I recently recommended a film that, on its face, is exactly the sort of thing I don’t approve. Laden with profanity, the story follows a handful of crass, immature, impulsive boys on a trip through adolescence gone wrong, with no firm moral grounding for a finish. If our criteria for “Catholicity” is all that is true, beautiful, and good, I liked this one for the “true” — sin exposed in all its pathetic ugliness. I consider it a valuable work in its proper context, but I wouldn’t call it “Catholic” in a strict sense, even though it has a decidedly Catholic setting.
The CWG blog features a wide variety of book reviews, and not everything on these pages is what we’d think of as a “Catholic” book. There’s no shame in being the kind of Catholic who reads only the best and most certain of indisputably Catholic literature. The human brain is made to learn, and thus it behooves us to tread carefully in educating ourselves. You can always go back and read a book later, but you can never unread it.
As I writer I’m sometimes frustrated by my characters, because they want to say things that I can only put on the page very carefully. Even though we authors tend to understand very clearly the distinction between our own values and the ideas and actions of our characters, our readers do not. One of the annoying laws of writing is that a bad philosophy put forward by a character must always be repudiated before the story ends, or it becomes the author’s philosophy as well.
This doesn’t mean our characters need be ready for canonization by the time the sun sets over the confessional in a tear-jerking morality play with a pious ending. It certainly doesn’t mean our characters should pop into Chapter 1 flawless and fully-formed — quite the contrary. It does mean, however, that if we want our work to be fully Catholic, we must have a right understanding of our relationship with sin.
To be Catholic is to know that we sin. The first task of the Catholic writer is to make sure we, the author and reader, know when our character is sinning. So we need to form our consciences, not by reading the New York Times, but by turning to trustworthy sources — think Catechism of the Catholic Church, for one.
Detachment from sin is different from sinlessness. In writing comedy, or in seeking that interesting twist to our scenarios, it is tempting to wink at sin. We must distinguish between the loveable rogue and a love of roguishness. Our characters are going to sin; we the author and reader must see that it is the character, not the sin, that we love.
Hypocrisy is different from high ideals. The Christian life consists of one long, hard attempt to live up to our ideals. Hypocrisy is the sin of publicly claiming to be one thing, while secretly being another. If I were to claim that I never, ever, yell at my children, I would be a hypocrite. In contrast, valuing the ideal of controlling one’s temper doesn’t make me a hypocrite, so long as I don’t pretend to be the master of that virtue. It just makes me a normal Christian like any other.
To write “Catholic” takes work. We have to be intentional in our editing. My protagonist might lie, cheat, and steal in order to achieve some good end . . . but my book cannot thus proclaim that the end justifies the means. My protagonist’s story must always be told through the lens of truth. I, the writer, have a grave responsibility to make sure my reader understands what that truth is.
I can show, tell, or both. I am not thus required to lace my work with Bible verses, or finish every novel with a rousing sermon. I can use a line or two of well-placed and carefully-chosen dialogue. I can use a turn in the plot, a riveting scene or a dose of poetic justice, to let natural law speak for itself. My touch should be deft – clear as the reader needs, but never heavy-handed. But I must do it. I have an obligation in my work to make a case for the truth.
It’s not easy writing Catholic.
There are many works of value that cannot, in a strict sense, be called “Catholic.” We can learn from them, even enjoy them, without confusing them for Catholic arts and letters. There’s a second body of literature that is indeed Catholic in the sense of being true, good, and beautiful, but which is not necessarily suitable for general audiences. The themes may be darker, the scenes more intense, or the content more explicit than your local Catholic bookstore finds prudent to shelve. The moral thread of the work might be present and palpable, but too faint for an unformed reader to trace.
So be it. If your work is Catholic but not Catholic Bookstore Genre, that’s not a sin, it’s a marketing choice. You can choose to observe the conventions of decorum that allow a Catholic writer to explore serious themes without losing the Catholic bookstore market. You can also choose not to observe those conventions, write your zombie novel, and publish it for a different audience. The world needs both kinds of Catholic writers.
Jennifer Fitz
Jennifer Fitz is the author of The How-to Book of Evangelization: Everything You Need to Know But No One Ever Taught You from Our Sunday Visitor and Classroom Management for Catechists from Liguori Publications. She writes about all things evangelization and discipleship at jenniferfitz.substack.com. For updates on where else to find her, visit JenniferFitz.com.
Those who would like to explore the message of Shusaku Endo might visit the discussion page at Amazon where a lively rollout of Silence appears.
But please don’t buy anything. Don’t Shop Amazon, world’s biggest contributor to the cause of homosexual ‘marriage.’ (They do not have the best deals, either.)
“Our characters are going to sin; we the author and reader must see that it is the character, not the sin, that we love.”
Wise words from a wise woman. So glad you’re feeling better!
The post and comments encourage me. A good portion of my writer’s blocks tends to come upon that aspect of wanting my story to be Catholic in spirit, even if the story itself does not explicitly state it. Writing fantasy today is difficult because so much pressure seems to be on the whole werewolf/vampire craze, and generally feeding the consumer culture, rather than seeking to challenge the culture. Not saying I’d never write about vampires or were creatures, but when I do, I want to provide particular elements to it, such as the curses which generally are portrayed as being a part of their nature, but is often left out of the current writings and popular portrayals. But also, there is little of the blessings of God mentioned either, so all we’re left with are emotions and vain philosophies that have at their best questionable fruit.
Tolkien and Chesterton inspire me to write, and I look at their qualities the most when it comes to how to write and what to write, and how to shape and mold it towards something that displays virtue. If I’m afraid of anything in my writing, it would be in not presenting something that is sound and has some image of my Catholic faith within it. Would love some suggestions on additional authors to read that can help give good examples. They don’t have to be fantasy or detective, just would like to find some good reads for both enjoyment and inspiration for writing. And if you know of any good Catholic writers guides, I’d love to check them out.
John,
If you have not read George MacDonald, I highly suggest his work. He was not Catholic, but he sought to accomplish many of the same things you seem to want to do and was able to express his ideas in stories that never became overtly Christian like many modern writers tend to steer towards being.
Hi, JD,
I have been thinking about your comment for days. I have interpreted your kind recommendation of George McDonald for an ability to express his ideas in such a way that they never become ‘overtly Christian’ as perhaps counting as general advice to all us Catholic writers. I’ve been thinking of it in that sense.
I think this advice is the child of respected parents, notably Flannery O’Connor. She complained that it was very difficult to write authentic Catholic characters because (allow me to paraphrase) religion has been ‘wrung out’ of our society. Her stories are veiled, telling the anti-heroes from the heroes is practically a cottage industry of phd’s. She used ironic vehicles, poor white trash protestants, just as Sigrid Undset used characters from antiquity (her short stories set in modern times, set as jewels are set, the full equal to her wildly popular historical narratives, were critically ignored).
But I wonder if that example still holds. Whenever I read that quote that establishes O’Connor’s take on the subject, I think of her book club, where she publicly compromised the Church’s authority to restrict her reading of forbidden authors and sought, rather than charitably modeling the example of obedience, special permission from a priest and friend to read the very liberal work in question. (She was so respected in her home town, so venerated, how powerful her witness to obedience might have been!) I am always tempted, revisiting this advice, to whisper to Flannery, ‘Ah, but how different it might have been–in your writing!– had you yourself lived a more authentically Catholic life in that darned book club!’
I think there’s a relationship between our lives and our writing. Maybe it’s like, in order to write an authentic character who does brave, or smart, or even crazy things, we have to do them first. i.e. If you want authentic Catholic characters, then be one!
That’s just one thing–I can’t tell you how many other ways this has played out in my life of writing, even in my year long stint as a full time reporter, that is, in non-fiction, when I found that I had the power to walk down a street and cause news to happen. First you observe and then you see and then you reach out a hand to help and then you meet people in the midst of their terrific struggles that always involves their human souls and then you help them try to survive using the tools we have here and then–news happens. Great news. I won some awards. This is called activist journalism, I believe that’s the term. It has many negative connotations, and I suppose well deserved. But it’s kind of an unavoidable item of a writer’s profile, don’t you think? A tendency to dramatize, which always causes things to happen.
But the thing is, In the end, there are only two social conditions: paganism, and Catholicism. That’s a strong assertion, but I’m not alone saying it, google ‘return to paganism,’ see the hundreds of hits, including some best sellers. When Flannery was writing and for the century before that, we seemed to have achieved some kind of detente with protestantism and so it was necessary to make nice (fake nice, because real charity is to tell the truth and let the devil take the hindmost, as Gramma used to say) in our book clubs and our PTA’s and our political party meetings. But surely those times are over. We see how protestantism devolves: to paganism. Our legal systems, our culture, all going back to those old superstitious ways and their awful sense of doom (since they must, not having Christ, rely on fickle fate) and perhaps most of all, their distinct limitations in romance. Slavery will not be far behind, so says Belloc, that being paganism’s favored economy.
We actually thought that secularism might work, back in the day, and we adjusted, both our writing and our lives. Suppose it doesn’t? Suppose a free society, that is, the opposite of a servile one, depends upon sanctifying grace, the only source of which is the Church? Because it IS the only source. Everything trying to love God, from the obedient clouds to the good pagan, has the natural grace of his Creator. So says St. Thomas. But not sanctifying grace. Suppose then we make that a reality for our un-real characters? I think the only way to do that authentically is to try with all one’s might to do that in real life. Is the Catholic message part of our anti-abortion work, in all our other works of charity–I mean, the sacraments, the concept of the Body of Christ, our mysticism, the rosary? Is it explicitly part of the advice we give our divorcing, or dying, or depressed work-mates? Is it the reason we give our kids not to wear that very short skirt or go to that particular party? Or do we still seek some ‘lowest common denominator’ (‘christianity’ or just ‘doing good’) in both our fiction and our real lives?
This is a vexing question to me, and I beg your forgiveness if I have spoken anything false. I’m pretty sure the right answer on this question is not the easy road. There’s a time every potential martyr has this second of chance–he could deny Christ, or die. How could writing be different? Must we not try to rise to the challenge and make the pursuit of virtue as interesting as the seductions of paganism? Can we do it? I am presently writing science fiction, you know the liberties you can take in that genre. My characters are explicitly Catholic and fighting a Catholic fight, but it’s easier in sci fi, just as in historical fiction. It’s much harder to live it, on the bus, at the store, to bring up Christ, to bring up conversion.
As far as wanting to be successful as a writer, I think there’s another new day upon us: niche writing actually rules the markets now. Not watery pap.
I just envisioned St. Peter meeting me at the pearly gates: did you write pap? I want to say, No.
Hi, Janet,
You’ll have to forgive me here for both being a relatively new Catholic (Entering my third year!) and from coming from a background of rather hardcore secularism but I can only write that what affects me the most as a reader and as a writer is the Tolkien/MacDonald style of Christian “Myth” writing as a way to relate to the secularized reader.
As someone who was a hardcore secularist for so many years I know particularly the kind of story that would penetrate my shell and get me to think about higher things, first things, and even last things. The name “Jesus” would cause me to roll my eyes, scripture quotes would cause a skimming, and a Church would not make me picture Holy Things but just another building. In that sense, Flannery O’Connor was right in how you attract the attention of a non-believer to approach Truth from a different perspective.
On the other hand when I talk about “Christian Fiction”, I basically refer to two different “genres” at play which are not specifically Catholic at all. The first being the story about converting the world through righteous acts and showing non-believers how wrong they are. I’m sure there is an audience for this material, but it is not the majority and it is not non-believers. All they will see is arrogance and a sappy world view.
The second type is the “questioning” pieces like “The Shack” or “Blue Like Jazz” which attempt to water Christ down to show non-believers that other Christian’s just don’t get it. All this amounts to is Heresy and shallow questioning. The result doesn’t lead to questions of any real merit but the general statement of “Let’s make a new denomination!” and the further tarring of the word “Religion” in the Christian world.
Unfortunately, that is the majority of the Religious Fiction writing I see in the Christian world. We live in a very cynical world and being sappy or similarly cynical like the two above examples isn’t going to reach them. It doesn’t mean you can’t have a Catholic character in a story (even the main character) and have the audience relate to them, but having Jesus come down at the zero hour to change the wind’s direction to help them score the winning goal will turn most anybody off.
This probably isn’t news to anyone here who isn’t writing any of the above, I just thought it would be interesting for them to see that even secularists want good stories that speak to them.
Myself, I find the “Myth-making” way the best.
Thank you so much J.D. for the suggestion on George MacDonald. I’m looking forward to reading ‘Phantastes’ and rather like a good many of the quotes I’ve came across of his. They do remind me much of Tolkien, Chesterton, and C.S. Lewis. I particularly like this quote attributed to him:
“Do the things you know, and you shall learn the truth you need to know.”
We get the platitude in writing often of ‘write what you know’, but this version of similar common wisdom resonates more, since it doesn’t limit itself to just the writing, but to the every day doing. Our experiences are important in both our personal seeking for truth and purpose in life, as well as trying to convey some truth and idea that we write about and share with others. Thus, it is sound wisdom both for writing a good story and for living a good life. That whole ‘both … and’ the apologists tell us about as key to Catholic faith and understanding does also tie in and work well in many situations, and certainly can be used in working out conflicts and resolving things both in a story and in living out one’s life.
But another thing that comes up in this and poses a question is if anyone has made a canon of Catholic authors and their writings that helps tie in and unite the tradition of such writers. I know of some books, like Joseph Pearce’s ‘Literary Giants, Literary Catholics’ that speaks about Catholic authors from the 19th and 20th century, but I don’t know of any published canon of selected works.
Of course, with being able to find online libraries and the like and search up titles and authors, I suppose there’s a moot point, other than for having a physical representation that can be read offline and without a computer, laptop, or reader screen to look at, but instead pages and ink of a book. I’m still rather fond of the pages and ink still. 😉
Hi, John,
“Phantastes” is a great choice and is one of my favorite books. In fact, it was a large inspiration for what I write now.
It’s especially striking to learn that he came from a staunch Calvinist background. Nothing in his writings would ever lead you to believe he could have ever been that sort.
As for your question, I would also like to know if such a resource existed. It sure would be useful for keeping up with all the different writers out there. I still feel fortunate that I was ever able to learn about Shusaku Endo in this day and age when few in the Catholic world ever seem to bring his work up. There’s just so much out there it’s hard to keep up with it all! 🙂
Hi, JD,
Might I ask if you could put into words what you learned from Shusaku Endo–let us say, Silence, you have read that?
Hi, Janet,
I would respond directly to your post, but the reply button isn’t popping up.
When I read “Silence” I was still just getting to know the faith and was surprised at the amount of attention it had paid to the issues of doubt and suffering on such an intimate (and historical) tale.
I’ve dealt with issues of alienation and odd doubts (not even necessarily about God) throughout most of my life and it was very powerful to find a fellow Catholic that had gone through what I had and then some and was able to put it into words. then there was the ending, which is fairly controversial, I think. I don’t want to spoil it here for anyone who may be reading the comments and hasn’t read the book, but suffice to say I don’t think it could have ended any other way in this world of sinners.
But I could only have read it after my conversion. One look to see that it was about a priest and his persecution would have turned me right off. I was fairly shallow that way.
But without giving away the ending, could you not say how the protagonist resolved his doubt? That is, how we are all to resolve our doubt? How are we to do that? In a generality, not in a plot detail.
Deep interest in this novel! And you bought up!
J.D.,
You know, I’m the type for the whole ‘see a need, fill the void’ type of thinking. Could be something interesting to compile and edit, and give a good excuse to read and research a lot of Catholic literature, beyond the pleasure of finding the treasured tales and sharing them with countless others that have had similar desire for such a project to be done.
But for now, I thank you for adding new authors to my personal canon. For right now, I can list off the top of my head as among the top authors I know as:
Tolkien
Chesterton
MacDonald
Flannery O’Connor
Evelyn Waugh
Hiliare Belloc
Joseph Pearce
Thomas Merton
Peter Kreeft
James Joyce
Shusaku Endo
And that’s the ‘lay authors’. If we were to add in the priestly, we would have quite a few Popes on the list, such as John Paul II, Benedict XVI, and Cardinals John Henry Newman and Fulton Sheen.
Of course, that’s mostly late 19th and much of the 20th century authorship, and most of the well known.
As it is, I’m a convert as well, coming from the Methodist-Assembly of God-Lutheran mix and mash of denominations, with a small amount of dabbling among Baptist/non-denominationals, not to mention some background influence of Episcopal and Presbyterian, Mormonism, and who knows what else from public schooling and Boy Scouts. But then again, one of the great Doctors of the early Church was St. Augustine, who himself was a convert from the Manichaeans, so we really ought to remember that we never know who God will touch with His grace and bring home to the Church to do some great work, both within and without. For, as with the Mass itself, we are brought into God’s house, and He sends us back out into the world to shine His light out into the darkness. The very act of conversion itself can be much like the hero’s journey, and this is something that especially is conveyed by many of the great converts to Catholic authors, which in a certain way includes even C.S. Lewis, who made it at least up to the Anglican Catholic in faith, and very much could have made the crossing of the Tiber since passing on.
And just a follow up, had just read the first four chapters of ‘Phantastes’, and will read the 5th before heading out for the night. Even with slightly archaic-to-modern writing and grammar, it’s a pretty easy and fun read!
But, then again, I have been accused in my writers group of being a bit stilted in my writing, so I can’t say it’s necessarily for all moderns. But it probably would be a fun read for the urban fantasy and steampunk genres that tend toward liking either the fantasy genre or the Charles Dickens grammar.
Janet,
The only way I’ve found is to put faith in the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and not in the world of man. After all, it was only after meeting the Holy Spirit that I gained the inspiration to finally pursue my writing after changing my life. Thank you for helping me remember the book, I still have to add more of his work to my reading list.
John,
Chesterton is one of my favorite writers. Orthodoxy was the book that helped me “get” this whole faith thing. 🙂 Not to mention The Man Who Was Thursday, Manalive, the Father Brown Stories, or the Napoleon of Notting Hill were such great stories. I wish I was 1/10th as smart as he was in order to write like that.
It might be because I was a secularist, but the stories that always affect me are the ones where Christ is present but not “in frame”, so to speak. The ones where the characters are simply unaware (or maybe they are aware and forget like we so often do) much like a good Walker Percy or Graham Greene tale. Tolkien was the best at doing this, so good in fact that you can still catch little tidbits on rereads you would never catch on the first time. Life is an adventure, and it’s only with reflection that we are able to find our mistakes, after all.
That’s one of the best things He gave us, in my opinion. And it’s why adventure stories will always be my favorites.
JD,
I’d definitely agree there on Tolkien. Swift is also good at the travel story. Of course, not quite Catholic, but he was critical of Anglican British empire building.
As for secular, I think what helps with Chesterton is how he played against the whole argument of both secularist and Protestants that equally fought their view of the Church as being superstitious and full of idolatry. Yet, there are many Protestants and Secularists that enjoy fantasy and ghost tales. I suppose it’s that whole ‘spiritual’ aspect. After all, a spiritual Christian wants to experience the Holy Spirit in their lives, and, believing that the Holy Spirit is real, it’s easy to consider that other spirits are real. Secularists seem to make it into a hobby, trying to rationalize such things as some sort of energy, or recording, or whatnot to explain any supernatural aspect and ground it into something ‘sensible’ – that whole if you can see it, then you can believe it mentality; or, conversely, if you can’t see it, then it doesn’t exist, so there has to be some other explanation that’s neither supernatural nor metaphysical (pretty much the same thing, but from different linguistic roots).
And that reminds me, William Peter Blatty, the author of ‘The Exorcist’, as among the Catholic authors. Probably not the one to write what you’d have in a Catholic/Christian book store, and somewhat heterodox, but overall, he’s decidedly Catholic. The dark/horror genre is not particularly my favorite, particularly since 1970’s style was rather over the top, and pretty much set the standard for current horror films and books. Some of the classic horror stories had their moments, but generally were less about gore as they were on the concept, at least that’s how I see Mary Shelley’s ‘Frankenstein’ and Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’. It also brings up the aspect of evil too. There are many ways to present it, from the more black and white, shades of grey, the sympathetic villain that you almost root for, or start to see some of yourself in the character, and all the other ways that push the element of evil upon one to have to ultimately confront in the reading, much as the protagonist does. This can be a difficult task, and when you come to it, especially when wanting to write as orthodox to the faith as possible, there is a necessity to call it evil, and seek some way to resolve the conflict that, while maybe not eradicating it, coming to the conclusion that good can overcome evil, and will eventually, regardless of how prevailing it may appear at certain times. The other aspect is also the means to end notion that Thomas Aquinas had drilled into Catholic theology, and how to present both the bad means towards seeking a good end, or a seductive bad end that at least seems to mean well. The novel may end with that sort of unresolved aspect, especially if carrying it over into a series, but the consequences of this type of mixed resolve at best ought to have certain consequences.
Anyways, suppose today’s food for thought here. Maybe we can carry this conversation in a forum or in some other manner, so we don’t take up too much of the blog post here. But I am grateful for this blog posting to really get my mind churning on these things, as well as yours, J.D., and other participants in the comments and discussions. Thank you so much!
There is a very good guide called ‘How to Read a Book’ by Mortimer Adler and Charles Van Doren (Angelus Press and elsewhere; don’t use Amazon). It presents a two-stepped methodical approach in which one must first note the major plot points and the characters’ actions and words, and then, having considered the totality, sum up the ‘meaning’ of the action with a one or two sentence summary. This summary will read like an adage, ‘a stitch in time saves nine,’ or something similar. This is the reader’s thesis regarding the meaning of a work, and may be called more or less ‘powerful’ a thesis by how many of the plot elements the summary is able to cover without contradiction. The second step is to say, very simply as Adler puts it on purpose so that even children may use this technique, whether the reader ‘likes’ the thesis. Naturally, ‘likes’ depends on the reader. Catholic readers will ‘like’ fiction that sums up to Catholic doctrine and culture. Not all ‘likes’ are equal–some people do NOT like historical works whose details are not exquisitely identical to known history, which Adler says is dumb. The second step following the first, by the way, is the one rewarded with the highest marks in the best standardized essay examinations; those exams don’t favor students who cannot take a stand.
There is at least one very good thing to say about this method, in that it forces readers to actually read the work, and not just bounce off it, as so many high school and college ‘assignments’ invite young writers to do under the guise of a response to the work (“John Smith has written about the aspirations of an artist. Tell us about your aspirations.”). Writers will appreciate, at least, that it forces people to actually read what the author has written (which happens not so often!).
But the most powerful theses do not always match the stated intention of the writer (and Flannery O’Connor is a very good candidate for this disjuncture). Sigrid Undset remarks of D.H.Lawrence that all his life he was a fervent and politically active proponent of ‘sexual freedom’ but that–because he was in fact a very good writer–his novels prove in the summaries of their events and their characters’ statements and actions that free love doesn’t work at all, that it warps lives and health. He was too good a writer, that is, too good an observer, Unset says, to sketch inauthentically ‘happy’ loose living characters. I believe this would be an example of the kind of ‘catholic’ novel one would hesitate to recommend to one’s traditional friends, and yet it could very well be classified that way, at least for sophisticated readers, speaking of the message actually communicated in the text. It was not the message Lawrence intended. He intended the opposite. We authors don’t define our books by what we say they say, though. The books say what they say. Sometimes it is the opposite of what the author says she believes, especially among those spontaneous writers who swear they never plot and the work simply ’emerges.’ Of course, though, sometimes duplicity is intentional. Pius X’s encyclical Pascendi is worth reading for its exposure of modern media trickery.
It is really important for all of us Catholics, writers and readers alike, of fiction and non-fiction, of text and film and poem and picture and song, to get a handle on some technique of analysis that is able to ignore misdirects and confront the over-all message of a work, because Pascendi emphasizes that those who would deny Christ and fall down again into paganism (that is, modernists) get us to swallow the deadly poison bits in that lovely apple by rhetorical trickery. In other words, it is not an academic question at all, but a deeply spiritual one.
So write like the classic writers, then?
Challenge accepted.
I like the way you say “writing Catholic”, rather than “Catholic fiction”. Fiction informed by a Catholic worldview can be just as valuable as fiction set in a Catholic milieu. Odd Thomas vs. Father Brown. Thanks for writing this. I’m grateful I found this site!
Yes! Far too much fiction by Catholics and protestants alike tend to be “cloyingly pious” as one of my former editors put it.
Just as annoying are folks who *try* to be ‘edgy’ or ‘relevant’ by making their characters sinful and foul-mouthed, but only succeed in sounding like a fifty-year old teacher trying to speak with their students’ slang.
Writing characters who are reprehensible people does not necessarily disqualify it from the Catholic family; Flannery O’Connor proved that. Informing one’s conscience and life as a Catholic writer in advance before the first keystroke is a far better recipe than putting a grocery list of virtues together and making sure all those ‘stops’ are hit in the course of your novel. 🙂
Really excellent points, the question becomes then, at what point does the work reveal greater truth, and what is the tipping point at which an otherwise piece dealing with extremely flawed individuals, reveals a greater truth and thus can be classified as Catholic fiction. I know Flannery O’Connor’s work drips with her Catholicism, but I had to learn to see it in some cases, to understand the deeper meanings of my own faith before I could fully appreciate the story, and being somewhat distracted, clueless and careless as a student, I frequently missed it. It’s much easier to get Walter Percy’s work for me, but that may be an issue of this reader’s lack of nuance.
Excellent post, Jen. I’m going to share it with my Indie Catholic Authors community on Google +.