EVIL

I've just finished reading a book.  Actually, I didn't finish it.  I read half then skimmed to the end.  I hated the book.  It dealt with evil, assassins in the old west, who took life as casually as they drank water.   They were guns for hire, but they didn't confine their killing to the job.  If someone offended them, they killed him.  If someone wouldn't sell or give away an item they wanted, they killed him.  The pages of the book were laced with death and blood and gore.   Interpolated into the main story was  a chapter about a young girl poisoning a dog.  Just in case the reader didn't find enough violence in the main story.

The book wasn't my choice.  It was placed on the reading list by my book club, largely because reviewers were unanimous in their praise, extolling the author for taking us into the minds and hearts of these two men, complimenting him on the choice of language and the "humour" as the two brothers argued about who was the lead man.    No one seemed to mind that the book presented evil as an acceptable life-style.  No one seemed to mind that the author dehumanized the killers' victims.  No one seemed to mind that they lacked any ethical compass, not even honour among thieves.  Is our culture so desensitized to wickedness that we can treat these killers as worthy fictional material?  One reviewer even recommended the book for children over twelve.

I know that evil exists, in fact, it abounds in our world.  We must confront it, battle it and not cringe away.  But surely we are not required to celebrate evil, to present it from a sympathetic point of view and to wallow in the blood of misdeeds.   On the road to Damascus, Paul is adjured become an apostle,  "To open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God, ..."Acts 26:18 

As writers, we should use the power of words to turn men from darkness, not toward it.

I write romances, a genre systematically scorned by the literati.  Our books are considered facile, formulaic and escapist.  Yet these books celebrate the good things of life.  They celebrate love and commitment.  They celebrate families.  They celebrate honesty and self-sacrifice.  They celebrate the triumph of love over despair.  They celebrate light over darkness.
 Regardless of what the literary classes think of my genre, I'll take romance over evil any time.

Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.  Phil.4:8

My book club will take me to task for not appreciating this wonderful "literature" but I maintain that it is not lovely.  Therefore, I will not think on it.

Alice lives on beautiful Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada, where she admires the loveliness of God's creation and prays to resist evil every day.
www.alicevaldal.com

New Writers In Kenya by LeAnne Hardy

Aspiring Kenyan writers

Not everyone writes for an American audience.  A group in Awasi, Kenya, aspires to write for the children and young people of their own community.  That community experienced terrible violence following the disputed elections of December 2007.  Children who survived are scarred inside and out.  These Christians long to see them grow up without the animosities of their parents that led to violence against other ethnic groups.

On a day in mid-August I marveled at the patchwork of vivid green, sugar cane plots below me as I flew over Western Kenya.  The plane banked for a view of the harbor on Lake Victoria before landing in the city of Kisumu. 

Morrice Okeh and a friend picked me up at the airport. I met Morrice last year at the Litt-World conference for majority-world Christian writers and publishers.  When he heard about the writing workshop I did in Nairobi in April 2008 to produce stories for children affected by violence, he begged me to come to Kisumu where the violence was at its worst.

For an hour we drove east from Kisumu on a narrow, paved road with no shoulders, to the town of Awasi.  There I met for a week with fifteen students  to study plot, character development, and the use of dialog and the senses to develop scenes.  One was a widow with ten children, another an orphan with a seven-year-old daughter. 

Working in small groups

A pre-school teacher proved to be a gifted storyteller.  Two of the young people were the most effective writers.  Tracy wrote about teens bringing about reconciliation in their divided school.  Charlton wrote a rich account of the horror of fleeing a burning house and the joy of finding the character’s mother was alive and looking for him. The group has aspirations of printing their stories locally to circulate among their friends.  I left my postal address and e-mail and hope they will stay in touch, but Facebook from a cell phone is less than ideal for editing.

“Is it true that there is a law in America requiring every father to provide a new house for each of his sons?” someone asked as we sat around on the final afternoon.

“Uh…no.”

“Is it true that America is so crowded that the only way a son can have a home is to add another story to his father’s house?”

Again I answered, “no.”

I was reminded of nineteenth century myths that the streets of America were paved with gold.  They must have seemed no more far-fetched to those immigrants than these questions did to my new Kenyan friends.

“Do you mean to tell me that you have two daughters and no son, but your husband never took a second wife?”  This from the mother of a delightful seven-year-old girl.  How could I explain how much my husband adores his daughters and how little he cares that neither is a boy?

My students could only ask questions.  I had the privilege of being immersed in their world for a few days. 

I stayed in the home of Morrice’s father, Bishop Vincent.  Most of the time he was busy with a district church conference, but his wife was extremely gracious with the little English she knew.  Morrice’s  wife, Quinter cooked for us on a wood fire in an outdoor kitchen to keep the heat out of the house.  Her little daughter was tied to her back.  She served me their own eggs, papaya and bananas, homemade chapattis and mandazis (fried bread), as well as tasty stews with rice and ugali (the local cornmeal staple.)  No meal was complete without chai—hot tea boiled with milk and water.  Fortunately for this soft-stomached foreigner, the bishop has a fetish for boiled water.  I filled bottles daily to take with me to class.

The house was built of cement blocks, not as cool as the mud brick houses of Morrice and his married brothers that circled the courtyard.  I slept beneath a treated mosquito net to avoid malaria.  The spotlessly clean floor was cement, polished with red wax.  The lounge was lined with couches (4!), love seats (1) and armchairs (7), each draped with a matching embroidered cover—a suitable receiving room for a bishop.  A tiny pink and white lamb wandered freely in and out.  After I scratched his delicate neck, I had a friend for life.

“Are there mad people in America?”  my new friends wanted to know.  “Are there poor people in America?”

One of my students

Western Kenya is the homeland of Barak Obama’s father.  Needless to say, my president is very popular there.  “Is it true that many Americans believe that Barak Obama will be the one to fulfill the prophecies and unite the world?”  This question was asked with a hopeful smile, not the horrified accusation of anti-Christ that I have heard on the lips of right-wing detractors.  Peace and unity are very attractive to people who have seen their community torn apart by ethnic violence.  It would be a great honor for one they consider their own to accomplish that hitherto unattainable goal.  May their writing impact the next generation in their community with the gospel of peace.

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LeAnne Hardy has lived in six countries on four continents. Her books for young people come out of her cross-cultural experiences and her passion to use story to convey spiritual truths in a form that will impact lives. Visit her at www.leannehardy.net or find out more about her recent trip to Kenya on her blog.