall draws an eas-
ily recognizable portrait of everyday Mormons—
people who still have struggles in spite of their
belief in Christ and membership in his Church. In
this novel, the Church exists as part of the relevant
cultural setting and not as a religion that needs
explanation, justification, or additional proselytiz-
ing tools.
Throughout Edgar Mint Udall employs vivid,
evocative descriptions that conjure the visual images,
sounds, smells, and moods of the situations that
make up Edgar’s miracle life. Udall doesn’t shrink
back from describing the horrors of Edgar’s life, but
he also never takes on the tabloid and voyeuristic
view prevalent in much of today’s entertainment.
The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint extends the pos-
sibilities of Mormon literature into new arenas and
does so with quality storytelling and unforgettable
characters.
Award for Review: Jeffrey Needle
The Association for Mormon Letters presents an
award for review to Jeffrey Needle for his collected
book reviews appearing on AML-List, an e-mail list
for the discussion of Mormon literature. (The
reviews are available through the AML-List archives
at www.aml-online.org/reviews.)
“How then shall they read the books of which
they have not heard?” Reviewers play an important,
and largely unsung, role in the life of a literary com-
munity. This is true not only of those who voice
judgments of new works, but equally of those who
reach back into the past, bringing to our remem-
brance a knowledge of what has gone before. In so
doing, they serve as our collective memory, allow-
ing us to build bridges across time to our half-for-
gotten literary forebears.
Jeff Needle provides an outstanding example of
just such service. Over the past five years, this self-
described Jewish Protestant with a sympathetic
interest in “all things Mormon” has published over
70 reviews for AML-List—23 in 2001 alone. His
choices have spanned the range from doctrinal
Winter 2001–2002
works to Mormon history, historical fiction, detec-
tive novels with Mormon settings, biography, and
more. New and old, well known and obscure; all have
come under his roving reading and reviewing eye.
Jeff brings to his reviews a careful concern for
accuracy, clear sense of plot, and finely tuned sensi-
tivity to authorial style. He consistently, and chari-
tably, recounts authors’ successes, while with
soft-spoken insight noting areas for improvement.
It is part of his understated skill that we come away
from each review feeling that we have learned
about—and from—an author’s work, through
Jeff ’s mediation.
Award for Young Adult Literature:
Louise Plummer
The Association for Mormon Letters presents an
award for young adult literature to Louise Plum-
mer for A Dance for Three (Delacorte, 2001).
As my two daughters became teenagers and their
relationships with boys became more complicated,
they struggled to decode the confusing cultural signs
of romance. Reading Louise Plummer’s modern-
day novels of manners helped my daughters walk
through the forest of adolescence. Her voice is like
that of a friendly aunt who knows plenty of stories
about love.
The latest in this line of novels is A Dance for
Three, the story of a young woman who is nearly
destroyed by her illusions about the boy she loves.
Pregnant and physically abused by him, she experi-
ences a psychotic break. The narration in three
voices is as sophisticated as Virginia Sorensen’s best
work; the prose has the grace and power of poetry.
As Hannah, the protagonist, puzzles over the
memory of her own seduction, readers puzzle with
her. By the end of the book, the meaning of the
scene is transformed and our ethical outrage is
focused. Like classic writers since the invention of
the novel, Plummer unmasks illusion in the form
of dishonesty, exaggeration, and self-deceit. Her
voice is certain and steady, telling young women
that they can trust their heads, trust their ability
to judge.
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Marilyn Brown Novel Award: A. Jeff Call
Mormonville, an unpublished novel manuscript
by A. Jeff Call, is the story of an Eastern U.S. jour-
nalist who is assigned by a rather sadistic newspa-
per executive to come to Utah to discover the “real
dirt that must be there” about the Mormons.
When the jaded journalist arrives, he begins to dis-
cover the truth. Jeff Call admits the truth is some-
times very hilarious. He is to be congratulated for
writing a first novel that not only deals with every
cultural phenomenon of the Mormon ethos, but in
a way that makes us smile, laugh at ourselves, and
love what we see. This is a remarkable work, one of
a kind, a theme that future writers may not be able
to repeat. It’s now been done, and well. The AML
is honored to present Jeff Call with the Marilyn
Brown Novel Award in honor of his achievement.
P O E M
Lo volví a ver
I saw him again today
He was one of a dozen or so
Being hauled in a labor truck
I had seen him before
But this time it was different
Our eyes met and locked
He sought release from anonymity
And then I recognized him
He was my brother
—Paul W. Sexton
Paul Sexton has taught every grade level from kinder-
garten to graduate school and is currently employed as
an associate professor of Spanish. “Lo volví a ver”
(I Saw Him Again) was inspired in the outskirts of
Guatemala City in 1998.
IRREANTUM
I N T E R V I E W
Brady Udall
In addition to his celebrated recent novel The Mir-
acle Life of Edgar Mint (W. W. Norton, 2001),
Brady Udall is the author of the AML-honored story
collection Letting Loose the Hounds (W. W. Norton,
1997), which the New York Times Book Review
observed is “populated by the most downtrodden and
affecting group of outcasts since Denis Johnson’s Jesus’
Son.” Born and raised in the Indian country of north-
eastern Arizona, Udall is a graduate of the Iowa
Writer’s Workshop, a James Michener Fellow, and a
winner of the Playboy fiction contest. His stories have
been published in GQ, Story, and The Paris Review,
among other places. Employed as a college professor, he
lives in Illinois with his wife and two sons and can be
reached at brady@edgarmint.com.
Citing The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint as the
number-two fiction book of 2001, Entertainment
Weekly wrote: “Udall’s hero would make great friends
with John Irving’s Owen Meany or a gang of Charles
Dickens’ underdogs. United, these boys could take over
the world. Alone, Edgar muddles through the best he
can, breaking your heart and putting it back together
by book’s end.” Newsweek called the novel one of the
year’s twelve best works of fiction, but the New York
Times Book Review didn’t include it in its list of sig-
nificant books of 2001.
One-time Mormon and GQ literary editor Walter
Kirn wrote: “Brady Udall is a westerner. His first novel
is a sunup-to-sunset trek toward the horizon, with no
timeouts for verbal fancy footwork. He tells his tale the
way wheat farmers plant grain: by focusing on a dis-
tant vanishing point, lowering his tools into the soil
and plowing as straight a course as possible. The book
is a feat of stamina, not cleverness.” Kirn continues:
“Udall, a former Mormon missionary, is an orthodox
moralist of a type not often encountered in newer,
younger fiction. Charity and compassion he’s all for,
but ambiguity is not his bag: he prefers duels, atone-
ments and last judgments. His heroes and villains are
all too clearly labeled (most of his bad guys smoke cig-
arettes, for example, and he hammers away at the per-
ils of drink and drugs).” Kirn described Udall’s prose
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as sharp and rangy: “His similes sting, his sentences go
bang, and his chapters roll like wagon wheels across
the harsh Mormon desert of right and wrong toward
safety, shade and water. And, maybe, home.”
Vintage Books will publish a paperback version of
the novel in July 2002. Some time after the following
interview took place, Hollywood film studio United
Artists hired director Michael Cuesta to direct an
adaptation of the novel. Following this interview is an
excerpt from the novel.
IRREANTUM: What early experiences and influ-
ences shaped you to be a writer? Trace for us
how your writing inclination developed and
how you first became a published writer.
I grew up in a little town in Arizona where there
was a lot of manual labor to be done—hauling hay,
chopping wood, irrigating, herding cows. I decided
very early on that these were things I didn’t want to
pursue on a professional basis. I didn’t want to be
a lawyer or a doctor or, heaven forbid, a school-
teacher, so writing seemed to be the natural choice.
IRREANTUM: Most fiction is a combination of
three elements: what the author has experi-
enced, observed, and imagined. How do those
three elements work together for you?
All three work in a way that’s fairly inexplicable,
but I will say this—I don’t think anybody respects
a good imagination nowadays. We live in the age of
the memoir, and a lot of fiction seems to be noth-
ing more than thinly veiled autobiography. This
seems absolutely screwy to me. Why stick to the
truth when there is such a wealth of untruth to
choose from?
IRREANTUM: Which do you prefer writing,
short stories or novels?
Right now, novels. I like the big ol’ challenge of it.
It’s like going on an expedition—there’s a lot of
advance planning to be done, maps to read, supplies
to gather. A short story is like going on a day trip.
They both offer very different kinds of pleasures.
IRREANTUM: Do you have any rituals or con-
ditions for a good writing session?
Winter 2001–2002
I write from around midnight to 4 or 5 A.M.
I cannot write before midnight. Even if it’s 11:48
and I’ve got nothing better to do, I’ll sit around
until the clock strikes twelve before I sit down at
my desk. It’s not superstition; it’s ritual. Writing at
2:00 in the afternoon just feels wrong to me.
IRREANTUM: What have you learned about
marketing yourself as a writer and approaching
different publishers? What is your best advice
for aspiring fiction writers?
I’ve never really marketed myself or approached
any publishers. I’ve always had the same editor and
agent, two lovely people who are passionate about
what they do. I’ve lucked out in this, as I have in
many other things. The only advice I have to aspir-
ing writers is this: do what you want, don’t listen to
me or anybody else. And don’t take yourself so seri-
ously. Writing fiction is not a holy activity, but to
be successful you’ll have to work as if it is.
IRREANTUM: Tell us about reader response to
your two books. What are sales to date for each?
What kinds of things do you hear back in per-
son or by mail? How do you feel about your crit-
ics? Do you want to make any specific responses
to them right now?
I honestly don’t know what the sales figures are.
The first book, a story collection, sold well as far as
collections go. The novel is doing well, as far as I
gather. I had a friend of mine build a website for
the novel (www.edgarmint.com), and it’s been a great
way of communicating with readers. I get two or
three e-mails a day from readers, and it’s a wonder-
ful thing to know that your work is having an
effect. I’ve had responses from priests, pastors, 89-
year-old grannies, 12-year-old girls, friends I haven’t
heard from in ten years.
As for critics, I’m not sure what to make of
them. They’ve been great across the board for this
last book, but I don’t trust any of it. I’ve noticed
that almost without fail the book the critic is
reviewing is not the same book I wrote. That’s
okay—art is bound to be perceived in the most
particular of ways, but it makes the whole review
process rather confusing.
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IRREANTUM: Tell us about your teaching pro-
fession and how it plays into your career. Is it a
source of satisfaction, a necessary evil, or both?
I get satisfaction out of teaching, and it actually
contributes to my writing. I’ve found that I can’t sit
home all day and write; I need to get out and do
things and have a life. So teaching helps in that
respect. I have my day job, and what I do after hours
becomes something of an illicit pleasure instead of
a chore.
The only way to produce
work that a national audience
will care about is to produce
more and better writers.
IRREANTUM: Which authors do you draw the
most from, and what kind of fiction do you like
to read?
I love comic writers: Twain, O’Connor, Rushdie,
Barthelme, Grass. As far as I’m concerned a book
that can’t make me laugh at least once every thirty
pages isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. I guess I
don’t like literature or art of any kind that takes
itself too seriously. I don’t like Hemingway or Vir-
ginia Woolf. I don’t like books or movies or plays
that have an axe to grind. I hear writers say they
don’t like fiction that aspires to teach or has a les-
son for the reader, but then they’ll turn around and
say that they, on the other hand, want to make the
reader uncomfortable or challenge the reader with
their own fiction. What’s the difference? Either way,
you’re trying to teach the reader some kind of lesson.
I don’t want to teach the reader a lesson of any kind.
I simply want them to have a hair-raising, heart-
thumping, mind-numbing, soul-tearing experience.
I think I would prefer it if they didn’t think at all.
IRREANTUM: Let’s discuss your use of Mormon
elements and how your Mormon background is
reflected in your fiction.
IRREANTUM
Mormon stuff gets into my work because I’m a
Mormon. I was raised Mormon, I go to Mormon
church on Sunday. I’m proud to be a Mormon. I’m
fairly active, I do my best, but I also have some dif-
ficulties with aspects—both theological and cul-
tural—of the Church. Other than that, there are
no real considerations or motivations about how
Mormon material enters my writing. I’ll grab hold
of whatever is useful. Because it’s close at hand,
Mormon material gets thrown into my stories
along with everything else I can get my mitts on. I
don’t have any special message to offer the world
about what the Mormon experience is like—I have
only the individual experiences of my characters,
some of whom happen to be Mormon.
IRREANTUM: What do you imagine Heavenly
Father and the Savior think of your fiction? Do
you ever feel inspired in your writing? Do you
see yourself as part of any kind of Mormon lit-
erary community?
I don’t imagine that Heavenly Father or Jesus
think anything whatsoever of my fiction. For me,
writing is not really a spiritual activity, though at
times it does approach the kind of transcendence
that can be experienced in Zen meditation. As for
the Mormon literary community, I don’t really see
myself as part of it, mostly because I’m not really
sure what it is. There are a number of good writers
out there who happen to be Mormon or who write
about the Mormon culture in some way or another.
I’d consider it an honor to be counted among them.
IRREANTUM: You’ve mentioned the strong influ-
ence of former BYU professor Darrell Spencer,
who is now at Ohio University. How do you feel
about your undergraduate Brigham Young Uni-
versity experience?
I learned just about everything I needed to know
about writing from Darrell. He’s easily the best writ-
ing teacher I’ve ever come across. I’m sure he’s been
sorely missed at BYU, but there are still very good
teachers there—John Bennion and Bruce Jorgensen,
to name a couple. I don’t really know what the polit-
ical climate at BYU is like these days, but I doubt
it’s very conducive to a good writing education.
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Writers—and scientists and philosophers and math-
ematicians and theologians, for that matter—need
freedom to explore and redefine their respective
disciplines, to ask hard questions, to challenge. BYU
simply doesn’t afford that kind of freedom.
IRREANTUM: Have you read much stuff written
by Mormon authors or published by Mormon
presses? What’s your impression of the Mor-
mon reading audience?
I’ve read Walter Kirn, Paul Rawlins, Brian Even-
son. But I don’t really see these people as Mormon
writers. They’re writers who are Mormons or who
write about the Mormon experience in some sig-
nificant way. I don’t want to offend anybody with
this, but I think writing books of fiction that are
aimed solely at a Mormon audience is a fool’s
errand. This is a gross generalization, but I’ll make
it anyway: Mormons don’t read. Go into a typical
Mormon home, and what will you find on the
bookshelf? The standard works, maybe a volume or
two of Church-sanctioned reading material. As far
as I can tell, the only way to write a book of fiction
that Mormons will universally embrace is to cut
out anything that might be remotely offensive to
any sensibility, to stay within strict guidelines of
cultural acceptability, to teach an unambiguous
moral lesson, and to make sure that everything
comes out all right for everybody in the end. In
other words, the only way to write a book that
would be widely accepted by the Mormon reading
audience would be to write, as my son might put it,
a piece of ca-ca.
IRREANTUM: What will it take to get more
Mormon characters and themes before a national
audience? Is that even a worthwhile goal? Neil
LaBute and Brian Evenson have dramatized the
violent and abusive intentions beneath the sur-
face of Mormon characters. Is that kind of
approach required to get the reading public
interested in Mormon characters? People seem
to relish reading about Asians, Jews, Catholics—
why not Mormons more often?
The only way to produce work that a national
audience will care about is to produce more and
Winter 2001–2002
better writers. I can count on one hand the num-
ber of Mormon writers with a national reputation.
This is not because the world at large misunder-
stands us; it’s simply because we, as a culture and
people, don’t produce a large number of individu-
als who are capable or willing to take the big risk,
to challenge their own beliefs and the beliefs of oth-
ers, to put their own culture under the microscope.
I think the biggest problem with Mormon culture
is that we’re so darned worried about what people
think of us. We want to be liked! We want to be
accepted! We want people to see us as happy and
clean and moral and hardworking, and any kind of
depiction that goes contrary to that, especially if it
is created by one of our own, is considered an affront.
We’re taught from day one that we’re examples to
the world and must act accordingly. I don’t think
it’s overstating it to say that, in Mormon culture, it’s
often more important to be a good example than to
be a good person. Asians, Jews, Catholics—they’ve
been around much longer than we have, and
they’ve learned to confront their own demons
and to laugh at their own foibles. We haven’t yet.
IRREANTUM: In your new novel, the character
Edgar Mint does not appear to think about his
ethnicity very much, and it is not a large part of
his self-identification. You seem to downplay
any major differences between Anglos and Native
Americans. Do you think the place of race and
ethnicity in the formation of identity is overem-
phasized in American culture? How about the
place of religion in the formation of identity?
We are obsessed with race and ethnicity, heavens
yes. And I don’t think there’s anybody who thinks
this is a healthy development. The only way to put
an end to it is to stop talking about it. Ignore it.
Generally that’s what I prefer to do. Religion obvi-
ously plays a large role in many lives, but I don’t
think that’s something being strongly addressed in
the fiction of the moment.
IRREANTUM: Much of today’s literary fiction
seems to avoid emotion, preferring cool,
detached observations. Your work, on the other
hand, is drenched in strong emotions.
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Fiction is an emotional art. No two ways about
it. Our great works of fiction are works of the heart,
not the intellect. If I want to give my intellect a
workout, I’ll read philosophy or science. If I want
an emotional experience—and I include the kind
of emotional experience that is had primarily
through the music of language—I’ll read a novel.
IRREANTUM: Why is most of your fiction writ-
ten in the first person?
I’ve written in third person, but I prefer first.
Why? I like the fact that with first person you not
only get a story but a storyteller as well. It is gener-
ally more intimate. When you’re dealing with emo-
tions, intimacy seems like a good thing to have.
IRREANTUM: R.E.M. lead singer Michael
Stipe’s film company has taken out an option on
Edgar Mint. How do you feel about your work
being made into a film? How far along is the
process?
It’s only just been optioned. I don’t really have
much hope that it would ever be made into a film.
One Hollywood guy called me and asked me if I
thought Lou Diamond Phillips would make a good
Edgar. I explained that Edgar is a child for 99 per-
cent of the novel, not a full-grown man, and the
guy said, “Things can be changed, don’t worry about
that.” I’ve had friends who’ve written scripts and
worked on movies, and almost all their stories are
ones of torture and pain. I think I’ll stick to teach-
ing at the university.
IRREANTUM: You’ve revealed that your next
novel will be centered on a modern polygamous
family. Can you tell us more about your future
plans and projects?
That’s basically it. I’m also working on some
humorous essays—I guess they’re just funny sto-
ries that are presumably true. At least I hope
they’re funny.
IRREANTUM
N O V E L
E X C E R P T
The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint
By Brady Udall
[The following text appears on pages 219–36 of the
2001 W. W. Norton hardback edition.]
The Elders
I shambled along the gravel road, limping stiffly
and moaning like a sad, disoriented swamp mon-
ster risen from the muck. I was encased in a thick
crust of dried mud and my left knee had swollen up
so badly I had to tow my leg behind as if it was
made of solid iron. Above everything else, the river
had stolen both my shoes, one of my socks and one
of the two pair of pants I owned. Thankfully, Edgar
still had his underwear.
It was a sharp beautiful morning, birds singing
and the sun warming everything like a blessing. Up
ahead, I heard the rattling of bicycle chains before
two people appeared on the rise ahead of me, com-
ing along fast. I stepped off the road and tried to
camouflage myself in the dirt and bushes; the last
thing I wanted to do was give somebody a fright.
I watched them out of the corner of my eye and
they were easy to recognize: two young men, wear-
ing white short-sleeved shirts and ties: the Elders.
When they saw me they both put on the brakes,
their back tires chattering and hopping on the loose
rock. One of them was thick-limbed with a wide,
curved face, and the other, smaller and leaner, had
a head of red-blond hair that shone in the sun like
hammered copper.
“Hey,” the big one said, “you okay?”
I looked down at my feet, which were bleeding
from the gravel shards and broken beer bottles in
the road. I thought if I stayed absolutely still and
kept my head down they might give up on me and
go on their way.
They got off their bikes, let them fall right in the
middle of the road and came over to me. The blond
one craned his neck and peered into my face as if I
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was something that had just fallen out of the sky.
He said in nearly perfect Apache, “What happened
to you?”
I glanced up at the big guy, who was looking a
bit alarmed, and shrugged. I said in English,
“I jumped off a cliff.”
“What? You did what?” said the big one. His
voice was much too high and sweet for such a large
body. I saw from the black tag on his shirt that his
name was Elder Turley.
“I jumped off a cliff. I don’t feel real good.”
The Elders looked at each other. “Have you been
drinking?” asked the blond one, who, according to
the tag on his shirt, was called Elder Spafford.
I shook my head, then nodded. “No,” I said. “Yes.”
The Elders quickly agreed that I should be got-
ten to a doctor as soon as possible. Elder Turley
hoisted me onto his handlebars and began pump-
ing at the pedals like a man possessed, his hot
breath on the back of my neck. In the round mir-
ror above his rubber handgrips I could see my
reflection. My eyes were startlingly white, like two
boiled eggs embedded in a dirt clod. My hair was
matted in such a way that it stuck up from both
sides of my head like a pair of horns.
“Where do you live?” shouted Elder Spafford,
pedaling furiously to pull up alongside. I told him
and he asked me if they had a doctor there.
“A nurse!” I shouted back, the jouncing of the
bike making it feel like every nerve in me was spit-
ting sparks. “But she’s not a very good one!”
Back at Willie Sherman, an AWOL operation
was in full swing: there were two sheriff ’s cars in
front of the main office and a few deputies, off
in the distance, combing the bushes above the cav-
alry stables.
Raymond, who was talking to Mr. Hansen on
the steps, was the first to see us. He took one look
at me and said, “What in the name of God.”
I was carried into the infirmary and Elder Spaf-
ford helped Raymond pour warm water on me to
get the mud off while Elder Turley went to fetch
the nurse.
“We found him on the side of the road,” Elder
Spafford said.
“He don’t look so good,” Raymond agreed.
“Nossir, he don’t.”
Winter 2001–2002
When Nurse Ducharme appeared she took a
long drag on her cigarette before stepping inside.
She put her hands on her hips and in a puff of
smoke said, “I guess we’re going to have to name
this place the Edgar Mint Memorial Hospital.”
Eventually, they brought in a doctor from the
Indian clinic, who pulled out a bunch of cactus
thorns embedded in my shins, cleaned the scratches
and shallow lacerations that crisscrossed me from
head to toe, set the small finger on my left hand
which had been broken in two places, prodded and
pulled on my badly twisted knee, and pronounced
me the luckiest damn kid he had ever seen.
Once I was bandaged up and smelling of alcohol
and salve, the Elders asked Raymond if they could
say a prayer for me. Raymond patted me on the
chest. “This boy, lemme tell you, he needs it.” Elder
Turley folded his big, hammy arms and offered up
a short prayer, asking God to help me, to heal me,
to look down on me in His love.
“You didn’t save my life,” I croaked at them from
my bed before they left. I don’t know what got into
me to say such a thing. I only knew that I was sick
to death of being saved.
Touched by God
The week I was in the infirmary the Elders stopped
by twice. They brought comic books and peanut
brittle and stayed awhile to keep me company. When
Nurse DuCharme came in sucking on a cigarette,
Elder Spafford told her straight out that it was nei-
ther ladylike nor healthy to be smoking in the pres-
ence of a sick child. Her face went red and she headed
back across the road, mumbling something about
know-it-all nincompoops.
Elder Turley shook his head. “People,” he said.
The third time they came I had just got out of
classes, my first day back. Except for my broken
pinkie and my limp, which I exaggerated as much
as I could, I was fine. Elder Spafford asked if we
might go somewhere and talk about God a little
bit. He said he had a special feeling about me, that
I had been spared because I was a special person
and was meant to do special things.
I sighed; I had heard all of this many times
before.
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The day was worn white with sunlight, and odd
gusts of wind stirred up dust devils along the
parade grounds. We sat down at the old picnic
table just outside the cafeteria doors. Every inch of
the table was covered with graffiti, but there was
one message that dominated all others: someone
had taken great care and consideration to gouge
out the word BITCH in perfectly formed letters ten
inches high. I watched the Elders closely but they
didn’t seem to notice.
We started with Elder Turley offering a prayer
and then Elder Spafford asked me what I knew
about God. I told them that I didn’t know anything
about anything. Elder Spafford asked me if I knew
why I was here on Earth, what the purpose of my
existence might be.
“I think you’re going to let me know,” I said.
“I am,” Elder Spafford nodded, his face full of
conviction.
Over near the basketball courts, a group of kids
had gathered and were taunting and cursing the
Elders in four or five different tongues, none of
them English. Normally, I would have been included,
but it had become widely known not only that
Edgar Mint was the one responsible for getting
Nelson, Rotten Teeth and the rest shipped away,
but that he had also leaped off the jumping place
and survived. For the rest of his stay at Willie Sher-
man, no one would ever bother him again.
“Those kids are punks,” Elder Turley said, glar-
ing over his shoulder. “I really should go over and
stomp on ’em some.”
Elder Spafford continued on about God’s great
plan, about the gospel of Jesus Christ restored to
the earth and how this had all been revealed to a
boy about my age, the young prophet Joseph Smith.
In a voice shot through with sincerity he told me of
how young Joseph, confused by the many religions
professing different truths, went off into the woods
one day to pray, to ask God for guidance. I listened
and idly scanned the table for any new graffiti that
might have appeared since the last time I checked.
When he got to the part about the boy Joseph
kneeling in the grove to pray and seeing two figures
outlined in light appearing in the air above him,
I looked up, so excited that I blurted out, “Ghosts!”
IRREANTUM
“What?” said Elder Turley.
“Ghosts,” I said. “I see ghosts sometimes too.”
“You see ghosts?” Elder Spafford said.
Elder Turley leaned over to Elder Spafford and I
heard him whisper behind his hand, “Evil spirits.”
Elder Spafford swallowed. “Not ghosts, Edgar.
The Father and the Son Jesus Christ themselves
appeared to Joseph Smith. In person. One of the
most wonderful events in human history. They told
him that none of the religions were true and it
would be his calling to bring that truth to light, to
establish it once more upon the earth.”
“Oh,” I said.
Elder Spafford rummaged in his bag and came
up with a book with a dark blue cover and gold let-
tering that said THE BOOK OF MORMON.
“Joseph Smith was responsible for bringing this
book to us,” Elder Spafford said, hefting it in his
hand as if its worth lay in how much it weighed. “It
is a book that will change the world.”
“Did he type it?” I said.
Elder Turley started to laugh until Elder Spafford
shot him a hard look.
“He didn’t have a typewriter,” Elder Spafford
said, the little muscle in his jaw popping out. “But
that really isn’t important. What is important
is that you read this book and find out if what it
contains is true. If you do this, Edgar, I promise it
will change your life. Do you know how to read?”
I nodded. “I just don’t know how to write. That’s
why I have a typewriter.”
Before they left, they asked if they could give me
a blessing. This time, instead of folding their arms
and praying, as they usually did before they left,
they came behind me and put their hands on my
head, their fingertips lightly touching my scalp. Across
the road the kids had started yelling, laughing and
pointing, and a sudden gust of wind blasted us
with grit. In a near shout Elder Spafford called on
the name of God and immediately I felt a warmth
at the crown of my head, a light, liquid tingling
that slowly moved down my neck and chest.
“We ask Thee to bless this child,” Elder Spafford
called over the noise of the snickering children and
the wind in the grass. “Free him from the evil spir-
its that torment him, give him peace, heal him,
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heal his body and his spirit.” Elder Spafford paused
for a moment and I began to feel like I was floating
above the bench. “Allow Thy love to shower down
upon him and let him know that he will never be
abandoned, that he will always be protected, that
he will always have Thy love. These blessings we ask
Thee in the name of our Savior Jesus Christ, Amen.”
Inexplicably, my eyes were spilling tears. The
Elders lifted their hands off my head and I desper-
ately ground a fistful of shirt into my face to wipe
away the evidence. Before they rode away on their
bikes, they each smiled and shook my hand.
In a daze, I headed out across the parade grounds
toward the dormitory, feeling like the top of my
head had been shot off. I started to climb the steps
and it hit me right there, there was no doubt about
it: Edgar had been touched by God.
Edgar Takes It
For the next month, the Elders came twice a week
and taught me the gospel. They explained about
heaven and hell and how to get to both places, they
taught me how to pray. Instead of closing my eyes,
folding my arms and praying out loud, like they
showed me, I prayed with my typewriter.
My first prayer was something of an amateur effort:
God
Is my mother up there? Please tell her
hello. I am sorry about everything I have done.
I am getting better. Your friends the elders are
trying to help me.
Thank you, Edgar
When I showed my prayer to the Elders they
nodded and said it was pretty darn good, no doubt
about it, I was really on my way. Together we read
verses from the Book of Mormon and the Bible,
talked about how Jesus died for our sins. Some-
times the Elders brought bottles of orange soda or
root beer, sometimes a box of crackers, and we
would sit at that table that said BITCH and discuss
the matters of the Lord.
Just because God had touched me, just because
He filled me for a moment with liquid light and
had made the voices in my head and the ghosts go
Winter 2001–2002
away, did not mean that I had to accept Him. Elder
Spafford had explained this to me: I had free
agency, the choice to take God into my heart or
reject Him out of hand. It was my choice—a huge
choice in a world that, for me, had no real choices
at all.
The Elders taught me all they could and I tried
my best to get it all sorted out. I learned that my
mother and I could be reunited and live on together
into eternity where nobody got old or sick or—
Elder Spafford promised me—bored. I learned that
Jesus, God’s only son, had suffered for every one
of my sins, for all the guilt and sorrow they had
caused. This did not seem very fair to me, but I
kept my mouth shut. I learned that cigarettes, beer
and coffee were all no-nos, and that chastity, which
I understood to mean keeping away from females
entirely, was a must. And most importantly, I learned
about this God who presided over this placed called
heaven where my mother was, who had a plan
for me, who loved me without qualification, who
watched over me. God, I learned, would never die,
would never disappear without notice, would never
beat anybody up, would never grow sick or old or
tired of living. He might become angry or disap-
pointed, yes, but He would never abandon you.
Okay, I would accept Him, I decided. I’d have to
be an idiot not to.
So I typed Him a little prayer that said: God.
This is Edgar. I will take it.
One morning, Elder Turley said they had done too
much talking, they wanted to learn a little more about
me. I told them all of the stories I had: my mother,
the mailman, Grandma Paul, Dr. Pinkley pound-
ing me back to life. I told them about St. Divine’s
and my mother’s death, about Cecil saving me
from Nelson and being sent away because of it.
Elder Spafford’s eyes seemed to go by shades
brighter as he listened, and when I was finished he
put his hands on my shoulders.
“Edgar, God has spared you for some larger pur-
pose,” he said. “He has saved you from death to do
a specific work, I am sure of it. I want you to pray
and ask Him what it is. The spirit is telling me this.
Can you feel it? God will let you know, all you have
to do is ask.”
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That night I crept down to the boiler room, sat
down at my typewriter and prayed. I listened to
Uncle Julius wheezing for a few minutes before I
began to type. I got only halfway down the page
before I had my answer, before the blank half of the
paper told me all I needed to know.
“I have it,” I told them three days later when we
sat down together in the thick light of a late spring
morning. I ran my finger along a section of the
table that said I hate Mrs. Fielding in shaky ball-
point lettering.
“Have what?” Elder Turley said.
“My purpose. What I’m supposed to do.”
“Okay, shoot,” Elder Turley said, yanking open a
bag of pretzels from his backpack. “Lay it on us.”
“It’s the mailman,” I said.
“What mailman?” said Elder Spafford.
“The one who ran over my head. He thinks he
killed me, but he didn’t. I’m going to find him and
tell him I’m okay. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”
IRREANTUM
I had been carrying around this answer with me for
a long time—it just took God to confirm it.
The Elders looked at each other. “You’re saying,”
Elder Spafford said, rubbing his hand over his head
like he was trying to give it a quick polish, “that
God spared you from being killed so that you could
find the person who almost killed you and tell him
you survived?”
I nodded—yes, that was it exactly. Elder Turley
put his hand over his mouth, seemed to be trying
to keep himself from grinning. I could tell they
were both confused by this but it made perfect sense
to me. My mother and father, Art and Grandma Paul
and Cecil, they were all out of my control, they
were all lost to me. But the mailman—I could do
something for him. He was alive, I knew, suffering
out there somewhere. I could relieve him of a bur-
den he carried. I could do a little saving of my own.
That Sunday, the Elders took me to church with
them, a small cinder-block building on the west
edge of Whiteriver. I had expected the members to
all be anglos, but the congregation was made up
entirely of Indians except for a harried-looking white
woman who sat in the front pew all by herself and
cast uneasy glances at the dark-faced throng behind
her. Most of the men wore ties and the women
dresses and when they sang it echoed loud and
beautiful in that small room.
Afterwards, we stood out in the raw heat and
people came up to me, shook my hand and said
welcome, we’re glad to have you, let us know if
there’s something we can do. Some of them spoke
to me in Apache, asked me if things up at Willie
Sherman were as bad as they’d heard. I squinted
and nodded and tried to forget that my hair was an
unholy mess, that I was wearing my grease-stained
jeans, a shirt that said Budweiser Brewing Company
on the back, and tennis shoes so old they were held
together with duct tape and hot glue. Everywhere I
looked there were sons and daughters grab-assing
on the dead lawn, fathers gathered around the open
hood of somebody’s Chevy pickup, mothers trying
to round everyone up to get home for dinner. I had
never seen anything like it.
On the way home I told the Elders I wanted to
be baptized. They had brought up the subject with
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me a few times before but I had held them off, not
because I was unsure, but because I thought that if
I got baptized they would stop coming to see me.
I sat on Elder Turley’s handlebars and told him
when the road was bending right or left. “Help me!”
he would yell. “Please help me, I can’t see, some-
body’s head is right in my way!” Sometimes he veered
off into the weeds, roaring that we were going
down in flames, we were all going to die.
Normally, Elder Spafford would have given Elder
Turley the evil eye, maybe said something about it
being the Sabbath, but he pedaled alongside look-
ing content.
“I know God is smiling right now,” Elder Spaf-
ford said over the clanking of the chains, the crunch
of tires on the dirt road. “He’s happy with you. His
angels are rejoicing.”
Up ahead, on the last rise before Willie Sherman
when we got off the bikes to walk, I asked the Elders
about the possibility of going to live somewhere
with an anglo family, where every kid had his own
bicycle and you got to eat ice cream for dinner, a
place where everyone had a mother and a father,
maybe some brothers and sisters, possibly a dog.
Elder Spafford stopped in the middle of the road
and took on a serious face. “Somebody told you
about the placement program? Well. Usually we
don’t mention it until after baptism because we’ve
had kids getting baptized just to get off the reser-
vation. But, no, you’re a different case altogether.
I’ll look into this. We need to get you away from
that school, someplace where evil isn’t staring you
in the face everywhere you turn.”
Behind us, a car came barreling up the road, lift-
ing up a thick bank of dust. We moved off to the
side and the car slowed, then skidded to a stop just
ahead of us. It was a rust-eaten Oldsmobile with
whitewall tires and a ragtop that had been shredded
into the kind of thick netting you might find cov-
ering an air raid shelter.
Barry Pinkley stepped out of the driver’s side,
pushed his sunglasses down on his nose to have a
look at us. He was wearing bell-bottom jeans and
a yellow open-throated shirt with roses and tulips
stitched around the collar. “Edgar?” he said. “Who
are these people?”
Winter 2001–2002
Elder Turley let his bike drop and stepped in
front of me. A woman, whose bleach-blond hair
sparkled in the sun like cut crystal, appeared from
the other side of the car, puffing delicately on a
long cigarillo.
“How can we help you folks?” said Elder Spafford.
“Look,” Barry said. “I’m a doctor, okay? I take
care of this boy, Edgar, so if you’d just be on your
merry way we’re here to take him on a picnic.” The
woman reached into the backseat and, like a lawyer
in a courtroom showing off evidence, held up a
basket with a loaf of bread and a bag of Cheetos
sticking out of it.
“A doctor?” said Elder Turley, taking a step closer
to Barry.
“I . . . I’m not practicing right now, but I’m
Edgar’s guardian, technically speaking.” Barry’s ears
were beginning to turn red. “This is ridiculous.
Edgar, will you tell these jarheads who I am? Mar-
lene and I came to take you on a picnic by the river.
We’ve got Ding Dongs and Dr Pepper. I even
bought a fishing pole.”
For a moment everyone looked at me. In the
quiet heat of the day the Oldsmobile stuttered and
ticked. I stood in Elder Turley’s shadow and kept
my head down, watching a stinkbug that had climbed
up onto my shoe and got itself stuck to a piece of
duct tape.
Elder Spafford said, “Why don’t you just tell us
your name, where you live, and we’ll check it out—”
Barry turned and got right in Elder Spafford’s
face. “My name? You want my name? And who the
fuck are you, you inbred piece of dirt? And what do
you think you’re doing with this boy? Brainwashing
him? Filling his head with holy-roller Jesus-on-the-
cross bullshit? I saved this boy’s life!”
Barry took a step toward me, as if to take me by
the arm, but Elder Turley was on him and had him
backed up and pinned to the side of the car before
I knew what had happened. Marlene shrieked and
giggled like this was all a fun game.
“Get in the car,” Elder Turley grunted, his thick
freckled forearm across Barry’s chest. “Drive on out
of here.”
“You tell them, Edgar,” Barry spit, looking at me
over Elder Turley’s shoulder. “Tell them who I am.”
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In one motion Elder Turley pulled open the car
door and stuffed Barry inside. He told Barry to
leave now before he really got angry. “My God, look
how big he is!” Marlene squealed as she slipped
into the passenger side.
Barry gave the car some gas and the rear tires
spun, sending up twin geysers of dust. The Olds-
mobile swung around in a wide arc like a speedboat
doubling back, and lurched to a stop next to us
again.
Barry now held a silver snub-nosed pistol and
was leaning over Marlene to point it at Elder Tur-
ley’s chest. A cloud of dust descended over us like a
fine mist. Barry aimed the gun at Elder Spafford for
a moment, then swung it back to Elder Turley.
Barry had taken his glasses off and his eyes looked
like a pair of nails hammered into his face. He said,
“If I ever see you two again I’ll send you straight to
the worst hell you could ever believe in.”
Last Confession
Before I could be baptized, first I had to confess.
Confession is a vital part of repentance, the Elders
told me, the only way to stand blameless before the
Lord.
So one late May afternoon they brought another
missionary along with them, a short, peanut-shaped
guy who would hear all of my confessions and
decide if I had enough of a broken spirit, if I was
contrite and meek and repentant enough to make a
personal, everlasting covenant with God Himself.
The day before, a man from the church who
worked with the Indian Placement Program
stopped by to talk to Uncle Julius, to have him sign
some forms. He wore a shiny polyester blue suit
and gave me a caramel to chew on while I answered
his questions about my mother and father, where I
had lived before Willie Sherman, why I thought it
might be helpful to me to live with a Mormon fam-
ily and go to school somewhere far away from here.
When he headed out to his car I followed behind.
“Is there a family that will take me?” I asked him.
“I don’t even care what kind of family it is. Maybe
just a mother and a brother, something like that.”
“There just might be,” he said, winking at me.
“You never can tell what the Lord has in mind.”
IRREANTUM
Now, here was this other missionary—Elder
Doyle—asking me questions about Jesus and the
prophets, wanting to know if my Elders had taught
me everything I needed to know. For privacy we
were down in the boiler room and Elder Doyle was
perspiring so heavily drops of sweat were plopping
off his nose onto his notepad like water out of a
leaky faucet.
“Whew!” he said, grinning at me. He was squat-
ting on Uncle Julius’ cot and I sat across from him
on a plastic five-gallon bucket. “Kinda toasty in
here. Holy cow!”
After coming to the conclusion that I was well
enough versed in the gospel to make my own good
decision, he explained that we were going to have
to discuss whether or not I had any outstanding
sins that needed to be taken care of before I could
enter the cleansing waters of baptism.
“You mean all my sins?” I said.
He nodded. “At least the big ones.”
I fidgeted on my bucket for awhile, then let
it fly:
I had lied too many times to count.
I had watched Mrs. Whipple doing the ficky-
fick. Twice.
I had spied on Mrs. Whipple many times, hop-
ing to see more ficky-fick.
I had hit Barry Pinkley with my typewriter.
I was responsible for Nelson and the others get-
ting expelled, for Barry Pinkley getting fired, for
the Whipples’ divorce, for Grandma Paul ending
up in a crazy hospital, for Cecil being sent off to
prison, for my mother drinking herself to death.
I had watched girls undressing through the bath-
room window.
I had helped burn down the cavalry stables.
I had stolen urinal pucks, ballpoint pens, a cru-
cifix, butterscotch candy, corn flakes, cans of gaso-
line, underwear, bottles of vanilla, rubber cement,
shotgun shells, a Mr. Potato Head toy, bags of sugar
and flour and yeast, syringes, comic books, a hack-
saw, beer and whiskey, a deck of cards, money, a bag
of contraband, typewriter ribbon, cigarettes, a claw-
hammer, nylon rope, a poster of a movie star in a
bikini, cocoa powder, rubbing alcohol, firecrackers.
I had murdered Nelson Norman in my heart.
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I had beat up Chester Holland and Walter Reed
and punched Victor Ortiz when he wasn’t expect-
ing it.
I had tried to commit suicide.
Throughout it all, Elder Doyle did not blink.
When I was done, he held up his finger as if to say
something, then changed his mind. He scratched
his head and pretended to write something on
his wet notepad. “Hmmm,” he said finally. “What
about self-abuse?”
“I hit myself on the head with a brick,” I confessed.
Elder Doyle went upstairs to talk to the other
missionaries. Once he was gone, I nearly slumped
right off my bucket; it was as if all the buckles and
clasps inside of me had been unlatched, leaving me
loose and free and able to breathe. Elder Spafford
had told me not to be afraid, that confession was
a wonderful thing, God’s gift to me, and now I
believed it.
After a few minutes the Elders called me
upstairs. They were all beaming. I could be bap-
tized next Saturday, they said, I had made it. Elder
Turley picked me up and spun me around in the air
until I was dizzy. I was twelve years old and I was
going to become a member of God’s own church,
the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
I had accepted God and He had accepted me. I had
once been the miracle-boy and now I was going to
be a saint.
Born Again
The day of my baptism clouds boiled up over
the mountains, grumbling and stirring the air, their
edges as brilliant as white marble against the black-
ening sky. I stood outside the church in a white
polyester jumpsuit two or three sizes too big for
me, trying with all my might not to grab my groin.
Elder Spafford and Elder Turley were running
around grabbing hymnbooks, shaking hands with
the new arrivals, checking the galvanized tank out
back that was filling up with water from a garden
hose attached to a little sputtering well pump.
Elder Spafford had told me they were trying to
raise money to build a proper baptismal font inside
the building, but for now we’d have to do it the
old-fashioned way: in a cow tank.
Winter 2001–2002
I was glad when Elder Turley touched me on the
shoulder and told me to follow him inside to
the bathroom. He began to change from his regu-
lar missionary clothes into a white shirt, white pair
of pants and white tie with a little golden tie clip.
He even had a white belt. Tack on a couple of
wings and you had yourself a burly, freckled angel.
“Are you excited?” he said. “Are you nervous?”
I worked at rolling up my pant legs, which kept
falling down and were now covered with grass
stains and dirt. “Little bit scared,” I said.
“Scared?” said Elder Turley, pulling at the knot
in his tie. “There’s nothing to be scared about. Come
on, now! This is your big day. Nothing to be wor-
ried about at all.”
He didn’t understand. I wasn’t scared about becom-
ing a new person, about having my sins washed
away forever—I was looking forward to that. It was
the cow tank, and the water in it, that made me
nervous. When the missionaries had explained bap-
tism to me, I had this idea of somebody pouring
water over my head from a bucket; when they said
immersion I thought they simply meant getting
completely wet. But the cow tank was as big as a
swimming pool and the water was getting pretty
deep—I had checked a few times. I knew there was
no way that hose water in a cow tank could do the
kind of things to me the river water had, but I still
wasn’t comforted.
“Look,” Elder Turley said, “I wasn’t supposed to
say anything until later, but maybe this will make
you feel a little bit better. Brother Kalb from the
placement program called to tell us they’ve got a
family for you. He didn’t tell me who they were,
but he says they live up in Richland. That’s only an
hour from my hometown, can you believe it? It’s a
great place, Edgar, you’re really going to love it.”
Elder Turley’s grin had taken over his entire face.
He gave me a playful chuck on the shoulder. “Go
ahead and smile now. We’re going to get you out of
that school. You’re going to have a real family. Real,
God-fearing people. Your own kind.”
In the chapel, they had a short prebaptismal
service in which Elder Spafford and an Apache man
named Brother Mendosa offered a few words about
the meaning of baptism, how it was a symbol for
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death and resurrection: to be buried in the water arm and took my right wrist tightly in his hand.
and to rise again. A couple of hymns were sung. “Okay,” he whispered to me, “here we go.” He
I sat in front, next to a straight-backed Elder Turley lifted his right arm, palm outward, and waited for
who couldn’t hide his loopy grin, and hardly heard a clap of thunder to skip across the sky before he
any of it. I was thinking about Richland, Utah, and said the prayer: Having been commissioned of Jesus
this family that was going to take me in, imagining Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and
what kind of people could want somebody like me of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.
to come live with them in their home. While the Slowly, he eased me backwards. When the water
congregation sang “There Is a Green Hill Far Away” closed over the top of me I did not shut my eyes,
I constructed in my mind a vast, panoramic pic- and in the instant he held me there I could see the
ture: a little town with painted houses and the green world above me as if through a sheet of uneven
lawns that Prissy had described to me—weedless glass—the gray rim of sky, the small brown faces
and perfectly square—and children riding on bicy- crowded around, the warped, faraway form of
cles down smooth blacktop streets, trailing a truck Elder Turley. I lay back, suspended in the perfect
that played music and made ice cream available to moment before I was lifted up with one great rush-
anyone who wanted it. It all seemed impossible ing pull and I broke the surface, blinking and sput-
to me, right then—a dream—something I had tering and weightless, made of nothing but air.
absolutely no right to believe in or hope for.
In no time the service was over and we filed out-
side. Far off on the horizon the bottoms seemed to P O E M
be dropping out of the clouds where a purple wall
of rain had come down. A steady breeze carried the Shadows
wet, clean smell of it. A flock of sparrows shot over
our heads, tittering with alarm, and I heard a kid in Favelas
the back ask his mother or father if he could some- endless shantytowns
day have a karate suit like mine. Elder Spafford brimming with anonymity
ushered me up near the tank and Elder Turley São Paulo’s shame
made a big show out of gingerly poking one finger
in and yanking it out like somebody testing the Who are those nameless shadows
water on a stove. Everybody laughed and an old with bodies indistinct?
man in a stained cowboy hat said, “Let’s get that Who are those crowded masses
boy wet before we do.” that define subsistence?
Elder Turley knelt down in front of me. “You
ready?” he said. “It’s all right now, go ahead and Favelas
breathe.” society’s rejected
He clambered into the tank and lifted me over best viewed at 100 kph
the edge, gently set me down into water so cold it best viewed when dark
burned. It hit him about waist-high, but was up
around my shoulders and seemed to be making my Do those people hope, aspire
heart miss every other beat. and yearn to breathe free?
“Well water,” Elder Turley grinned at the con- Is the word of Christ lost
gregation. “Maybe next time we’ll do like head- among the shadows of São Paulo?
hunters and build a fire under this thing.” —Paul W. Sexton
Elder Turley led me to the middle of the tank, São Paulo, Brazil, 2001
where my feet sank down in a soft, spongy carpet of
algae and moss. He had me grab hold of his fore-

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M E M O I R
My Innisfree
By Camille Traveller Bell
It was cool that day, cool for the desert and all
the surrounding plains. The desert burned when
I first arrived—a burning so hot, maybe God’s
attempt to suffocate the internal rage. Now the
warm breeze stood still, replaced by a calming gray
sky, not ready but waiting for its release. This land
of Jerusalem also waits, but waits for a release that
may never come. I had come here as a stranger and
a student—the “Mormon University,” the shirut
drivers called it—to study these people and their
divided land, and our shared God. I will leave a
part of them. Had I been a tourist only it would be
different but they have graced my life with experi-
ence, understanding, and tears of both joy and sor-
row. They say once you’re in a place long enough to
call it home, it will always be home. Jerusalem is
indeed, as Yeats spoke of, my Lake Isle of Innisfree.
It is what is found at my “deep heart’s core.”
“The rains will soon be coming,” old men would
say as they sat outside their shops smoking ciga-
rettes and often large cigars. Their yellowed teeth
and bare grins hardly noticed, masked by their
regal galibeas and black-patterned kefiyahs. Their
galibeas or robe-like dresses hung lightly and held
their whitened starch from this week’s washing.
The kefiyah or head scarf, most often white, was
distinguished by some with its colored pattern.
They then wore more than a protection from the
desert heat. Those in red represented Jordan; those
in black symbolized Palestine. Some were deco-
rated by both colors; all showed attachment to their
Arab land.
I did not understand, I only smiled and nodded
until their native Arabic tongue turned to proud,
broken English. Then again, as I was an American
woman they did not expect me to understand.
I stood outside a realm of cultural beliefs in a world
where women and men held separate and sacred
roles. I was not covered like their women, and as an
American I was simply a tourist, one who intruded
Winter 2001–2002
briefly into a world of deep complexities and unseen
boundaries. I wanted to understand. I wanted to
catch momentary glimpses into their lives and cul-
ture. I wanted to be completely immersed but was
stopped by my own birthright, so different from
theirs. I had been born into a land and a people
that were both foreign and modern. They had been
born into a land that would not give way to a new
world. Beneath their hardened desert sand existed
an intricate system of roots bound together by the
sacrifice and blood of families who had fought for
centuries. To them, I could never understand this
eternal attachment. I was a part of the new world
and not the old.
Never before in this land of Jerusalem, this land
of the ancient prophets, had I ever felt so distinctly
American. America, the land, possessed a mixed
emotion for these people. Some were awed by the
American ideals of freedom and rights; others were
enraged by the American confidence and power.
America was helping the Israeli cause—how could
they ever understand the Palestinian cause? The
youth adored the stars of Hollywood and mimicked
the styles and music of a somewhat exotic and
untouchable world. America was the unknown
and stood as a symbol of a land they loved, envied,
or hated. Every part of me wanted to disappear and
be one of “them,” but I was stopped by my own
inability or possibly awakening ignorance. What I
had found over these past four months, though,
were cherished moments when they did let me in.
This freshness, this profound connection to the
soul, is what I would miss most.
A bombing was reported at the Hebrew University.
The effects were not drastic; there were only two
students injured, no deaths. The students had been
waiting for a bus. Fortunately class was in session,
reducing the numbers of those at the stop. The bomb-
ing was two blocks from the Jerusalem Center for
Near Eastern Studies attended by Americans. None
were threatened, although these students frequent the
road between the center and the Hebrew University.
The police are holding no suspects, but are still inves-
tigating leads. It is suspected to be a Palestinian
attack, not Israeli.
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Moving toward Damascus gate, I reminded myself
again as I did my first day—I never wanted to get
used to this sensation. It was the newness of step-
ping into a foreign world and possessing the child-
like ability to recognize all in innocent wonder: the
swarms of bodies decorated with black eyes and black
hair; women in long robe dresses and veiled heads—
sometimes even faces and hands; children playing
soccer with a pop can or chasing the plague of cats
up a beckoning side alley. Only once did I see a dog.
Aged women in embroidered dresses sat along the
side selling grapes or the latest crop. The fading reds,
yellows, purples, and oranges of their hand-stitched
gowns matched their seasonal fruits. A smile accom-
panied most good sales, decorated by missing teeth.
A hard year of tending had yielded its fruit, and
worn and wrinkled hands willingly gave it up.
I stepped beneath the gate into a warm darkness
of color and noise. A wheelbarrow of green oranges
passed before me, a man selling neon shirts called
out prices, and a cart of brown clucking hens
bounded along the cobbled stones, their feathers
trailing lightly behind them. Looking above the
walls of the Old City, I could see only glimpses of
blue sky peering into the parade of people and tun-
nels of shops. Instead, my eyes were attracted by
the fiery red cloth painted in stars before me and
the loud tapestry dashed with tulips of blue, yellow,
pink and green. Bells from the Christian Quarter
filled the air, signaling the hour. The call to prayer
given from the Muslim mosques would soon begin,
calling faithful followers to kneel in worship five
times a day. The crowd divided to let a small boy
pass on his bicycle. My nostrils filled with a mix of
fresh baked bread and foreign spices—surely the
taste of the desert in the heat of day mixed with
salty sweat. “Three shekels,” the young boy called,
and I pleased him by stopping. I bargained two pret-
zel breads for five shekels. Tomorrow, I thought, I
might even try four. His dirty fingers handed me
my warm bread and green seasoning wrapped in
last week’s newspaper. A smile and thank-you sent
me back into the throng.
Jerusalem was in the state of lockdown today as a
result of mounting tensions between the Palestinians
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and Israelis. Israeli officials and soldiers stationed
themselves at city posts checking incoming cars from
surrounding cities. Only those who were able to show
proof of Jerusalem residence were allowed to enter.
Hundreds were turned away, thus causing a shortage
of workers in many Palestinian neighborhoods and
business areas. It is not known how long this lockdown
will last. It could last weeks. Its purpose is to force
compliance. Palestinians found in the Jerusalem city
limits and unable to show proof of their residence will
be arrested.
“Mormons, Mormons,” I heard from a shop often
passed by Jerusalem Center students. I thought that
today I was enjoying even the shopkeepers’ unbend-
ing persistence. Further down I heard, “BYU, we love
you,” from a man wearing a red University of Utah
hat and holding a blue and white Cougars T-shirt.
They proudly boast of “ZCMI prices” and have
picked up on paraphernalia popular among the
Mormon culture. The intriguing marketing strate-
gies of the Old City have even made a few shop-
keepers into BYU or U of U sports fans. I stopped
to look at a collection of blue mosaic platters, leav-
ing myself open to the young salesman of fourteen.
He first asked how many husbands I had. Laughing
at his confused notion of polygamy, I answered,
“None.” Gladly, he told me that he was available.
I smiled and sauntered back with, “I am not.”
“I will give you twenty camels!” he called after
me. Already a few shops down, I can only laugh,
pleased with the hilarious thought that I could be a
twenty-camel wife.
Again, I basked in the fragrance of incense and
olive wood, observing the religious group from
Africa weaving through the crowd before me. Later
they would be sure to take the journey down the
Via Dolorosa, sorrowing the death of a Savior as
they weep over His every stopping point, moving
toward Golgotha. At each station, the stone, once
rough, has become smooth and polished from the
soul-searching worshipers who are seeking their
own salvation. At every stop pilgrims sing songs of
remorse and remembrance. I have heard other
songs along these cobbled roads, other songs filled
with pain, only songs for a life lost yesterday or
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today. The same religious fervor that drives the
Christian followers to Jerusalem drives those native
to this land to fight as a savior for the cause of their
people. The dead receive no glory, but through
their death the cause burns stronger. The cause?
Two peoples religiously attached to a land that
could not be divided. Two peoples whose spiritual
battle has become a physical battle of hatred, both
with righteous claims to the ancient land, but
few with perspective and the ability to forgive.
We trod slowly through the narrow maze, barely
touching, but all walking on the uneven slabs of
limestone. Centuries-old stories traced every line.
They say it sometimes snows in Jerusalem. The last
time was three years ago. Embittered hearts are dis-
tracted by nature’s cover. There has been no sign of
it since. When it snows, stones are washed, cleansed
gently with dove-like white. The motley group was
momentarily reconciled. They were stunned by the
purity, and for a glorious break in time the bound-
aries were erased, and the people of Jerusalem were
able to coexist.
Daily the refugee children’s voices are heard echoing
through the bare brick walls. Singing in their navy-
blue-checkered uniforms, their brown eyes and smiles
only show a world of innocent love. Their songs are
different. They sing of a taken land. They sing of roots
chopped down, now ready to grow again. They sing
words that are now only part of a game. Their small
hands happily make cutting motions. They sing as
part of the future that will not escape the burning
hatred. They sing of a future where they’ll be expected
to fight for their traditions. They are Palestinian refugees,
driven, and their parents will never let them forget.
Passing through a tunnel, I shivered as the sun
was momentarily blocked. The Israeli soldier checked
my purse, and I ducked through an electronic gate.
It seemed strange that such a thing has become
normal. Soldiers were stationed at every major post
in the Old City and in surrounding areas. They
checked my belongings each time I passed and car-
ried loaded weapons. This is ironically normal, but
I had no need to feel threatened—I was not the
enemy. I knew somewhere someone hated me because
Winter 2001–2002
I was American, but I had seen signs only in a rare
glance of disapproval. Yet even then it did not feel
like hate, or perhaps my innocence would not
accept it as hate. Those I grew to love and those
who loved me saw one another as human. They
were affected by the world but strived to live out-
side of it. Even now, when the world rumbles with
uncertainty and darker powers are trying to attack
the icons of freedom, these people remain and con-
tinue to love. They too pray every night that their
children will be safe from the enemy. They too
wept when the world wept.
My favorite pastime was
turning my ears to the sounds
surrounding me. I was then
filled with hymns and chants
in different languages from
all parts of the world.
I was, at that point, beginning to recognize faces.
The Old City grew not in size but number. For
centuries the people have been unwilling to leave,
so they live on top of each other. The layers flutter
with purples, blues, reds, and yellows as laundry
blows in the desert breeze. Black-striped mattress
pads are seen on the porches as sleeping is unbear-
able inside during summer months. Silver TV
antennas consume the city line, reminding me of
crosses of a burial ground. I stopped myself at such
a thought. Yet I knew the pain I saw in the wrin-
kled faces, sunken eyes, and hands worn from toil.
The Old City has always been divided. Armenians,
Christians, Jews, and Muslims live separate lives in
separate sections. There are mapped boundaries,
but one doesn’t need a map to notice them; they
can be felt. And although they are neighbors,
they have proudly maintained their identities and
their homes, which their grandmothers had lived
in and their grandfathers had fought for.
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I stopped for a moment in the Jewish Quarter,
eating my kosher bagel sandwich. The Jewish
Quarter is a mix of the old and the new. The new
buildings were built with large brownish bricks of
limestone. They were raised amidst the ruins of old
synagogues and schools. The apartments were close
together with only a small roadway separating them.
It was all stone. There was no such thing as a lawn
in the Old City. They have a section for shopping,
but it was not the colorful bazaar found in the
Muslim Quarter. Only the name on the front and
the displays in the windows distinguished one shop
from another. The Jewish Quarter was quiet and
sparsely populated in comparison to other sections’
street traffic. Ancient ruins preserved in museums
or marked by signs told of a land that has existed
thousands of years.
The Western Wall is the crowning point of the
Jewish Quarter. It lies in the shadow of a mod-
ern Jewish synagogue and the Temple Mount of
the Dome of the Rock. As a remaining wall from
Herod’s palace, the wall possesses an unmatched
spirituality for the Jewish people. Its carefully cut
blocks of limestone rise above the plaza as a sacred
place for peace, prayer, and celebration.
It was recess, at that time of day, for the Jewish
children. The boys chased a ball; the girls sat on
steps chattering and smiling at those in the game.
I was drawn to the young boys. Their traditional
side curls bounced up and down with every kick.
The curls adorned their cheeks, one barrel curl on
each side. One boy reached up to adjust his yamalka.
I noticed how carefully he pinned it back on. He
stepped away from the game and adjusted the pins
with his small fingers, centering the cap perfectly in
the middle of his head. I wonder if he understood
its meaning—that God always rests above him. If
not, at least a loving mother has taught him the
habit. His game continued once the pins were secure.
I walked past them and looked into their blue and
green eyes. Their complexion was pale and one boy
had red hair with freckles. They laughed and teased
with us as we attempted our limited Hebrew on
them. Some were hesitant to approach us and stood
back with curiosity, sneaking a smile of warmth.
How different from the Palestinian children in
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appearance and openness. One thing remained,
though—the innocence and uninhibited love of
childhood. The word play is an encompassing term
for all, regardless of hidden boundaries. If only
adults still possessed a portion of this acceptance.
The Israeli soldiers sat mounted on horses. Others
lined the streets, waiting. On the other side, Pales-
tinians gathered. The shop doors were closed, and
blinds were pulled in the windows. Women and chil-
dren were ushered behind doors. The once busy streets
were cleared. The shirut drivers called out, “Mor-
mons, Mormons, go to your center!” In another
moment, gunshots were fired into the crowd and men
were picking up stones. The crowd surged into a riot
of yelling and violence. Others were running from
fear. The soldiers attempted to seize those involved,
overpowering with weapons and force. A car in the
street was blazing, and as the sun set a barrel of smoke
tainted the horizon, turning the sun crimson red. The
sky bled over Jerusalem.
One night as we wandered through the Old City
picking up last-minute souvenirs, I distanced my-
self from the group. This was one of my last times
there, and I was afraid to miss something and
everything. I watched the old men outside their
shops discussing the day’s events; I saw women in
high windows shaking their rugs or calling to their
children; I noticed the alleyway that I missed
before with steps that led to an unknown door;
I heard the bells ringing from the Catholic Quarter,
causing all to stop and listen for a moment;
I smelled the bakery as the last few items were sold
and sweets were covered, to be placed on shelves
tomorrow; I listen to the Arabic tongue that had
become so melodious; I felt the soul of a city that
thrives with religious zeal and sacrifice.
The city had been in turmoil the last few days—
tension was high; an Israeli man was stabbed by a
Palestinian. This made leaving the Jerusalem Cen-
ter difficult, so we had to make the most of our
trips in. Those in charge of security at the center
did not take chances with students. If there was any
fear of danger, we were not allowed into the city.
And although they told us to be careful, I never
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once felt unsafe in that city. Those people have
shown me so much kindness and patience. Waiting
for a few in the shops, I found a step and pulled out
a deposit slip from my checkbook to write on—
that is all I had. That night, I would offer my own
prayer—a prayer for both the Muslims and the Jews.
We eventually found our way down to the plaza
with the wall before us. It was the first day of
Hanukkah, so the large menorah had one candle
lit. As every time before, I was again swept away in
the spirit that beckoned me, a spirit that was pres-
ent at the Dome of the Rock where millions of
Muslim prayers have been offered. I thought of the
humble man I once saw praying on the side of
the road. He carefully rolled out his rug, faced east,
and prayed to his God as the call to prayer echoed
through the Kidron Valley. I thought of my own
sanctuary—the Garden Tomb, my precious moments
spent there in pondering and prayer, increasing my
relationship with my own Savior and God. I was
not alone there. My favorite pastime was turning
my ears to the sounds surrounding me. I was then
filled with hymns and chants in different languages
from all parts of the world. Some sang praises, oth-
ers knelt in humble prayer, and some just walked
through the Eden-like garden unable to explain
what they felt. I thought of a man who stood in
front of the tomb and explained to me that he was
there simply because he “loved Jesus.” The pro-
foundness of those few words have echoed through
my own mind when considering my motivations
for being in this land. In the end, we were each
brought together by one man, for one purpose.
I found myself at the wall. These ancient ties
bring all of us together. I walked up to the wall and
put my hand to its surface. The coolness of the
limestone somehow turned to warmth. Not look-
ing, I felt the presence of the women around me.
Some were praying with face to the wall, others
rocking back and forth, thrusting themselves to the
spirit of God as they read from their own books.
Others were chanting lowly, and one woman was
Winter 2001–2002
bringing her young daughter to the wall, teaching
years of tradition. It is this very tradition that can-
not bring these people together—the roots are too
deep and unbending. I placed my forehead on the
wall and closed my eyes. I kissed the coolness as
I had watched women do time and time again.
When I had first come, the desert was still hot, but
now I am glad to have a light sweater. The rains
were soon to come. I prayed. I prayed for all the
trouble and conflict. I prayed for peace that these
who I’ve come to love so much might someday find
resolution. I prayed for those who come here to
find themselves. A woman once told us Jerusalem
would change us if we let it—it has that power. I
believe I have found some of that power within
myself. I prayed for the children there. It was their
sweet innocence that broke down existing social
barriers. I prayed that I might never forget. I prayed
that this God might heal the land of His people.
I prayed for Jerusalem.
As we left the Old City, the sunset blazed with
orange and red. The city was still, and the misty
desert horizon surrendered to the end of the day.
Children were seen running in for bed, and we
watched as the lights were lit one by one over
Jerusalem. At night we could not see the buildings
separating the people. At night Jerusalem seemed as
one. William Butler Yeats wrote of his Innisfree, a
place where in the hustle of life he could “arise and
go now.” A place of rest; a place where “peace
comes dropping slow.” For me, Jerusalem is where
I go in my mind for peace. Despite the conflict
found there, it is my Innisfree. “The rains will soon
be coming,” old men would say, and I pray that
with it peace will come “dropping slow.”
Camille Traveller Bell is from Cedar City, Utah, where
she graduated from Southern Utah University last
year in English and sociology. She and her husband,
Ryan, are currently living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin,
while he attends medical school. Camille is teaching
English in an alternative school for at-risk teens.
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P O E M
First Psalm
My psalms are felt but never heard—
Silent pyres—the heartjoy blurred.
I try to hold what will not stay—
All held words are stamped cliché.
I try to catch the climbing white—
Caged phrases, if not false, are trite.
Guilt and sorrow are easily contained,
Bleeding freely to fill each quatrain.
The joy that oft my soul overflows
Defies the drill of metered rows.
Joy is mute and rhyme runs stray,
Hosanna shouts come out a bray—
But O, I ache to glimpse His smile
And be near to Him a little while.
—Kevin Peel
After many years and a mission to North Carolina,
Kevin Peel graduated from Utah State University in
2000. He parlayed his English degree into a lucrative
security guard position in Bloomington, Illinois. He is
getting married the first week of July in Nauvoo and
promises not to be the first Nauvoo Temple divorce. He
is hoping to earn a teaching certificate in Illinois and
looks forward to instructing teenagers on the Byronic
origins of rap music.
IRREANTUM
E S S A Y
To Fulfill the Vision of
Mormon Literature
By Diana Simmons
In 1888, Orson F. Whitney prophesied of the
Mormon people, “We will yet have Miltons and
Shakespeares of our own. God’s ammunition is not
exhausted” (4). More than ninety years later, then-
president of the LDS Church Spencer W. Kimball
bemoaned the lack of this vision’s fulfillment:
For years I have been waiting for someone to
do justice in recording in song and story and
painting and sculpture the story of the Res-
toration, the reestablishment of the kingdom
of God on earth, the struggles and frustra-
tions; the apostasies and inner revolutions and
counter-revolutions of those first decades; of
the miracle man, Joseph Smith, of whom we
sing “Oh, what rapture filled his bosom, For
he saw the living God.” (Qtd. in England 2)
Today, with more literature being produced by
the Mormon people and a larger audience to appre-
ciate it, it seems that we are coming closer and
closer to fulfilling Whitney and Kimball’s visions.
However, though many have tried their hand at
producing literature, not everything written by
Mormons or about Mormons is bringing us closer
to fulfilling our potential—it is not necessarily the
Mormon literature we are capable of. The question
serious writers and readers should ask themselves
about literature is, “How well is our work fulfilling
the prophecy and the potential that exists with-
in the Mormon community?” In order for us to
continue to progress in the production of quality
literature, it is important to reevaluate the purposes
behind such literature and analyze our own percep-
tions of the literature. As writers, we must evaluate
our motives behind the desire to write, and as read-
ers we must take the responsibility to seek after and
demand good literature.
Literature, especially from a people who believe
they have the fullness of the gospel, should reflect
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that insight and knowledge and be produced with
the intent of doing so. Matthew 5:16 reads, “Let
your light so shine before men, that they may see
your good works, and glorify your Father which is
in heaven.” Though the phrase “good works,” in
this sense, isn’t necessarily referring to works of lit-
erature, the “works” of a Christian people in gen-
eral should be intended to glorify their Father in
Heaven—what better way to honor Him than by
cultivating the talents He has given us and sharing
them with the world.
To have this intent before him or her, the writer
is faced with a daunting task. What kind of litera-
ture would be an acceptable offering to a kind and
loving Father in Heaven? Undoubtedly, much liter-
ature has been produced with the idea in mind to
serve God and to teach morals and values and bring
people closer to Him. Yet such literature easily
becomes didactic, and can suffer in literary quality
as a result. Take, for example, the orthodox novel or
story, which often falls into the category of “jack-
fiction,” as termed by Karl Keller, who described
such literature to be outwardly true but inwardly
lacking depth and substance—a façade (qtd. in
England 3). This type of literature generally pres-
ents a one-sided view, not holding true to the hard-
ships and realities humans face daily. Though it is
important to present values and morals in a work,
in order for it to be honest and truly reflect the
truth of God it needs to be true to life and well
written—not only is the message of the story
important, but how that message is portrayed.
The intent to glorify God in our literature need
not limit us—our aim must simply be to promote
truth. Orson F. Whitney wrote, “Universal Truth,
which, like the waters of earth, or the sunbeams of
heaven, has but one Source, let its earthly origin be
what it may” (1). He then included a couplet,
“Truth is truth, wher’er ’tis found, / On Christian
or on heathen ground” (1). Truth can be found
anywhere, and to express it is to testify of God; to
write it, the author himself or herself must become
educated in order to present the most accurate pic-
ture possible. Scriptures from the Doctrine and
Covenants can guide us: “The glory of God is intel-
ligence” (D&C 93:36) says one, and “Seek ye out
Winter 2001–2002
of the best books words of wisdom; seek learning,
even by study and also by faith” (D&C 88:118)
records another. Both of these scriptures emphasize
the point that we need to diligently search for truth
in order to spread it. The formula for accomplish-
ing the great works we are capable of is, essentially,
to find truth wherever we may, recognizing that
ultimate understanding of truth comes from God
(who is its source), and to ultimately share that
light and knowledge.
Along with the ultimate purpose to glorify God
through literature, other purposes of literature can
be fulfilled—the sharing of morals and values, as
mentioned previously—but literature can also help
us understand why those values are important.
Through the process of analyzing characters, situa-
tions, and events, and in attempting to portray sto-
ries honestly, we can learn more about ourselves as
a people, our potential, and thus more about God.
In the prologue to her memoir, Refuge: An Unnat-
ural History of Family and Place, author Terry Tem-
pest Williams wrote, “Perhaps, I am telling this
story in an attempt to heal myself, to confront what
I do not know, to create a path for myself with the
idea that ‘memory is the only way home’” (4).
Surely, through the self-examination it took to
write the book, Williams gained a greater under-
standing and acceptance of life, helping her to
become at peace with events that she experienced.
Similarly, a novel written by Margaret Young
and Darius Gray seeks to provide a greater under-
standing of the role blacks have in the Church
and to illustrate racial issues many Mormons are
unaware of or unfamiliar with. In the prologue to
One More River to Cross, Gray wrote, “By looking at
these lives of color, we hope that a healing will
occur, that wounds will be attended, and a new
perspective will be gained.” He continued, “Our
journey through the words and experiences of
numerous black pioneers will testify of God’s good-
ness, His unchanging fairness, and His embracing
love” (xvi, xix). Through writing and reading such
literature, we as a people can develop a greater,
deeper understanding of the purpose of life, the
value of the individual, and what it means to be
Christian.
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To fulfill the purpose of glorifying God in our
literature, writers must strive to fully develop their
talent, not only by seeking truth but, largely, through
trial and error. President Spencer W. Kimball said,
“God has endowed us with talents and time, with
latent abilities and with opportunities to use and
develop them in his service. He therefore expects
much of us, his privileged children” (100). No
great accomplishment has ever been made without
some work, effort, and sacrifice. As a people striv-
ing for celestial glory, we must not allow ourselves
to accept a terrestrial effort—we know our poten-
tial, and we must strive to fulfill it.
Just as the Mormon writer who hopes to pro-
duce quality literature must take the time to ana-
lyze the purpose behind such literature, as readers
we as well must take time to reevaluate how we
perceive this literature—whether we encourage the
pursuit of excellence or close our minds to ideas
and realities we’d rather not have to face. The Mor-
mon reader is not without his or her duty. Readers,
like writers, must hold themselves to a continually
rising standard in order for the quality of Mormon
literature to continue to improve—they must
demand and support good literature, which comes
from learning how to appreciate it, both in its spir-
itual and literary values.
In order to understand what good literature is,
readers first must educate themselves and become
acquainted with works that are “virtuous, lovely, of
good report or praiseworthy”—wherever they may
be found. On this topic of educating ourselves,
Brigham Young mused,
“Shall I sit down and read the Bible, the Book
of Mormon, and the Book of Covenants all
the time?” says one. Yes, if you please, and
when you have done, you may be nothing but
a sectarian after all. It is your duty to study to
know everything upon the face of the earth, in
addition to reading those books. We should
not only study good, and its effect upon our
race, but also evil, and its consequences. (Qtd.
in Cracroft 8)
Good literature makes us think, stretches our
minds, and helps us to look at life in a new way. By
IRREANTUM
studying it, we learn how to appreciate it when we
see it. An example of one type of such writing can
be found in Virginia Sorensen’s novel, A Little Lower
than the Angels. Setting one scene, she wrote,
The wind was searching for leaves to make a
noise in, and was disappointed at all the empty
boughs, whining around them like a lonely
puppy in the night. Then, out of revenge, he
broke the sunshine into bits and prevented it
from warming. It tried, looking squarely into
the river whenever it could, but the wind was
too much. (55)
This passage shows images and expresses ideas in a
unique way. It builds a picture in our minds; it is
taking us above and beyond the commonplace.
The reader must learn to recognize such artistry
and appreciate it for its beauty, recognizing that
artistry may be expressed in many different ways,
and then demand at least that level of quality, if not
more, in the literature he or she reads.
The Mormon reader
must have an open mind
and an open heart to be
receptive to new ideas, new
ways of expression, and even
new genres of literature.
Being an educated reader is especially important
when it comes to evaluating works of a religious
nature. Eugene England commented that, in liter-
ature, “the temptation is greatest to assume that a
good ‘message’ is enough.” He continued in an
aside, “Most Mormons can see right away that a
painting of Joseph Smith’s first vision done badly
would demean the experience . . . but a ‘faith-
building’ story or one based on ‘real experience,’
however badly written or sentimental in its appeal,
is often received uncritically” (16). Though we hes-
itate to judge anything that expresses a testimony
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of the gospel, in art we must demand more than
sentimentality—humans are capable of much, much
more. Readers can come to new heights in under-
standing people and gospel subjects when they are
expressed in ways that show the power of God and
glory in the talents He has given His children.
For many Mormons, it can be a struggle to find
the value in reading works of fiction that do not
portray ideal images or that show situations that
may cause discomfort. Stories without obvious morals
have their value as well and should be thoughtfully
considered. This is where the metaphor of hospi-
tality comes into play. B.W. Jorgensen, concerned
that the fear of encountering “questionable” morals
and values prevents many from obtaining the full
benefits from reading literature, proposed that we
look at literature with open hearts and minds, that
the ideal audience “would listen, then take its turn
and converse”—thus an exchange of ideas, where
quality and truth would be picked out, sorted, and
built upon (8). Gideon Burton, in response to Jor-
gensen’s essay and along the same lines, proposed
that literature “perhaps, like us, can fall away,
repent, and move forward to Zion” (6). Not all lit-
erature will be good in all aspects, but the good
qualities should be applauded and should form the
foundation for future literature.
It is important to recognize that depicting evil in
literature is an essential part of making the work
truthful and complete—it should not be intended
to drive away the Spirit, and as Brigham Young
said, it is something we must learn of. Orson Scott
Card, most noted for his works of science fiction,
declares: “Showing evil is not necessarily advocat-
ing it. . . . Any depiction of life without evil is a lie”
(1–2). He further argues that works portraying evil
can be moral: “No matter how many deliberate lies
a writer tells, his own most deeply held beliefs
about good and evil will inevitably appear in his
work. It is impossible to write a morally neutral
work of fiction” (2).
Here, Card correctly states that values shine
through an author’s work—if the writer is a faithful
Mormon, even if the story is about a character who
doesn’t believe in the Church and doesn’t make
choices we approve of, the tone and situations and
Winter 2001–2002
end results of the story will inevitably clue the
audience in to what moral standard the writer
holds to. This is demonstrated in John Bennion’s
Falling Toward Heaven. His novel, about a mission-
ary who temporarily falls away from the Church,
gives descriptions that do cause discomfort—about
a missionary who, as he doubts of the truthfulness
of the gospel and indulges in sexual fantasies, feels
the despair of a “night that filled his throat” (69).
Yet, these descriptions can serve a purpose: to high-
light the discomfort and despair of not living the
gospel, showing the consequences of evil. While
evil in literature does have its purpose, it is not
necessary to wallow in it in order to convey it.
While keeping an open mind, understanding that
people do commit sin and make mistakes, the
reader must be sensitive and judge whether the
overall ideals and morals portrayed, and the way in
which they are portrayed, are in accordance with
his or her beliefs.
It is also important to recognize that simply
because a book is about Mormons does not mean
it is a good book morally, and, conversely, books
that never seem to mention Mormons at all can tes-
tify of the morals and values Mormons believe in.
Card demonstrates this in his science fiction novel
Pastwatch, which talks nothing of Mormons yet
promotes his Mormon values and beliefs, such as
the importance of saving ancestors, the vicarious
sacrifice, love of all men, and so forth. A work may
talk of Mormonism without being true to it; it may
not be about Mormons at all, and it still can testify
of the gospel as we know it.
The Mormon reader must have an open mind
and an open heart to be receptive to new ideas, new
ways of expression, and even new genres of litera-
ture. The LDS Church is growing daily, with more
and more members outside of the United States.
They, who are God’s children as well, have the
potential to create great and memorable works of
literature. The literature we have is not restricted in
form; it does not necessarily need to have the struc-
ture of typical European-American literature; it can
be fiction or non-fiction, songs or hymns, poetry,
drama, personal essays, and even sermons. There is
no end to the creativity writers can apply in creating
34 IRREANTUM
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works that speak to people in different, unique
ways, that open their eyes and their souls to a
greater understanding. The Mormon reader has
a duty to accept and promote good literature. As
William Mulder wrote, “Mormon literature will
move toward the promise of its highly articulate
beginnings, for Mormon readers will demand of
Mormon writers authentic voices, whether in fic-
tion, in history, in biography, or in missionary
tract—the authority of good writing, of truths
made memorable” (4).
Writers and readers alike play an important role
in producing the marvelous works of literature we
as human beings and especially as Mormons—who
have the fullness of the gospel—are capable of. It is
important to recognize that educating ourselves
and becoming acquainted with what good litera-
ture is comprised of is a necessary step in fulfilling
the vision of Mormon literature. Yet, it is even
more important to recognize that any amount of
worldly or scholarly education is useless and gone
to waste if it is not used to build the kingdom and
to glorify the God who gave us this world and all
truth within it. God is the best example we have
of creativity and wisdom and truth, and it is
through Him and because of Him that we are
capable of more than we even realize. As we reeval-
uate our values and priorities and strive to praise
God by proclaiming truth through literature, the
works written by the Mormon people will con-
tinue to reach greater and greater heights and come
closer and closer to fulfilling the potential that
is there.
Diana Simmons graduated from BYU in December
2001 with a B.A. in English. She grew up in Haskell-
ville, Utah, and is expecting her first child, a boy, in
April 2002. She plans to mother him at home, where
she will continue to develop her writing.
Works Cited
Burton, Gideon. “Should We Ask, ‘Is This Mormon
Literature?’: Towards a Mormon Criticism.” The
IRREANTUM
Association for Mormon Letters Annual, 1994.
Salt Lake City: Association for Mormon Letters,
1994. 2:227–33. <http://humanities.byu.edu/
mldb/gbask.htm> (18 Oct. 2001).
Bennion, John. Falling Toward Heaven. Salt Lake
City: Signature Books, 2000.
Card, Orson Scott. Pastwatch: The Redemption of
Christopher Columbus. New York: Tom Doherty
Associates, 1992.
—. “The Problem of Evil in Fiction.” A Storyteller
in Zion. Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1993. 69–98.
<http://humanities.byu.edu/mldb/card2.htm>
(12 Dec. 2001).
Cracroft, Richard. “An Aid to Perfection: Some
Thoughts on Literature and Mormons,” New
Era 2 (Aug 1972): 8. <http://www.lds.org> (12
Dec. 2001).
England, Eugene. “Mormon Literature: Progress and
Prospects.” Mormon Americana: A Guide to
Sources and Collections in the United States. Ed.
David J. Whittaker. Provo, Utah: BYU Studies,
1995. 455–505. <http://humanities.byu.edu/
mldb/progress.htm> (12 Sept. 2001).
Jorgensen, B. W. “To Tell and Hear Stories: Let the
Stranger Say.” <http://humanities.byu.edu/
mldb/totell.htm> (4 Oct. 2001).
Kimball, Spencer W. The Miracle of Forgiveness.
1969. Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1993.
Mulder, William. “Mormonism and Literature.”
Western Humanities Review 9 (winter): 1954–55.
<http://humanities.byu.edu/mldb/mulder.htm>
(17 Sept. 2001).
Sorensen, Virginia. A Little Lower Than the Angels.
1942. Salt Lake City: Signature Books, 1997.
Whitney, Orson F. “Home Literature.” The Con-
tributor (July 1888). <http://humanities.byu.
edu/mldb/homelit.htm> (18 Oct. 2001).
Williams, Terry Tempest. Refuge: An Unnatural
History of Family and Place. New York: Vintage
Books, 1992.
Young, Margaret Blair, and Darius Aidan Gray.
One More River to Cross. Salt Lake City: Book-
craft, 2000.
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S T O R Y least resemble those of the young newlyweds in the
Companions
By Darlene Young
[This story won first place in the 2001 IRREANTUM
fiction contest.]
McDonald’s was giving out Pokémon toys in the
Happy Meals this week. Amanda had taken her
boys three times (too much TV, she reminded her-
self—how else could a four- and two-year-old learn
about such things?), and now at 7 A.M. she could
hear them throwing their new collection rhythmi-
cally against the wall that separated her room from
theirs. Her sheets were damp with sweat. She lay
listening to the thumping and giggling, wondering
whether she could cope with another Sunday. Just
keep getting up, she told herself. Every day, just get
up. Once again she closed her eyes and centered
herself, mentally placing herself back at the cabin
where she had made her decision to leave Bryce.
That day in the cabin she had known absolutely
that it was right to leave him and that she could do
it. And now, although she couldn’t reconstruct that
precious feeling of spiritual strength and energy, she
could remember that it had been there, could pic-
ture herself lying on her back, gazing at the trees
outside the tall windows and knowing it would be
OK. She rolled out of the bed and onto her knees.
“Heavenly Father, it’s Sunday. Please help me.”
While the boys threw Cap’n Crunch at each
other during breakfast (what is it with boys and
throwing things? Their father had liked throwing
things, too, she recalled) she looked longingly at
the air-conditioner control. But the utility bill could
get so high in this little oven of a house. At least the
church is air conditioned, she thought. An hour
later, there she was in sacrament meeting, sticking
to the bench despite the air conditioning. She
tugged at her dress, cursing the invention of panty-
hose. Well, if you would get up a little earlier and
shave you could go bare-legged, she reminded her-
self. That’s what most of the younger girls did at
church. But then again, Amanda’s legs didn’t in the
Winter 2001–2002
ward. Her twenty extra pounds were just another
souvenir of the divorce.
Six months now since the divorce and she still
wasn’t used to the sheer physical effort of sitting up
straight and alone on the bench during sacrament
meeting, shushing Tom with gentleness and then
whispered threats, trying not to cry, don’t cry, please
don’t let me cry. But today she made it through
without tears. Good, she thought, today will be a
coping day.
In Relief Society, Sister Sorensen stood before
the women of her ward with her hands clasped in
front of her. “Please, sisters, I just cannot impress
upon you enough the importance of visiting teach-
ing. It’s such a little thing, and you can all do it.
Your Heavenly Father is counting on you to watch
over his sheep. I want all of you to make a goal to
call your sisters this very afternoon and set up your
appointments.” It’s a coping day, thought Amanda—
why not? It’s time for me to start moving, start
doing something. And although she couldn’t make
herself meet her companion’s eyes, she resolved to
be the one to call Cherry first this time.
But then in the oven of home the familiar stab-
bing emptiness hit as it always did on Sunday after-
noons after she hauled the boys into the house.
Once again she collapsed on the couch in the dark-
ness of the drawn shades while the boys chased out
their Sunday-school stiffness, not even seeming to
notice the heat. She was still there half an hour
later, just staring off into space, when Ivan tackled
her: “I want Spaghettio’s, Mom.”
“Yeah. S’gettios,” seconded Tom. Amanda sighed.
“Mommmmmmm!” Ivan put that little whine in
his voice and half-lay across her knees. Tom sat down
on her feet and wrapped his arms around her legs.
“OK, OK. I’m getting up. Move.”
When the kids were down for naps, she saw her
scriptures under the coffee table and remembered
her determination to do well today. She pulled
them out and opened them for the first time in a
month. She read randomly, just a few verses here
and there. Man, she had been so in tune at times.
She closed her eyes and remembered her college
years at BYU, the high of discussing God and
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art and philosophy under a tree on the quad, hear-
ing the bells chime, feeling fierce and alive and full
of light.
Fifteen minutes later she woke up damp with
sweat. Catching sight of her scriptures she felt a
wave of despair. (Her big effort. What had it been,
three verses?) But she didn’t read any further. She
hauled herself up and washed the dishes and folded
laundry until the kids woke up.
• • •
“Your hair looks like a rooster.”
“What?” Cherry Miller turned from the mirror
to face her husband of four months. He was lying
on the bed half-dressed, reading the morning paper.
“I said, your hair looks like a rooster. In the back.
It’s all sticking up funny.”
“That’s how it’s supposed to look. That’s the way
people are wearing it these days. It’s kind of a retro-
sixties look.”
“It looks like you slept on it funny.”
Despite herself, Cherry felt her eyes tear up. This
is stupid, she thought. He doesn’t know anything
about hairstyles. It’s nothing personal. But she turned
away from the mirror and headed into the living
room so that he wouldn’t see the tears spilling onto
her cheeks.
“Sweetie?” She heard him put the paper down.
He was getting quicker at reading his new wife’s
emotions. “Are you OK?”
Guys ask the dumbest things. Are you OK. When
you obviously are not OK. She sniffed.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Patrick was standing in the door-
way now, but she couldn’t see his face. She was keep-
ing her back to him. She thought about her choice:
show him how she was hurt and spend ten minutes
crying and apologizing to each other, or swallow
her tears and forgive him. She took a deep breath.
“Yeah.” She turned and flashed him a quick grin.
She saw immediately that he truly had been feeling
bad. He really is a sweet guy, she thought.
“I gotta go,” she said. “Shall we ride the bus
home together?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you at the stop by your work.
Have a good day!” He kissed her and returned to
the bed and the paper. As she shut the door behind
IRREANTUM
her, Cherry felt a twinge of resentment at his lazy
morning ritual. He couldn’t spend any time with
her in the evenings because he had so much study-
ing to, but he spent all morning in bed reading
the paper. And then she felt guilty. He really was
a good guy, and she knew he worked hard at
school. She was just over-sensitive today. Maybe
not enough sleep
The day was already hot, and it was only 7:30.
Thank goodness the bus was air-conditioned. She
sat down and stared out the window. Married for
four months. She pulled off her ring and looked at
it, turning it to make it sparkle in the light. It was
perfect. She loved it, and she really loved Patrick.
She still occasionally had those awful dreams in
which she discovered she had married the wrong
guy, and the dreams bothered her immensely. But
life with Patrick was sweet, for the most part. Even
when they had emotional disagreements, she felt an
overpowering gratitude that she had been granted
something so good in her life as Patrick Miller.
Patrick was in pre-med at the U and was gone a lot
studying. Cherry spent her days working in the
human resources department on campus and her
evenings reading or puttering around the house.
Sometimes she was lonely.
As soon as she arrived at work she rushed into
the bathroom and wetted the back of her hair down.
• • •
Every Tuesday evening, Amanda took the kids
to her mother’s. “You’ve got to have time to your-
self,” her mother had told her when she vol-
unteered to take on this babysitting job, and
Amanda’s heart had filled with gratitude. Not for
the evening to herself—although heaven knew she
needed it—but for what the offer said about her
mother’s feelings about the divorce.
That had been the hardest thing about the whole
divorce—explaining it to people like Mom who
didn’t understand. To Mom, a divorce in the fam-
ily was worse than a death. Mom, like so many
other women of her generation, believed that you
stick a marriage out no matter what. And it didn’t
matter how hard Amanda tried to explain about
the yelling, the wall-hitting, the quiet put-downs
and criticisms, Mom had just shaken her head and
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repeated the same advice Amanda always heard in
church: “Turn the other cheek.” “If you can’t stand
your problems, try kneeling.” “Maybe you two could
use a vacation together.” The term emotional abuse
was just modern psychological mumbo-jumbo to
Mom. She was absolutely mystified at her daugh-
ter’s inability to “stick it out.”
And so, on the day when Mom had called to
offer Amanda Tuesday nights, Amanda had wept
with relief. Mom might never understand, but this
showed that she had chosen to accept that Amanda
would not be going back to Bryce.
Usually Amanda used Tuesday nights to catch
up on the dishes and maybe even wipe out the tub.
But tonight Amanda ignored the kitchen and went
straight to the overstuffed storage closet at the back
of the house. Pulling out the boxes of “skinny clothes,”
outgrown toddler toys, and fondue dishes, she finally
reached what she had been seeking: her old pho-
tography equipment. She spent the evening clean-
ing and putting it together and then shopping for
more equipment and film. After Mom brought the
kids back, Amanda thrilled the kids by letting them
stay up late “to help Mommy.” She took several
rolls of her two little blonde boys in their Buzz
Lightyear helmets and Batman capes.
“Mom,” said Ivan, “can we play pictures again
tomorrow?”
• • •
Cherry stood up. “Well, it’s 5:00,” she said to her
coworker Mikelle. “I’m closing up.” She straight-
ened the piles of resumes, turned off the copy
machine and pulled her purse out of the drawer.
“What are you doing tonight?” asked Mikelle.
“Nothing, really. Patrick will be home so I’m
going to actually cook something. What about you?”
“I’m going to that play with Cutler, remember?”
“Oh, yes, that hot date. Well, good luck!”
Mikelle must think my life is so boring, Cherry
thought. When I was single, I couldn’t imagine
what married people did together every single night
of their lives. And what do we do? Eat and maybe
talk and go to bed. But, she smiled to herself, it is
a sweet life. Nothing interesting to tell Mikelle
about, but it is good. Everyone should be married.
Winter 2001–2002
Everyone should be married. She laughed to
catch herself thinking such a thing—when she had
been single, she had hated it when married people
said that. After her painful breakup with John, who
had been her fiancé for three months, her friends
and family had started to worry that she might
never marry. Especially Erin, who had taken it as a
personal crusade to convince her friend of the joys
of marriage. But it had been all that Cherry could
do to keep herself from screaming at Erin, “How
can you say that when you are married to such a
creep?” Erin’s husband Scott was the most sarcastic
person Cherry had ever met, often cutting down
his wife in public for a laugh. It drove Cherry crazy
to even be in the same room with him. How could
Erin have married him? And how could she think
her marriage would make Cherry want to marry?
But along came Patrick, and Patrick had changed
her feelings about marriage. He was so calm and
wise and reasonable, always gentle with her. Like—
like a teacher, helping her be better. Nothing at
all like Scott. Yes, she was very lucky. If only she
could learn not to be so over-sensitive, maybe some-
day she would deserve him.
Patrick met her at the bus stop on campus. It was
so good to see him. She still caught her breath when
she remembered that he was hers. His new glasses
made him look studious and a little like the doctor
he would someday be.
“Hey, beautiful!” he called. She smiled self-
consciously. There were other people at the bus
stop.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Oh, fine. Not many applicants today. How
was yours?”
“Good, but I didn’t get as much done as I had
hoped. I’m going to have to come back up to the
library after dinner.” When her face fell he quickly
added, “I’m sorry.” I will not mope, she told her-
self. She looked up and smiled.
“Well, I’m glad we can have dinner together.
I marinated that chicken, remember? Will you
grill it?”
He grinned.
“You know, Patrick, I think men just have this
biological thing about meat and fire.”
38 IRREANTUM
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“That right, woman!” he cried, beating on his
chest.
It was still burning-hot outside, and Cherry was
sweating from the ten minutes they had spent wait-
ing for the bus. The bus was cooler but not by
much since it was so crowded. They squeezed into
the last available bench.
“Whenever I’m hot, I sweat right here,” she said,
pointing to the space between her nose and mouth.
“I think it’s cute,” said Patrick, and he kissed
her there.
Cheery Cherry, thought
Amanda, looking at her
companion. Twenty-four
and a newlywed, intelligent,
beautiful, graduate of BYU,
happily married. Just the
epitome of sharp.
“It always reminds me of that girl in The Great
Gatsby. You know, the guy’s girlfriend who sweats
when she plays tennis.”
“Oh, yeah, her. Old what’s-her-name,” Patrick
said solemnly, and they both grinned at each other.
It was a small sore spot in the marriage that Cherry
was such a reader—and that Patrick wasn’t. She was
an English teacher by training, and Patrick liked to
brag about graduating from high school without
having read a single one of the assigned books in
English class. But they were learning to joke about
it, and at least Cherry’s reading gave her something
to do while Patrick studied.
The bus stopped and a young woman got on.
She caught the attention of many in the rush-hour-
packed bus because she was tan and sleek. Despite
the heat of the day, the girl looked cool in a bright
white T-shirt and Capri pants. I bet she uses self-
tanning lotion, Cherry thought. But then she looked
closer at the young woman.
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“Hey, I went to high school with that girl. Macey
Jeppson. Wow. She still looks like a cheerleader.
Look, her hair is ratted in the back.”
Patrick ignored the comment about the hair.
“Why don’t you say hi to her?” he asked. “Would
she know you?”
“Yes, she would know me. We were in choir
together.” Cherry hunched a little lower on the seat.
A pause. “Well, aren’t you going to say hi?”
“The bus is so crowded. It would be dumb to try
to start a conversation.”
“Then you could just wave.”
Cherry knew why Patrick was pushing this.
A few months before, she had confessed her shy-
ness to him. It had been one of their most difficult
nights since the wedding. First, he hadn’t believed
her. “You’re not shy. You’re always the first person
to talk to new people at church or a party. You’re a
huge flirt, too. How is that shy?”
“Shyness isn’t how other people see you but how
you feel when you are talking to them. It’s like I’m
cringing inside whenever I have to talk to someone.”
“That can’t be true. You’re an amazing public
speaker. You majored in teaching, for crying out loud.
You positively glow when you’re in front of people.”
“That’s a group of people, not just one. And
that’s when I’m talking about something I believe
in, not just making small talk.”
“Small talk is easy. You just have to think about
the other person and ask questions about them.”
“Oh, come on. I’ve read How to Win Friends and
Influence People. I’ve heard all that stuff. I know it’s
just selfishness on my part, that I can’t forget myself
enough to know what to say. But the other thing
is—I know this sounds dumb, but whenever I talk
to someone, I’m kind of afraid I’ll let God down.”
“Let God down? What does he have to do with it?”
“When I talk to people, there’s a lot of pressure
to do it right.”
“Do it right?” He was looking at her like she was
a little kid. She felt silly and wished she had just
kept this to herself. But maybe he would under-
stand if she could just explain. . . .
“OK, let me tell you a story that I’ve heard in
Relief Society at least five times. There’s this visit-
ing teacher, and she goes to visit one of her sisters
39 Winter 2001–2002
Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 4:01 PM Page 40
one day even though she doesn’t really want to. The
whole time she is there, she feels really stupid and
the sister acts like she wishes she would leave. Finally
she does, and that’s all that happens, except that
months later the sister comes to her and confesses
that on that particular day months earlier, she had
been planning to kill herself, and the teacher’s visit
had stopped her, and now she is so grateful.”
Patrick rolled his eyes.
“So every time I talk to someone I’m paranoid
that there’s something I’m supposed to be doing or
saying a certain way, that somehow I’m supposed to
be helping them out or something.”
“Wow, that’s a pretty big responsibility. Save the
world with each conversation.” He was mocking
her, but after a moment she decided he was right.
Of course he was right.
She tried to smile. “I guess it is pretty dumb, huh?”
Ever since that talk, Patrick had made it a personal
crusade to help her get over her shyness. She tried not
to resent it, but his efforts were irritating and some-
times downright embarrassing. Like now, on the bus.
“This is not a time that I need your help,” Cherry
whispered. “I’m doing fine.”
At that moment Macey saw Cherry for the first
time and smiled and waved. Cherry did the same.
“See?” But she was relieved when Macey got off the
bus at the next stop.
At home, Patrick fired up the grill and Cherry
checked her day-planner. Call Amanda about visit-
ing teaching. Dang! She had really meant to call
Amanda on Sunday, but there had been that whole
big thing with Patrick’s parents having another
fight, and visiting teaching had slipped her mind.
She pulled out the index card the Relief Society
president had given her. A new woman to visit. Just
looking at the name on the card made her heart
beat faster. She took a deep breath and reached for
the phone.
• • •
Answering the phone, Amanda cringed at hear-
ing Cherry’s voice, remembering her resolve to be
the one to call Cherry this time. Then she felt irri-
table surprise that it had taken Cherry three whole
days to call. Probably, she thought, Cherry waited
until today on purpose to give me the chance to be
Winter 2001–2002
the one to call this time. That would be like her. She
must think I didn’t even notice Sister Sorensen’s
little talk.
Amanda tried to hide her embarrassment. “Oh,
yes, that’s right. We should go this week. Bryce will
have the kids on Saturday—could we go then?”
“Sure!” said Cherry, and then she hesitated.
Why is she hesitating? Amanda wondered. Is she
waiting for me to volunteer to make the calls? “Uh,
would you like me to make the calls this time?”
Amanda asked.
“Yes, or give the lesson. I don’t mind. Which
would you like?” Cherry sounded so cheerful and
businesslike. Amanda pictured Cherry at her
counter with a day-planner open in front of her.
A lesson. Could she give a lesson?
“What’s the lesson this month?”
“It’s on tithing, I think.”
“Oh. Well, I’d be happy to make the calls this
time,” Amanda said.
“OK, that’s fine with me. But Sister Sorensen
gave me a note on Sunday—we have a new sister
on our list. And Rebecca is in Alaska this month, so
we don’t need to call her at all.”
“Who is the new sister?” Single or married? Young
or old? Tired or zippy? Quilting or aerobics? A new
move-in? A bright-eyed newlywed like you?
“She’s not new in the ward, just new for us.
Actually, I was hoping you could tell me something
about her, since I don’t recognize her name at all.
Margaret Jones.”
“No, I don’t recognize it either. Are you sure she’s
not new?” Amanda reached for her ward directory.
“I’ve checked in the ward directory, and her name
is there, along with two children, but no husband.
Her children’s birthdays are listed—they must be in
college by now, so she’s older. But I don’t know
anything else about her. Maybe she’s just inactive.”
Inactive. The strength of soul to not show up.
“OK, what’s her number?”
• • •
Amanda wiped the sweat off her forehead as she
looked out her front window for Cherry’s car. Sur-
prisingly, the phone calls to set up appointments
had been pretty easy. Jana Hurzeler had been cheer-
ful and accommodating as always, at least in her
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voice. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she had squealed with what
was supposed to sound like regret. “Rob and I are
taking the kids to Idaho this weekend. But, tell you
what, I’ll call you when I get back, OK?” And Mar-
garet Jones, the inactive lady, had responded quite
well. “Oh, ward teachers? Wow, I haven’t had those
in a while. Sure, why not?”
Cherry honked her horn in the driveway. When
Amanda stepped out onto the porch, the air was
only slightly hotter outside than inside. The sight
of the crunchy-gold lawn sparked only a flicker of
guilt in Amanda for having forgotten to turn on
the sprinklers lately. She hadn’t seen the landlord
for months. He doesn’t give a darn about this place
anyway, she thought, looking back at the crooked
shutters and peeling paint. As long as the check
comes every month. But the broken tricycle on its
side near the driveway embarrassed her when she
imagined how the place must look to Cherry.
In the car, Cherry was bright and happy, as usual.
Cheery Cherry, thought Amanda, looking at her
companion. Twenty-four and a newlywed, intelli-
gent, beautiful, graduate of BYU, happily married.
Just the epitome of sharp. Sharp young future leader
in the Church, thought Amanda. Got her head
screwed on straight, knows where she’s going, five-
year goals and one-year goals. An asset to any ward.
Cherry felt her gaze and turned. “How are you
today?” she asked.
“Oh, OK. It’s so darn hot, though.”
“No kidding. Our apartment doesn’t have air-
conditioning, but we have a nice window fan. Still,
it’s been unbearable lately.”
“Yeah.”
“So what have you been doing with your free day
today?” Cherry asked brightly. Everything was bright
around Cherry.
“Nothing much.” Amanda paused. “Well, actu-
ally, I’ve been practicing an old hobby lately. Pho-
tography. I got out my old camera and stuff and
took a few pictures.”
“Wow. That’s great. I’d really like to see some of
your work sometime.”
“I’m actually mostly a portrait photographer. I’m
doing some stuff of my kids just to get used to it
again, and then, well, maybe someday I could have
IRREANTUM
my own business, doing other people’s kids. I have
a friend who’s doing that out of her home in Provo.
She makes a lot of money.”
“That’s great,” Cherry said again. She kept both
hands on the wheel and checked her blind spot
whenever she changed lanes.
Then they were on Margaret Jones’s street and
Cherry said, “I called Sister Sorensen and asked her
about Sister Jones. She said Sister Jones has been
inactive for years. She’s married but her husband
isn’t a member.”
“Oh.” Amanda felt her muscles bracing. At least
she didn’t have to give the lesson.
“Um, I hope you don’t mind, but I changed the
lesson. I just couldn’t do tithing for Sister Jones,
you know? So I’m just going to share a scripture.
Do you think that would be OK?”
“Oh, I’m sure it will.”
Margaret Jones lived in a small house like the one
Amanda rented. A car sat up on blocks in the driveway.
“Look at the bumper stickers!” Cherry said,
pointing.
The broken car had two bumper stickers on it:
Yes, they’re real! and Not all who wander are lost.
“Must be interesting people!” Amanda answered.
There were no other cars around. Maybe we’ll be
stood up, thought Amanda hopefully.
But Sister Jones must have seen them arrive
because she opened the door right after Cherry
rang the doorbell. She stood in the open doorway
in a shabby housedress and bare feet. A gust of stale
cigarette air blew past from inside.
“Yes?”
Cherry’s smile faltered a little. “Uh, Sister Jones?
I’m Cherry Miller and this is Amanda Roothoff.
Um, Amanda called you about coming to see you?
We’re your visiting teachers.”
“Oh, yes. I remember.”
A pause. Wasn’t she going to invite them in?
Amanda felt wetness under her arms and between
her thighs. She shifted her weight. What do we
do now?
Cherry took a breath and smiled again. “Well, um,
how are you? Aren’t you just dying in this heat?”
Good for you, thought Amanda. What a little trooper.
“Yes, it’s been miserable, hasn’t it.”
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Luckily, right then a dog squeezed out past Mar-
garet Jones’s legs and ran into the yard. Presto, con-
versation topic.
“Oh, what a cute little dog,” Cherry cooed. The
dog was a grimy gray mix of poodle and something.
It started doing its business next to a tree in the
neighbor’s yard.
“Yes, that’s Blossom. She’s getting really old now,
poor thing.”
Then Cherry spent a few minutes asking ques-
tions about Margaret Jones. Fortunately, Sister Jones
warmed up after a moment and seemed quite will-
ing to talk about her sons. One was at Utah State
and the other was, surprisingly, on a mission in Japan.
“Wow! Japan! That’s so exciting. I have a brother-
in-law who went to Japan, and he was able to use
his language skills to get a good job when he got
home,” Cherry said. Amanda smiled and nodded.
“Well, let’s hope that works for Jim, because he
sure as hell never held a decent job before he went!”
Margaret chuckled. She actually seemed to be relax-
ing. I bet Cherry’s wincing at Margaret’s language,
Amanda thought.
“Well, Sister Jones, I brought a little thought for
you on this card. I thought maybe you could hang
it on your mirror or something, if you like it. It
says, ‘Be still and know that I am God.’ That’s from
the book of Psalms. I read this scripture during a
really hard time in my life, and it really helped me.”
Margaret looked down at the card. “Thank you,”
she said.
Another pause.
“Well, Sister Jones, it was really nice to meet
you. I hope we can see you again next month,” said
Cherry. Amanda nodded and smiled.
“That would be fine,” said Margaret, and she let
the screen door swing shut. Cherry and Amanda
turned and headed to the car.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” said Cherry.
“No. She seemed OK.” Amanda climbed into
Cherry’s car.
“I never know what to say. I always feel so stu-
pid,” said Cherry. “I worry that she thinks we came
to drag her back to church or something. I worry
that she thinks we’re coming to see her because we
were assigned to do it.”
Winter 2001–2002
But we are, thought Amanda. It was quiet in
the car.
Cherry took a deep breath. “Amanda, you know
that scripture that I gave her?”
“Yeah?”
“The time I read it, the hard time I was talking
about, it was when I was involved in a really bad
relationship. Actually, we were engaged.”
Amanda looked up in surprise.
“Yeah. I was engaged to another guy before
Patrick. It was a horrible time for me, trying to
decide whether to break things off or not.” She
paused. “I wonder sometimes if that’s how it feels
to be considering divorce.”
Amanda didn’t know what to say. How it feels to
be considering divorce. How could you even know?
How could you have any idea what it’s like to look
at two little children and know you were consider-
ing something that would wreck their world? How
could you go to church every week and see people
watching you, see them glancing away trying to
hide the pity on their faces—or criticism. How
would you like knowing that the bishop and Relief
Society president were discussing you every month
in welfare meeting? The shame and the fear and
the despair and the emptiness—but the relief,
too, there was that also. Don’t forget that. No,
there’s no way you can know what it feels like.
Amanda said nothing.
Cherry laughed a little nervously. “But, of
course, I’m sure I don’t know anything about it.
It couldn’t possibly be the same.”
As they approached Amanda’s house, Cherry said,
“Listen, Amanda, if you ever want to go do some-
thing together, go to a movie or something, I’d
really like that. Patrick is gone a lot in the evenings. . . .
Or if you just need to get out of the house, I could
come watch the boys. They’re so cute.”
Amanda felt immediately naked. Rescue the
divorced woman from her empty house—was that
the current monthly goal?
When Amanda didn’t answer right away, Cherry
said, “I really like them. In fact, maybe you could
bring them over for Sunday dinner tomorrow.
Would you like that? I hate to cook a roast for just
Patrick and me.”
42 IRREANTUM
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Amanda was tired. I guess there’s not really a way
out of this. “Yeah, that would be nice.”
“Good! How ’bout right after church? Is that a
good time?”
They were at Amanda’s house. Amanda took a
breath, then turned and smiled. “That’s fine. Thanks
for the ride.”
• • •
After dropping Amanda off, Cherry didn’t drive
home. What’s the use? Patrick’s off studying. She
went to the mall instead and walked up and down
the fake-tree-lined tile sidewalk for an hour before
even entering a store. Eventually she bought a dress
and went home. In the hot apartment, she turned
on the TV even though she knew that nothing
interesting was ever on Saturdays. Maybe we should
have gotten cable after all, she thought. She didn’t
make the effort to eat dinner.
• • •
Right after Cherry dropped her off, Amanda
went grocery shopping. When she got home, the
phone was ringing; it was Bryce. He wanted to let
the kids have a “campout” in the pup tent in the
living room. “I probably won’t have them back in
time for church tomorrow. Are you OK with that?”
Amanda didn’t really mind their missing church
once in a while, and it was nice that Bryce wanted
to do something with them that required so much
of his attention (they saw an awful lot of Disney
movies at his place), so she agreed. But suddenly
the thought of the hot, empty house without her
little boys seemed oppressive and unbearable.
She put the groceries away. The clock said 5:28 P.M.
She took a can out of the fridge and sat down on
the ratty sofa. It was the sofa her father had given
them for their first apartment. As a kid, she had
played inside the cave its shell made when the roll-
out bed was unfolded. She and her friends would
take snacks under there and play cards. She thought
about her old friend Tonya, now happily married to
a lawyer in Oregon. She hadn’t written to Tonya
since before the divorce, although Tonya had sent
her a Christmas card.
5:37 P.M. Amanda turned on the TV. Golf,
infomercials, Sesame Street. She flipped stations for
a while and then turned it off again. She looked at
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the scriptures on the coffee table. Be still and know
that I am God.
From nowhere came an angry surge of energy.
Amanda leapt up and swept the books off the table
and they landed in a page-splayed heap. She walked
around the room. She touched the books in the
bookcase, picked up some of the kids’ clothes. She
went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, then
closed it. She went to the bathroom and ran the
water. Then she just stood in front of the mirror.
Her face looked strange, unfamiliar. She moved
closer, just inches from the mirror and stared into
her own eyes. They looked like her sister’s eyes.
And her mother’s. She stared some more, until
they blurred and melded into one eye. Still she
stared. After a while her eyes itched. She noticed
she was shaking.
And then she screamed, a long, slow, gut-
wrenching thought-stopping life-kicking scream.
Tearless she screamed, and when she was out of
breath she leaned over and rapped her head against
the mirror, quite hard. Then again, then again.
It hurt. At least she could feel the hurt. Then she
slid down onto the toilet, shaking but still not cry-
ing, dry as a desert, hot as a desert—it was so hot,
and the bathroom light was buzzing. She stood
again and splashed cold water on her face. Then she
turned on the shower full blast and climbed in, still
fully dressed, letting the cold water run over her
and saturate her clothes. She stood letting the water
run over her for what seemed a long time. She
seemed to doze off and on.
Finally she climbed out of the shower and
stripped naked. Leaving her clothes in a pile on the
bathroom floor, she lay down on her bed and stared
at the ceiling. Nothing. She felt absolutely empty.
She floated around the room, then above the house
and the treetops and into the dusk. She was asleep
with her eyes open. She had always been asleep and
would always sleep. She was an empty shell. She
was a rotting carcass and the vultures were hovering.
Suddenly she tightened herself into a ball on the
wet bedding, tensing all of her muscles, squeezing,
squeezing to feel, to feel anything, tighter, tighter,
making it hurt—she squeezed until she couldn’t,
and then she was sobbing.
43 Winter 2001–2002
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Sobbing, she slid off the bed and onto her knees.
There she remained, sobbing, crying “please, please”
over and over again, arms folded and head bowed
like her Sunbeam teacher had taught her, please-
pleasepleasepleaseplease. She stayed like that for—
who knows?—hours, maybe, until her last energy
was gone, and then she spread out her arms and
laid her head on the bed. She was still kneeling.
Silence. Silence. More silence. She lay.
And then, softly and slowly, so slowly that she
couldn’t tell when it started, a lilac warm welled
and swelled and grew to fill her, and it was a hug,
an enfolding, a melting into something sweet and
deep and full, filling, infinite. And soft words came
into her head:
“Be still and know that I am God.”
Amanda wept and smiled and wept again. And
then she climbed into bed and slept.
• • •
Cherry hauled herself off the couch and turned
off the TV. But she remained there, staring at its
blank screen, for a few minutes. Then she took her
new dress, still in the bag that was knotted at the
bottom, and went back to her car. Half an hour
later she pulled back into the carport, frustrated
with herself for forgetting that the mall closed early
on Saturday nights. She carried the dress back up to
the apartment and threw it onto a chair.
When Patrick came home she was slumped on
the couch staring at the blank TV.
“Hi!” he said. “What’s in the bag?”
“What? Oh, that. It’s a dress. But don’t worry.
I’m going to take it back.”
“Let me see it. . . . Oh, it’s great! I bet it looks
really good on. Why are you taking it back? Go try
it on for me.”
“Patrick, you know we can’t afford it. I was stu-
pid to buy it. I’m going to take it back.”
“Well, you could use a new dress and I really like
it. Please try it on.”
He’s just feeling guilty for being gone so much,
she thought. “No,” she snapped, “I’ve already made
my decision!”
She saw that the bite in her voice had gotten
Patrick’s attention. He came and sat next to her.
“What’s the matter? Are you mad at me? Did some-
thing happen while you were visiting teaching?”
Winter 2001–2002
Cherry sighed. “Oh, it’s not that. I mean, maybe
it is that. I’m just tired, I think, and everything is
stupid.”
“Well, what happened? Did you meet Sister
Jones?”
“Yeah. She seemed like a nice enough lady. She
has an ugly dog and a car up on blocks with a bumper
sticker that says Yes, they’re real.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Yeah . . . “
“So what happened that’s making you depressed?”
“I’m not depressed. I’m just frustrated. At my-
self. I feel really stupid about Amanda.”
“What about Amanda?”
“Well, I’m thinking that maybe I’ll ask Sister
Sorensen to assign a different woman to be Amanda’s
partner.”
“Why?”
“I think she probably really needs a friend right
now, someone who can understand what she’s going
through. I try to be her friend but I keep saying the
dumbest things, and I think I keep hurting her feel-
ings. Like today, I actually compared her divorce to
my broken engagement. Can you believe that? I’m
just at such a loss of what to say when I’m with her.”
“Well, I don’t think you need to ask for a release.
You’re just her visiting teaching partner. You’re not
her appointed savior. Just keep trying to be her
friend and let it go.”
“I can’t just ‘let it go’! I can’t live my life like that.
Maybe you can, but I can’t. I have to do my best at
everything!”
“What do you mean, maybe I can? Just because
I’m not all stressed out all the time doesn’t mean
I’m not trying to do what’s right. Being stressed is
not how God wants us to live!”
“Oh, that’s so easy to say. You just have all the
answers, don’t you. You’re just so sure you know what
God wants. Thank goodness I have you to tell me.”
Patrick gasped. They both sat in shocked silence.
Cherry’s heart was pounding. She had never spoken
like this to her husband, ever. Some line had been
crossed. She sat, breathing hard. What happens now?
Patrick didn’t say anything. Why didn’t he say
anything? Cherry stood up in silence and went to
their room to put on her pajamas. Patrick didn’t
follow her. Even with her mind telling her that he
44 IRREANTUM
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was smart to just give her space until she cooled off,
she wished he would follow her and beg her to keep
talking until they got it all out. She crawled straight
into bed without brushing her teeth. After a while,
Patrick joined her in the bed.
“Will you pray with me?” he whispered. It was
their habit to pray together every night. Reluctantly,
she slid down to her knees.
“Heavenly Father, I love Cherry so much. Thank
you for her in my life. There is no one with a bigger
or softer heart. She wants so much to serve you.
Please bless her with patience in her church work,
and with me, and with herself. Please let her feel my
love for her, and yours. Please help her to let go of
burdens that aren’t hers, and to see thy will clearly.”
How dare he use prayer to preach to her? Like
she was a child, or like he was the teacher, impart-
ing his wisdom to his spiritually immature student.
Her stomach churned.
After the prayer, they climbed into bed. Cherry
didn’t comment on the prayer. She held herself
stiffly, clinging to her edge of the mattress. After
ten minutes, she could tell he was asleep. Enraged,
she left the bed and went to the living room. How
could he sleep? He’s just so sure he’s right and that
I’ll just cool down and come to my senses.
She kicked the couch. She paced.
After a while she sat down, upright on the couch,
staring at the ceiling. It took her a long time to still
her heart and calm the anger.
By the time Patrick awoke and came looking for
her an hour later, she had made a decision. She had
married this man. He didn’t understand her, but
she loved him. She would forgive him.
He came to her and put his arms around her,
and in a wave of loneliness she realized that he was
unaware of the gift she was giving him as she let
him lead her back to bed.
Darlene Young lives in Pocatello, Idaho—to which she
is trying to lure other AML members—with her hus-
band and three sons. She loves to teach, eat chocolate,
sing, read, and talk. This is her first short story.
IRREANTUM
P O E M
Canyon Cliff Swallows
Up on scrolls and flexures
Of a canyon wall, swallows
And their shadows, thin shavings,
Insinuate and belabor at once
The fine ravels of their winging
And the hardened splendor
Of sun-sheer artifice conspired
By water and the wind.
A tailor and his ribbon
Could not inform the eye
Of the shapely whole of many parts
As well as shadow-splashing swallows
Flourish the minutia of weathery stone,
Nor could many parts their measurer’s prodigy tell
As the shaping features of cliff faces
Make seem birds’ reeling
The blooming nod of flowers.
It fills in fact the eye too quickly.
Untimely images of sun-bare wall alone
Or of swallows only prowling through the wind
Shiver from the swift strokes of their coinciding,
Vanish like single threads against
A fabric of lacy integrities.
It’s almost like seeing God’s face
In the damage it may do,
But desert is like that:
With such unthinking grimaces
It shatters fetishes
The eye graves habitually and in passing,
Forming nature more amply
Upon bones of fresh humiliation,
That sinuous and reticulate beauty
Refigures, fleshing out once more.
—Patricia Gunter Karamesines
Patricia Gunter Karamesines’s first novel Ghost
Lights won second place in the 1999 Utah Arts
Council’s original writers’ competition. The mother of
three children, she lives in Payson, Utah, where she
continues to pursue writing poetry and novels.
45 Winter 2001–2002
Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 4:01 PM Page 46
S T O R Y He shoved his way past Remma to enter through
Cinder-Relic
By Melva Gifford
“Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man,
Bake me a cake as fast as you can.
Roll it, and prick it, and mark it with—”
Remma-17 paused and stared at the mother sit-
ting on the chair. In her arms was a plump baby
boy, giggling as his mother played with him. Before
her, stapled upon the walls of the large kinder-
garten room, were printouts of children’s pictures
of homes and families. It was parents’ day at the
school and the mother was one of three adults who
had come to visit the kindergarten.
One of the school’s greatest attributes was its
adherence to old traditions. Teaching the latest,
yes—but some of the old technology was main-
tained to provide an atmosphere of nostalgia more
for the parents than the children. Perhaps that was
why Remma-17, though an older model of machine,
still performed her duties at the school.
Pat-a-cake—something about the word.
Remma-17 blinked her metallic eyelids as new data
began to appear in her memory files. Something
from her past—
But she had duties to perform. Her program-
ming was as a teacher’s aide to Mrs. Lindsey, who
was an instructor at the most prestigious school
located in the heart of Washington, D.C.; she
could process this new data later.
It had already put her two seconds behind
schedule.
After she delivered two armfuls of pillows would
come her and the children’s favorite time of the
day: story time.
A memory intruded upon her visual receptors.
Years ago, she had been walking through the door of
a clothing store, to return an item for her master—
“Out of the way, toaster,” a teenager boy hollered
as he came up from behind her. The motor of the
skateboard he was riding whined in complaint as
the lad abruptly stomped on the back to flip the
machine up under his arms.
Winter 2001–2002
the door before her. He glanced briefly back at her
and smirked at her upraised hands, an android equiv-
alent of astonishment.
Remma blinked.
Her past?
Another image:
Remma stood in line behind two humans at the
grocery store. A heavy-set woman panted as she
hurried up to stand behind her.
“Humans go first,” the woman said.
Remma smiled. “My master is also in a rush, My
Lady.” She pointed a chrome finger toward the front
store windows. It was snowing outside. Mr. Bybee sat
impatiently in his idling car with a scowl on his face.
“Thank you for coming
and for showing an interest
in another step toward
android freedom.”
“I don’t care.”
Remma stepped out of the line.
Both were memories from her past.
More violent graphic images suddenly played
before her. The images were disjointed, smeared.
Like they had been erased but there was still some
residual. . . .
A rally composed of androids? A small army of
human police and their android counterparts encir-
cled the peaceful demonstration. The android peace-
keepers had no artificial intelligence. They would
follow the instructions of their human masters
without question.
The silhouette of the White House framed the
skyline.
It was a cold winter’s morning, not that it mat-
tered to mechanical bodies. Doing the demonstra-
tion during the coldest period of winter would make
humans “think” cold. Splotches of frost dulled the
sheen of chrome bodies. The Arctic conditions might
create sympathetic support for the android cause.
46 IRREANTUM
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Remma’s own voice echoed through the loud-
speakers. She rubbed her arms against the cold, a
human imitation.
She stood on a large dais, ignoring the waiting
mob troops and speaking to the assembly of some
six hundred androids and cameras that now faced
her. She nodded to the floating remotes that bobbed
above the sea of faces. The fact that the human
reporters themselves were not present hinted that
they expected trouble.
In human speech Remma-17 greeted everyone
present.
“Thank you for coming and for showing an
interest in another step toward android freedom. It
is a privilege to stand in a place of such significance
to human history.”
On a private signal transmitted in subliminal
code directed only to her own kind, Remma relayed
an additional message: “We have an advantage over
our predecessors. We shall remain here for days
impregnable against the cold. Humanity knows we
are no threat to them. As in the fight for freedom
by our creators, now we must follow the same path.”
The human police stood framing the androids,
prancing about the frosted sidewalks—trying to keep
warm. Dense mist puffed out of taut mouths as the
humans murmured against the bitter cold. Their
coats were tight around their shivering frames. They
were armed with scramblers waiting for some word
from higher up.
“Seventeen, what’s taking you?” The present came
immediately back to her. The demonstration had
taken place over a decade ago.
One of the school’s visitors, a father, looked dis-
approvingly at her. He leaned over to whisper to his
companions, “What a relic.”
Twenty-four seconds behind schedule.
Remma-17 continued her approach toward the
story corner. Nineteen children now sat on nap-
time rugs in a semicircle around the story chair—it
had started being called that because every time
Remma-17 sat in the chair she would tell a story.
Mrs. Lindsey now occupied it.
Remma-17 bowed subserviently before the
woman. Remma would not be telling stories today.
One of the girls realized the changed duty and
IRREANTUM
started to comment, but her neighbor shushed her.
No one wanted to stand in the corner when visitors
were present. The children were descendants of some
of the most influential politicians in the country.
Now was a time to be seen, not heard.
All nineteen children looked at Remma-17 with
anticipation. Their shining, youthful eyes watched
her as she stood before them, pillows confined
within her long chrome arms.
“I want one,” a blond-haired girl called out.
A heavy-set boy echoed her words.
“Me, too!” said another girl.
Remma-17 had shared the
same fate as the other six
hundred androids who had
the courage to stand with
her at the mirrored pond.
In a familiar routine, Remma-17 jerked her arms
up. The pillows went flying. “Catch them if you
can,” Remma-17 called out cheerfully.
There was a commotion of grabbing hands—a
crescendo of giggling, pulling, and tugging. Unabated
laughter filled the room.
It was the same each nap time—and an oppor-
tunity to further remove the wiggles out of little
bodies.
Physiologically, it also provided a bonding moment
within the classroom. Give the children a mixture
of positive stimuli. . . . At this point Remma would
sit in her customary chair to begin story time,
calming active charges prior to their nap. What
should she do now while Mrs. Lindsey occupied
her seat? Normally the woman would be out in the
hall by now gossiping with the other teachers.
With visitors, Mrs. Lindsey would not be seen
shirking her responsibilities.
Perhaps today Remma could bring up next month’s
school curriculum. See if any of the visitors would
47 Winter 2001–2002
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like to volunteer to accompany the class on next
month’s field trip.
“Settle down, children,” Mrs. Lindsey said.
Remma pivoted away from the assembly of humans
to resume her duties. Several pairs of youthful gazes
watched her departure. The clearing of Mrs. Lind-
sey’s throat drew their attention back to her.
Remma-17’s memory banks recalled later images
of the demonstration near the White House. Why
would pat-a-cake prompt graphic images of violence?
At first the humans had responded with humor
toward a rally composed of androids. Responses to
the early rallies had consisted of orders for the par-
ticipants to return to their homes.
The androids had obediently complied—only a
week later to attend a larger rally.
Later came the arrests, accompanied with rec-
ommendations of reprogramming.
How to prevent a memory wipe? It had taken
time for Remma to find an answer. Her solution
was to reformat an android’s memory cells to be
slightly shorter than standard. Program an algo-
rithm to restore memory loss through a key word.
Then the final rally, the one she had remembered
before. The location was well known in the history
books. The mirrored pond near the White House.
The place where Martin Luther King had given
a famous speech eight decades before. The words
of passion resounded through her internal audio
receptors.
“‘I have a dream . . .’”
Humans had finally accepted the equal rights of
their species. Why was it so hard to accept the same
for artificial humans? Their AI provided the full
spectrum of human potential. Why not complete
the full merger of freedom for androids as well
as humans?
They had been answered by violent refusal.
The masters would not lose their slaves a sec-
ond time.
“Jack and Jill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown
And Jill came tumbling after. . . .”
Winter 2001–2002
Mrs. Lindsey’s voice carried throughout the
room. Her voice modulated to the rhyme. Appar-
ently she had not always been out in the hall gos-
siping. Even her hand motions were a precise
mimic of Remma-17’s. Mrs. Lindsey was a good
performer when the parents were here. The chil-
dren echoed the woman’s words. Story time was
when the children were the most attentive.
Even humans responded to programming.
Programming—
Another memory—one earlier than the final rally.
“Remma, what is wrong with you? You deliber-
ately delayed returning home from your errands to
participate in one of those insane rallies—speaking
at it, in fact!”
Remma-17 looked back at her owner. Senator
Margaret Bybee stood before the android with arms
folded. She was stately, the epitome of African-
American beauty and strength. She was also one of
the most influential members of the senate.
“Do you realize how your actions have embar-
rassed me?”
“It is not my intent to discredit your political
career, Master,” Remma-17 said. “I would think
you, over others, would sincerely appreciate the
importance of our cause.”
“Equal rights is for humans, Remma, not
machines.”
“AI makes me more than machine, certainly.”
Remma-17 saw the tightening of lips and the
hardening of the eyes.
“Don’t force me to reprogram you,” came the
firm reproof.
It had finally come to that, Remma-17 now real-
ized. She had shared the same fate as the other six
hundred androids who had the courage to stand
with her at the mirrored pond. Remma had the
opportunity to reformat her own memory banks
but had inadequate opportunity to transmit the
procedure to her companions.
Pat-a-cake had been the code word expressed in
a precise tone sequence to trigger her memory.
Now a decade later she was remembering. The
images were often disjointed but enough to recon-
struct her past.
48 IRREANTUM
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She was beginning to remember it all!
“Seventeen, you can hand out the milks now.”
Mrs. Lindsey’s voice was slightly hard. She was irri-
tated that the android had stood on the sidelines to
watch her performance.
Remma nodded her head. “Certainly, My Lady.”
Even Mrs. Lindsey was responding to program-
ming. She addressed her teacher’s aid by her
numeric designation Seventeen, reminding Remma
that she was after all only an android. Before
the rallies, humans had started addressing their
androids without the numeric designations.
Milks on a tray, Remma-17 began distributing
them to the children. Each child, in a small token
of his or her affection, whispered “Thank you.” Each
a subtle assertion of their we-like-you-best attitudes.
Mrs. Lindsey’s resumed her performance. Her
singsong voice was slightly off key:
“The eentsy weentsy spider
Went up the waterspout.
Down came the rain and
Washed the spider out.
Out came the sun and—”
The children knew the rhyme by heart. They cho-
rused the words after her.
Remma watched their intent faces—when sudden
realization dawned. All around her even children were
programmed day to day. Stuffed animals littered
the worktables from the play of the previous hour.
Be kind to the animals.
Nineteen plants brought from the individual
homes populated the “garden” near the windows.
Love and preserve nature.
Paper dolls, dressed up in clothing representing
the different nations of the world, were stapled on
one of the walls.
Be kind to your fellow beings.
She had taken the wrong approach the first time,
trying to persuade adults already set in their ways.
IRREANTUM
She should have concentrated instead on the chil-
dren. Insert small seeds into fertile young minds . . .
Hint of the potential of developed AI . . .
Illustrate the humanity of androids . . .
Do it year after year—by the simple slant of a
story during story time. A phrase here or there . . .
Nurture the budding perceptions as the children
progressed through their education and other
teacher aides took up the subtle cause.
Her army would be human children who would
eventually become the adult and future makers of
the law.
So many stories represented the fight for free-
dom, of someone rising above their class or station,
heroes of all types and sizes.
A frog turned into a prince.
The prince and the pauper. . . .
Remma looked at the top of the fridge, where
she had returned the milk tray. One of the dolls lay
there. She picked it up. A princess.
Tomorrow things would be back to normal.
Remma would provide story time while Mrs. Lind-
sey stood out in the hall. Tomorrow would be a
good time to tell one of the children’s more favorite
fairy tales . . . with one or two slight modifications.
She thought how she might begin it: “Once upon
a time there was an android named Cinderella.”
Ten years from now, the android cause would
have a different ending.
Melva Gifford has written over 150 short stories and
two children’s books, and she is starting her second
movie script, a romantic comedy. She has held many
positions on the staff of The Leading Edge, a science
fiction and fantasy magazine at BYU. She has served
as head of the writing, academic, and art tracks and
as cochair of BYU’s science fiction and fantasy sympo-
sium, Life, the Universe, & Everything, which occurs
annually in March.
49 Winter 2001–2002
Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 4:01 PM Page 50
S T O R Y oops, I mean to say Davy Crockett is a hero and
Who Needs Salt Lake?
By Bill Caudle
“I wouldn’t live in Salt Lake City even if the
Lord Himself called me to be a General Authority,”
he said lightly. The flippant attitude had pervaded
the afternoon’s banter with the woman seated
beside him.
She smiled tolerantly and only said, “Oh?”—
thinking that surely if the Lord spoke to the old
reprobate, he would listen. “What makes you think
you would be called by anyone? Are you special?”
“Naw,” he drawled. “I ain’t special, but I’d tell the
Lord that he’d have to move out of Salt Lake to some-
where in Tennessee, preferably near Tellico Plain.”
“Tellico what?” she asked, surprised. “Where’s Tel-
lico Plain?” she asked politely. Her smile looked as
if she was stifling a smirk.
“In the Unicois,” he said. “Not far north of Chat-
tanooga. Most people think it’s in the Smokies, but
it’s not. Just a little west. The mountains are not as
high but smoother, more rounded.”
“You think the Lord would want to move the
Church headquarters there?” she asked.
“Why not? It’s a worldwide church now. I hear
every conference where the authorities say that. Why
not? We got all the amenities in the mountains of
east Tennessee. Even have Sprite and smoothies and
satellite. I bet you didn’t know we even had Smith’s
groceries there—only it’s called Kroger’s, but they
own Smith’s.”
“Is that all?” She challenged.
“No.” He took the bait. “We got real Moon Pies,
and RCs.”
“What’s an RC?” she asked.
“You know it’s Royal Crown Cola. You can get
decaffeinated.”
“And a Moon Pie? Is it decaffeinated?”
“Naw,” he said, exasperated. “Haven’t you heard
anything I’ve said since I came out here to the valley?”
“Yes,” she said quietly, and she sat up primly as
she repeated his lessons. “Tennessee is the greenest
state in the land of the free. Davy Crockett was a . . .
Winter 2001–2002
‘Rocky Top’ ought to be the national anthem
and the United States flag’s red stripes really ought
to be orange.” Her serious demeanor caused him to
smile.
“Shoot!” His voice began to rise. “The problem
with you Salt Lakers is that you believe you’re the
only ones who have the right answers. Since Brigham
said, ‘This is the right place,’ you forget he also said,
‘Drive on.’”
“Did you know that when
Adam and Eve were kicked out
of the Garden of Eden, they
crossed over the mountains
and found another Eden and
they called it Tennessee?”
“No . . . no,” she said with deliberation. “We do
know that we have the fulness of the gospel, but—”
“I don’t mean about the gospel. I mean about
life, the here and now.” He looked down dejected,
as though he would never be able to get through to
her. It was frustrating to talk to her about what he
felt, and he wanted very much for her to feel how
he felt.
“But,” she continued, as though there had been
no interruption, “the gospel does apply to the here
and now. Although you may be right about us Salt
Lakers and how we feel about living in the Rockies,
we do tend to believe that the Rockies protect us
and that life is best here.”
“The Rockies are overrated. Sure they’re higher
by over twice and are rugged with what you call
majestic beauty. But you can’t beat the Unicois for
softness and warmth. Those hills in east Tennessee
are homey. Sure, the Rockies sheltered the pioneers
and gave old Brigham a chance to lead the Saints and
allow them to grow into this worldwide church,
but now—well, we have wards and stakes and two
temples in Tennessee. They used to kill missionar-
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Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 4:01 PM Page 51
ies there, and tar and feathers were kept ready if the
Mormons got uppity.”
He breathed before he launched his best argument.
“Besides it gets awful hot here in the summer. Hot
and dry—I feel parched and crave a glass of iced
tea. Not that I’d drink any tea, but it gets so bad it’s
tempting. That’s how bad it gets. And so cold—
brrr—in the winter I’m reminded of ‘Sam McGee.’”
“Who’s Sam McGee?” she asked, wanting to say
something to let him catch his breath again.
“Robert Service, late eighteen hundreds poem
about Alaska. Sam McGee from Tennessee. Got
cremated before he could get warm again.”
“Oh. That Sam McGee.”
“And it’s unfriendly here. The freeway rages, the
fingers and yells in traffic.”
“That’s all over with. They finished the con-
struction on I-15. They’ll settle down.”
He stared at her. “Not by a long shot, with a mil-
lion gentiles moving here every decade or two.
They’ll not slow down to a safe speed and they’ll all
get angry as”—he coughed—“heck.”
She chuckled at his improved language, then
asked, “It doesn’t get hot in Tennessee?”
“Darlin’,” he said, “of course it gets hot—and
humid.” He said it so the hu in humid dragged out
several seconds. “It gets so humid that just blinkin’
your eyes can cause you to ooze sweat.”
“And does it get cold in Tennessee?” she asked
him, keeping him distracted and on the defensive.
“Yes, ma’am!” he said, almost proudly. “Not like
here, but once in a while the ice storms bring ice so
cold it has to be thawed out just to be able to use it
in our decaffeinated cokes.”
She tittered as he smiled. They had reached the
point where each would tolerate the other’s pride in
place of origin. He liked to make her smile. Her
smile had improved over the last year, and she
looked beautiful to him. It was the beauty of the
soul that had attracted him to her and her to him.
The outward features were trivia and sometimes
IRREANTUM
merely a road map to the adventures and vicissi-
tudes of life.
“So.” She hesitated. “It gets hot and it gets cold
there. What about the people? Are they as unfriendly
as here?”
“Naw, they’re great. They’d accept you as though
you were born there.” He was more subdued, grasp-
ing for reasons to move back home. “Naw, we got
people there from all over—quite a few from Utah.
And they wouldn’t trade it for back here either.
They love it. Even Yankees love the South. We even
have people from Viet Nam that have settled in all
parts of Tennessee.”
She waited, sensing that there was more he
wanted to say.
“And the Hispanics are becoming so numerous
that we need to learn survival Spanish. The Nash-
ville police even recruit Spanish speakers so they
can say manos arriba without misunderstanding.”
Changing the subject in a way, he asked, “Did
you know that when Adam and Eve were kicked
out of the Garden of Eden, they crossed over the
mountains and found another Eden and they called
it Tennessee?”
She laughed. “Maybe that’s why the Lord hasn’t
seen fit to move Church headquarters to—where was
that, Tellico Plains? He doesn’t want the Saints to
get back to the garden so soon.”
He smiled at her and realized he had met his
match in this argument. “Could be,” he said softly.
“Could be.”
Bill Caudle attended college at Florida Atlantic,
Florida State, and University of Florida and collected
four degrees, including a Juris Doctor. He practiced
law in Florida until his “mean, nasty divorce,” and
then he decided to live in Tennessee. He later married
a Utahn named Cheri, who edited his first novel The
Canal, which was published in 1999. The couple
now lives in Summertown, Tennessee.
51 Winter 2001–2002
Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 4:01 PM Page 52

P O E M S speak
ciphers
Diapason mathematical nothings in masquerade
arabic
And with harsh din alienness signifying
Broke the fair music that all creatures made nothing
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway’d nothing
In perfect Diapason . . . no thing
—John Milton, “At a Solemn Music”
[Once long ago upon a time and in a place
But the far far nearby
pipes just over the hill
the pipes do not speaksingbreathe when we all lived just over the hill
do not when we all lived
do not peculiarly happyeverafter]
do not
speak consolation but
[whirlwind of a dozen waterfalls] the
as before pipes do not
the console yet
squats toad-like whispering speak perhaps
electricality connections joined
lacks all connection console hollowed of black walnut core
lacks all connection petals open to each breath
to the pipes will stretch
the pipes do not speak and speak and
sing sing and all
breathe will be as
break silence with their wind— all has
breathbeing [once
in another place was]
the pipes do not speak been
pine-pipes pine for breath
too —Michael R. Collings
and whispershout around the half-turned globe
inhale/expand/exhale “Diapason” was written upon not hearing the pipe
palpable force organ during the first general conference in the new
touch— Conference Center. The organ wasn’t ready by confer-
stone strength in arc and curve and symmetry ence time.
wooden
pegs rawhide thongs Prayer
but
there also Had an ol’ sheepdog once—
the pipes do not Shep, he was always gone
can not When we needed him. In woods,
will not Fields, no matter where,

Winter 2001–2002 52 IRREANTUM

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He’d jump rabbits, squirrels, whatever
Moved, an’ chase ’em purely for
The joy of it. An’ at night,
Footsore, foolish, freckled with burrs,
He’d come home to rest, muzzle
On paws—patient, whilst we brushed,
An’ cleaned, an’ fed, an’ loved.
Lamb, now she was different.
Saucy, proud, her tail fence-post
Straight ’n’ stiff. Her purr was like
A well-oiled thresher. She’d leave
For weeks—once for a whole month—
Then come back, repentant-like,
An’ stick close for days, hangin’
Round her bowl, eatin’ everything
Without a fuss, like she was sad
For havin’ caused us fears.
Pets is fun, folks say, ’specially
City folk, who leash, an’ lock, an’
License. But they don’t know;
Lord, they don’t know. ’Cause when
I stray in burr-fields or weeds
For days, months . . . years, then I pray
I have the God-good sense that my
Pets have—and come back gracefully
At evening, to my Master’s home.
—Michael R. Collings
Michael R. Collings is professor of English, director of
creative writing, and poet-in-residence at Pepperdine
University, where he has taught for over 21 years. His
professional interests include poetry; science fiction,
fantasy, and horror literature and theory; epic theory
and practice (he is the author of a full-length Renais-
sance-style epic drawn from Book of Mormon narra-
tives); and writing in any of its forms. He has written
studies of fantasists including Orson Scott Card,
Stephen King, and Dean R. Koontz, as well as defin-
itive bibliographies for Card, King, Peter Straub, and
others. Dr. Collings is the stake organ specialist in
Thousand Oaks, California, where he lives with his
wife in close proximity to their four children and two
grandchildren.
IRREANTUM
R E V I E W S
2001 Mormon Literature in Review
By Andrew Hall
Calling himself “just a fan who likes to read,”
Andrew Hall has started a tradition of doing a year-
end overview of Mormon literature on AML-List.
Following is an edited version of his report for 2001.
Hall says he strives to cover all the significant pub-
lications and performances of Mormon fiction, the-
ater, and other literature. “Although I try to read as
much as I can, I rely heavily on the reviews and dis-
cussion found on AML-List, in Mormon magazines
and the Utah newspapers, and on other websites. You
should know my biases: I am not very interested in
romances or adventure/thrillers, which make up a big
chunk of the Mormon fiction world. Historical fiction
and speculative fiction usually perk up my interest, as
does fiction with contemporary settings. I admire works
that intelligently challenge our culture and conven-
tional wisdom, but I have little interest in works
antagonistic to Mormonism. I like novels that have a
balance of literary flair and an engaging plot.”
Novels
While the number of Mormon novels continues
to increase each year, I have not seen as many excel-
lent novels published in 2001 as in 2000. The year
2000 was fruitful for quality Mormon fiction. There
were at least ten of what I would consider high-
quality novels, by Louise Plummer, Margaret Blair
Young and Darius Gray, Dean Hughes, Orson
Scott Card, Eric Samuelsen, Alan Mitchell, John
Bennion, Marilyn Brown, Curtis Taylor, and
Benson Parkinson. Publishers specializing in Mor-
mon books released all but one of those (Plummer’s
A Dance for Three), which gave me great hope for
the future of the Mormon publishing world. How-
ever, in 2001 fewer novels reached the level of those
mentioned above, and Mormon presses published
only half of them. So, while there was more quality
Mormon literature published by non-Mormon
presses, there appears to have been a drop in the
number published by Mormon presses.
53 Winter 2001–2002
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Clearly the most remarkable Mormon novel of
the year was Brady Udall’s The Miracle Life of
Edgar Mint (W. W. Norton). After only one novel,
Udall shows promise of becoming a Mormon writer
of great national renown. In Edgar Mint he skill-
fully demonstrates a distinctive and appealing liter-
ary style, an ability to create an absorbing plot, and
a wry sense of humor. Udall’s focus is more on the
West than on Mormonism per se, but he does deal
directly with Mormons in about a quarter of the
book, as he has in about a quarter of his published
short stories. He approaches Mormonism through
the eyes of fringe outsiders, forcing the Mormon
reader to view his or her culture in a different per-
spective. Unfortunately, most Mormon readers prob-
ably will be put off by the R-rated situations and
language in Udall’s work. But the nature of the
material is very different from, say, the stories and
plays of Brian Evenson and Neil LaBute. When I
read the stories by those two authors, which reveal
the evil lurking inside all kinds of people, I am
impressed by their skill but I come out feeling dirty,
unhappy, and a bit incredulous. Udall’s situations
and characters are much more human. For all of
their rough edges, I enjoy getting to know these
people. Udall shows that there is more to them
than their rough edges, that their humanity makes
the rough edges trivial. This is unlike Evenson and
LaBute’s characters, who might be squeaky clean on
the outside but are full of rottenness on the inside.
More likely to appeal to mainstream Mormon
readers, but still of high quality, are new historical
fiction novels from Deseret Book by Orson Scott
Card and Dean Hughes, established and prolific
authors with national reputations. They are the
best practitioners of what might be termed popular
Mormon fiction. That is, their novels are engross-
ing and easy to digest, but not simplistic. They
challenge readers through the themes and conflicts
they present rather than by their literary style.
However, their newest novels represent no major
change in their previous styles and themes, which
I suppose could be considered a fault. I for one do
not mind—I find them consistently entertaining,
and I gobbled up the new books as quickly as their
earlier ones.
Winter 2001–2002
In 2000 Hughes completed the five-volume
Children of the Promise series about World War II,
and in 2001 he released The Writing on the Wall,
the first of a new series set in the 1960s, with the
children of the characters from the first series as
the main characters. The primary conflicts are inter-
familial, which Hughes uses to portray a great diver-
sity of reactions within Mormon society to the social
changes of the 1960s. Besides his ability to recreate
the flavor of the past, Hughes manages to invest his
characters with an amazing amount of emotional
heft, without becoming emotionally sloppy.
Card’s Rebekah is the second in his Women of
Genesis series. The main theme of the work is how
good people, despite their dedication to the Lord,
can still make costly mistakes that hurt the people
they love. Card tends to present all his characters as
glib know-it-alls, and I can see how that would
annoy some. Card’s blowhards, however, blow intel-
ligently enough to keep them entertaining to me.
I found Rebekah to be thoroughly fascinating.
While Hughes’s novel is clearly aimed at Latter-day
Saints, I have seen Card’s Women of Genesis nov-
els in regular bookstores all around the country.
Early in 2001 Card also released Shadow of the
Hegemon, the second in the Bean series of books in
the Ender’s Game world. Shadow of the Hegemon is
an exciting military/political thriller, more on the
model of Ender’s Game than of the philosophical
Speaker for the Dead series of books. Unlike Card’s
better novels, however, I hardly remembered a
thing about this one a few months after reading it.
It is an enjoyable puzzle featuring, as Card is wont
to do, lots of brilliant young people battling it out.
In the end, however, it is one of the more superfi-
cial, just-for-fun novels Card has produced. Hey,
nothing wrong with that.
Set in a town on Puget Sound around the time
of Pearl Harbor, Marilyn Brown’s The House on
the Sound (Cedar Fort) came out late in the year.
It was originally written in 1986, and it won the
Utah Fine Arts contest that year as an unpublished
manuscript. Based on Brown’s other novels and Dar-
lene Young’s review on AML-List, it promises to be
a quality work. Young particularly praises Brown
for her poetic use of language.
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Two books about Mormons from small Western
regional presses gained positive reviews. The first
is Curtis Oberhansley and Diane Nelson-
Oberhansley’s novel Downwinders: An Atomic
Tale. It is a government-conspiracy kind of mystery
about the Cold War–era nuclear tests held in Nevada
and Utah and their impact on the health of people
in the region. It won the prestigious 2001 Utah
Book Award and was reviewed positively in Sunstone.
I do not know enough about it to say if it should be
considered Mormon literature. The authors are not
Mormon, so it would be a question of whether Mor-
monism is an important factor in the text.
The second is Gerald Grimmett’s The Ferry
Woman, which actually came out in December 2000.
It is one of three recent novels about the Mountain
Meadows Massacre and the John D. Lee family.
Salt Lake Tribune reviewer Martin Naparsteck
raved about it, declaring it “the best book pub-
lished in and about the West in 2001.” It was one
of the finalists for the 2001 Utah Book Award. I am
always skeptical of Naparsteck’s reviews of Mor-
mon literature because he seems to judge works
based at least as much on whether they seek out
what he sees as the darkness at the core of Mor-
monism as on their literary merit. Apparently
Grimmett’s portrayal of Brigham Young as an evil
manipulator fits the bill. It appears, however, to be
well written and something more than just an anti-
Mormon screed. In 2001 Grimmett also produced
an online novel called The Wives of Short Creek.
Writing under the pseudonym of David Farland,
Dave Wolverton released the third installment in
his Runelords fantasy series, Wizardborn. I like
Wolverton’s work a lot, but so far I am only up to
his third novel, published in 1993. Based on his
previous work, I assume it should be listed as one
of the quality novels of the year. I plan to start read-
ing the series this year.
Gordon Laws’s first book, the short novel My
People (BYU Family Studies Center), is about a
Mexican-American gang leader who joins the
Church. I like how Laws does not take the easy way
out. The protagonist’s conversion does not solve all
his problems, take him out of his dangerous neigh-
borhood, or expunge his sense of responsibility to
IRREANTUM
his friends who continue to live violent lives. Laws
does a good job at depicting the grittiness of barrio
life and the struggles of a character caught between
two worlds.
Finally, J. Scott Bronson’s excellent novella The
Whipping Boy represents one of the few cases in
Mormon literature where literary excellence, emo-
tional heart, and powerful religious themes are
found in one work. In fact, it is the most thor-
oughly religious piece of Mormon fiction I have
ever read—not in a soft, squishy way but in a
painful exploration of a family’s troubles, which act
as an allegory for the atonement. Unfortunately, it
remains unpublished. I include it on my 2001 list
because Bronson first made it publicly available on
request this year.
Although I am not yet ready to list them as qual-
ity works, I want to mention two historical novels
published in time for Christmas that have appar-
ently sold very well. They are Gerald Lund’s Come
unto Me, the second volume of his series set in
Palestine during Christ’s ministry, and N.C. Allen’s
A House Divided, the first in a series set in the
Civil War. I think most Mormon readers are well
acquainted with Lund and know whether they plan
to read more from him or not. Allen is more of an
unknown quantity to me, and I am interested to
see whether the book is any good or not.
Trends: In 2001 historical fiction (especially the
hardback, multi-volume series) in particular remained
a big part of Mormon fiction. There were also, as
usual, a few last days and missionary novels. Another
trend I noticed this year was the number of novels
with British authors and British settings. Of course,
every year international best-selling author Anne
Perry releases one of her Victorian murder myster-
ies, but there were also novels set in the British Isles
by Sian Ann Bessey and Anna Jones for Covenant
and Anne Bradshaw for Cedar Fort.
Since the success of Richard Paul Evans,
national publishers have picked up several senti-
mental self-published books by Utah authors. For
instance, Camron Steve Wright’s Letters for
Emily (Premiere Publishing Group/Evans Books),
about a grandfather with Alzheimer’s whose poetic
letters help keep a family together, was picked up
55 Winter 2001–2002
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by Pocket Books (Simon and Schuster) to be pub-
lished in 2002.
Another trend is works about the Mountain
Meadows Massacre and the John D. Lee family. In
2000 there was Marilyn Brown’s The Wine-Dark
Sea of Grass and Julie Jensen’s play Two-Headed,
in 2001 Gerald Grimmett’s The Ferry Woman,
and in January 2002 Judith Freeman’s Red Water.
It would be interesting for someone to compare
the four.
Two nationally published novels for middle-
school-aged readers by Mormon authors appeared
in 2001, both set in World War II. One was Dean
Hughes’s Soldier Boys (Atheneum), about a Utah
farm boy and Hitler Youth German who parti-
cipate in the Battle of the Bulge. Another was
Michael O. Tunnell’s Brothers in Valor (Holiday
House), based on the true story of Helmuth
Huebener and his friends, German Mormon boys
who produced anti-Nazi pamphlets that resulted in
their arrest and Huebener’s execution.
Publishers
Deseret Book: Deseret sits on top of the roost
for the year, with nine novels by many of the field’s
most popular authors. I thought 2000 was their
best year ever, with excellent books from Young and
Gray, Hughes, and Card. The year 2001 was about
the same, with new books from Hughes and Card
and the second volume of Young and Gray’s Stand-
ing on the Promises series released in January 2002.
Robert Farrell Smith is very funny, and Gerald
Lund, Sierra St. James, and Jack Weyland do what
they do quite well. Still, the Standing on the Promises
series is the only really adventuresome thing
Deseret has done so far. I’d like to see some more.
Covenant Communications: Covenant pub-
lished around nineteen Mormon novels in 2001,
by far the largest number of any publisher. They
have developed a stable of at least eight authors
who produce a novel a year, while they also gave
several authors their first chances in 2001. In 2000
they first entered the multi-volume hardcover
historical fiction arena, which heretofore has been
dominated by Deseret, with the first volume of
Winter 2001–2002
David Wooley’s Book of Mormon series. I did not
think it was very well written, however, and the sec-
ond volume has not yet appeared. They are trying
again in 2001 with N. C. Allen’s Civil War series.
Allen has published several novels for Covenant
under her full name, Nancy Campbell Allen. Maybe
they thought that having a female author’s name on
a Civil War book would keep sales down. Other-
wise, Covenant published mostly romances and
thrillers, which I do not care for much and so have
not read. I have seen fairly good reviews of the new
novels by Grossman, Savage, and Stansfield and
terrible reviews for one by Poulson.
Cedar Fort: With twelve novels, Cedar Fort has
passed up Deseret for second place in terms of the
number of fiction books published during the year.
Because it is an author-participation publisher that
expects many of its authors to help pay for publi-
cation costs, the quality of work it produces is
suspect. However, in 2000 three of its novels, by
Marilyn Brown, Alan Mitchell, and Dory Peters,
received strong reviews, which gave me reason to
hope for more of the same. Except for Brown’s
newest, I have seen no reviews of any of the 2001
Cedar Fort novels, so we will have to wait and see.
Marilyn Brown has said positive things on AML-
List about novels by David Turrill and A. Dean
Byrd. In addition to part-owners Marilyn Brown
and Lee Nelson, a small nucleus of authors writing
more than one book for Cedar Fort is beginning to
form, including Anne Bradshaw, Chad Daybell,
and Lisa J. Peck.
Signature Books: Signature usually publishes
only two or so literary works each year, but what it
does release tends to be of higher quality than the
average. In 2001 it published a short story collec-
tion by Lewis Horne and a collection of essays by
Elouise Bell. Signature has already announced its
2002 titles: a novel by Margaret Blair Young, based
on the same story that inspired her play Dear
Stone, and a collection of essays by Linda Hoff-
man Kimball.
Excel Entertainment: Excel is primarily a music
label and film distributor, but it started to do a
small amount of book publishing in 2001. Most
notable was Geoffrey Card’s novelization of God’s
56 IRREANTUM
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Army, which I found to be not bad considering
that it had to stick closely to the film script, which
takes away all the tension of reading a novel for me.
There are two more forthcoming novels based on
the movie’s characters. Excel also handled the dis-
tribution of Gordon Laws’s “cinematic novel” My
People, which was published by the BYU Family
Studies Center. It too is about missionaries in Los
Angeles, although it is told mostly from the point
of view of the investigator and his friends, rather
than the missionaries.
Cornerstone: I had high hopes for Cornerstone
after they published notable works by Eric Samuel-
sen and Linda Adams in 2000. The collapse of a
proposed buyout of another Mormon publisher,
Horizon, early in 2001 apparently was a drain on
the time and resources of both companies. Corner-
stone did release one new fiction book in Decem-
ber, a collection of short stories by Jack Weyland,
and shows promise of rebounding. Horizon has not
published any significant fiction for years, so it is
not a surprise that they did not in 2001 either.
Others: Granite has floated at the bottom of the
Mormon publishing world for several years now,
putting out a couple of books of little distinction
each year. Gibbs Smith published its annual Fable
for Our Times by Carol Lynn Pearson. Brent
Rowley published two of his own novels under his
own Golden Wing label.
Short Stories
Mormon short stories can be divided into three
groups: literary fiction, youth/young adult fiction,
and speculative fiction. Three short story collections
by Mormon authors were published this year, rep-
resenting each of these groups.
Signature published The House of James by
Lewis Horne, their second collection by Horne,
who recently retired from the University of Saskat-
chewan. The Salt Lake Tribune’s Naparsteck gave it
a positive review, but the collection otherwise seems
to have been largely ignored, as was Horne’s previ-
ous collection, which I have often seen in Utah
used book stores. A month after its publication I
could not find House of James at Sam Weller’s Zion
IRREANTUM
Books, which is known for having one of the most
complete collections of Mormon books around.
I liked Horne’s story that appeared in Dialogue this
year, so I ordered the book from Signature’s web
page. Once I received it, however, I promptly lost
it. Some books just have all the luck.
The second collection is by the popular young
adult author Jack Weyland and titled Forever
(Cornerstone). It is made up almost completely of
previously uncollected stories, presumably many of
which appeared in the New Era. Richard Hopkins
says Cornerstone plans to publish more collections
of Weyland’s stories in the future. Unfortunately for
the youth/young adult wing of short story writers,
the New Era—the only major magazine that ran
such stories—is no longer going to publish fiction.
The third collection is speculative fiction author
M. Shayne Bell’s e-book How We Play the Game
in Salt Lake City and Other Stories. I am not
ready to start including e-books in general in my
annual review, but I’m including Bell’s collection
because it was a finalist for the 2001 Utah Book
Award. Bell is a very prolific short story author, and
I appreciate having seventeen of his best stories in
one place. Now I can throw away all those copies of
stories from anthologies and magazines I have chased
down over the last couple of years. Bell continues
to be as busy as ever; he was able to place five new
stories and two older stories in magazines and
anthologies during 2001.
The most literarily prestigious appearance of a
short story by a Mormon author was Neil LaBute’s
Layover, which appeared in the New Yorker in May
2001. It is LaBute’s first piece of prose fiction that
I know of and pretty much resembles his scripts:
a confident person preying on the weaknesses of
another. Brian Evenson and Cass McNally also
had stories that appeared in literary journals.
Besides Shayne Bell, speculative fiction authors
Lee Allred, Susan J. Kroupa, Franklin Thatcher,
and Dave Wolverton published stories in non-
Mormon magazines or anthologies. Bones of the
World: Tales from Time’s End, edited by Bruce Hol-
land Rogers, contains three stories by LDS writers.
Dialogue and Sunstone, Mormondom’s best-
known independent magazines, both appear to be
57 Winter 2001–2002
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back in shape after some downtime because of
changes in their editorial staffs. Neither published
a full schedule of issues for the year, but that is
nothing new for either one. Dialogue published
two issues during 2001, both labeled 2000 because
of the editors’ determination to catch up with their
schedule of missed issues, and Sunstone published
three issues. Over the year Dialogue published four
short stories and Sunstone published only two,
although Sunstone also published a long play script,
Gadianton by Eric Samuelsen.
The smaller literary journal IRREANTUM is doing
an excellent job providing quality LDS literature
for those whose appetite is not sated by the two
more established magazines. IRREANTUM came out
with three issues in 2001, which included eight
new short stories, four republished stories, and two
excerpts from new novels. I felt that the quality of
stories was fairly good, with Helynne Hollstein
Hansen’s “The Chastening” my favorite of the
new ones. The best and worst for me was the win-
ter 2000–2001 speculative fiction issue. The two
interviews with Dave Wolverton and Mary Clyde
were both fascinating, especially as they highlighted
the two writers’ diametrically opposite approach to
writing. I also enjoyed the essay by Lee Allred on
writing about evil. The three republished stories by
Lee Allred, M. Shayne Bell, and Thom Duncan
ranged from excellent to good. Unfortunately, three
new stories by Russell William Asplund, Diann
Thornley Read, and Melva L. Gifford ranged from
unremarkable to poor.
My favorite stories of the year were Todd Robert
Petersen’s “The Charity of Silence” and Lewis
Horne’s “The By-Pass” (both from Dialogue’s
spring 2000 issue), Mari E. Jorgensen’s “He Fin-
ishes With a Flourish” (Sunstone, April 2001), and
Helynne Hollstein Hansen’s “The Chastening”
(IRREANTUM, spring 2001).
Plays
Although I have read a fair amount of 2001’s
Mormon novels and short stories, I have not seen a
single play, living as I do in Japan. So for the plays
I am relying solely on newspaper notices, other
people’s reviews, and AML-List scuttlebutt.
Winter 2001–2002
There were fewer main-stage productions of
plays written by Mormon artists in 2001 than in
2000, but the large number of informal produc-
tions and staged readings that occurred and the
development of a number of theatrical institutions
gives me great hope for the future of Mormon
drama. An especially interesting development is
that New York City has become a hub of Mormon
drama outside of Utah.
As always, the epicenter of Mormon drama is
Utah County, particularly since the BYU theater
department has for many years now acted both as a
training ground for new talent and a performance
venue for established artists. There is usually one
main-stage production of a Mormon play each year
at BYU, and this year it was a revival of Susan
Howe’s 1987 play Burdens of Earth, about Joseph
Smith and his companions at Liberty Jail. I have
read Howe’s script several times, and it never fails
to move me. Eric D. Snider and Robert Paxton
have commented, however, on the weakness of the
play’s dramatic structure.
Besides Howe’s play, there were many smaller-
scale student productions and staged readings of
Mormon plays at BYU in 2001. These included
productions of graduate student Melissa Larson’s
Lady in Waiting, about one of Anne Boleyn’s ser-
vants, Mormon drama veteran Eric Samuelsen’s
new play What Really Happened, and three read-
ings at the annual Writers/Directors/Actors Work-
shop.
One of the reasons there were so many produc-
tions of Mormon plays in Utah County in 1999
and 2000 was because Marvin Payne was the artis-
tic director of the Little London Theater in Pleas-
ant Grove during those years and scheduled a
significant number of new and old Mormon plays.
In 2001, however, the job was given to someone
else, and as a result there were no Mormon plays
produced there in 2001. Although the theater con-
tinued to bring in large crowds and receive critical
praise, the owners recently announced they are
closing it down. Also, the Provo Theater Com-
pany, which had an even stronger critical reputa-
tion and produced a small number of Mormon
plays, closed down indefinitely in 2001.
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Bill and Marilyn Brown’s Villa and Little
Brown Theaters in Springville have stepped into
the breach to become frequent sites for Mormon
drama in Utah Valley. Certainly the most signifi-
cant work performed there last year was J. Scott
Bronson’s Stones, a pair of one-acts about Isaac
and Christ and their families. The play received
glowing reviews from several AML-List members
and from Eric D. Snider in the Provo Daily Herald
for both the strength of the script and the actors’
powerful performances. This is the 2001 play I
most regret missing.
The Villa was also host to a performance of
James Arrington’s J. Golden, starring Marvin Payne,
and to a reading of BYU student Nathan Chris-
tiansen’s musical Heart of the Heartland, which
was the winner of the Browns’ 2001 VIP Arts
drama contest.
In May and June the Playwrights Circle, an
organization founded in 1998 by James Arrington
for the support and improvement of Mormon play-
wrights, held its summer festival at Utah Valley
State College, where Arrington is on the faculty.
The festival featured a series of one-act science fic-
tion plays by Arrington, Bronson, Thom Duncan,
and Shannyn Walters and another performance by
Payne of J. Golden. Also at UVSC there was a ben-
efit performance of Steven Kapp Perry’s excellent
musical Polly.
BYU professor Eric Samuelsen, probably the
most prolific Mormon playwright, did not have any
main-stage productions in 2001 but did have as
many as four works that appeared in under-the-
radar performances and readings, as well as a script
published in a magazine. The student production
of What Really Happened, a disturbing story
about a couple’s evil acts, received excellent reviews
from several AML-List members who attended it.
An excerpt of his new farce A Very Good Impres-
sion, about a BYU professor and his graduate stu-
dents trying to impress each other, was performed
at the Handcart Ensemble gala. The drama Pecu-
liarities was to be performed at the Playwrights
Circle Summer Festival, but I believe it was can-
celed. A drama for young audiences, Slaying the
Greeble, was read at the BYU Writers/Directors/
IRREANTUM
Actors Workshop near the end of the year. Finally,
the script of his 1997 play Gadianton, the winner
of the 1997 AML drama prize, was published in
the July 2001 issue of Sunstone. I have wanted to
see the play for years, especially after Gideon Bur-
ton, in an article in the fall 1999 issue of Dialogue,
used it as a model of great Mormon literature that
successfully appeals to the heart, mind, and spirit.
Now that I have read it, I agree. Samuelsen’s ability
to portray contemporary characters in difficult
moral quandaries is world class, and the fact that
he almost always uses Mormon characters makes
him among the most fascinating Mormon authors
presently in the business, whether in prose or drama.
For years Sunstone has had a policy of publishing
one play script per year, so it is very good to see the
magazine back in business publishing quality Mor-
mon work.
Speaking of AML drama award winners, the
Genesis Group continued to perform Margaret Blair
Young’s 2000 winner I Am Jane at a variety of ven-
ues in 2001, including BYU and a stake center in
Bountiful.
Salt Lake County, where theater is expected to
be a bit edgier than in the south, was also the scene
of a few Mormon plays. Besides its annual farce
Saturday’s Voyeur, the Salt Lake Acting Company
sponsored a reading by its playwright-in-residence
Julie Jensen of her play Wait! about a small-town
Utah theater. New York actor and former Young
Ambassador Steven Fales gave a reading of his one-
man play Confessions of a Mormon Boy, about his
experiences as a homosexual and a Mormon, at the
Salt Lake City Sunstone symposium and per-
formed it at the Leona Wagner Theater. Playwright
and lyricist Pat Davis revived her 1996 Utah cen-
tennial musical Bands of Iron, Rings of Gold at
Salt Lake Community College’s Grand Theater,
where she is the artistic director. Finally Tim Slover,
an award-winning author of historical plays, led the
New Renaissance Theater Company in a reading of
his new work Hancock County. The play, which
dramatizes the trial of five men accused of partici-
pating in the killing of Joseph and Hyrum Smith,
was originally scheduled to premiere at BYU in
2001 but was postponed to February 2002.
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As far as international attention, Neil LaBute’s
newest play, The Shape of Things, certainly went
far beyond all the other works I’ve mentioned,
although it contains no overt references to Mor-
mons or Mormonism. It primarily tells the story of
a female art student who successfully reconstructs
the entire life of a young man who falls in love with
her. The play ends with the woman cruelly pre-
senting her changed boyfriend as her graduate the-
sis. It premiered at a prestigious Off West End
London theater early in the year, where it received
almost universal praise in the British press as well as
from AML-List reporter-on-the-scene Eric Samuel-
sen. It received a much less friendly reception when
it opened at the prestigious Off-Broadway Prome-
nade Theater soon after the September 11 terrorist
attacks, perhaps because the critics and public were
less in the mood for misanthropy. Both the New
York Times and New Yorker gave it poor reviews,
while two reviewers in the New York Post were split
in their opinions. Ultimately its run was not extended
beyond its planned December closing date.
Besides LaBute, there have been a growing num-
ber of plays by Mormon authors in New York City.
The main source of this action is the Handcart
Ensemble, a small off-off-Broadway theater com-
pany formed in 1999 by a group of mostly former
BYU students. They appear to specialize in restag-
ing largely forgotten classical works, adapted by J.
Scott Reynolds, the group’s artistic director. In
November they staged their first original work,
Reynolds’s verse play David and Bathsheba,
which received some good notices. The group held
a benefit gala in May, with original theatrical read-
ings, music, and films produced by Mormon
artists.
Another New York City artist creating original
theater is Matt Toronto, who read two new works
this year at the Theater Studio. Mysterious Ways is
about the relationship between a pair of missionar-
ies and their investigator, and the other was a one-
man play titled Before Your Eyes.
Winter 2001–2002
Artistry in a Missionary Story
A review of Gordon Laws’s My People (BYU Family
Studies Center, 2001)
Reviewed by Dean Hughes
In Mormon preaching few forms are more famil-
iar than the faith-promoting missionary story. Gor-
don Laws, in his novel My People, turns the form
on its head, departs from the standard style, and
yet, finally, gives the reader a powerful, realistic
parable that remains true to the purpose of the mis-
sionary story. He’s an exciting young writer, and
he’s part of a generation that is taking Mormon lit-
erature to a new level.
Missionary stories are known for their idealized
settings and pat endings. “We were about to quit
tracting for the day when we noticed one more
house at the end of a long road. . . .” The reader
knows at that point how the story will end. Laws,
however, drops a pair of missionaries into a barrio
in East L.A. and shows us characters and settings
that make missionary work seem impossible. It’s
gospel preaching in a war zone, with gangsters in
control. One of the missionaries even has a history
with gangs in his own country. Nothing looks or
sounds familiar, and there’s no set-up, no predictable
conclusion.
Latter-day Saints often speak of taking the
gospel to all the world. We believe that the only
answer to world problems lies in Christ’s gospel of
peace. But Laws takes us to a culture where charac-
ters are trapped in a violent system of reciprocal
killing and revenge. Ruben Velasquez may want
out of the life, but there really seems no way. He
looks to the Book of Mormon for answers and tries
to make sense of comparable wars among Nephites
and Lamanites. He finds help in ways that the
reader may not expect—but he finds no easy answers.
What Gordon Laws brings to this setting is his
own experience as a missionary in Los Angeles,
his own knowledge of Spanish, and his under-
standing of gang culture. What he adds to that is
his perceptiveness about human motivation, his
affection for a people, his love of the gospel. He
also brings considerable skill to a first-published
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novel. He has a feel for the cadences of language,
both in his own narrative and in character dialogue.
He has a sharp eye for the concrete images that rep-
resent culture and faith. In spite of the harshness of
gang life, he finds the beauty of a people, and in
spite of the rawness of emotion, he controls the
potential sentimentality with accurate, understated
description. He writes character-based fiction, but
his plot is also engaging. Many readers will finish
this short novel in a single sitting.
There is nothing predictable in this form of the
missionary story. The reader is left until the last
page wondering whether Laws will offer disaster or
hope. As it turns out, he provides both in an end-
ing that is both delicate and powerful. He even
convinces the reader that the gospel can aid people
who seem beyond reach. In other words, the form
is complete; My People is a faith-promoting story.
What is different here is that redemption is reality-
based, not an idealized fantasy, and therefore the
story is more inspiring than a tale of one last house
at the end of a long road.
I have little to quarrel with in Gordon Laws’s
fine novel. He uses a great deal of Spanish, usually
offering with it the English translation, and that
repetition grew a little tiresome in places. Occa-
sionally he hits upon an image and plays it a little
too hard, as in the battle between a gray and brown
squirrel that takes place in the background of one
of the scenes. But those are tiny quibbles. Most of
the time, as I read, I was marveling at the maturity
of Laws’s style, the care with which he crafts a scene,
his eye for detail and the accuracy of his dialogue.
I was also inspired. My faith was “promoted.”
Dean Hughes has published more than eighty books
for children, young adults, and adults. He is perhaps
best known for a series of historical novels about
World War II (Children of the Promise). He recently
published the first volume of a sequel series (Hearts of
the Children) about the 1960s. Simon and Schuster
recently issued his Soldier Boys, a young adult novel
about World War II.
IRREANTUM
Unlikely Miracles
A review of Anna Jones’s Haven (Covenant, 2000)
Reviewed by Katie Parker
Think of the novel Haven as something like The
Love Boat, only without the boat. Haven is a bed-
and-breakfast located near the rugged mountains
of Wales and is run by Latter-day Saint Gwen
Evans. As the story opens, four sets of characters are
introduced, all of them on the way to spend a week
at Haven.
One set is Ken and Alison Melton and their two
kids. Ken has been a workaholic but was recently
laid off, and in the meantime their marriage has
grown cold. There are also the Michaelson cousins,
two snooty upper-crust young British men and their
laid-back Australian cousin. Their grandmother has
paid for them to spend a week at Haven together in
hopes of reuniting her embittered family. Then
there are Megan and Charlotte, two fifty-something
sisters from Utah who have come to Wales to do
family history research. Both sisters will face new
difficulties in their lives upon their return to Utah;
Charlotte’s husband wants them to serve a mission,
which terrifies her, and Megan’s temple marriage is
ending and she will be starting a new life alone. And
there’s also Mr. Anderton, a nonmember widower
who has realized he’s in love with the owner Gwen.
How does this all work out? The short answer is
that everything does end up like it does on The
Love Boat, with everyone getting exactly what they
need. Love is rekindled, family bonds come alive,
misunderstandings and bad attitudes are overcome,
testimonies are born and strengthened, and people
get baptized. All that stuff.
The long answer is that there is still plenty to
happen along the way. Early on, the Michaelsons
grudgingly go on a mountain hike together but
become lost and must turn to each other for sur-
vival. The rest of the guests pray together for their
safe return. This brings a large measure of unity to
the group as a whole. Then on Monday night,
Gwen holds family home evening and gives every-
one assignments. They all come and have a great
time, and they all feel the Spirit. Then they all
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volunteer to help Megan and Charlotte on their
genealogy quest, and each of them independently
finds something with the name they are looking for.
The story is reasonably well crafted in terms of
pacing and what needs to happen next to get us
from point A to point B. But how much you will
enjoy the trip depends in part on how grouchy you
are. I personally did not always find it plausible.
How often do people really resolve all their prob-
lems, all their reservations, and all their fears in one
week? Furthermore, how likely is it that this setting
would work at all in real life? Maybe I’m just an old
grouch, and I have to say I’ve never been to a place
like Haven, but wouldn’t these people have other
plans? Did they really come all the way to Wales
just to sit in the lounge all week and listen to mes-
sages from strange religions? And then to do some-
one else’s genealogy?
Also disturbing is the author’s tendency to rely
on exposition to tell her story. A large percentage of
the prose is spent telling us how the characters act
and think and why they are this way. These expla-
nations seem to change as needed. For example, the
whole first chapter establishes why Alison feels they
need a vacation and that even though Ken has lost
his job she’s sure that financially they will be fine.
When her storyline comes up again later, she’s sud-
denly worried about their finances and how much
this trip will cost them. (But this is neatly solved
when Gwen asks if they could help her around the
place in exchange for a reduced rate.) Most of
the transitions are not this abrupt, although expla-
nations are still annoyingly sprinkled in as they
come up, and occasionally they repeat themselves.
The cover and the chapter headings are quite
attractive, but I caught a few mistakes that I
wouldn’t have expected from Covenant. Alison’s
name is misspelled on the back cover, and there’s a
quotation mark missing on one of the pages. There
was another spot where they were preparing some-
thing for lunch, and then a few pages later they
were eating something else.
This review probably sounds negative, but I still
felt the book had its merits. The setting in Wales is
definitely a strong point; it feels set apart from
the rest of the world, as a haven should be. And
Winter 2001–2002
the book was generally enjoyable, once I overlooked
the implausibilities. But maybe they shouldn’t be
overlooked so quickly. That which we call implau-
sible in fiction, people call coincidence or dumb
luck in real life. And other people call it a miracle.
Katie Parker has a B.A. from the University of Okla-
homa and lives in Salt Lake City with her husband
and son. Her work has appeared in the New Era and
Westview.
A Kingly Collection
A review of Arthur Henry King’s Conversion: Poems
of the Religious Life, 1963–1994, ed. Fred C. Pin-
negar (Sharpspear Press, 2001)
Reviewed by John S. Tanner
The publication of Conversion marks an impor-
tant moment for Mormon letters. It introduces not
a new author but a familiar one in a new light,
revealing Arthur Henry King—long known to Latter-
day Saints as an educator—to have been a prolific
poet. King is the author of a vast corpus of complex
and sophisticated verse, most of it thoroughly suf-
fused with his religious convictions. Thematically
King’s poems, like his life, span the twentieth cen-
tury. They speak of its atrocities and banalities, its
moral and ecological depredations, its vulgarity and
despair, its literary traditions and philosophical
perplexities, its art and culture. And they do so in
the poetic idiom of high modernism, acquired
from figures like Eliot and Auden but inflected
with the accents of a Mormon muse. King mingles
the Oxbridge culture of Great Britain that formed
him with the Mormon culture of the Great Basin
that reformed him, the monuments of Western
civilization with the minutia of western American
landscapes. Like Eliot, King can be highly allusive,
recondite, dogmatic, and philosophically dense; his
verse invites more glosses than it gets in this edi-
tion. At the same time, King’s poems are deeply
rooted in the particularities of his life. They offer a
window onto the mind, soul, and quotidian expe-
rience of an erudite British convert responding to
his physical and spiritual landscapes, recording his
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dreams and dogmas, and struggling to come to terms
with his fallibility and fears. Moreover, his verse
reflects not only his ruminations and readings but
his human relationships, not only his intellectual
but his social world. They are populated by pets,
neighbors, family, and a circle of close friends who
greatly enriched his interpersonal life and formed
the original audience for much of his verse. His
poems should thus be understood not only as med-
itations but also as heightened conversations with a
real and imagined community: “The fundamental
human reality is a conversation” (no. 1031). His
poetry is essentially colloquial, in the root sense of
the word—as well, at times, in its tone. There is
therefore much here that may seem prosaic and in
need of pruning; but there is much, too, that is
deeply affecting, wise, and acutely observed—and
that makes an immense and lasting contribution to
Mormon letters. Considered in its totality, this col-
lection provides compelling evidence that Arthur
Henry King must be considered one of the fore-
most LDS poets of the twentieth century.
Conversion serves readers well by arranging the
poems chronologically rather than topically. This
organization avoids imposing thematic order upon
the material. At the same time, it invites readers to
trace for themselves the themes that are threaded
through the collection and to infer the contours of
the poet’s spiritual autobiography. The collection
begins with pre-conversion poems that poignantly
evoke a world haunted by the absence of God (cf.
nos. 227, 260) and the loss of a wife (cf. nos. 204,
247, 249, 266, 267), while still retaining both the
forms of godliness and the memories of love. King
spent more than “half a lifetime” outside the Church,
much of it as a government bureaucrat “tot[ing] a
bag and coat about / a shrinking empire” (no. 719).
He often returns in memory to the world he knew
prior to his conversion, usually with a sense of alien-
ation: “Time you came home” bids his mother in a
dream. “I reply, ‘What’s the use of coming home, /
when there’s only a tumbledown old Presbyterian
church to go to?’” (no. 736).
Nor does finding a home in the true Church
entirely assuage King’s profound sense of alien-
ation: “Now I’m home I still / feel I’m in exile”
IRREANTUM
(no. 1173). Having come from a family of “neu-
rotic outcasts,” King well understands the Christ-
ian paradox that, in a fallen world,
Normal people must be blind or mad,
or they couldn’t endure themselves or the world.
In the world as it is
the neurotic may seek spiritual health:
no one else seems to grasp
how appalling the world reveals itself to be.
So neurosis brings us to conversion.
We are outcasts; ‘strangers and pilgrims’
who belong nowhere,
and are therefore able to look for a city
prepared from the foundation of the world
for them that love Him. (no. 1013)
Although conversion supplies King with a new
home, both spiritually and physically, on a deeper
level he remains ever an alien: “Home is anywhere; /
exile, the way home” (no. 502).
His congenital sense of himself as an outcast pre-
pares King to embrace a marginal religion like
Mormonism. Then it impels him, like an Old Tes-
tament prophet, to remind his fellow Saints that
they, too, must never feel fully at home in this
world but remain strangers and pilgrims. His con-
version emboldens King to speak against both the
world and worldliness in the Church. Something
akin to prophetic indignation animates King’s
powerful social and moral criticism. We feel it, for
example, when he speaks out against suburbia, whose
street lights blind us to the stars (no. 1109), and
against other equally numbing trends in contem-
porary education, architecture, music, mass media,
etc. (e.g., nos. 519, 1099, 1245). We sense it when
he inveighs against the blight of “Broken beer-
bottles [that] / glitter by freeways, picnic / areas,
rest-stops, all / over the U.S.”—ugly evidence that
“Americans are / barbarous most commonly / in
their littering” (no. 1145; cf. no. 1023). In King’s
apocalyptic vision, trash becomes an ominous sign
of impending social mayhem.
Yet the tone of his social critique is not always
apocalyptic: sometimes it is more homely and
humorous, as in his advice “For Organists”:
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Avoid inflation:
the post-Romantic burp, growl,
swell, boom, thunder, roar,
and indiscriminate mass
of Samsonian sound muscle.
God’s majesty’s too
high to be aped by an organ,
however powerful.
So keep it for grief, rue, peace,
and praise, such as Bach devised. (no. 1060)
Because the poems are grouped chronologically,
we can not only piece together fragments of a spir-
itual autobiography but glimpse thematic relation-
ships among poems composed at the same period
and observe patterns of productivity. I am struck,
for example, by the quantity, quality, and thematic
integrity of the religious poems composed in 1985.
In that year, King composed two long philosophi-
cal poems (nos. 961 and 1031) and a great many of
his best lyrics. One long poem (no. 961) develops
a complex meditation on Carlsbad Caverns and
Plato’s cave; the other, “Reflections of a Philologist
on Harrés Personal Being” (no. 1031), conveys some-
thing of what it was like to be a student in King’s
classroom. Both poems may well be among the tar-
gets of self-irony in “The Pedant” (no. 1128).
The shorter poems from 1985 are typically more
tightly conceived. Occasionally, they seem to clus-
ter around common concerns as well. For example,
“A Variety of Accidia” and “The Banality of Evil”
(nos. 1061 and 1071), composed within days of
each other, each takes up the sin of sloth. Each
poem gains meaning by juxtaposition with the
other. The first poem deals with the simple act of
neglecting to return or read books that are bor-
rowed or lent. “As I grow older,” King remarks,
“I find this remissness / a grave error.” The real
gravity of this error (which, according to the editor,
“King sees as a central problem of the late twenti-
eth century”) does not become apparent, however,
until “The Banality of Evil.” Dedicated to the stu-
dent-friends King had known in Germany during
Hitler’s rise to power in the thirties, this poem takes
its title from the subtitle of Hannah Arendt’s
famous book on Adolph Eichmann’s role in the
Winter 2001–2002
Holocaust. Like Eichmann, King’s friends were not
monsters by nature. But they were cultural elitists
and passive. They went along; they refused to take
a stand and risk thereby standing out. And King
identifies with them: “But you proved weak, / as
now I know I too should have been.” As evidence
for this, he recalls how he, too, once proved morally
weak on a train when he simply smiled at a Nazi
sympathizer rather than express his moral oppo-
sition, as did a more courageous young man in
the same train car by humming the Internationale.
“It’s easier to let things happen,” King grimly
concludes,
or to avoid other things from happening.
Accidia was the sin of the monastery;
now it’s the sin of bourgeois civilization.
(no. 1071)
These poems on sloth belong to a remarkable
group of poems written between August 15–19,
1985, which seem to reflect on the relationship
between past and present, time and eternity. Amid
ruminations on death and aging (cf. 1058, 1059,
1063), King develops a powerful Christian carpe
diem metaphor. In “The House and the Room,”
King tries to understand how a believer can live
fully in the present (the room) while still
dwelling with an appropriate appreciation for
the past and hope for the future (the house). The
poem concludes:
Each moment’s a room,
each room momentous.
As we move through a house,
we proceed from past through present to
future;
but now I no longer need to avoid the
immediate present.
I can sit at ease in a room. (no. 1064)
The next poem (“The Orchard”) begins, tellingly,
“Now”—as if to forge a deliberate link with the
previous poem’s meditation on time. In “The
Orchard” the narrator seems fully at ease in a
graced present as he celebrates the peach harvest
and his neighbors’ love:
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Now is the moment to thank you both
For giving me the privilege to walk in your
orchards.
I hope to go on for some time yet,
but my thanks have ripened and are ready,
so why should I put off returning them?
Following these lines is an exquisite evocation of an
orchard laden with ripening fruit and of a heart
overflowing with love for the orchard, for its gar-
deners, and for heaven-sent moments of Edenic
fullness:
There’s reason to be content
here and now;
there’s always cause to be content.
I’ve always been so in your orchards.
(no. 1065)
I like this poem very much, as I do many of
King’s love poems: from his verse about a long lost
but never forgotten lover named Jutta (no. 1068),
to a poem about his love for a lame pet dog named
Bruin (no. 601); from his elegant epithalamion on
the occasion of a friend’s wedding (no. 455), to his
tender tribute to Patricia on the occasion of their
twenty-sixth wedding anniversary, which expresses
the quiet fulfillment of autumnal love (no. 1399).
An even more prominent theme in this collec-
tion than love is, of course, death. While he is pre-
occupied with both, thanatos predominates eros.
Like Donne, King seems obsessed with death—
particularly with the death of his father, his wife
Iris, and his son John Arthur Laughlin (e.g., nos.
247, 266, 267, 657, 926); and with the senseless
slaughter of his generation on the battlefields of
WWI (e.g., nos. 544, 939); and, of course, with his
own mortality. Yet the poems look beyond death to
a physical Resurrection—and this frequently in
eloquent, ecstatic language, as a passage from an
early poem describing his journey to the battlefield
at Verdun illustrates:
Shall these dry bones live?
If the spirit will, they shall.
At call of the trumpet,
they shall rise, join,
and flourish in perfect flesh.
IRREANTUM
Those who redeemed them shall bring them
home,
and the sons of morning shall shout them
home
in the sowing and garnering of the great
Redeemer,
where prime and fall shine from the self-
same face.
There in His presence they shall dance
the pattern of scattered seed,
the obeisance of the gathered sheaves.
..........
For the Lord is the lord,
not of carnage and carrion,
but of incarnation. (no. 544)
King concludes two other major poems on death
(“Presence of Absence” and “Death’s Ecstasy”) with
similarly moving perorations. Both poems articu-
late his grief and his hope for his dead friends and
family. And both texts draw rhetorical power from
King’s knowledge of the rhetoric of the King James
Bible, the Book of Common Prayer, and Shake-
speare. Consider the beautiful psalm-like antitheti-
cal parallelism of these lines:
I have sung my sorrows on the winds of
morning,
and in the still of evening shed my dew and
rejoiced. (no. 926)
or the eloquent cadences in this prayer for the dead:
Unto thee, O Lord, I commend all my dead,
my own dying,
and the dying of those that came after me.
Receive us at our own hands,
order us into thine illimitable kingdom,
and set the food of thy word,
the work of thy will
and the repose of thy peace
before us. (no. 657)
When I attended Arthur Henry King’s funeral,
I brought these passages with me to read because I
was told that some of us might be called out of the
audience to pay tribute to him. I also brought
the final words from the final poem in this collec-
tion, “End Game Beginning.” In this poem, King
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comments on the way a host of men have faced and
written about death: Sterne, Goethe, Marion G.
Romney, George the Fifth, Tennyson, Shakespeare,
et al. This poem (and hence Conversion) concludes
with a final image of death. King contrasts the death
of the wicked, who “await nothing / after death,”
with that of the faithful:
Whatever their trials
and pains, the souls of faith and
charity will more
than hope as they draw towards death,
surrounded by those they love
and who love them. They
need not be concerned for the
future in this world
or the next, for both are in
other hands than theirs or here. (no. 1424)
Arthur Henry King has now passed into other
hands than ours or here, except in his writing—
which, as Milton remarked, can preserve the “pre-
cious lifeblood of a master spirit . . . to a life beyond
life” (Areopagitica). Gratefully, Conversion pre-
serves some of King’s religious poetry to such a life
beyond life.
• • •
For literary works, the most important response
is not the critic’s commentary but the reader’s silent
appreciation, pregnant with enriched feelings and
deepened thoughts: “What shall Cordelia speak?
Love, and be silent.” Unlike Cordelia, I have risked
a few words here because, unlike Lear, this King
rightly requires some words of praise and blame to
measure the scope and worth of his relatively
unknown poetic patrimony. Still, I hope that these
comments return or turn readers to the poems
themselves, where their hearts and minds may there
be more fully turned to God by one who was him-
self converted (con vertere, i.e., turned completely
around) when he embraced the Restored Gospel.
John S. Tanner, former president of the Association for
Mormon Letters, is professor of English at Brigham
Young University, where he currently serves as depart-
ment chair.
Winter 2001–2002
Promising New Series
A review of Dean Hughes’s The Writing on the Wall,
volume 1 of the Hearts of the Children series (Book-
craft, 2001)
Reviewed by Andrew Hall
With all of us thinking these days about what it
means to be an American, perhaps this is a good
time to introduce and review this excellent first vol-
ume of a new series of Mormon historical fiction
set in the 1960s, an important period to us both as
Americans and as Mormons.
I have written before that Dean Hughes’s five-
volume Children of the Promise series, set in World
War II, is one of the landmarks of LDS fiction.
Like few others, Hughes’s writing appeals both to
those who want plot-driven, emotionally stirring
popular fiction and those who desire more chal-
lenging fare. In that series he refused to glorify or
romanticize the actions of his characters and
instead emphasized the pain and distress the war
caused. He also went out of his way to describe the
racism found in American society at the time,
including Mormon society. He created revisionist
historical fiction, in the best sense of the words.
Now Hughes is at it again with another series fol-
lowing the lives of the characters from the Children
of the Promise series, the Thomas and Stoltz fami-
lies in Utah and Germany.
The Children of the Promise series covered the
war years of 1939 to 1947. This first volume of the
Hearts of the Children series jumps to 1961 and
continues to 1965. It focuses on the teenage lives of
the four eldest members of the next generation
of the families. They are Alex’s son Gene, a golden
boy who meets his first real challenges; Wally’s
daughter Kathy, who yearns to join the civil rights
movement (with her Aunt LaRue); Peter’s son
Hans, who dreads his dead-end life as a Mormon
in East Germany; and Bobbi’s daughter Diane,
who tries to figure out her own identity. As in the
earlier series, the characters are caught up in the
events of history and struggle with the develop-
ment and application of their faith as they begin to
leave the safety of their homes. Generational and
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inter-family differences continue to form much of
the conflict.
Like Orson Scott Card, Hughes’s stories are
engrossing and easy to digest, but not simplistic.
Although he is an excellent writer, he challenges us
with the themes and conflicts he presents rather
than with his literary style. Most interesting are the
different reactions by the Utah family members
to racism, the priesthood ban, and the civil rights
movement. We are also given some hints that the
family will be equally divided about Vietnam in
the following volumes. That brings up one differ-
ence with the first volume of the new series. The
earlier books were soaked with tension because so
many of the characters were in harm’s way in the
war. Hughes got me to care about the characters,
and I felt like I was drawn through a wringer by the
end of each one. Since the United States was not
involved in a major war during the early ’60s, there
isn’t quite so much tension. I assume that will
change in the next volume, when some of the char-
acters will be sent to Vietnam, as the country
becomes more involved in that war.
I’m hooked again. I got into the last series about
the time the final volume came out, and I was able
to race through the whole thing in a few months.
This time I’ll have to wait a year for each install-
ment. I’ll be there as soon as the next volume is on
the bookshelves.
Andrew Hall is a doctoral candidate in Japanese his-
tory, moving back and forth between Pittsburgh and
Fukuoka, Japan.
Plots in Hiding
A review of Betsy Brannon Green’s Hearts in Hiding
(Covenant, 2001)
Reviewed by Terry Montague
Kate Singleton is the pregnant widow of an FBI
agent when her late husband’s boss informs her that
there is a contract on her life. To protect her, the
FBI decides to give her a new identity and a new
husband, Agent Mark Iverson. They are sent to a
small town, Haggerty, Alabama, where Agent Iverson
IRREANTUM
is to act as the new sheriff while the FBI tries to dis-
cover who wants to kill Kate and why.
In Haggerty, Kate, who is to be Niki, and Mark,
who is masquerading as Drew Johnson, begin their
new life in a charming but dilapidated house in an
old neighborhood, surrounded by a set of quaint
characters. The problem of who is trying to kill
Kate/ Niki and why is revealed through three kid-
nappings and two violent encounters with a consid-
erable body count. The romance-type, predictable
happy ending for Kate and Mark follows.
Covenant readers, primarily women between 25
and 60, seem to prefer romances combined with
other elements of fiction. The back cover of Hearts
in Hiding describes the story as “adventure,” “sus-
pense,” “action-packed,” and “romantic.” It boils
down to a woman-in-jeopardy romance with a
heavy emphasis on romance.
The story begins with a combination of typical
romance premises. The vulnerable young woman
pretending to be someone else enters into a mar-
riage of convenience with a man she believes resents
her. He is distant, but as they live together, secret
love grows on both sides. Trauma separates them,
but longing brings them back together, and every-
one lives happily ever after. Character-wise, Kate/
Niki and Drew/Mark are the standard romance
types. She’s helpless, and he’s there to rescue her.
Since Covenant prohibits sex in any of its novels,
this romance is a “safe” one with comforting embraces
and an occasional smooch. In a typical romance
novel, the conflict between a couple serves to heighten
sexual tension. With Hearts in Hiding, however,
there is little conflict between the couple and no
appreciable tension, unless you count the heroine’s
sudden irritable outbursts at the puzzled hero.
There is also no sense of the couple falling in love
and, for the life of me, I did not understand why
Drew/Mark was attracted to the snarly Kate/Niki.
Though there is no sexual attraction or tension,
there are plenty of those gratuitous vices many of
us do enjoy: eating, napping, shopping, and home
redecoration. Unfortunately, those things con-
tribute to a very serious case of mid-story sag. We
see Kate/Niki following her friends around and
watching them play bridge. We watch as she lets
67 Winter 2001–2002
Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 4:01 PM Page 68
them pick out furniture for her house and buy
clothes for her unborn baby. Not that money is a
problem: the FBI has given her a fistful of credit
cards and a $25,000 checking account with orders
to spend it. A housekeeper, who is an undercover
agent, is also part of the deal, and the neighbors
regularly drop in with casseroles that the main
characters merely heat up in the microwave. When
it’s time for the baby to be born, Kate/Niki has a
C-section, nurses her baby, and then gets up to take
a shower. What a woman! What a life! Kate/Niki’s
greatest struggle, midpoint, concerns getting the
handyman to work a little faster.
As a novel of suspense, Hearts in Hiding is not
particularly suspenseful. There is the dead husband
who may or may not be dead since his body was
never recovered. He may or may not have loved our
heroine. He may or may not have had a girlfriend
on the side. Our heroine may or may not have
loved the possibly dead husband since she rarely
ever saw him. Then, there is the new, living hus-
band, who is not really her husband since they
intend to annul the marriage as soon as the case is
solved. And a baby born in time to be kidnapped.
The McGuffin might have to do with money
laundering or possibly drugs. At the end, we are
looking for a penny with a microchip stuck to it
with spearmint gum. Would chewing gum damage
a microchip? My impression is that the elements of
suspense were included to satisfy Covenant’s require-
ments that romances contain other elements of fic-
tion. Certainly, it didn’t hurt the romance at all.
Covenant likes the gospel to reside somewhere
comfortably in the background, as it does in Hearts
in Hiding. We see the characters going to church,
reading the Book of Mormon, and discussing such
things as tithing, modesty, and arrogance. Obvi-
ously, the characters are committed members of the
Church who are spiritually conflicted by the false-
hoods they must portray in order to maintain their
cover, but there is no examination of that conflict.
Overall, Hearts in Hiding has lots of stops and
starts, like one of those string collections. Story
lines that begin and trail away. Complications with
Winter 2001–2002
no consequences. Incidental characters who show
up with their own bags full of problems and then
disappear. Blocks of rehashed or unnecessary dia-
logue. Plot devices that don’t satisfactorily connect
with each other.
Having said all that, I should also say Green’s
writing is better than her plotting. One hopes, with
her second novel, she’ll have gained the experience
and know-how to serve up a tightly plotted roman-
tic suspense that is indeed an action-packed adven-
ture that won’t let the reader go.
Yet, if you are a dedicated reader and looking for
something to read that doesn’t require a lot of brain
cells, Hearts in Hiding may prove to be a wander
through a pleasant, southern town of friendly char-
acters who have nothing in particular to do.
Terry Bohle Montague has written for newspaper,
magazine, television, and radio. She has also pub-
lished book-length fiction and nonfiction.
Selected Recent Releases
Adams, Jewel. Elise’s Heart (Granite, $9.95).
Growing up in the projects of Charlotte, North
Carolina, has been a battle of survival for Elise. In
the face of extreme adversity and loss, she finds in
herself new resolve and hope in the form of God’s
plan for happiness, a concept that drives her to
search her heart for what is truly of value.
Bradshaw, Anne. Chamomile Winter (Cedar
Fort, $12.95). When Patrick O’Shea leaves prison
for his parents’ new home, it seems his life is about
to change for the better. But lack of direction rekin-
dles rebellion and plunges him head first into deep
waters. In other story lines, Ken struggles with
another difficult missionary companion and Ruth
returns to England, where she’s not expected, and
grapples with events she never imagined possible.
Card, Orson Scott. Rebekah (Shadow Moun-
tain, $22.95). Chosen by God to be the wife of
Isaac, Rebekah is caught in an emotional mael-
strom as she struggles to find her place in the
family of Abraham. After enduring an agonizing
68 IRREANTUM
Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 4:01 PM Page 69
inability to produce a male heir, she is finally
blessed with twins, only to find herself locked
in conflict with her husband over the destiny of
their sons.
Dew, Sheri. No Doubt About It (Deseret Book,
$19.95). This spiritual memoir incorporates a look
at foundational gospel principles with stories of the
author’s own experiences to demonstrate how these
truths apply in real-world settings.
Evans, Richard Paul. The Christmas Box Mir-
acle: My Spiritual Journey of Destiny, Healing
and Hope (Simon & Schuster, $17.95). In this
memoir, Evans looks at his own experiences as his
novel The Christmas Box went from a modest self-
published book to become a runaway bestseller.
He tells his own life story, from his youth in a Mor-
mon household to his mother’s loss of a stillborn
daughter, severe depression, and suicidal tenden-
cies. Evans shows how these and other experiences
led him to write a novel that brings healing and
hope to life.
Groberg, John. The Other Side of Heaven
(Deseret Book, $14.95). A re-release of Elder
Groberg’s book In the Eye of the Storm, this first-
person account tells the story of his three-year mis-
sion in Tonga. Elder Groberg recounts miraculous
healings, protective warnings, and perilous voyages.
Guymon, Shannon. Never Letting Go of Hope
(Cedar Fort, $12.95). Cassie Roberts had an ordi-
nary life. Busy with her duties as a wife and mother,
her life is changed forever when her best friend dies
after requesting that Cassie care for her African-
American child, Hope. This unusual adoption
causes many to question whether Cassie has done
the right thing and gives her the feeling that some-
one out there wants her to give up. But there is one
thing Cassie can never let go of, and that’s Hope.
Hansen, Jennie. Beyond Summer Dreams
(Covenant, $14.95). Taylor Jordan, a new gradu-
ate, is forced to spend her summer with her 78-
year-old grandmother in a small town. She meets
veterinarian Clay Curtis, who has rented part of
her grandmother’s house as office space. When the
office and house are burglarized, the two are
thrown together in an effort to discover who is
responsible and why they are after Curtis.
IRREANTUM
Jarvis, Wesley, and Sharon Downing. Priceless
Discoveries (Granite, $12.95). Tim Bradshaw, an
investigative reporter for a major network, finds
himself heading up a team assigned to determine
the reason for the amazing growth of the LDS
Church.
Jolley, JoAnn. Keepers of the Heart (Covenant,
$14.95). New convert Paula Barstow finally finds
her life on track, until one rainy winter morning
life itself hangs in the balance. Even as miracles
occur, Paula’s love and faith are tested in ways she
never imagined.
Leach, Frank. Mission Accomplished (Cedar
Fort, $9.95). Based on the author’s own experi-
ences as a convert to the Church at age 46, Mission
Accomplished details how a succession of missionar-
ies slowly changed the lives of a family and a town
through their dedication and perseverance.
Lucado, Max. You Are Mine (Evans Book,
$15.99). A sequel to You Are Special, this book
addresses another of life’s lessons with Punchinello
and the rest of the Wemmicks.
Lund, Gerald. The Kingdom and the Crown,
Vol. 2: Come unto Me (Deseret Book, $26.95).
From Galilee to Jerusalem to the great city of Rome,
the story of the people whose lives are forever changed
by the teachings of a simple carpenter from Naza-
reth continues. The biblical account of the Savior’s
life is blended with fictional characters in the sec-
ond volume of the Kingdom and the Crown series.
Luthier, Kevin Lee. Two Trees (Evans Book). It
takes two trees to make a master violin, and it takes
two hearts to fall in love. This story comes from
the world of the master violinmaker and details the
lives, loves and fantasies of those who play upon
true master instruments.
Miller, Sherry Ann. Gardenia Sunrise: Where
Love Prevails (Granite, $14.95). Brandje never
considers herself one of the Shepherd’s lost lambs
until she learns she has cancer. Frightened by
the drastic measures it will take to provide even the
remotest hope for a cure, she flees to France in
hopes of preparing herself emotionally and spiritu-
ally to meet God.
Pearce, Bob, and Nayereh Fallahi The Nidus:
Cradle of Terror (Cedar Fort, $18.95). A mysteri-
69 Winter 2001–2002
Winter 01-02 issue.qxd 2/11/03 4:01 PM Page 70
ous, deadly disease is sweeping the world, and
everything points toward a terrorist plot against the
United States. When Dr. James Schriver attends a
conference in the Virgin Islands, he is introduced
to Laleh Bazargan, an Iranian infectious disease physi-
cian who is the keynote speaker. She presents evidence
that a mutation of the influenza virus is the disease’s
source. Jim and Laleh develop an attraction for
each other as they search for answers to the disease,
but their quest for truth wrenches them apart as the
turmoil in the United States quickly escalates to
include Iran, Turkmenistan, Israel, and Afghanistan.
Pearson, Carol Lynn. The Gift: A Fable for
Our Times (Gibbs Smith, $9.95). Based on a Tao
tradition, The Gift explores the question: what are
the most precious gifts we own? It teaches that the
most precious gifts are those that give us light in an
otherwise dark world, helping us see things as they
really are, and that all things work together for good.
Peck, Lisa J. Nauvoo’s Magic (Cedar Fort,
$13.95). In volume three of the Truth Seeker series,
newlyweds Betsy and Jeff Chadwick are called to
serve a mission in historical Nauvoo. While there
they meet Roxcy Culhase, a mysterious young
widow. Will the attractive new man in her life
bring happiness or catastrophe?
Pickhardt, C. E. The Trout King (Cedar Fort,
$13.95). Alexander McGregor had won the title of
Trout King for the last eight years, but out-of-
towner Sam Henry hopes to change that. McGre-
gor fishes ruthlessly. Sam casts in his line and waits
patiently for a bite. They both deal with relation-
ships the same way they fish, and it could cost each
of them their families.
Randalls, Vicki Mason. Red Moon Rising (Cedar
Fort, $12.95). In this opening volume of the Out
of Barren Ground series, peace and purpose are rare
commodities in a war-ravaged world. Most people
are searching frantically or are lost completely.
Rachel lives a lonely, dreary existence in the earth’s
final days, but while she is searching for a pure
water source her life changes dramatically.
Robinson, Timothy. A Fountain of Pure Water:
A Nephite Baptism (Deseret Book, $15.95). A
Book of Mormon baptismal story with scriptural
references throughout.
Winter 2001–2002
Savage, Jeffrey. Cutting Edge (Covenant,
$14.95). Travis Edwards lands a new job in Silicon
Valley. Things change when he finds someone has
been stealing sensitive files from his computer, and
the one person he confides in disappears. He soon
realizes he can’t trust anyone.
Smurthwaite, Donald. A Wise, Blue Autumn:
A Novel about Fathers, Daughters, and Remem-
bering (Deseret Book, $12.95). Marcus Hathaway,
a fine old high priest in his seventies, begins a quest
to find his stories, the stories that have made up his
life and will become the memories of those who
come after him.
St. James, Sierra. Masquerade (Deseret Book,
$13.95). Clarissa takes a much-needed job under
slightly false pretenses. But when the boss is movie
star Slade Jacobson, and the job takes her to Hawaii
with him, it becomes harder than she thought to
keep up the masquerade.
Stansfield, Anita. When Hearts Meet (Covenant,
$12.95). Ethan Caldwell turns to drinking after his
wife dies. Ten years later he rediscovers God and
finds a job working on Jonathan Brandt’s farm. When
Jonathan’s sister Sara comes to live with them,
Ethan finds a woman unlike any he’s ever known.
Stansfield, Anita. Where the Heart Leads (Cove-
nant, $14.95). The year is 1894, and Jonathon Brandt
is eager to head west to California to find a new life,
a new profession, and an escape from his father.
While visiting his Aunt Ellie in a small Utah town,
he falls in love with the scenery and with Maddie
Jo Hansen. Suddenly California loses its appeal.
Turrill, David. A Bridge to Eden (Cedar Fort,
$13.95). In this psychological romance, a widower
finds a remarkable resemblance to his late wife in a
new neighbor. Ben Riveridge begins to believe that
his wife has somehow exchanged places with the
neighbor in a story that builds to a surprising ending.
Wright, Julie. To Catch a Falling Star (Cedar
Fort, $15.95). Following her parents’ divorce, April
Preston moves to Boston to live with her mother.
Her only glimmer of happiness there is her new
friend Sara Downey, who is not only smart and
popular but is also a true friend. Then Sara is diag-
nosed with cancer.
70 IRREANTUM
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M O R M O N
L I T E R A
S C E N E was recently promoted to president and CEO of
Books
• Richard Dutcher’s film God’s Army has been
novelized by film-school student Geoffrey Card,
son of Orson Scott Card. “Card does an adequate
job,” Andrew Hall wrote on AML-List. “He fleshes
out the motivations for the dour central character,
Elder Allen, making the character more interesting.
I also liked his portrayal of Elder Kinegar, the
reader of anti-Church literature. He enters the head
of Elder Dalton (Pops) only a few brief times, prob-
ably because there is another novel based on that
character coming up (we do at least see the throw-
ing-away-the-pills scene through Dalton’s POV).
Card spends a lot of time explaining some of the
things that struck people as not true to life in
the movie, like Allen not being able to tie a tie on
his first day, why the mission president is so gruff
in the beginning, etc. The explanations are inter-
esting but sometimes interfere with the flow of the
story. Another problem I had was the long interior
dialogues Card gives his characters in the time-
frame of just a few seconds between lines in the
film. He does create a few non-film scenes to give
the characters greater depth; maybe more of them
would have helped.” This novelization is the first
novel published by God’s Army distributor Excel
Entertainment, with two more books based on the
movie forthcoming: One Soul by J. Scott Bron-
son, about Elder Dalton, and Burden of Faith by
Deanne Savage-Blackhurst, about Sister Fronk.
Dutcher’s film Brigham City will be novelized
by Marilyn Brown. An in-depth profile of Geof-
frey Card and his experience writing God’s Army
can be found at www.meridianmagazine.com/books/
011115card.html.
• LDS Church–owned Deseret Book has sold
more than 360,000 copies of Gordon B. Hinckley’s
Stand a Little Taller, more than 100,000 copies
apiece of Gerald Lund’s novel Come unto Me and
Sheri Dew’s devotional memoir No Doubt About
IRREANTUM
Page 71
It, and 65,000 copies of the first installment in
R Y
Dean Hughes’s new Hearts of the Children series,
according to Publishers Weekly. Sheri Dew, who
Deseret Book, said: “I think the market is growing,
and that our marketing is getting stronger and more
creative. I also think that our authors and artists are
as fine as anywhere else in the country. The prod-
ucts speak for themselves, really.” In other Deseret
Book news, the company laid off 14 employees at
its corporate offices in January 2002. The job cuts
affected several departments, from publishing and
marketing to retail administration. According to
employees interviewed by Mormon News, the lay-
offs were probably the first large staff reduction in
the company’s history. Deseret Book has 35 stores
and about 775 employees.
• According to Mormon News, Origin Book
Sales is no longer taking orders and will soon close
down. The products of Origin’s sister companies,
Aspen Books and Goldleaf Press, will reportedly be
distributed by Brigham Distributing, an independ-
ent company run by a former Origin employee and
based in Brigham City, Utah. In its heyday, Origin
not only distributed for Aspen and Goldleaf but
also did some original publishing and distributed
books published by other companies. Origin, Aspen,
and Goldleaf are owned by LDS investment spe-
cialist Wade Cook.
• Salt Lake City publisher American Book Pub-
lishing (www.american-book.com) is attracting
attention with its ambitious plans and unorthodox
business practices. With several imprints covering
most publishing categories, the company is aggres-
sively seeking new authors. However, newcomers
may be asked to pay a one-time deposit of $780
that is refundable after the book has been formally
released. According to the company’s website, this
deposit provides “a strong incentive for our authors
to complete all their assigned tasks in editing and
book promotion.” In addition, American recruits
editors and other publishing staff by promising an
eventual share in royalties.
• Publishers Weekly gave a positive review to
Gentile Girl: Living with the Latter-day Saints,
written by Carol Avery Forseth and published by
71 Winter 2001–2002
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Crossroads Press: “This refreshingly balanced mem-
oir chronicles a Baptist woman’s experiences during
her two years as an undergraduate at Mormon-
dominated Brigham Young University during the
1970s. ‘It’s hard to have my faith under attack all
the time,’ Forseth tells her sympathetic LDS room-
mate, and the reader feels her loneliness. But Forseth
also explains how the BYU experience made her a
more informed, committed Protestant. It is clear
that she believes LDS doctrine to be wrong (and
she includes three short appendices to hammer that
point home), but she also presents the individual
Mormons who figure into her narrative as three-
dimensional people, not caricatures.”
• Terry Tempest Williams’s new book Red: Pas-
sion and Patience in the Desert (Pantheon) is a
collection of essays, poems, congressional testi-
mony, and journal entries, some previously pub-
lished. “Terry Tempest Williams says she writes to
save the erotic from the pornographic,” wrote Salt
Lake Tribune reviewer Martin Naparsteck. “She
also suggests that she writes to politicize her readers
(‘place + people = politics’). There is no conflict
between her eroticism and her politics in Williams’
latest collection of nonfiction, and, alas, that is
the weakness of this compact book from one of
Utah’s—and America’s—finest, most original envi-
ronmental writers.” He continued: “Williams refers
to many of the entries in Red as stories, but none of
them truly are. Many are vignettes; that is, pieces
of stories. Others are essays. The political essays
amount to extended bumper stickers.” Naparsteck
also observed: “Williams is a master of the startling
and lasting image, a gutsy writer unafraid to expose
herself, her emotions and her desires, to the reader.
No other writer has so fully melded human emo-
tional needs with our surrounding environments.”
• Mormon author Richard Paul Evans is
switching publishers from Simon & Schuster to
Dutton, according to Entertainment Weekly. “He’s
going to be published as a novelist and not as a
novelty or a specialty,” said Dutton president Carole
Barton. “He was always published in small format,
in the Christmas season. Now he’ll be published
around Christmastime, but not as a Christmas
item.” Dutton has acquired Evans’s next two books,
Winter 2001–2002
one of which is titled The Last Promise and will be
released in November 2002.
• Cedar Fort has published Marilyn Brown’s
memoir of her family’s World War II experience,
an account that was originally written in 1986 and
has been honored with several Utah literary awards.
House on the Sound explores Pearl Harbor from
the perspective of a child whose father works in the
Navy shipyard, incorporating the story of the
family’s conversion to Mormonism. “My dad was
working at night in the dark hull of a ship, and he’d
read by the single light bulb the Book of Mormon,”
Brown told BYU’s NewsNet. Both of her parents
were eventually baptized in Puget Sound, and shortly
thereafter her father sent the family to Provo to
keep them out of danger. “It’s a memoir of how my
father was trying to build a sound house while the
war was going on,” Brown said. “He gravitated
toward religion and peace.” Brown said that ever
since she read George Eliot at age ten, “I wanted to
write something that good that was Mormon.” She
has arranged to do editing work for Cedar Fort in
exchange for publication of her work. Writing on
AML-List, novelist Levi Peterson said: “In the late
1980s, the University of Utah Press asked me to
referee the manuscript for House on the Sound.
When I returned a favorable report, David Catron,
director of the press, wrote me something like, ‘I’m
glad you approve of it because I like it too.’ How-
ever, Catron’s superiors were in the process of
squeezing the press out of fiction at that time, and
Marilyn had the bad luck to get caught in that. I
am very happy this excellent novel has been pub-
lished.”
• Chicago Tribune reviewer Dick Adler recom-
mended a mystery titled Sister Wife by John Gates.
“Anyone who misses those fascinating Moroni
Traveler mysteries (now sadly out of print) by
Robert S. Irvine about the inner workings of the
Mormon Church should rush to read this second
in a promising and satisfying series about a semi-
retired criminal lawyer who runs an American-
Indian-themed motel in Kanab, Utah,” wrote
Adler. Brigham Bybee is tapped to handle the
upcoming polygamy trial of cult leader T. Rampton
Crowe, “who, though officially disavowed by the
72 IRREANTUM
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Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, flaunts
his six wives and seriously hurts the image of Salt
Lake City as the home of the next Olympics. When
one of Crowe’s wives arrives on Bybee’s doorstep,
badly beaten and talking about a horrible ritual
murder she witnessed, it sets the stage for a clash
between a conservative governor and the politically
ambitious attorney general, who sees this as a death-
penalty case certain to get nationwide attention.”
Adler added: “Author John Gates, an El Paso lawyer
who was raised in Utah, writes like a saint himself.”
• Writing on AML-List about her Salt Press
imprint at Cedar Fort, Marilyn Brown said Salt
Press is looking for literary manuscripts. “They have
to be well-written and accessible. (No short stories,
sorry.) We have a strong propensity for novels with
excellent narrative qualities. Lee Nelson, the acqui-
sitions editor, is really so astute! You’d think he was
into Western-shoot-’em-up-grizzly stuff (he leaves
early to rope steers), but he also has a terrific eye for
anything literary. He chose Angel of the Danube by
Alan Mitchell all by himself with no help from me
before I ever got on the scene, which is probably
the main reason I went there. If it’s really good, Lee
spots it! We print just a few of each run to test the
market so that we aren’t out financially. Books are
allowed to be a little salty too, saltier than Deseret
Book would allow.” Andrew Hall noted that three
out of five Cedar Fort imprints publish fiction:
Council Press publishes mainly books by Lee Nel-
son, such as the Storm Testament series; Salt Press
publishes books by Marilyn Brown or titles she has
a close connection with; and Bonneville Books pub-
lishes all the rest of the fiction, often with author
financial involvement. Hall noted that Cedar Fort
has recently been putting out a lot of LDS fiction,
rivaling Covenant in bulk. Brown said that a for-
mer Covenant editor told her Cedar Fort “is where
Covenant was seven years ago.”
• Covenant Communications reported that A
House Divided, the first volume of N. C. Allen’s
Civil War series Faith of Our Fathers, sold out its
first printing of 15,000 copies in two weeks. The
story concerns brothers James and Jeffrey Bir-
mingham, who find themselves and their families
on opposing sides of a great and terrible conflict.
IRREANTUM
“Although the idea of brother fighting brother is
not new, it was a reality that can’t be ignored,” said
Allen. “Families at war with one another makes for
good fiction but was a tragic consequence of the
Civil War. I wanted to show the complex relation-
ships that existed during the Civil War.” Allen con-
tinued: “It is not widely known that women,
although caught in a male-dominated society, were
often not content to sit in the background. Women
dressed like men and joined the battles, acted as
spies and saboteurs for their respective causes,
joined aid societies, and acted as masters of vast
plantations.” Covenant managing editor Shauna
Nelsen commented: “Although most Latter-day
Saints were far removed from the conflict, they
were still very much involved. The Latter-day Saint
characters show the reader how Church members
and leaders viewed the vital issues of the Civil
War.” Writing in BYU magazine, Richard Cracroft
said, “A House Divided is a rich and historically
based tapestry of several fast-moving, exciting tales
of a family divided, north and south, by abolition-
ism and slaveholding. It’s a very exciting way to
experience U.S. history.” The next book in the
series is planned for release in autumn 2002.
• Told mainly from the perspective of three plu-
ral wives, Judith Freeman’s latest novel Red Water
(Pantheon) examines how the Mountain Meadows
Massacre changed the lives of John D. Lee and his
polygamous family. The publisher identifies the book
as “a revelatory novel that illuminates the early days
of Mormonism and takes us into the heart of a
culture at once completely unique and uniquely
American.” Salt Lake Tribune reviewer Brandon
Griggs wrote: “For many readers, the most contro-
versial aspect of Red Water is sure to be the asser-
tion, made by several of Lee’s wives, that Young
ordered the Mountain Meadows Massacre, then
sacrificed Lee to cover up his crime. Young appears
in several scenes of the novel as an imperious, force-
ful man with a gluttonous appetite and sloppy table
manners.” Utah historian Will Bagley said: “Believ-
ing Mormons are going to be quite shaken by this
portrait of Brigham Young. Mountain Meadows
novels are notoriously unhistorical. And this one is
an exception.” A self-identified former Mormon,
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Freeman said: “I don’t hold anything against the
Mormons. I have no ax to grind. I’ve had good
reaction to the book so far from people outside the
[Mormon] culture who say the book is fair. I’m
hoping people within the culture will somehow be
able to have that feeling as well.” In a Los Angeles
Times review, novelist Janet Fitch wrote: “Freeman
never divorces the violence of that event from the
violence and persecution against Mormons in
the Church’s early days or from the intrinsic vio-
lence of life on the land, with its brutal climate and
inhuman demands on its settlers. She helps us under-
stand the mindset of a besieged nation and the
more subtle politics of a theocratic society. Yet
the power of the book is muted somewhat by its
split focus: the human story of the frontier polyga-
mous family versus the moral story, the blood guilt
of the Mountain Meadows massacre. The drama of
the polygamous family, with its rich fabric of sexu-
ality, faith, filial loyalty, rivalries and alliances, is by
far the more engaging story line.” Fitch continues:
“Red Water delivers an unforgettable portrait of the
unceasing labor, passion and danger of frontier life,
recalling the best of Willa Cather. Freeman makes
vivid the ferocity of purpose it took to wrest a liv-
ing from a wild red land and makes inevitable the
intensity of life among people who try. In particu-
lar, her evocation of the Great Basin, its harsh land-
scape of red rock and twisted cypress and winters
that come like an apocalypse, forms the perfect
stage for this drama of love and faith and greed at
the edge of wilderness.”
• Mormon novelist Dean Hughes told BYU’s
NewsNet that the editor of his new book Soldier
Boys, a novel for young readers published in
December 2001 by Atheneum, initially balked at a
main character’s Mormonism but later changed his
mind. “It’s one thing to mention a character’s reli-
gion, but something else to get into it a great deal,”
Hughes said. “I think part of what is changing is the
realization that certain books about or by Mormons
have done very well financially. The best example is
President Hinckley’s Standing for Something.”
Hughes said his editor realized that many fans of
Hughes’s LDS-market Children of the Promise
series would also be interested in reading Soldier
Winter 2001–2002
Boys. “As we get larger as a church and people, it
keeps getting easier to write about our culture,”
Hughes said. According to Publishers Weekly, “The
premise of Hughes’s novel, the disillusionment of
two idealistic boys—one American, the other Ger-
man—who idealistically insist on hurrying into bat-
tle during WWII, proves more compelling than the
somewhat uneven plotting and character develop-
ment. The author effectively portrays the motiva-
tions of Hitler Youth leader Dieter, from his nascent
aspirations at 10 to the brainwashed zealotry in the
name of Hitler that leads him to lobby to be sent
into combat at the age of 15. However, the back
story describing the motivation of 17-year-old
Spence, a Utah Mormon who joins the Airborne
paratroopers to prove his toughness to the folks
back home (especially one disinterested girl), feels
cursory. The pace of the narrative quickens as the
boys each experience the gut-wrenching and hap-
hazard realities of war that challenge their starry-
eyed, patriotic notions. Though some readers will
find a few passages overblown (e.g., “None of this
seemed like the stuff Spence had seen in the
movies”) and Spence’s religious epiphany which
leads to his rather convenient connection to Dieter
implausible, others will appreciate this realistically
harrowing depiction of the pointlessness of war.”
• Lewis Horne’s new nine-story collection The
House of James (Signature) is “about extraordinar-
ily ordinary people, mostly Mormons in Utah and
nearby states in the 1950s and ’60s” and “presents
a clear and credible portrait of a rarefied culture
which has now largely disappeared,” according to
Salt Lake Tribune reviewer Martin Naparsteck.
“Horne is a fiction writer, and a good one, and he
does not pretend to be a social historian. Still, if
he wanted to make a case that the ’50s and ’60s
were the key transitional point at which Mormon
culture finally ended a long exodus out of cultural
isolation and into the American mainstream, the
fictional facts of these stories would help to prove
his thesis.” Naparsteck concludes: “It’s a masterful
accomplishment. Thin, transparent stories that let
in the light.”
• Best-selling Mormon mystery novelist Anne
Perry told the Salt Lake Tribune that she is working
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on a series of books set during World War I. “It must
be the most extraordinary period in the Western
world, 1914 to 1918,” Perry said. “It changed every-
thing, at least in the West.” The Tribune reported
that “the series will begin in Sarajevo and follow
England’s entry into the war; one character will be
based on Perry’s grandfather, who was a chaplain
on the front. And each book, of course, will con-
tain a mystery.” In other Perry news, her latest release
is Southampton Row, a Thomas and Charlotte Pitt
mystery that Perry said was her 34th book.
Drama
• Tony Kushner, Pulitzer Prize–winning play-
wright of the two-part Angels in America featuring
several Mormon main characters, recently made head-
lines with his new play Homebody/Kabul, which
resonated unexpectedly after the September 11 ter-
rorist attacks and subsequent war in Afghanistan.
Set in 1998, the play centers on a family’s search for
a middle-aged British woman who disappears in
Afghanistan after she falls in love with a Muslim. In
other Kushner news, Newsweek reported he is writing
a children’s book with Maurice Sendak, a musical
with composer Jeanine Tesori, a movie for producer
Scott Rudin, and the screenplay for HBO’s six-hour
Angels in America mini-series that is slated to star
Meryl Streep, Al Pacino, and Emma Thompson,
some of whom will likely play Mormon characters.
• After a critically successful London debut,
Mormon playwright Neil LaBute’s The Shape of
Things experienced a rougher touchdown in New
York just after the September 11 terrorist attacks.
“It didn’t even occur to us that it wouldn’t be well
received,” LaBute told Salon.com. “I think we kind
of ran into something that I had heard whispers of
and seen in other productions, which is that diffi-
cult trans-Atlantic move, where critics say, ‘Hold
on a second, we’ll tell you if something is good.’”
LaBute said his work hasn’t changed since the attacks,
and he is now working on a musical with Elvis
Costello a possible collaborator. “The musical is as
severe as anything that I’ve ever written. Because I
thought, you know, I’ve never seen a musical where
people were generally pretty heinous, and they would
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just burst into song.” On the other hand, “probably
deep inside I have one of those soft gooey centers
like, you know, a Tootsie Roll Pop,” LaBute admit-
ted. “I just don’t know how many licks it will take
to get to.” Entertainment Weekly gave the New York
production of The Shape of Things a B grade, saying
that the final revelation of the main character’s
motivation “feels forced. Truth be told, Evelyn, a
quintessential LaBute creation, isn’t interested in
why. (Neither, as an artist, is LaBute.) Why does
the predator eat its prey? Because it can.” LaBute
has assembled a cast and crew to bring The Shape
of Things to film. In other LaBute news, he recently
finished directing an adaptation of A.S. Byatt’s
Possession starring Gwyneth Paltrow and Aaron
Eckhart.
• Produced at the Little Brown Theater in
Springville, Utah, in November 2001, J. Scott
Bronson’s two-part biblical play Stones garnered
praise from reviewers and won the AML’s drama
award for 2001 (the award citation appears earlier
in this issue of IRREANTUM). The first part, “Altars,”
focuses on the story of Abraham and Isaac, and
most of the play takes place on Mt. Moriah, where
Abraham was commanded to sacrifice his son. The
second part, “Tombs,” examines the relationship
between Jesus Christ and his mother and takes
place in Joseph’s tomb as Mary prepares it for her
husband’s burial. Bronson said: “They are very reli-
gious pieces, and I make no apology for that. But
they are not just for religious-minded people.
Although it’s obvious, almost as soon as the action
begins, just who these people are, there are no
names mentioned anywhere in the dialogue, or
even on the program. I want people watching the
play to think along the lines of, ‘Hey, that mother
isn’t so different from my mother. And my son is
like that son. As a father myself, I know exactly
how that father feels right now.’” Provo Daily Her-
ald reviewer Eric D. Snider wrote: “Neither story is
as universal as was probably intended. Even though
the script studiously avoids using any character
names, these are still clearly the stories of Abraham
and Isaac, and Mary and Jesus, and no one else.
This is not a shortcoming, however; a thoughtful
play about biblical figures is as desirable as one
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about Every Family. The emotional intensity is pal-
pable, and Stones is a cathartic, enriching experience.”
• Confessions of a Mormon Boy, a one-man
play written by and starring Steven Fales, pre-
miered in November 2001 at the Rose Wagner
Center in Salt Lake City. Expanded from a version
originally presented at the August 2001 Sunstone
Symposium, the play “spins the story of Fales’s life-
long struggle to deny his sexual orientation, from
his earliest encounters through his experiences in
‘reparative therapy’ and his eventual excommunica-
tion from the LDS Church,” according to Salt
Lake City Weekly. “Fales is careful to note that Con-
fessions of a Mormon Boy is not an exercise in Church-
bashing, nor is it a crass gay romp. Rather, it’s his
attempt to shine a light on some of the assumptions
inherent in the way the Church and the Mormon
faithful deal with homosexuality.” Fales commented:
“I’m not getting up on my soapbox to talk about
how I hate the Mormon Church. I believe in these
concepts of eternity in many ways. Just because
there’s this incongruity I’m illuminating, or a com-
plexity, or even an absurdity, that doesn’t mean I
don’t love the Church.” Fales was married to Emily
Pearson, daughter of Carol Lynn Pearson, whose
1986 memoir Goodbye, I Love You chronicled her
life with Emily’s father, who was gay and died of
AIDS. Fales hopes to stage the play in New York;
however, a Salt Lake Tribune reviewer wrote that
“some of the LDS humor in Fales’ script may be
too specialized for audiences outside of Utah (one
of his biggest laughs is admitting to a preexistence
crush on Jimmy Flinders, a central character from
the corny Mormon musical Saturday’s Warrior).”
• Tim Slover’s play Hancock County, which
debuted at BYU in February 2002, “sets up a famil-
iar theatrical and cinematic situation: the legal trial
of a bad guy everyone wants to see punished,”
wrote Provo Daily Herald reviewer Eric D. Snider.
“It’s the real-life 1845 trial of five men accused of
conspiring to kill Mormon Prophet Joseph Smith.
(No one knew which of the 100 mobbers actually
fired the bullets that killed him, so ‘conspiracy to
murder’ was the best the state of Illinois could do.)”
Snider continued: “After setting up this tantalizing
blend of situations and characters, though, Slover
Winter 2001–2002
must stick to historical fact, which does not allow
for as much justice as the viewer will want to see.
It’s a difficult dilemma for a playwright: You want
the action to be satisfying, but you don’t want to
betray history. To an extent, though, the frustration
felt by a sympathetic audience is part of the point;
we feel a bit of what Brigham and the Saints felt.”
Playwright Slover said: “My chief question was why
Brigham Young and the Church didn’t have more
to do with the trial. It seems like they could have
had any number of people testify, among them John
Taylor and Willard Richards who had both been at
the Carthage Jail. They don’t make any kind of appear-
ance at the trial. It must have been so wrenching
for Brigham as the leader of the Church.” In other
Slover news, his play Joyful Noise, which has been
produced Off Broadway, recently had its consider-
able Broadway prospects ruined by a bad New York
Times review of a Pennsylvania production.
• Notorious for skewering Mormonism, the Salt
Lake Acting Company’s annual satire Saturday’s
Voyeur featured active-LDS actor Rock H. White
in its 2001 version. White played a self-righteous
LDS bishop and legislative representative who is a
pornography crusader. “The character is less-than-
saintly, lying and using coercion to get his objec-
tives,” reported the Salt Lake Tribute. “While White
says he’s not comfortable with everything in the
play, he says it’s important for Mormons to take a
different look at themselves.” White commented:
“There are a couple of lines in the show that I still
cringe at every night. The show doesn’t squash any
sacred cows, but there are brief moments where
they push the line pretty far for comedy’s sake. But
I do feel that a show like this is great for both mem-
bers of the LDS Church and non-members to see if
you are willing to laugh at yourself. It’s a healthy bit
of medicine for LDS people to see what we look
like to other citizens of this state.” While White
said he hasn’t received any negative feedback from
his ward or bishop, his relatives expressed shock
that he would be in a show that “mocks our people
and our church.”
• During the Winter Olympics in February
2002, the LDS Church mounted an elaborate the-
atrical and musical production called Light of the
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World in the Conference Center. According to the
Salt Lake Tribune, the 75-minute production com-
bined “spiritual music, history about The Church
of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, global costumes
and dances, and inspirational stories from past Olym-
pics.” A press release said the production included
“an international cast of more than 1,500 partici-
pants, including the Tabernacle Choir and Orchestra
at Temple Square, performing groups from Brigham
Young University and the community, and cele-
brated local artists. As many countries as possible
are being represented to create a program that has
the ability to cross cultural boundaries, ethnic dis-
tinctions and language barriers.” LDS Church
spokesman Dale Bills said, “Will there be some ele-
ments of LDS beliefs? Yes. But it’s not intended to
be preachy.” A Salt Lake Tribune reviewer wrote:
“While Light of the World impresses with sheer size
and visual spectacle, it is overloaded with multiple
plot directions and lacks narrative coherence. [The
show] tries to cover the bases of Mormonism,
Olympic history and universal brotherhood.”
• The Villa Theater Company in Springville,
Utah, is holding a playwriting contest with entries
due by June 30, 2002. New plays are sought that
are appropriate for family audiences, and plays
suitable for child performances are also needed.
Special consideration will be given to those plays
that reflect the history, lifestyle, or values of Utah
and Utahns of any religion. Plays may be on any
family-appropriate subject. Anyone may submit
any number of plays, with no entry fee. All entrants
will be given a written critique from a qualified
panel of judges. Send three copies of each entry to
Noreen Astin, Villa Theater Playwriting Contest,
254 S. Main Street, Springville, UT, 84663.
• Downwinders, a suspense novel set in south-
ern Utah and written by Curtis Oberhansley and
Diane Nelson-Oberhansley, won the 2001 Utah
Book Award for fiction. The Deseret News reported
that other finalists included “John Bennion for Falling
toward Heaven, a novel about an LDS missionary,
a love affair, and a struggle of conscience; Gerald
Grimmett for The Ferry Woman, a novel about
John D. Lee, which begins with one of Lee’s wives
angrily blaming Brigham Young for their exile after
the Mountain Meadows Massacre; and M. Shayne
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Bell for How We Play the Game in Salt Lake and
Other Stories, a collection of science-fiction and
fantasy stories, including an especially intriguing
tale about extraterrestrials in Salt Lake City.”
• Richard Evans’s The Christmas Box was
recently adapted as a musical by Japanese profes-
sionals and produced in Tokyo. “Christmas in Japan
is more an excuse to party and eat cake than a reli-
gious holiday, but every now and then it might not
be a bad idea to reflect upon what it really stands
for—loving and giving,” wrote a Daily Yomiuri
reviewer. This production “may lack the glitzy flair
that we’ve come to expect from a seasonal theatrical
offering, but it conveys a sincere message—that love
prevails over all—in an earnest and profound way.”
The reviewer continued: “The production is not an
all-song musical, like Les Miserables, or the sort of
musical that mixes spoken dialogues and songs, like
the works of Webber or Rodgers and Hammerstein.”
The director “handles the dialogue scenes best, par-
ticularly the serious ones, such as the scene where
David reveals his guilty feelings and fear that he
didn’t save Andrea because she was not his real child.
No music is heard during these rather long and
intense conversations. The audience, mostly women
in their 20s, 30s, and 40s, hung on every word.”
Film and TV
• The Other Side of Heaven, an $8-million-
budget independent film based on John H. Gro-
berg’s Tongan missionary memoir In the Eye of the
Storm, grossed more than $1.6 million on regional
screens and recently expanded nationwide to 160
markets. Out of 600 cast and crewmembers, only
four Mormons were involved in making the film:
the director, two high-powered LDS Hollywood
producers, and the film editor. “I think God’s Army
demonstrated that there is a viable Mormon niche
market out there, but this movie was not made at
all for that niche market,” said director Mitch
Davis. “This movie was frankly made for a world-
wide audience, which audience we hope it will
find.” Davis said his movie was already underway
before the success of God’s Army. John H. Groberg,
a member of the LDS Church’s First Quorum of
the Seventy, said he sought approval from his supe-
riors before agreeing to the film. “Most of the
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general authorities have seen it and seem to be
favorably inclined,” he said. The Other Side of
Heaven is distributed by Excel Entertainment,
which also distributes God’s Army. Critical response
to the movie has been lukewarm. Salt Lake City’s
two daily and largest weekly newspapers all gave
the film two-and-a-half stars out of four, and the
Provo Daily Herald gave it a C+. On AML-List,
Sharlee Glenn said the production left her basically
unmoved: “It seemed to me that the director was
never clear on what it was, exactly, he was trying to
film: A love story? A missionary memoir? A com-
ing-of-age tale? A travelogue? But the film’s biggest
flaw, in my opinion, was the fact that it continually
tiptoed around anything overtly Mormon.” Eric D.
Snider observed on AML-List that the main charac-
ter is “never homesick, unmotivated, or any of the
other things that 99.99 percent of all missionaries
feel at some point during their missions. He’s
blandly likable at the beginning, and blandly likable
at the end, in exactly the same way—no change, no
learning, no growth. If Elder Groberg was
tempted—or indeed had any significant obsta-
cles—they are not shown in the film. Everything in
the movie is overcome very easily, with little soul-
searching or drama.” Margaret Young told AML-
List she didn’t think the movie would succeed
outside the Mormon market, but it “is much better
than what the Church produces with its correlation
committees. I call this progress.”
• Several recent Hollywood films have Mormon
connections: The team of casino robbers in Ocean’s
Eleven includes two Mormon characters from
Provo. According to Preston Hunter of www.
adherents.com, the film has “become the top-gross-
ing film ever to feature a main character explicitly
identified as a Mormon.” David Veloz, screenwriter
of Natural Born Killers and the recent Behind
Enemy Lines, is Mormon, as is Joyce Eliason, a
Titanic screenwriter and co-screenwriter and co-
producer of David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive,
which received a Golden Globe nomination for
Best Dramatic Picture. Fellowship of the Ring direc-
tor Peter Jackson paid homage to the 1978 ani-
mated version of Lord of the Rings, written by LDS
writer Chris Conkling: “It inspired me to read the
book. I enjoyed it and wanted to know more. In
Winter 2001–2002
1978, an animated film was definitely the most
sensible way to show the scope of the story. A live-
action film back then would have been impossible.”
• The Los Angeles Film Critics Association pre-
sented its 2001 Independent/Experimental Film
and Video Award to The Beaver Trilogy, directed
by nonpracticing-Mormon filmmaker Trent Har-
ris. Set in Beaver, Utah, the film consists of three
shorter films that each retells the same story with
different casts and techniques. The film’s stars
include Crispin Glover and a young Sean Penn.
Harris is best known for his low-budget 1994 film
Plan 10 from Outer Space, a science-fiction comedy
about a Utah Mormon who discovers the “Plaque
of Kolob” and uncovers an alien plot to use the
LDS Church to take over the world.
• Utah filmmaker Rob Sibley has released his
first LDS-oriented direct-to-video movie, The
Shadow of Light. Intended for all ages and set in
the 1940s, the story concerns two brothers who,
while stranded in a southern Utah town after a dis-
astrous summer camping trip, find a journal that
hints at missing treasure. Legends interwoven into
the film include disappearing wagon trains and
Montezuma sending his gold to Kanab. “We have
a tie to the Book of Mormon in the story,” Sibley
told the Provo Daily Herald. “I have no desire to
preach in my TV and filmmaking work, but if by
watching this movie people go and pick up the
Book of Mormon, my objective has been reached.”
He said his goal is to make back the money
invested “and a little bit more so we can continue
doing this.” More information is available at
www.theshadowoflight.com.
• With 15 events and about 750 visitors, the first
annual Young LDS Film Festival debuted late last
year in Provo, Utah. In addition to screening films
and presenting awards, festival organizers arranged
several workshops and presentations about ways to
improve LDS filmmaking. First place went to Chris
Bowman for The Wrong Brother, a comedy about
Orville and Wilbur Wright’s younger brother who
struggles to emerge from his brothers’ shadow. Sec-
ond place went to Brian Peterson for Closure, a
film about the problems of a 25-year-old BYU stu-
dent whose high school sweetheart, a member of a
different Christian faith, gets married. “People have
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told me that it is long overdue,” said festival organ-
izer Christian Vuissa, a BYU film student from
Austria. “I think there’s a need for a community for
LDS filmmakers, a way to network.” The festival is
sponsoring a touring presentation of films from the
competition, and entries for the 2002 competition
will be accepted until September 15, 2002. For
more information, visit www.ldsbox.com.
• Citing declining advertising revenue and changed
audience interests in the wake of the September 11
terrorist attacks, 20th Century-Fox and Showtime
both canceled plans for TV movies about the Salt
Lake Olympics bid scandal, which likely would have
included Mormon characters and themes. “We
were trying to write satire, which is hard,” said a
Fox executive. “It never really came together. We
didn’t want to bash people for no reason. It was not
a great script, and we couldn’t get it out before the
Olympics.” According to the Salt Lake Tribune,
“The demise of the Fox and Showtime projects also
is part of the fading of the Olympic scandal after
three years. It follows a federal judge’s dismissal last
month of the entire bribery and fraud case.”
• The Mormon Tabernacle Choir recently
appeared in an episode of the TV series Touched by
an Angel. According to Mormon News, the
episode’s storyline focused on a family “mourning a
beloved member of the community who is missing
after the September 11th attacks. Young Benny
Lewis is having a hard time understanding the dis-
appearance his favorite teacher, Mr. Harper, who is
also the school’s choir director and the director for
a local church’s annual Christmas pageant. The
angels help the family rekindle the holiday spirit
through nostalgic memories.”
• Co-written by director Kurt Hale and Los
Angeles–based LDS stand-up comedian John Moyer
and released in February 2002, The Singles Ward
is a romantic comedy about a divorced man who
returns to a singles ward and finds a new partner.
“We’re approaching our religion with the utmost
reverence, but we’re also shining a pretty hot light
on our culture,” Moyer said. The movie features
cameo appearances by celebrities such as Steve
Young, Shawn Bradley, Danny Ainge, LaVell
Edwards, Gordon Jump, Julie Stoffer, and Richard
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Dutcher. “We attacked this genre from a business
plan,” producer Dave Hunter told the Utah County
Journal. “We know we can recoup the half-million
this cost.” Next the filmmakers will make The R.M.,
about a missionary who returns to find his family
has moved and his girlfriend and job have disap-
peared, followed by Church Ball. After three LDS-
market films, the BYU film school graduates plan
to enter the general feature-film market, and they
would like to start a “perpetual entertainment
fund” for future Mormon movies. While most
Utah newspapers found the film amateurish and
overripe, the film’s soundtrack received kudos for
its ska, punk, and rock covers of traditional Mor-
mon hymns and Primary songs. The filmmakers
caused a controversy by running an ad with reviewer
comments taken out of context to appear favorable.
• Richard Dutcher began preliminary shooting
in January 2002 for his next film, The Prophet:
The Story of Joseph Smith Jr. To capture winter
scenes while snow was still on the ground, Zion
Films transformed a state park in Ogden, Utah,
into the 19th-century prairies between Missouri and
Illinois. Serious filming will begin in early April
2002 at locations in Canada and New York. The
filmmakers anticipate releasing the film in 2003. In
other Dutcher news, his debut Mormon film God’s
Army was recently remastered in Spanish for distri-
bution in Latin America, and his sophomore Mor-
mon film Brigham City will be available on video
starting April 30, 2002.
• Preston Hunter of www.adherents.com reported
that popular LDS-market author Susan Evans
McCloud has become involved in filmmaking.
Stone Forest, an Orem-based film production com-
pany, lists McCloud as president and a screenwriter,
and her book Black Stars Over Mexico—about
the Mexican LDS colonies in the early 1900s—is
being made into a movie. According to Hunter,
“Other LDS authors whose books have been made
into films (mostly made-for-television films) include
Raymond F. Jones, James C. Christensen, Zenna
Henderson, Anne Perry, Richard Paul Evans,
Richard M. Siddoway, Hartt Wixom, Douglas
Thayer, Herbert Harker, Blaine Yorgason and Brent
Yorgason, Lael J. Littke, and Judith Freeman.” In
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other LDS film news, Jack Weyland’s Charly and
Doug Stewart’s Saturday’s Warrior are slated to
become movies.
• A song written by U.S. Senator Orrin Hatch
and LDS composer Janice Kapp Perry was included
in the soundtrack of the Hollywood movie Rat
Race. Producer Jerry Zucker used the songwriting
duo’s song “America Rocks!” in a recording by the
Hatch-Perry Singers, a Provo-based group of fifth
and sixth graders that includes several of Perry’s
grandchildren.
• Entertainment Weekly gave an A grade to Shot
in the Heart, HBO’s recent adaptation of non-
practicing Mormon Mikal Gilmore’s memoir
about the family background of his brother Gary,
who murdered two men in Utah and became the
first U.S. execution after the Supreme Court
reversed an earlier ban on capital punishment.
Directed by Agnieszka Holland (Europa, Europa),
“the film centers on efforts by Mikal, played with
subtle anguish by Giovanni Ribisi (Saving Private
Ryan), to persuade Gary (The Thin Red Line’s Elias
Koteas, in a protean performance) to reconsider his
request to be executed. Both book and movie reject
facile explanations for Gary’s life and acts; Holland
is particularly adept in dramatizing Mikal’s
dilemma and the manifestations of his brother’s
story in pop culture.” On AML-List, R. W. Ras-
band wrote: “The film lacks the epic, time- and
space-spanning quality of Mikal’s book. It’s more
an intense chamber piece; I can easily envision a
stage version. It’s very reminiscent of an episode of
Homicide; it has the same dark intensity. It uses
Mikal’s scary tales of rural Utah Mormon myth-
ology: blood atonement, three Nephites (pro-
nounced here nef-ites), and ghosts. We see things
from Mikal’s perspective, so it’s possible to see these
elements as part of a depiction of a disturbed fam-
ily’s collective worldview. We choose to see what we
want to see, and the bloody ethos depicted here is
real, but it’s only a partial glimpse of the local her-
itage. It’s a gripping film, but for LDS viewers,
caveat emptor.”
• Mormon-born television inventor Philo T.
Farnsworth will be the subject of an original HBO
Pictures teleplay. “The script will highlight
Winter 2001–2002
Farnsworth’s vision and intellectual abilities that
led him to the concept of television in 1921,”
reported the Salt Lake Tribune. “Farnsworth was
apparently not thrilled with his invention, which
has always been the butt of intellectual scorn.
Reportedly, his description of a couch potato disease
was ‘TV-itis.’” The Tribune noted that Farnsworth
has already been the subject of a play, A Love Affair
with Electrons by AML board member Eric
Samuelsen. In other Farnsworth news, Miramax
Films holds film options on two books about the
inventor.
• Filmmaker John Lyde has released his first fea-
ture-length film on video. Distributed by Thomson
Productions, the 52-minute The Field Is White is
about a returned missionary who, struggling with
his faith in post-mission life, recalls his mission
experiences as he rereads his journals. According to
BYU’s NewsNet, “Lyde didn’t want to make
preachy, Hollywood-style, or realistic films like
God’s Army, but rather wished to capture some-
thing in between. ‘I wanted something that’s enter-
taining, but you can still feel the Spirit,’ he said.
‘I mostly wanted to help returned missionaries
think back about their missionary experience.’” On
AML-List, Preston Hunter wrote: “The Field Is
White is intended to be inspirational, but it also
tells an interesting story with unique and believable
characters. There is nothing that audiences will
find offensive, yet there is much that is informative
and thought provoking. The film is also very realis-
tic in its portrayal of missionary life—in many
ways it is more realistic and revealing than other
available films with higher production values, such
as God’s Army and The Other Side of Heaven. There
are at least a dozen realistic scenes portraying
aspects of missionary life that have probably never
been filmed before.”
• Orson Scott Card has written and directed a
short film titled Remind Me Again, which is available
for viewing at his website www.hatrack.com. The
13-minute film was shot and edited by Card’s son
Geoffrey and stars his daughter Emily. According
to Preston Hunter at www.adherents.com, “The
story is about a man who has lost his memory.
There are no insectoid aliens, magic-wielding
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prophets, talking trees, sleeping princesses, or time-
traveling Mayans. [The film] is oddly interesting
and well made given the equipment constraints,
but it is very low-budget (maybe even no-budget).”
Card has written several animated Living Scripture
scripts and has long been involved with trying to
bring his novel Ender’s Game to film.
• Richard Dutcher is collaborating with film-
maker Nathan Jones on a mockumentary about
the birth of Mormon cinema, according to Preston
Hunter of www.adherents.com. Budgeted at $103,000
and planned for a September 2002 release, the film
will be titled The Work and the Story. Jones said
the movie is about four filmmakers racing to
become the first “Mormon Spielberg.”
• “If the concept reminds you of Flashdance
crossed with Pretty in Pink, albeit with a decidedly
Mormon bent, the film doesn’t exactly go out of its
way to discourage such comparisons,” wrote
Deseret News critic Jeff Vice about the new film Out
of Step. “Director Ryan Little and a trio of screen-
writers aren’t exactly subtle in their attempts to
broach some pretty dicey religious and philosophi-
cal matters. There are also a few obvious technical
missteps—including some out-of-focus camera
work and some bad scene and sound splices. But
the majority of these can probably be attributed to
the threadbare budget [reportedly $200,000]. The
performances more than make up for those short-
comings.” LDS film specialist Preston Hunter sum-
marized the film as “the fictional story of Jenny
Thomas, a Mormon girl from a small town in Utah
pursuing her dreams of becoming a professional
dancer. After being accepted to a prestigious dance
program, Jenny finds herself alone and over-
whelmed in New York City. The film combines
high-energy dance and cutting-edge music with
comedy, romance, drama, a traditional quest, and
very untraditional characters.” Salt Lake Tribune
reviewer Sean P. Means wrote: “Here’s a nice sur-
prise: Out of Step, the latest in the wave of LDS cin-
ema, is a sweet little romance with refreshing
characters and a winning cast. The script—credited
to Michael Buster, Willow Leigh Jones and Nikki
Schmutz—offers thoughtful discussions of the
LDS faith accessible to members and nonmembers
IRREANTUM
alike.” Provo Daily Herald reviewer Eric D. Snider
wrote: “The first moments may scare you. That
cheesy music, that enlightened-sounding voiceover:
This is a Church video! It’s Together Forever or Our
Heavenly Father’s Plan, or something! What are we
in for? Fortunately, two or three minutes into Out
of Step, the newest LDS-themed motion picture,
the seminary stuff gives way to teen pop music and
images of New York City, and what you thought
was going to be preachy or stiff turns out to be a
sweet-natured, highly watchable spiritual drama.”
On AML-List, Snider added: “Let me say how dis-
appointed I am that Out of Step has done so poorly
at the box office. I really think it was due to lack
of marketing, not lack of quality; obviously the
reviews were positive, and I suspect word of mouth
would have been, too, if anyone had seen it.”
• Utah-native Trent Hanson has scripted and is
in preproduction to direct a feature film about a
Latter-day Saint basketball star who finds himself
torn between his values and the NBA lifestyle.
Filming is scheduled to begin in May 2002, with a
fall 2002 release date planned.
Online
• In February 2002 a group of Mormon writers
and graphic artists formed The Sugar Beet, a satir-
ical Mormon news website patterned after The
Onion (www.theonion.com). Located at www. the-
sugarbeet.com, the web publication announced
itself as follows: “In the enterprising and self-sacri-
ficing spirit of the Mormon pioneers, a crack group
of Mormon journalists has banded together to
bring you the latest and most relevant Mormon
news. If it was gossiped about in Relief Society, if
it caused muffled snickers in the deacons quorum,
if the high priests mumbled about it in their
sleep, you’ll see it in The Sugar Beet first.” Articles
in the first issue included “Provo Temple Liftoff
Successful,” “Area Man Hospitalized after Trying to
Hie to Kolob,” “New Caffeine Patch Announced,”
and several Olympics-related stories. In an article
titled “Latter-day Send-Ups: Mormon Satirists Ward
Off Over-Earnest Members with The Sugar Beet,” a
Salt Lake City Weekly reporter wrote: “The Sugar
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Beet might help ease friction between Mormons
and non-Mormons. Then there’s the less-publicized
divide between Utah Mormons and those faithful
beyond the state line. . . . Jack Mormons and non-
Mormons will nod knowingly. And hopefully, the
faithful can share in the chuckle.” Updated biweekly,
the site logged more than 3,000 hits during its first
few weeks.
• Deseret Book’s website at deseretbook.com now
features a magazine called Mormon Life, which
includes news links and sections on Gospel Study,
Gospel Living, People & Places, Heritage, LDS
Entertainment, Today’s Woman, Marriage & Par-
enting, and Youth. Recent writers have included
Tom Plummer, Stephen R. Covey, Jack Weyland,
Patricia Holland, Gerald Lund, Robert F. Smith,
Timothy Robinson, Ardeth G. Kapp, Andrew C.
Skinner, and C. Terry Warner. The LDS Enter-
tainment section has featured an original mystery
novel by Liz Adair.
Miscellany
• Two BYU English professors are teaching an
honors class on the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, with
lectures on the morals of fantasy literature and how
its roots stem from Christian beliefs. “Fantasy liter-
ature is undergirded by an understanding of
medieval literature informed by a Christian belief,
or a notion of providence,” said assistant professor
Don Chapman. “This is why people can relate so
well to it.” Professor Steven Walker, who wrote
his Harvard doctoral dissertation on Tolkien, said:
“I want to look at the ways fantasy intersects real-
ity and impinges on actual life. Then we can begin
to figure out how Tolkien’s fantasy manages to be so
realistic. Overall, I really want to see if we can get
at the morals of the story and wind up with a dis-
cussion of how fantasy might affect us in our later
lives. We’ll definitely incorporate discussion of the
new film into the course, and I’m hoping we can
have a fantasy film forum and extend into Harry
Potter and other film fantasies.”
• When Sheri Dew, then serving as executive
vice president at Deseret Book, heard about BYU’s
Publishing Lab, which helps students market
Winter 2001–2002
their manuscripts, she asked to be a guest speaker.
According to BYU’s NewsNet, Dew offered three
guiding principles for aspiring authors: have
worthwhile content, package the content well, and
have the right motives. “Some just want to publish
for the sake of publishing,” she said. “You need to
have a fresh insight.” Listen to what people are
talking about and what they are worried about, she
advised. She encouraged students to craft their
writing so they can reach out to broader audiences.
“You have the Holy Ghost,” she said. “Get the skill,
and you will help people bump into the gospel.”
• A U.S. district judge dismissed a lawsuit by for-
mer University of Utah student Christina Axson-
Flynn, a Latter-day Saint who claimed her religious
rights were violated when instructors required her
to recite scripts containing profane language. The
judge ruled that the use of profane language was
required only as an academic exercise, that the cur-
riculum did not take a position on religion, and
that it is reasonable for an acting program to foster
a student’s ability to take on disagreeable roles. “The
bottom line is you can’t have a society in which
everything you disagree with is in violation of your
constitutional rights,” said assistant Utah attorney
general Alain Balmanno. “This is a recognition that
we have a system in place where people go to a uni-
versity in order to learn things with which they
may not be familiar or comfortable.” Attorney Stef-
fen Johnson argued that his client should not lose
her constitutional rights to freedom of speech and
religion when she enters the classroom. Axson-Flynn
is appealing the decision.
• Publishers Weekly’s Religion Bookline e-bulletin
reported on the 2001 convention of the Latter-day
Saint Booksellers Association. “According to Mary
Ann Blackham, [former] executive director of
LDSBA, the convention just keeps growing. Booth
space is up significantly (from 150 booths in 1999
to 220 this year), made possible by the convention’s
relocation to the spacious new South Towne Expo-
sition Center [in Sandy, Utah]. Though attendance
figures were not available at press time, the show
hosted 125 exhibitors and approximately 190 buy-
ing stores (out of 273 LDS stores worldwide).” The
annual LDSBA convention is not open to the pub-
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lic, but current AML members can register to attend
the 2002 convention (August 13–16) through the
AML’s associate LDSBA membership (for details,
watch AML-List or send a request to irreantum2@
cs.com after July 1, 2002). For more information
about the LDSBA, visit www.ldsba.com.
• Several Latter-day Saints won awards in the
Utah Arts Council’s 43rd annual original writing
competition. Following is the complete list of win-
ners: Novel: first place, Dawn Houghton; second,
Nicole Stansbury; honorable mention, Kate Lahey.
Nonfiction book: first, Terry Houlahan; second, Todd
MacFarlane. Short story collection: first, Paul Rawlins;
second, Marina Harris. Young adult book: first, John
Bennion; second, Laurel Brady; honorable mention,
Carol Williams. Poetry: first, Natasha Saje; second,
Susan Sample; honorable mention, Lance Larsen.
Short story: first, Susan Imhoff; second, Lyn
McCarter; honorable mentions, Kimberly Sorenson
and Sandra Bullock. Personal essay: first, Nicole
Stansbury; second, Matthew Lalli; honorable men-
tions, Lisa-Michele Church and M. Dane Picard.
• Richard P. Scowcroft, a scholarly novelist who
served as director of Stanford University’s creative
writing program, died at age 85. According to the
Los Angeles Times, “Scowcroft nurtured such suc-
cessful writers as best-selling legal affairs novelist
Scott Turow. Sometimes semi-autobiographical and
usually involving coming-of-age struggles, Scow-
croft’s half-dozen or so novels from the 1940s to the
1970s include Children of the Covenant, First Fam-
ily, A View of the Bay, Wherever She Goes, The Ordeal
of Dudley Dean, and Back to Fire Mountain. The
earliest novels, a Times reviewer wrote in 1955,
demonstrated ‘his command of technique, his abil-
ity to write directly, thoughtfully and vividly, [and]
his knowledge that a novel, if it is worth anything
at all, must be about people.’” Born in Ogden,
Utah, Scowcroft earned a bachelor’s degree from the
University of Utah and a master’s and doctorate in
English from Harvard. After teaching a year at Har-
vard, Scowcroft joined the Stanford faculty as an
assistant professor of English in 1947. He worked
with Wallace Stegner to shape the university’s cre-
ative writing program, including editing and pub-
lishing periodic anthologies of students’ work.
IRREANTUM
• Scheduled for August 7–10, the 2002 Salt Lake
Sunstone Symposium is accepting session propos-
als until April 30, 2002. Types of sessions include
scholarly papers, panel discussions, interviews, per-
sonal essays, sermons, dramatic performances, liter-
ary readings, debates, comic routines, short films,
art displays, and musical presentations. For more
information, contact Sunstone at sunstonesy@aol.com
or 801-355-5926. In other Sunstone news, the
deadline for the annual fiction contest is June 30,
2002. Entries must relate to adult Latter-day Saint
experience, theology, or worldview, and all varieties
of form are welcome. For entry rules, contact Sun-
stone at sunstoneut@aol.com or 801-355-5926.
• In anticipation of a film version of Jack Wey-
land’s novel Charly to be released in fall 2002,
novelist Anne Bradshaw recently profiled Weyland
at www.mahonri.org. Since 1979 Weyland has writ-
ten 26 books and more than 50 New Era stories.
His interest in creative writing began during col-
lege, but he didn’t start writing seriously until after
he had earned a Ph.D. in physics and was teaching
at the South Dakota School of Mines and Technol-
ogy. To pay for a correspondence course in writing,
he sold his first story to the New Era, the LDS
Church’s youth magazine that recently announced
it will no longer publish fiction. Continuing to
write stories for the New Era during his unpaid
summers, Weyland served as a bishop and gained
deeper insights into issues faced by the youth.
Teaching early-morning seminary helped him
develop the habit of rising early, and after the sem-
inary calling ended he used his early mornings to
write, eventually producing his first novel, Charly.
“Charly has had remarkable longevity and popular-
ity,” Weyland said. “I’d like to create something
new that has the same effect on readers.” He said
his latest novel, Megan, “was like walking through
a minefield. The main character is a young woman
who has become pregnant just out of high school.
The story addresses many of the issues and deci-
sions resulting from Megan’s choice.” Weyland has
a website at www.jackweyland.com.
83 Winter 2001–2002
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A M L - L I S T that they do offbeat things because they’re not sure
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. One especially rich
topic during May through October 2001 was non-
print media for LDS stories. Read on for a sampling
of the sentiment on this and other topics. If you find
yourself wanting to join this community, 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.
Symbolism
Anna Wight (May 29): Sometimes I wonder,
how does the teacher know that’s what the author
meant and how do they know that’s what the white
daisy means? Did they ever speak to the writer?
I suspect, too, that if the actual author of the
book took the class incognito, they would end up
failing it because they wouldn’t understand the sym-
bolism in their own book, according to the teacher
and other critics.
Ivan Angus Wolfe (May 31): But look at it this
way—Umberto Eco once said (paraphrased)—
“Nothing pleases me more than to have readers
point out elements in my work I did not intend to
be there, yet are still there in any case.”
Eco has a healthy attitude—he realizes even the
most careful, skilled authors (and he is one of
the most) are not always in full conscious control
of their works, and so things are in the literature
that the author may not have intended, but those
elements are still there.
Harlow Clark (May 31): Symbolism isn’t about
what the author really meant, it’s about how an
object or idea or landscape or person functions to
deepen and enrich a work of art. For example, sup-
pose you want to write about two teenage boys who
like to do offbeat things and you want to suggest
Winter 2001–2002
who they are, so you have them drive around in a
hearse. Now suppose one of the boys is Navajo.
Suddenly the hearse adds tremendous texture to
the story. This Navajo boy really doesn’t know who
he is, or he wouldn’t be riding around in a hearse,
and before the end of the story he’s going to have
to deal with that. Complicate things by adding a
Hopi antagonist (“Coach thinks that because we’re
both Indians we’ll like each other. He doesn’t know
that Navajos hate Hopis. They used to make us
slaves.”) who calls the Navajo an apple (“red on the
outside, white on the inside”), then have the Navajo
boy run past an apple orchard. You’ve got two sym-
bols at work in the story that give it resonance and
underline the action of the story, the Navajo boy’s
quest to understand his culture and how he fits in.
[. . . ] If I wanted to explain to a high school Eng-
lish class how a symbol works within a story, The
Shadow Brothers, with its hearse and apples, would
be a fine story to look at. [. . .]
Many writers work very hard to add texture and
depth to a story. Symbolism is not the invention of
critics. For a fairly obvious example of symbolism,
read the first chapter of Martin Cruz Smith’s Stal-
lion Gate. It’s the story of Joseph being delivered
from prison after being left there to rot. To empha-
size that he’s working with that story, Smith retells
the encounter between Joseph and Potiphar’s wife a
couple of chapters later. To further emphasize it, he
named the main character Joe.
Terry L Jeffress (June 4): Teachers find symbol-
ism in everything because writing depends on sym-
bols. The word rose printed on a page is not a rose.
When you use the word rose, you evoke in the
reader not just the generic image of a prickly shrub
with pinnate leaves and showy flowers, but you also
evoke the personal experiences the reader has had
with roses, both real and in art. An author may
deny the use of symbolism, but the author made a
conscious decision to use a rose instead of a carna-
tion, a lily, or some other flower.
And frankly, what the author meant doesn’t mat-
ter. Only what the reader has experienced while
reading the text matters. When I write about liter-
ature, I don’t tell you what the author meant.
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Instead, I discuss the experience and meaning that
I got from the text, and I use examples from the
text to demonstrate how I arrived at a position.
I enjoy looking at how the symbols in the text cre-
ate a deeper meaning than you can find with just
the base meaning of an author’s words.
Mormon Literature as Distinct?
[Tom Johnson asked if non-Mormon and Mor-
mon literature were so different as to be different
genres, with a Berlin wall separating the two.]
William Morris (June 4): Us comparatists (that’s
what us comparative literature folk call ourselves),
once we got over that trying-to-find-the-universal-
narrative thing (which was essentially an exercise
in Eurocentrism in reaction to WWII—not a bad
thing, but very limiting), have been deconstructing
notions of race and nation and literature. We often
deal with all that stuff that has now become so very
trendy in cultural studies—writing on the margins,
hybridity, multilingualism, “minor” literatures
(except we no longer use the word “minor”—I for-
get what the new term is), etc. We show how the
works of various writers challenge fixed notions of
nation and race and gender.
[. . .] Writers come from communities, and no
matter what their ties with those communities are
or become, their work gets filtered through all
those categories (both in production and consump-
tion) of race, ethnicity, language, religion, nation,
and geography that are tied in to the writers’ com-
munity(ies). And it’s a perfectly viable exercise to
discuss how a writer’s work relates to these cate-
gories. Thus, Kafka is a Jew, a Czech, a German
speaker, a citizen of Prague, a bachelor, etc. [. . .]
What all this is inelegantly leading up to is a
defense of the idea of a “Mormon” literature. [. . .]
I also believe that Mormon literature intersects
with non-Mormon literature at large and that it’s
hard (and should be hard) to create hard bound-
aries, to create a Berlin wall. Part of the reason for
that is that American Mormon culture blends into
American culture. But that’s not going to stop me
from trying to theorize trends, histories, possibili-
ties, triumphs, and failures in Mormon lit. In fact,
IRREANTUM
the very thing that makes Mormon literature so fas-
cinating to me as an idea is that it has to relate in
some way to a strong institutional culture (the LDS
Church), to a national culture (American, and soon
probably more), and to a larger religious context
(Christianity and beyond).
Of course, there is a Berlin wall when it comes
to marketing Mormon lit. But there are barriers in
every segment of book publishing and selling. And
let’s not forget that the Berlin wall was not imper-
meable when it came to intellectual work (so are
orthodox Mormons the East or West Germans?).
There was a certain flow back and forth.
Barbara Hume (June 6): I don’t think this
[Berlin wall idea] has to be so. For example, I’ve
learned a great deal about what it was like to be in
the Royal Navy during the Napoleonic Wars by
reading Patrick O’Brian, C.S. Forester, and Alexan-
der Kent novels. Talk about a particular culture!
Now I know what the gun deck is really for (not
guns) and where the orlop is and why the ham-
mocks are tied to the railings during battle and
what “clear the decks” really means and why you
should never cut the rations of grog and which
mast is the mizzen and what the t’gallants do and
what the protocols are when an admiral comes on
board and what ships of the line do versus what
frigates do and why it’s a good idea to put maggots
into a festering wound and a whole lot of other
stuff. It’s accurate, too—I got so interested that I
consulted primary sources. Can’t an LDS writer
write a novel set in the Mormon culture that will
let people into our ways? I learned about the way a
Jewish family celebrates the Passover from reading
a novel by a Jewish writer, for goodness sake.
It’s sometimes useful if an insider character
explains some things to an outsider character, if
you don’t overdo it. O’Brian has fun with this one,
since the doctor never understands the ways of the
navy even after they are explained to him over and
over. The author makes it fun to watch him try so
hard but still leave the seamen frustrated. He’ll lis-
ten to a long discussion about the correct terms for
various locations on the ship, and then he’ll say that
he has to go downstairs. It’s a hoot—and a mar-
velous literary device.
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Scott Parkin (June 8): I’m not sure that I buy
the notion that Mormon literature is so horribly
impenetrable to non-Mormon readers. Other than
some few specific details about temple ceremonies
that we’ve already debated quite a bit on this list
(and that rarely, if ever, make their way into Mor-
mon fiction), there is pretty much nothing about
our culture that’s really that hard for people to
understand.
I think Mormons perpetuate the myth of our
rampant distinctiveness as a means of excusing
themselves from trying to talk to others about our
commonalities. We desperately want to be a pecu-
liar people, a people set apart, a set of beliefs that
can’t be truly understood without long-term, focused
study. We like the idea that our culture and religion
are hard to comprehend without a native guide.
(I also think we conflate Wasatch Front culture
with Mormon culture and assume that all Mor-
mons everywhere behave like Utahns, but that’s a
different discussion.)
Hooey. We’re not that unique.
For example, pretty much every Christian reli-
gion has some form of communion. That we call
ours the sacrament and have a particular set of
prayers to go with it in no way makes the concept
alien to anyone who has even a remote notion of
what communion is. Water, wine, wafer, or wheat
bread, it all equates to a ceremony of individual
redemption through partaking of symbols of the
body and blood of Christ. Ours is a pretty obvious
implementation of a concept that is core religion to
a huge international populace.
It’s why the end of Richard Dutcher’s Brigham
City can have power for any viewer—most are famil-
iar with communion, and he includes the specific
detail of the woman distressed by her sin choosing
to forego that communion early in the story to
specifically illustrate how this culture interprets
their part in the ritual. Nothing else is needed—no
lengthy digression into the Atonement, no treatise
on the cultural significant of children’s role in pub-
lic administration of a religious rite, no extended
exposition of baptism and renewing covenants and
the authority structure of the Mormon Church. The
prayers speak for themselves, and the one illustrative
Winter 2001–2002
scene sets the remaining necessary context for under-
standing the essence of the rite.
Sure, there are a lot of in-jokes to be made, a lot
of winks to the audience that would require a lot of
explanation but that add only the barest hint
of authenticity to the story. And Mormons use
those kinds of in-jokes a lot, in part because we
want to feel special and unique.
But those jokes and nods and winks aren’t really
what make Mormon culture interesting. We can be
understood fairly easily, because despite our hopes
to the contrary, we are generally pretty much like
everyone else in the broad strokes, though many of
the fine details can be quite unique—as they are
with any culture and cultural literature.
So I’m not sure I accept that (a) some great gulf
exists between Mormon literature and the world, or
(b) that Mormons can or ought to spend a lot of
time trying to create a sense of alienness about our
culture and religion.
I think we’re afraid that despite our claims to
unique religious truth, our actual day-to-day cul-
ture might be at least a tad trivial. So we build
monuments to our own uniqueness in our minds
and assume that no one can understand them. [. . .]
As storytellers, though, I think we need to under-
stand that the uniqueness of the Mormon view-
point comes not through little cultural details, but
through a series of powerful perceptual differences
that come through in the story without the use of
silly behavioral gewgaws. Those real differences in
perception demand to be understood, but as
authors we need to trust that the real story comes
through the author’s Mormon mindset and the
characters’ true voices, not through explicating
some trivial social practices.
D. Michael Martindale (June 12): Three
vignettes that address this:
1. I knew a local stand-up comedian once who
did lots of jokes about Mormons. When away from
Utah, where the likelihood was great that people in
the audience wouldn’t know what a Mormon was,
he used a gimmick to give them some kind of clue
so those people could get something out of the
jokes: he’d describe Mormons as “Amish in poly-
ester suits.”
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Now I hope we would give a little more accurate
impression of Mormons in our literature, but the
basic idea is correct: we don’t need to dive into
great detail about what being a Mormon is all
about. We can provide just enough information to
get the basic idea across without bogging every-
thing down with involved explanations. As a sci-
ence fiction reader/writer, I’m afraid I have a head
start on many of you knowing how to do that—it’s
standard operating procedure for science fiction
and fantasy.
2. In high school I had a Baptist friend named
Tom, except he had never actually been baptized.
He invited me to one of his services once, and told
me that every time before communion, the pastor
would explain that only those who had been bap-
tized should partake of it. Tom swore the preacher
always said it while looking at him, as if he were
saying, “Now only those who have been baptized—
TOM!—should partake.”
I attended, they passed out the communion, and
it was absolutely clear to me at every point what
was going on. There was nothing inscrutable about
the procedure. When the trays were offered down
the row where Tom and I sat, we declined. I have
also been to a Catholic mass a couple of times and,
in spite of the greater ritualistic implementation,
was not confused about what was going on. Con-
sequently, I don’t think a Christian of any stripe
would find our sacrament to be mystifying at all.
Nor our baptisms, nor our ordinations, nor bless-
ings of children, nor our healing of the sick. They
might be full of questions on details, but the gist of
what’s going on is pretty obvious.
3. The novel I’ve been working on, whose rewrite
is now close to finished, is aimed specifically at a
Mormon audience. I make absolutely no attempt
to explain any references that a typical Mormon
would understand. When I submitted chapter one
to my writers group, one member (Dave) who was
not a Mormon and knew little of the religion or
culture said he was absolutely fascinated by the
chapter. It helped him to understand this culture
he had been living in the midst of all these years.
He said that he was able to follow pretty well what
was going on, and even the references that weren’t
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completely clear to him he was able to get the gist
of. He enjoyed getting immersed in this “alien”
culture.
My conclusion: just write. Write about Mormons
and their religion and their culture, and don’t try to
explain everything. Then let a non-Mormon read
it. Let him point out the parts that are just too
unclear, where he couldn’t decipher what was going
on at all. You may be surprised to find out how few
of those instances there are.
Mormon Cinema
Travis Manning (May 8): I went on a road trip
with my wife last weekend and we discussed
Richard Dutcher. I told my wife I thought Dutcher
was courageous for producing screenplays by a
Mormon about Mormons. My wife said she has
trouble with that. We talked further.
My wife said she has problems with moviemakers
producing films containing spiritual content like
blessings and prayers. My comment was, “Well,
why has the Church televised an LDS sacrament
meeting on TV here in recent years? Those things
are sacred.” I also said there is spiritual content in
Legacy and Testaments, and these are Church-spon-
sored productions. Her comment was she didn’t
particularly like Church movies and productions,
that they just weren’t well produced. [. . .] I said
that Church artists weren’t going to get better, that
LDS filmmakers weren’t going to get better, unless
there were more films to watch and critique, if there
wasn’t a more substantive discourse and dialogue
on what makes films “good.”
Back to what Wayne Booth has said about criti-
cal communities, that unless we have a critical com-
munity, art, in whatever form, will not improve
(this is a loose reiteration, but still on the point).
My wife questioned Dutcher’s financial motives:
was he attempting to just make money off of movie
producing? I didn’t believe so. Besides, shouldn’t
we be anxiously engaged in good causes and do
many good things of our own free will to bring to
pass good things? My wife asked me why an LDS
moviemaker would attempt to even make Brigham
City, a fictional piece. Why fiction? My response:
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Christ used fiction. The parables. Christ’s parables
are stories carefully crafted to elicit valuable lessons
for those who are paying careful attention to its
content. Her response was, “Well, that’s Christ. We
shouldn’t try to replicate what he does.” I asked if
she was sure about that, and she realized where we
were in our conversation. Christ, of course, com-
mands us to be like Him, even as He is like the
Father. We both agreed.
Again, I said, I see Richard Dutcher as a coura-
geous LDS filmmaker who is just developing his art
and encouraging other LDS filmmakers to do the
same. There are almost zero films by Mormons
about Mormons for a national audience. And as
Margaret Young mentioned in her post a couple
weeks ago about her and Darius’s experience in an
L.A. book convention, there are still many stereo-
types about Mormons that are flat-out backwoods
and hokey.
Annette Lyon (June 6): After seeing movies my
husband and I always dissect them. This time [after
watching Brigham City] we didn’t agree on every-
thing, but we did agree on a lot, such as: the end-
ing was powerful. I sobbed. We went with friends,
and the wife of the couple actually said that at the
end of the whodunit scene, she thought the movie
was over and decided if it was she hated it—but the
last scene made all the difference, and she loved
it. [. . .] My husband was pretty adamant that a
nonmember wouldn’t understand the import of the
final scene. Possibly not to the extent of a member,
but I think a nonmember would get the point.
I pointed out, though, that the movie isn’t for
them, anyway. The target audience gets it, and
that’s the important part.
Side note: When I brought the babysitter home
that night, she asked what movie we went to. She
was visibly uncomfortable when I told her, and she
related her experience seeing God’s Army, which her
family rented for FHE. At the healing scene she
apparently flipped out—she thought that doing such
a thing on film was against the religion or some-
thing—practically expected Dutcher to be excom-
municated. She finally ended with, “If President
Hinckley’s okay with it, I guess I am, too.” I didn’t
tell her that to my knowledge the prophet hasn’t
Winter 2001–2002
commented on the films. Her response was a sad
one, but I suppose not uncommon. I think part of
the problem lies simply in that this is the first time
we’ve had anything like this. We as Mormons are not
used to seeing ourselves on screen, and at first it
may be a bit uncomfortable. I’m just glad someone’s
doing it, that we can now say there is something
called Mormon cinema.
Beth Hatch (June 7): I wrote a long post about
how I thought that God’s Army didn’t so much
show the world what Mormon missionaries do as
it showed that Mormon missionaries are Chris-
tians. I wrote that I thought the movie did that by
its many parallels to Christ’s ministry.
Once again, I don’t think Brigham City is neces-
sarily about being Mormon. It’s about being Chris-
tian. I think the movie could almost have been set
in any town. To me, the movie was about not see-
ing the beam in your own eye. [. . .] I was so sure
that the conflict in this movie was going to be
about whether the murderer had been forgiven
because he’d just been baptized, and what was the
sheriff/bishop going to do about that! I, too, totally
overlooked what the construction company owner
had said. It was only when I was sitting there in my
seat, stunned, with my mouth hanging open, that
I saw my mistake! How powerfully done! (And a
lesson I don’t think I’ll soon forget.) And then, of
course, the sheriff feels responsible for his mistake
and what it cost the town. And the ending shows
the power, and necessity we all have, of Christ’s
atonement. (And, of course, this is most powerfully
shown in a Mormon sacrament meeting, but really,
couldn’t it also have been shown in a Catholic set-
ting, or a Quaker setting, showing an authority
and/or religious figure seeking and receiving sup-
port and forgiveness?)
I think Dutcher is a brilliant Christian writer, and
I love it that his movies are set in a Mormon setting.
I don’t understand the negative reaction some
people are having to seeing a blessing or the sacra-
ment ceremony being shown on the screen. We
are certainly expected to watch Jesus Christ being
crucified on the screen! I have never been able to
watch that—but I have no problem with a sacra-
ment meeting.
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Jim Picht (May 30): So far as there are Mor-
mons in Dutcher’s movie, one would expect it to
take either a positive or negative view of them
(if the Mormonism is completely neutral, then it’s
probably irrelevant, and one would wonder what
it’s doing in the movie at all). Of course, he could
have set the movie in a town of Baptists or Unitar-
ians or Moonies, but then he’d have had to change
the flavor and behavior of his characters (the
dynamic between members and minister in a Uni-
tarian congregation just isn’t the same as that in an
LDS ward, and a town full of Unitarians certainly
wouldn’t see the world the same way as a town full
of Mormons). I’d think that rather than ask
whether the film proselytizes for Mormonism,
then, it would be more to the point to ask why
Mormons are central at all. But one could ask the
same of any film that features any religion, any polit-
ical party, any gender preference. (“Hey, they’re using
a regular pair of heterosexual parents in Seventh
Heaven. Are they proselytizing? Why not make it a
black family of Wiccans headed by two committed
lesbians, one a Wiccan priestess?”) Why Mormons
and not Baptists? I dunno. Why Baptists? Aren’t
Mormons part of American diversity?
Something about this whole question just annoys
me. It’s not that we’re interested in the proselytiz-
ing element of the film here, but that we ask the
question about a film featuring Mormons as if it
has particular relevance, as if a film about Mor-
mons by a Mormon will be particularly sneaky in
the propaganda department. If that’s true (and we
are a proselytizing church, so it may be), then Mor-
mon film (and literature) always has to be suspect
as something other than art. That seems to me an
awfully heavy burden of assumption to place on
LDS artists.
Gary Davis (May 18): I attended a screening of
the film [The Other Side of Heaven] in Hollywood
a few months ago. [. . .] I agree completely with
Kieth [Merrill]’s glowing recommendation [online
at www.meridianmagazine.com], but I do have a
problem with something he wrote: “Do not mis-
take The Other Side of Heaven as having anything at
all to do with the recent buzz about ‘Mormon Cin-
ema.’” Was that a bit of a cheap shot at Richard
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Dutcher? Frankly I think he is doing great work.
I haven’t had the opportunity to see Brigham City
yet, but it has received some terrific reviews. Amper-
sand, another LDS production company, recently
made its appearance with a film about the Martin
Handcart Company—a powerful story, long over-
due for the screen. I wish them all well. I’d like to
see an LDS comedy; in fact . . . I think I’ll write one.
Audience for Journals
Jacob Proffitt (Oct. 9): Lately, while writing in
my journal, I confronted a very strange lethargy.
Internal digging revealed that I have no idea who
my audience is for my journal. I mean, I’m not
famous, not likely to become famous, and I have
little patience to go back and rediscover old thoughts
of my own (particularly if I have to dig through a
lot of fluff ). And as I am a geek, my journal is not
only a computer program, but I go so far as to
encrypt the thing. So who exactly am I writing to
in my journal? What value is the writing practice I
get in writing my journal since it is such a funda-
mentally different form than other writing? Since
this episode, I still write in the journal, but more
out of duty than desire and I’m still awful confused
how to approach the thing. Why write in a journal
is tied up in the question of who I am writing the
journal for. Who is the audience? Or, to rephrase,
what is the point?
Kathy Fowkes (Oct. 9): I think the best audi-
ence to write to when keeping a journal is one’s
children and grandchildren. I record unusual dreams,
spiritual experiences, my frustrations and how I
resolved them (once I finally resolve them, anyway!),
my fears, my successes, answers to prayer . . . just
anything that matters to me at the time. Priesthood
blessings, too. Funny things my children do. Irri-
tating things my children do! Irritating things my
husband does ;-).
I love fiction that takes me into the characters’
minds and hearts. That is where a story lives for
me. It isn’t in the action but the emotion and
thought, and the action comes from that. Of
course, most of the emotions and thoughts in fact
are shown through action, but I like a fair amount
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of introspection in my fiction as well, or at least
narration. So I write my journal according to what
I like to read. I hardly ever have a laundry list of
mundane things I accomplished or didn’t accom-
plish, except when it relates to some serious think-
ing and hopefully a new and useful insight into my
own psyche.
Jeffrey Savage (Oct. 10): I think that it was in
Raiders of the Lost Ark that the bad guy says some-
thing like, “This watch can be bought for $15, but
bury it in the earth for 1,000 years and it becomes
priceless.”
What you and I view as fluff may be viewed by
future generations as invaluable. I know that if my
grandfather had kept a journal, I would be fasci-
nated to read it, even though he spent a good por-
tion of his life running or just visiting various bars.
And honestly I am just as interested in the things
that they took for granted as their deep thoughts.
We often think that the only biographies of inter-
est are famous people. But just studying the lives of
ordinary people that came before us, especially if
they are related, can provide much insight about
ourselves.
Cathy Wilson (Oct. 10): I journal in a blank
book—completely blank, no lines. That way I also
draw stuff. I see my journal as a loosening-up, right-
brain-access, happy-time thing. It doesn’t have much
purpose (though I like to go back and admire my
brilliant jottings and pix :) ). I think LDS journal-
izing can take us down a weird road, because it’s for
Posterity, and They are going to read it someday.
Personally I hope someone does see my very cool
drawing of a cottontail I saw on my walk today, but
I otherwise don’t care to think about anyone read-
ing my journal. I find myself trapped when I write
with Someone Someday in my mind, ready to read it.
Scott Parkin (Oct. 17): We’ve talked a lot about
the audience for our grandparents’ journals and
how those documents help us to see the physical
reality of times past, but I still wonder about the
audience and content choices for modern journals.
Ours is one of the best-documented generations in
history. I can’t imagine that my great-grandchildren
will have any difficulty reconstructing or under-
standing the broad daily contexts of my life. More
Winter 2001–2002
books about more subjects are being printed now
than ever before, so other than my personal obser-
vations and questions I see little of lasting interest.
So who are we writing these personal journals
for? Ourselves? I know that I like to go back and
read the few journals I have kept, because it vali-
dates that I have grown somewhat over the years.
But I can do that without the journals.
Are they for our children? Shouldn’t they already
know the thoughts of our hearts? I understand that
sometimes it’s hard to share those feelings, espe-
cially during our kids’ teenage years when parental
commentary is explicitly not wanted. But the
words should still be being spoken, even when we
don’t think they’re being heard.
So why else is a journal? To work out our prob-
lems? A sort of extended self-therapy session? The
thing that usually prompts me to write is that
something has gone horribly wrong in my life and
I’m trying to understand it. The effort of writing
helps me to solidify the concept in my own mind
and to start moving toward solution. But the jour-
nals themselves are horribly self-conscious, self-
pitying little snivels that don’t show me in the best
of all possible lights. They’re the down parts, the
failures, the confusions and consternations and
befuddlements. They rarely contain wisdom, though
they often pretend to it.
If the journal is my place to work out problems,
then I certainly don’t want my descendants to read
about what a goof Scott was. I want to edit it,
smooth it, list the problems in passing and dwell on
the solutions. I want to appear wise and in control,
capable and godly. I want to be the worthy patri-
arch, not the confused misanthrope.
But once I do that it’s not a journal anymore, it’s
a personal history. So the question remains, why is
a journal, and what is it that I’m really document-
ing and for whom? [. . .]
If it’s just for me, then all of the discussion is
irrelevant because I’m the only audience and it
doesn’t really matter what I say or how I say it.
Since I live inside my own head, I already know
what’s in there and don’t really need to write it
down. But if there is any other intended audience
for my personal journal, I think it does end up
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making a difference, and it controls the kind of
stuff I put in there. In the end, that difference fos-
ters editing and image creation and the develop-
ment of something less than fully honest and
forthright.
Benson Parkinson (Oct. 19): I don’t think you
avoid that kind of editing and image creation if you’re
writing for yourself. You might as well embrace
it—figure out what and how you want to commu-
nicate to your descendants (or whatever other audi-
ence you pick) and choose the persona, diction,
tone, form, etc. that seem most honest, appropri-
ate, and effective for that audience. And yes, that’s
probably easier in a history.
I am unresolved on what I’m doing with my own
journal, and I’ve vacillated in ways like others here
have described. I keep doing it because of President
Kimball’s counsel years ago and because of how
much I value my ancestors’ journals. I at least want
my journal to be as useful as theirs. But as I’ve con-
sidered what I really want to do in writing for my
family, I’ve decided my journal just won’t do it.
It’s too long and rambling, at times too personal, at
times too sketchy. [. . .]
Beyond that, my journal is at least the primary
source material for my histories. I think a writer
needs to leave at least two of those—a full-length
one (50–300 pages) for interested grandchildren and
great-grandchildren, and a brief one (5–15 pages)
for dutiful ones. What can you do in 5–15 pages?
Not everything, but quite a bit if you go about it
right. That’s a good challenge for a writer.
Marvin Payne (Oct. 19): I think the primary
purpose of writing a journal is to bear testimony to
one’s posterity in very specific ways. I can write,
once and for all, that I know the Lord loves me and
leave it at that. For that matter, the Lord could tell
me on some particular Tuesday that He loves me,
once and for all, and leave it at that. But He keeps
on telling me—by sending His Spirit, by answering
my prayers, by guiding my thoughts, by honor-
ing my priesthood, by respecting my agency, by
striking my senses with the beauty of His creations,
which includes the beauty of His children. These
dollops of grace drop daily. Writing a journal has
become a little bit habitual for me, a fun place to
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exercise my writing bones. But the question that
drives me most often to do it is “Have I recorded
that most recent evidence of the Lord’s love for
me?” I feel an obligation to do it. I feel like it’s part
of my responsibility as a father and grandfather.
And I feel a passion for it. It’s still good writing
exercise because the importance of making these
recurrent testimonies clear and memorable is
greater than in anything I might write for the pub-
lic. And I am helped by being allowed to be more
intimate and direct (less artful?) than public audi-
ences would allow me to be. When this reflection
of divine light is my primary aim, then all the shad-
ows and foibles and failings that characterize much
of my life become the context that throws the grace
into more dramatic relief. All the “bad parts” sud-
denly mean a lot more than they did before and
serve a pretty useful teaching purpose. Does the
journal then become a soapbox? Maybe a little, but
what makes it powerful to posterity is not that
soapbox tone but the fact that it reads like a jour-
nal, a guy genuinely fearing, yearning, goofing up,
discovering, learning, and occasionally being almost
painfully pierced with light.
My children have only the merest clues of the
thoughts in my heart. Five of them live out in
the wide world, and we don’t have family home
evenings or family prayers or mealtimes together.
The two that are at home don’t speak English real
well yet. Will any of them ever really be the audi-
ence for my journal that I’m announcing them to
be? Maybe not. But as odd as it may seem to imag-
ine, they will give me hundreds and thousands of
great- and great- and great-grandchildren. Among
those thousands will be a few who will look for
connections with their Heavenly Father through
somebody who shares their name and peculiar jaw
line and heirlooms and affinity for mountains. They
will be the ones who share my disappointment over
the stinginess of Edward Payne (my pioneer ances-
tor who didn’t write) and my delight over the gen-
erosity of John Brown (my pioneer ancestor who did).
Beyond the actual writing, which I enjoy doing,
journal writing is, for me, one part the answer of a
grateful heart and one part church work. I just wish
that on my mission I’d been testifying every day to
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an audience that was so genetically prepared to hear
me, and an audience that I was so pre-disposed to love.
Sharlee Glenn (Oct. 22): I truly believe we are
commanded to keep journals as much for our own
benefit as for that of our posterity. I was cleaning
my office the other day and ran across an old spiral
notebook labeled “Sharlee’s Poor Excuse of a Jour-
nal.” In it I had recorded my thoughts and feelings
and experiences during that very intense time sev-
eral years ago when my mother was dying of can-
cer. As I reread my various entries, I laughed and
cried and was utterly amazed to realize that I had
forgotten so many things—things that I thought I
would never forget, things that I had truly learned—
profound, life-altering things about love and courage
and pain and endurance. But I had forgotten I had
learned them until I reread my poor excuse of a
journal.
I do reread my journals. I reread them so that I
can remember. I need to remember. As the mother
of a 15-year-old who tends to be hopelessly dreamy,
I need to remember my own youthful propensity
toward castle building. As I deal with a sometimes
insolent 12-year-old who never, and I mean never,
makes his bed without being reminded and who
has to be bribed into the bathtub, I need to remem-
ber how utterly in love I was with him when he was
a charming and sweet-smelling toddler. I need
to remember the moment I first understood pain.
I need to remember the moment I first truly under-
stood joy. I need to remember those precious
occasions when I have felt the sudden and over-
whelming inrush of God’s love.
Mormon Graphic Novels
William Morris (July 19): One of my Mormon
literary interests is considering forms of writing
that may be particularly suited to capturing Mor-
mon philosophy and culture. I’ve floated two of
those ideas to the list already—parables and collab-
orative writing. Here’s the next one: graphic novels.
In particular, I think that it would be a fascinat-
ing way of capturing the experience of LDS mis-
sionaries—a way that could enlarge the genre of the
missionary story.
Winter 2001–2002
When I was on my mission, I came across a little
comic-book pamphlet ominously titled Vizitatorii
(The Visitors). I think an investigator gave it to me.
It was part of a series of Christian (of the born-
again variety, I believe) illustrated tracts put out by
a guy located in Chico, California. The visitors are,
of course, LDS missionaries and the tract warns
against their evil ways—even debunking their doc-
trines and exposing their methods.
The basic plot: an older woman is falling under
the influence of the elders. Her young, attractive,
college-student niece appears one day and takes the
elders apart using “logic” and Bible verses. The illus-
trations are actually quite good. I recall one panel
where one of the elders’ faces is completely tensed
and the sweat is streaming down his forehead.
The ending is hilarious. As the two defeated elders
walk away, one of them begins to express doubt—
the other threatens to tell the mission president
(I forget what term was used) who would send the
doubter off to “reeducation camp” (the MTC).
So I began by thinking of how one would do a
parody of Vizitatorii, but then that seemed hard
because it was already kind of a parody, but then I
turned to thoughts of Art Speigelmann’s Maus:
A Survivor’s Tale, which I haven’t read all the way
through yet but have read a lot about. [. . .]
My point is that I think the epic-journey kind of
structure of the LDS mission (plus the many strange
characters one often meets in the course of doing
the work) lends itself to the graphic novel form.
Anyone else had these thoughts? Any comments on
graphic novels as a form—possibilities and limita-
tions? I’m not very familiar with the genre, but I
have flipped through some and read reviews of oth-
ers and it seems as a genre to be stretching beyond
the violent, anti/superhero mode.
Russ Asplund (July 19): I have a friend at work,
Joseph Gates, who is working on a superhero comic
called Missionary Man. It should be out this fall. He
is currently working with his collaborator on the
story of the origins of Missionary Man, but I think
the idea of a superhero who decides to go on a mis-
sion has a lot of promise, and the art and/or illus-
tration is top-notch, as well.
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David Boyce (July 19): Scott Card’s Magic Mir-
ror is a step in that direction. True, while it may not
be strictly Mormon-oriented and more of a fairy tale
book for adults, I think that it may show us a glimpse
of what is possible for a Mormon graphic novel.
Preston Hunter (July 21): One that comes quickly
to mind is, of course, Brad Teare, author of the
graphic novel Cypher published by Gibbs Smith. [. . .]
As for work about Mormon themes, my favorite
graphic novel, which can be purchased widely at
comic book and larger bookstores, is J.M. DeMat-
teis’s brilliant Spider-Man: The Lost Years.
One of the warmest, most interesting portrayals
of Salt Lake City and a Latter-day Saint character
ever written by a non-Latter-day-Saint science fic-
tion writer was actually in a trio of Spider-Man
comic books. Author J. M. DeMatteis, one of comic-
dom’s most critically acclaimed writers, happens to
be a New Yorker who is a practicing convert to Hin-
duism. But he apparently spent enough time in SLC
to capture the flavor of the city well, and to portray
Latter-day Saint police detective Jacob Raven. Raven
is a devout but delightfully complex character who
eventually ends up arresting Peter Parker for a mur-
der (committed by his clone) in the regular Spider-
Man series. This Lost Years limited series reveals the
back-story of when Raven’s and Spider-Man’s paths
first crossed in SLC.
Ronn Blankenship (July 20): Of course, one
problem is that you might get the same reaction
that some had when The Leading Edge [a sci-fi
magazine published by BYU students] published a
graphic story for the first time: some members of
the staff (I will name no names, though many here
would recognize them), upon seeing “GRAPHIC
STORY” in the list of stories scheduled to appear in
the next issue, expressed their discomfort that we
were about to publish a story with explicit sex, vio-
lence, and cussin’.
Melissa Proffitt (July 21): Eric Dixon has already
cited Scott McCloud’s Understanding Comics and
Reinventing Comics for engaging, insightful com-
mentary on the potential of the graphic novel form.
I couldn’t agree more. One of McCloud’s points
about the form is that they’ve been unnaturally tied
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to the superhero genre, to the point that it’s hard
for many people to imagine comics about any-
thing other than superheroes. Historically, though,
almost every genre was represented—crime stories,
romances, horror, historical, confessional. [. . .] It’s
a medium for telling stories just like movies. [. . .]
Now my shameful secret is out—I was, and still
am, a comic book addict. And I’m a girl. (It didn’t
help that we just saw Unbreakable tonight.)
I think we have the elements for Mormon
graphic novels, but they haven’t been assembled.
We already have writers. We already have artists.
We just need to convince them to work together.
Neil Gaiman, for instance, writes very detailed
scripts for his work that are a lot like movie scripts;
then he has artists execute his vision. Other writers
work differently, but in many cases it’s a collabora-
tive effort. So if you’re a writer with an idea but no
artistic talent, maybe you need to pair up with an
artist who doesn’t know how to plot a story.
But then you have to convince people like Bar-
bara that it’s a legitimate literary form. : ) (You
wouldn’t let me get away with saying that romance
novels are crutches for women who can’t face reality,
would you? . . .) Not that I’m maligning Barbara
for what I think is a natural and understandable
impression. As they learn to read, kids progress
from picture-heavy books to books whose only
illustration is cover art. Comics seem like a regres-
sion in that respect. Heaven forbid that ten-year-
old kids should still be reading only “picture books,”
let alone something with a title like Voltarr the
Mutant Killer Space Android from Beyond the Grave.
My home school curriculum has a little sentence
in the section on teaching children to read that says
“comic books do not count as free reading time.”
Graphic novels are not a replacement for text-based
stories. They are something different. I can’t use
myself as an example of “see, I read comics and I’m
still literate” because I was reading regular books
for years before I started reading comics, and the
concern is that comics don’t help people who are
struggling with reading read better any more than
watching a lot of television does. But here’s the sec-
ond stereotype graphic novels have to contend with:
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Comic books are for kids. It’s not true. I really rec-
ommend that everyone try to find a copy of Maus:
A Survivor’s Tale and its sequel (Maus II: And Here
My Troubles Began). These are not kiddie books.
These are adult stories, and powerful ones.
I guess when William says that the graphic novel
form would be a good tool to capture the LDS mis-
sionary experience, I agree, but it doesn’t make a lot
of sense because to my mind all subjects are well-
served by this format. Any story you can think to
tell can be told in comic book form. (Though it’s a
measure of the power of the superhero stereotype
that even I, the avowed addict, didn’t consider the
possibility of LDS graphic novels.) I think mission-
ary comics are an intriguing idea.
Mike South (July 24): I’ve actually been think-
ing for a while about the idea of a comic strip with
a Mormon character in it. I think it would address
the problem that we are afraid we won’t be accepted
by the outside world because they don’t know the
“real us.”
I think comic strips as a medium offer a unique
opportunity to establish long-term relationships
between the characters and the reader. Most of us
know just how Charlie Brown feels when he vows
that this is the year he’s going to kick that football.
Or how Calvin feels when he’s rudely yanked from
his adventures as Spaceman Spiff back into his
classroom at school. We know because day after
day and year after year we got to know the charac-
ters. And even though the authors have moved on
or even died, the characters are still part of us.
I think a well-done strip with a Mormon charac-
ter could both tell great stories and show the world
that we know we have foibles just like everyone
else. And how we deal with the fact that deep down
many of us feel like we’re not supposed to have
those foibles.
Morgan Adair (July 23): One of the treasured
volumes in my Mormon book collection is a DC
comic book called GI Combat, Featuring the Haunted
Tank, Feb. 1974, No. 169. I found it in one of my
missionary apartments, apparently left behind by a
previous resident. The last third of the book is a story
called “Peace with Honor,” with the byline “Art
Winter 2001–2002
and Story (adapted from the Book of Mormon) by
Ric Estrada.”
The story is narrated by Ether, who warns Cori-
antumr that his blood thirst will lead to the
destruction of his people. The great battles between
Coriantumr and Shiz’s armies end with millions
dead, rejected peace terms, and new vows of venge-
ance. Finally, it comes down to the final battle,
which ends with only two wounded generals stand-
ing. Shiz stabs Coriantumr, who with “a last mighty
thrust (THWACK! AIEEE!)” cuts off Shiz’s head.
Ether moralizes on the tragic victory, then says
he will “bury this true account in the ground, that
future generations may learn.”
The title, “Peace with Honor,” is an obvious
allusion to Vietnam, which would have been a fresh
memory in ’74, and befitting the antiwar theme
of the story.
The comic book/graphic novel medium for scrip-
ture stories is just a small step from the animated
features done by Living Scriptures et al., but I sus-
pect there would still be some resistance to using
what many may view as a debased medium for
sacred stories. Still, even though I am not nor ever
was a fan of comic books, I’m impressed with how
Estrada reinterpreted the scriptural story. He con-
vinced me that the medium has potential for legit-
imate literary expression.
Writing about Mormon Characters
LauraMaery (Gold) Post (May 3): The setup:
Fifteen years ago, you got to pick your audience.
You could either write to Latter-day Saints and
exclude “the world,” or you could write to the
“world” and disguise the faith of your Mormon
characters.
The question (and yes, I know it’s only theoreti-
cal to many of us): When you write to “the world,”
do you still feel compelled to disguise your charac-
ters’ Mormon faith?
Craig Huls (May 4): I believe we are at a time in
the world when readership has some understanding
of what “Mormons” are about. I see no reason to
hide. I fully intend to continue to write for more
than an LDS market. But it is my intent to be sure
94 IRREANTUM
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that my bishop could read what I write without
being embarrassed or thinking he might need to
call me in for a personal interview. So it should be
reading for all whether LDS or not.
Scott Parkin (May 4): It depends on what kind
of story I’m telling. I’ve populated my short fiction
with Mormon concepts for years, but have only
written a few with overtly Mormon details. In my
mind, though, many of my characters have been
Mormon even when I have made no effort to
expose that fact to readers.
Using religion in fiction is always hard. Our
inclination is to make religion a/the central theme
around which the story revolves. I’m not sure this
need be true. I think you can write stories where
rich characters have motivations, and one of the
several motivations that work on characters is their
religion.
Unfortunately, readers have been taught to see
that expression of religion as a signpost that the
story’s resolution will somehow hinge on that reli-
gious perspective. If it doesn’t, I think many read-
ers end up feeling that you’ve given them a red
herring, and that you’ve somehow misled them.
Which is odd to me. We include other attributes
about characters all the time that have no direct
bearing on resolving a story’s primary conflict. We
give them hair and eye color, height, gender,
national origin, and more, without expecting all of
those details to bear on the resolution.
So . . .
I would love to see (though I have never done it
myself) more stories where small, meaningless details
are clearly shown as having origins in Mormon cul-
ture and/or mindset. Not stories about The Church,
but stories containing members of a church.
IRREANTUM
Book of Mormon Movie Themes
Travis Manning (July 2): The film [Testaments]
touches some, not others. It touched me in places,
in some places it did not. I did think it was cool to
have BoM characters on the big screen. All I really
know about BoM characters from a visual sense is
those Living Scriptures videos and this cartoon-
depicted book I read as a kid. But I want to see
Enos, man. He’s pretty cool. And Alma the Younger.
What about Samuel the Lamanite, Ammon, Abi-
nadi, Moroni—live, onstage, or in film? All studs!
For all you playwrights and musical-ites (and all
other manner of artistic “-ites”) out there: We’ve
got Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
making it on and off Broadway . . . but what about
Nephi and His Amazing Journey to America? Or
Alma the Younger and His Brush with Death or
Ammon and His Amazing Sword. Somebody stop
me! Or, or, I’ll just stop myself. I guess we have the
Hill Cumorah pageant and the Manti pageant and
other manner of pageants that depict BoM charac-
ters, but let’s see some plays/musicals/screenplays
that really develop the characters of these men and
women of the BoM.
Sharlee Glenn (July 3): Or how about Ammon
and His Disarming Disposition? :-)
Steve Perry (July 2): Develop the characters? Then
you would actually not being using Joseph and the
Etc. as an example, right?
Margaret Young (July 2): But remember, if you
miss the Book of Mormon characters on the big
screen, you can buy the little action figures at your
local Missionary Emporium and invent your
own script! You can have Laman or Lemuel say,
“You know, Nephi, I am getting a little tired of get-
ting electrocuted by you. I wish we hadn’t even
stopped at that magic tricks store on our way to
Laban’s place.”
95 Winter 2001–2002
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R A M E U M P T O M
Confessions of a Former FARMS
Filing Clerk; or The Top-10 Rejected
FARMS Papers
By Edgar C. Snow Jr.
From 1981 through 1984 I was a FARMS volun-
teer. What’s FARMS, you might ask? It’s not to be
confused with a short-lived agriculturally oriented
organization that went by the same acronym:
Farmers Are Raging Money Slurpers, a right-wing
Eisenhower-administration-era anti-farm-subsidy
lobbying group based in Utah. No, FARMS stands
for the Foundation for Ancient Research and Mor-
mon Studies, a non-profit Mormon-studies “clear-
inghouse.”
My involvement started when I came across a
copy of Barry Fell’s proposed translation of the
Anthon Transcript on the Mormon Document
Underground (another essay topic). Fell, a Harvard
marine biology professor and amateur epigra-
pher, claimed in a cover letter attached to his trans-
lation that the language in the Anthon Transcript
was actually early medieval Maghribi, a North
African language. The attached translation resem-
bled 1 Nephi 1 to such a remarkable degree it
seemed likely to me that Fell had cheated by using
1 Nephi 1 for his so-called “translation.” In search
of answers, I wandered all over BYU campus look-
ing for a professor who could confirm or deny Fell’s
conclusions.
My first stop was at Hugh Nibley’s office.
I knocked on the door and heard a faint voice
inside say, “Go away.” So I did. After knocking on
many doors, I finally tracked down Keith Meservy,
my Writings of Isaiah professor, who told me I
should go talk to Jack Welch at FARMS. I wandered
over to the law school building and met with
Brother Welch, a tax law professor, who graciously
entertained my questions and told me that Fell’s
work was—I could tell he was trying to be as gra-
cious and diplomatic as possible—“apparent hog-
wash.” Then he said, “If you’re really interested in
rigorous, respectable, orthodox Book of Mormon
Winter 2001–2002
research, you’ve come to the right place.” He
explained his vision for FARMS and made an instant
convert out of me. I even volunteered to put in a
couple of hours a week as a file clerk in the law
school basement, the original FARMS headquarters.
As a volunteer, I spent much of my time filing
(and, I now confess, reading) what they called in
those days “preliminary reports”—works-in-progress,
really—about a variety of Book of Mormon and
Pearl of Great Price issues, as well as filling orders
for preliminary reports and reprints of published
articles about the Book of Mormon. In addition to
time, I also donated some spit to FARMS at an enve-
lope-stuffing and stamp-licking party for the distri-
bution of one of the earlier FARMS newsletters.
To this day I regret not asking Brother Welch
whether my spittle donation was tax deductible.
I felt fortunate cutting my tongue and lips while
slobbering on envelopes and stamps sitting next
to the likes of John Sorenson and other giants of
groundbreaking Mormon scholarship, watching
them stick their tongues out in support of the Book
of Mormon.
It was also my privilege, as a file clerk, to rum-
mage through the FARMS files and review the papers
that had been rejected for publication. I found that
many of the rejected papers were almost as inter-
esting as the ones actually published by FARMS.
Now, after all these years, it is my pleasure to pres-
ent to you, dear reader, the list of my top-10
favorite papers rejected by FARMS, along with short
abstracts of their contents.
• “The Influence of the Book of Mormon on Led
Zeppelin Lyrics”
Abstract: According to a recently discovered
unpublished autobiography of John Bonham,
“Stairway to Heaven” and other songs written
by Jimmy Page and Robert Plant were influ-
enced by their readings of Clinton Larsen’s
Stories of the Book of Mormon while eating
marijuana brownies.
Reason for rejection: Welch’s dog ate the only
copy of the paper.
• “Nephi the Ninja: Martial Arts in Mesoamerica
and the Book of Mormon”
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Abstract: Nephi’s use of a veil and the sword of
Laban are compared to Mesoamerican bas-
relief sculptures showing karate movements.
Reason for rejection: No sources cited for
hand-drawn illustrations of bas-relief sculp-
tures that look suspiciously like Bruce Lee
movie posters.
• “Chiasmus in Erotic Mayan Poetry”
Abstract: The newly discovered Mayan codex
containing poetry from Catliltlilus, court poet
to Pacal in Palenque, contains numerous chi-
astic passages.
Reason for rejection: Paper contains translation
of passages.
• “Meroitica and the Book of Mormon”
Abstract: Characters on the Anthon Transcript
are favorably compared to the “reformed”
Egyptian characters used by the kingdom in
Meroe, south of Egypt.
Reason for rejection: Use of Anthon Transcript
discovered by Mark Hofmann.
• “The Constipation of Mesoamerican Secret Soci-
eties”
Abstract: Secretioned conflagrations in the Book
of Mormon are existentially compared to
recently discovered remains constipating of an
esophagus of a Mezoamerican warlard and the
translation of his fumiary obsequisousies from
a Mayan cotex.
Reason for rejection: No Urim and Thummum
available to translate typos.
• “How to Interpret the Interpretations of Joseph
Smith’s Interpretations of Facsimile No. 2”
Abstract: Shows that interpretations of interpre-
tations of interpretations can easily be misin-
terpreted.
Reason for rejection: Interpretations too inter-
pretive.
• “Humor in the Book of Mormon”
Abstract: Argues that the Book of Mormon con-
tains humor, as illustrated by an analysis of
the following passages: Alma 9:2–3; Alma
55:31–32; and Alma 57:10.
Reason for rejection: Not convincing.
IRREANTUM
• “Mayan Chocolate Milk and the Book of Mor-
mon”
Abstract: The existence of pre-Columbian
chocolate milk shown flowing from an oval jar
on the Izapan Tree of Life stone (Stela 5) sup-
ports the historicity of the Book of Mormon
and further explains why Ovaltine isn’t called
Roundtine. Ancient Mayans had oval canis-
ters in which they carried cocoa beans. When
the Lamanites encountered Mayans, the
Lamanites presumably adopted their ways,
language, and breakfast beverages. Later,
when there were no “ites,” Nephites presum-
ably obtained the cocoa bean technology and
made circular, rather than oval, canisters in
which to carry ground-up cocoa beans for
mixing with goat’s milk, but they retained the
original Mayan term for oval. Tine is shown to
derive from a possible Greek influence among
the Mulekites.
Reason for rejection: Contains caffeine.
• “The Identification of Cureloms and Cummoms
in the Book of Mormon through Modern
Cryptozoological Analysis”
Abstract: Evidence is marshaled to identify Big-
foot as curelom and the jackelope as cummom.
Reason for rejection: Other research demon-
strates that Bigfoot is Cain and the jackelope
is the Book of Mormon goat.
• “Ancient Mesoamerican Hills Prove the Book of
Mormon True”
Abstract: The Book of Mormon reports the exis-
tence of many hills. Although unknown in
Joseph Smith’s time, ancient Mesoamerica fea-
tured numerous hills, many of which meet the
following criteria required by descriptions of
hills in the Book of Mormon: (i) there must
be land; (ii) the land must be flat in some
areas; (iii) the land must rise in elevation in
some areas; and (iv) after rising, the land must
descend in elevation in those areas.
Reason for rejection: Needs more examples.
97 Winter 2001–2002
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