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IRREANTUM
EXPLORING MORMON LITERATURE

MAGAZINE OF THE ASSOCIATION FOR MORMON LETTERS

SPRING 2000 $2.00

The Irreantum Interview:

Margaret Young
Drama by Eric Samuelsen
Science fiction by Scott Everett Bronson
Fiction by Marilyn Brown

Essays on humor, storytelling, and poetry

Poetry by Jolayne Call and Cathy Gileadi Wilson
Reviews of Robert Farrell Smith, Pam Blackwell, and Neil LaBute
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 2

IRREANTUM
MAGAZINE OF THE ASSOCIATION FOR MORMON LETTERS

E D I T O R I A L S T A F F

Christopher K. Bigelow . . . . . . . .irreant@cs.com Jonathan Langford . . . . .jlangfor@pressenter.com

co-managing editor AML-List Highlights
Benson Parkinson . . . .byparkinson@cc.weber.edu Kent Larsen . . . . . . .klarsen@mormonstoday.com
co-managing editor Publishing News
Tory Anderson . . . . . . . . . .toryander@sisna.com Jana Bouck Remy . . . . . . . . .janaremy@juno.com
fiction reviews
Harlow Clark . . . . . . . . . harlowclark@juno.com Edgar C. Snow Jr. . . . . . .edgarsnow@yahoo.com
poetry essays

B O A R D O F T H E A S S O C I A T I O N
F O R M O R M O N L E T T E R S

Marilyn Brown . . . . . .wwbrown@burgoyne.com Scott Bronson . . . . . . . .bronsonjscott@juno.com

president Gideon Burton . . . . . . .gideon_burton@byu.edu
Cherry Silver . . . . . . . . .cbsilver@worldnet.att.net Cory Maxwell . . . . . . . .cmaxwell@ldsworld.com
president-elect Tessa Meyer Santiago . . . .tm.santiago@cwix.com
John Bennion . . . . . . . . .john_bennion@byu.edu Carol Quist . . . . . . . . . . .sunstoneom@aol.com
academic conference chair & past president
Mikel Vause . . . . . . . . . . . . . .mvause@weber.edu

E X O F F I C I O B O A R D M E M B E R S

Lavina Fielding Anderson . . . . . .lavina@utw.com Carol Clark Ottesen . . . .ottesenc@burgoyne.com

proceedings editor secretary
Christopher K. Bigelow . . . . . . . .irreant@cs.com Scott Parkin . . . . . . . . . . . .sparkin@airswitch.net
magazine editor awards chair
Henry Miles . . . . . . . . . . . . . .hlmiles@enol.com Benson Parkinson . . . .byparkinson@cc.weber.edu
treasurer AML-List moderator

IRREANTUM is published four times a year by the Association for
Mormon Letters (AML), 1925 Terrace Drive, Orem, UT 84097,
(801) 226-5585. Membership in the AML is $20 for one year,
which includes an IRREANTUM subscription. Subscriptions to
IRREANTUM may be purchased separately from AML membership
for $12 per year, and single copies are $3 (postpaid). Advertising
rates begin at $50 for a full page. The AML is a nonprofit 501(c)(3)
organization, so contributions of any amount are tax deductible
and gratefully accepted. Views expressed in IRREANTUM do not nec-
essarily reflect the opinions of the editors or of AML board mem-
bers, and this magazine has no official connection with nor
endorsement by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
IRREANTUM welcomes unsolicited essays, reviews, fiction, poet-
ry, and other manuscripts, and we invite letters intended for pub-
lication. After publication of a manuscript in IRREANTUM (includ-
ing publication and archiving in electronic format), rights revert to
the author or the authors assignee. To submit material, please con-
tact the appropriate editor at the e-mail address listed above next
to his or her name and editorial department. If you do not have
access to e-mail, you may mail your text on a floppy disk to Chris
Bigelow, 1033 S. Freedom Blvd., Provo, UT 84601. Submissions
in other than electronic format are strongly discouraged.
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 3
Spring 2000 Volume 2, Number 1
C O N T
Editorial: Three Kinds of Appropriateness . . . . .4
Benson Parkinson
News of the Association for Mormon Letters . . .6
The IRREANTUM Interview: Margaret Young . . .10
Essays
Our Senses of Humor Are Our Lines of Defenses
Richard H. Cracroft . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .17
Latter-day Frogs and Other Amphibians
Edgar C. Snow Jr. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .19
Storytellers from Zion: Our Storyteller from Zion
D. Michael Martindale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .21
What I Have Planted: Notes on Cathy Gileadi
Wilsons Poetic Burden
Harlow Soderborg Clark . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .46
Fiction
Drama: Bar and Kell
Eric Samuelsen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .23
Science Fiction: And the Moon Became as Blood
Scott Everett Bronson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .32
The Black Canary
Marilyn Brown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .40
E N T S
Poetry
April, Jolayne Call . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .44
On Lazarus, Jolayne Call . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .44
Our House Is a Spaceship, Cathy Gileadi Wilson . . . .45
Pregnant Sonnet, Cathy Gileadi Wilson . . . . . . .45
Incipient Polygamist, Cathy Gileadi Wilson . . . .48
Their Names, Cathy Gileadi Wilson . . . . . . . . .48
Reviews
All Is Swell: Trust in Thelmas Way and
Falling for Grace: Trust at the End of the World
By Robert Farrell Smith
Reviewed by Barbara Hume . . . . . . . . . . . .49
Ephraims Seed and Jacobs Cauldron
By Pam Blackwell
Reviewed by Gabi Kupitz . . . . . . . . . . . . . .50
Bash: Latter-day Plays
By Neil LaBute
Reviewed by R.W. Rasband . . . . . . . . . . . .51
Publishing News . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .53
AML-List Highlights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .57
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 4
E D I T O R I A L fret over even minor failings. Thats because its
Three Kinds of Appropriateness
By Benson Parkinson
Morality is a mark of Mormon literature. I dont
know if it would have to be that way, but Latter-day
Saint literature of most every stripe gets around to
taking a moral stand. The difference is largely in the
realm of appropriateness, which boils down to a
sense of how sex, violence, profanity, and the sacred
ought to be portrayed. Most judgments of this type
are matters of taste, but these tastes are shot through
with authors and readers moral sensibilities, which
makes them difficult to talk about without casting
aspersions though thats what Im attempting
here. I dont mean to clump the different varieties
together unnaturally. I doubt they can be recon-
ciled. But basically there are only three kinds of
appropriateness in Mormon literature. Fans and
practitioners of the different kinds might be less
judgmental if they understood each other better.
The first kind of morality in Mormon literature is
the completely appropriate. This kind seeks to be
appropriate in every way. Some of these works
duplicate the conventions of national genre fiction
while toning the sex, violence, and swearing down
to pre-1970s television levels, and broach the sacred
with great deference or frequently not at all. Others
focus more deeply on Mormon characters, issues,
and spirituality. This is probably the most popular
of the three kinds of LDS literature, at least in num-
ber of titles. Several books in this category, such as
Richard Paul Evanss The Christmas Box, have been
national bestsellers. Others aimed at the LDS mar-
ket, most notably Gerald N. Lunds Work and the
Glory series, have sold in excess of all but the most
runaway national bestsellers.
If I had to choose a mascot for this type, Id pick
a cocker spaniel or some other family-friendly
breed. Thats not to say its so tame as to be lifeless.
Completely appropriate fiction is increasingly will-
ing to look evil in the face and portray all manner
of sinful behavior, though never graphically or in a
way that readers would find tempting. Primary
characters behave and think as they ought to and
Spring 2000
readers identify strongly and want to believe that
the characters good-heartedness and obedience will
bring them through. When a character strays, it can
be as stressful to these readers as if a friend had done
so. Too much of that would overwhelm a novel,
though fans and writers recognize you need enough
to make the story go.
The second kind of Mormon literature is the
broadly appropriate. This kind tries to be true to
a mainstream vision of the gospel while acknowl-
edging the complex mix of good and evil that exists
in the world. This may be the category with the
most potential to break Mormon literature out of
niche status. Traditionally at least, the sort of slow-
selling but long-lived books that wind up being
studied in college courses are in this mode. Douglas
Thayers Under the Cottonwoodsis an example of fic-
tion for LDS readers in this category. An example of
fiction for readers at large is the Alvin Maker series
by Orson Scott Card.
The mascot for this kind of writing would be a
border collie or some other intelligent, agile work-
ing breed. These books are willing to depict sex or
violence or bad language if theres literary justifica-
tion, though frequently less than in comparable
works by non-LDS writers. By contrast, theyre
more willing than most non-LDS writers to con-
front the sacred head-on. The broadly appropriate
shows evil as attractive in order to make its attrac-
tion comprehensible. Characters think all manner
of thoughts and fret precious little about their fail-
ings because theyre not aware of most of them. Its
readers identify with characters less strongly but
study them more intently. Often the point of a
book is to learn compassion by coming to grips with
the complexity of a characters situation. Often the
emphasis is on agency focusing on a sin or flaw in
order to follow it through to its logical conclusion.
The third kind of moral literature is the shock-
ingly appropriate. This kind tries to be true to its
own often counterintuitive sense of gospel values
while violating, for artistic impact, the average
gospel believers sense of propriety. Shockingly
appropriate Mormon literature has relatively small
audiences but is probably the most in sync with
4 IRREANTUM
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national literary tastes and has thus far received the
most scholarly attention. Brian Evenson and Levi
Peterson are two prominent fiction writers in this
category, and one could also mention Neil LaButes
dramas and films.
The mascot for the shockingly appropriate would
be the coyote, lone and wily, seen by some as a harm-
ful enemy and others as a romantic character or a
useful friend. In shockingly appropriate writing,
nothing is sacred, at least at first glance, and vio-
lence, sexuality, profanity, and every manner of evil
may abound. Characters wallow in degradation, or
revel in perversion, and the book may celebrate
either or both. The shockingly appropriate violates
every convention, every expectation, in order to set
the reader up for the big punch: humans of every
description have innate value, or good can prevail, or
Gods grace is sufficient. Values like these transcend
all the little ones the book pillories along the way.
One way to point up the differences between
these three kinds of writing is to draw the distinc-
tion between what the book says and what its char-
acters say. Neither book nor characters in com-
pletely appropriate literature say inappropriate
things. Because of this, fans of the other kinds,
when they say completely appropriate, mean it
sarcastically, though its a badge this kind wears with
pride. After all, can one be too good?
The characters in broadly appropriate literature say
inappropriate things all the time, but the books never
do. Fans of the other kinds typically find this kind
too broad on the one hand, or too appropriate on
the other. But this kind doesnt apologize for finding
truth abroad, or for serving the cause at home.
That leaves the shockingly appropriate, in which
both books and characters say inappropriate things
incessantly, except for the thing that finally matters.
Fans of the other kinds find this desire to shock a
little juvenile, or downright evil. But if people are
disturbed, fans of the shockingly appropriate rea-
son, they need a little disturbing.
The LDS Church in its occasional creative offer-
ings sticks to the completely appropriate, and this is
true of mainstream LDS magazines and publishers
generally. My sense in talking to the people who
work for these organizations is that theyre not nec-
Spring 2000
essarily opposed to the other kinds (or at least the
broadly appropriate), but their viewers and readers
are so keyed to the issue of implied endorsement
that they wont tolerate any other kind. For the
Ensign and Bookcraft, that means they cant pro-
mote cultural change without spawning contention,
which pretty well goes against their reason for
being. For independents like Covenant, it means
they cant make money any other way.
When regional or national arts organizations,
universities, or publishers promote Mormon litera-
ture, it tends to be the shockingly appropriate. The
publishers cant afford to push too hard against their
secular readers prejudices. At universities and arts
councils, church-state and multicultural considera-
tions produce the same result. Meanwhile intellec-
tually oriented LDS outlets like Sunstone and
Signature seem to slide inexorably toward the
shockingly appropriate, no doubt because of the
polarizing effect of that kind of writing.
Institutional and market support for the broadly
appropriate has been thin in the past. BYU is the
logical institutional sponsor, yet for years BYU has
vacillated between welcoming shockingly appropri-
ate LDS literature and throwing it out the door.
BYU needs to excel academically, and there is only
so much it can do with the completely appropriate
because of this kinds lack of sophistication. But
BYU must also serve the ends of its sponsoring
institution as defined by its board of trustees, and
the Church will likely never be comfortable with lit-
erature that so often seems at odds with those ends.
The drama department, with its regular offerings by
Eric Samuelsen and Tim Slover, seems to have
embraced the broadly appropriate. The rest of the
university should follow suit with fiction. Thats the
only kind that can thrive in that tight spot because
its goals are the same to scour the earth for all
thats good, and shore up faith at home.
Mainstream LDS publishers have been experi-
menting with the broadly appropriate (Bookcraft
with Dean Hughes, Covenant with Marilyn Arnold),
and hopefully we can expect more from them. This
People seemed to be developing into a broadly appro-
priate organ, though for a year or two the magazine
has been tied up in litigation. One hungry young
5 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 6
upstart, Irreantum, publishes as much short LDS fic-
tion as anyone right now. Editorially speaking,
Irreantum favors the broadly appropriate, though like
our sponsor, the Association for Mormon Letters, we
seek to promote all three kinds. But broadly appro-
priate is the most underdeveloped, both in terms of
whats available and whos reading. Thats the kind
most likely to draw large numbers of intelligent,
committed LDS readers to Mormon letters. And
thats good for Mormon literature of every kind.
A M L N E W S progress! The numbers of nationally published writ-
Presidents Message
Welcome, AML, to the millennium!
Assuming our planet can learn to handle nuclear
and biological warfare, we have a new thousand
years ahead of us to promote peace! I cant think of
any better way to do it than in the precious associa-
tions of a community of letters!
As I heard the awards citations at our February
conference and looked around at all the partici-
pants, I was so gratified to see how the excitement
has grown! The administrations of Neal Kramer and
John Bennion have been hotbeds for amazing cre-
ative efforts: Chris Bigelows wonderful Irreantum;
Benson Parkinsons work on AML-List; the fantas-
tic touchstone writers conference at UVSC, put
together by Carol Ottesen; the continued dedica-
tion of Lavina Fielding Anderson with our proceed-
ings; and now the appointment of the outstanding
Cherry Silver as president-elect, with environmental
activist and poet Mikel Vause and well-known actor
and writer Scott Bronson as new board members.
Now we have added a world-renowned novelist,
Anne Perry, to our roster of award winners. Perry,
who lives in Scotland, comes to Utah each year as
part of her book tours, and we in the AML hope to
have more direct contact with her in the future.
How nice it is to have a group to share our spe-
cial joys and problems as both scholarly and creative
Mormon writers and readers. And we are making
Spring 2000
Benson Parkinson, co-managing editor of
IRREANTUM, founded AML-List, the AMLs Internet
discusion list, and served as its moderator during its
first five years. He is the author of two novels, The
MTC: Set Apart (Aspen, 1995), and its sequel, Into
the Field (Aspen, 2000). He and his wife Robin live
with their five children in South Ogden, Utah.
ers in our group has increased dramatically most-
ly in the areas of young peoples literature, science
fiction, and fantasy. Some of our Mormon writers
are making economic headway on the popular
Mormon market: Dean Hughes, Gerald Lund,
Margaret Young, and others.
And the future? It looks like go. My most exciting
moment of the February meeting was to offer the
new $1,000 novel award to Jack Harrell, a young
man who now teaches in the English Department at
Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. His unpublished
novel, Every Knee Shall Bow, represents the quality
of the work of these future writers. An honest look
at a young mans terror with drugs, Jack plots the
repentance process that brings him to reality. Three
other novels received honorable mention: (1)
Dorothy W. Peterson, Windows; (2) Alan Rex
Mitchell, Barry Monroes Missionary Journal; and (3)
Laura Dene Card, The Wildest Waste. Many other
novels that missed prizes had wonderful content!
As well as new writers, we should not forget the
veterans. It was so good to see Phyllis Barber at the
meeting. I happen to know Don Marshall has
almost completed a novel hes worked on for 16
years. Doug Thayer has two excellent completed
novels that hes still hoping to market, John
Bennion has one, I have four, and Dennis Clark has
started one. I know there are others who are still
hovering unpublished between the goal of writing
with excellence and the lack of a market for such
work.
6 IRREANTUM
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A warning to all who embark upon this road: Its
a journey requiring perseverance and courage!
Thats why its so good to get together a few times a
year just to rub shoulders and find out what every-
one else is doing!
Maybe were not very formidable against nuclear
war or biological warfare, but were a little army!
And were going to win!
Marilyn Brown
AML Awards for 1999
D EVOTIONAL LITERATURE: NEAL A. MAXWELL
The Association for Mormon Letters presents an
award in Devotional Literature for 1999 to Neal A.
Maxwell for One More Strain of Praise (Salt Lake
City: Bookcraft, 1999).
One More Strain of Praise, the book of medita-
tions from Elder Neal A. Maxwell, is a grace-
ful and grace-filled new work. It is buoyant
without being glib, intelligent without being arch,
and always heartfelt without being maudlin.
It is the work of a writer at the height of his powers.
Elder Maxwells talent for creating a text that
flows naturally in and out of scripture is reminiscent
of many early Christian writers. And his touch with
telling anecdotes and original epigrams on full
display here will always be a trademark.
Over the years Elder Maxwell has been called the
LDS C.S. Lewis and the LDS Augustine. One
enthusiastic reader even referred to him as the
Mormon Isaiah. And, indeed, careful readers can
find touches of them all in One More Strain of
Praise.
But the truth is, Elder Maxwell will forever be the
LDS Neal A. Maxwell, an American and Mormon
original whose work will remain a touchstone for
Mormon readers for decades to come.
One More Strain of Praise represents the latest and
one of the sturdiest stays in his unique legacy.
D RAMA: ERIC SAMUELSEN
The Association for Mormon Letters presents an
award in Drama for 1999 to Eric Samuelsen for The
Way Were Wired (produced at Brigham Young
University, May 1999).
Spring 2000
The Way Were Wired does what all plays should
and only the best few do: it takes us deeply and sat-
isfyingly into the minds and hearts of real people,
posing as theatrical characters; lets us take the meas-
ure of their pain and joy; and causes us to discover
that they are us.
Andy and Katie, Terrell and Darlene: these are peo-
ple inside our wards, our workplaces, and finally, our
own skins. We take their problems seriously; we take
their failures hard; and in the end we whoop over their
successes with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved
for a family member who, after years of heartache and
struggle, finally lands a job with medical benefits, or
does some other amazing, impossible thing.
With this play, Eric has taken drama of the con-
temporary Mormon scene to a whole new country,
where the coinage is neither propaganda nor criti-
cism, but, actually, love.
Everyone, Mormon or non-Mormon, who is
thinking about trying to become a human being,
should see this extraordinary play about every six
months.
ESSAY: MARTHA BECK
The Association for Mormon Letters presents an
award in the Essay for 1999 to Martha Beck for
Expecting Adam (New York: Times Books, 1999).
Like cold pizza for breakfast, Expecting Adam
doesnt so much fulfill as create its destiny.
You eat it knowing that its no worse for you
than when it was hot, but now the flavor layers
itself, surprises you bite after bite with how fitting
a way to break your fast its made of itself.
Faith-promoting pizza, Hah! you might think.
But this one-woman fast-and-testimony
meeting bares beliefs most of us still
dress in other language but still admit
into our family of phenomena.
What good is a Mother in Heaven you dont
address,
who never answers because you never ask,
cannot nurse you because youve clamped your
mouth shut?
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Without a mouth, great God, Id rather be
a pagan suckled on a creed outworn,
but Marthas mouth emits the cry of rage
and pain that I have not found words to howl.
If Utah is a sow that eats her farrow,
rather than silence, exile and cunning,
here is a Martha who has unencumbered herself,
chosen a good part which shall not be taken away,
and, having escaped, has returned alone to tell us.
A proper faith served cold is the best revenge.
NOVEL: ANNE PERRY
The Association for Mormon Letters presents an
award in the Novel for 1999 to Anne Perry for
Tathea (Salt Lake City: Shadow Mountain Press,
1999).
This years winner stands out in a field of new
novels rich with challenging subject matter and
important achievements in science fiction and fan-
tasy. While the novel does not neglect the impor-
tance of humor and romance, its prose is a model of
dignity and poise that matches the seriousness of its
primary objective. Fundamental gospel concepts
come into focus through the under-utilized but
fully apt lens of epic story-telling. Metaphysics and
morality are shown to make more than sufficient
grist for dramatic narrative.
A landmark accomplishment for an already suc-
cessful novelists first venture into speculative fic-
tion, this mesmerizing story revitalizes, and one
might dare say reinvents, the genre with a new sense
of expansive purpose. In fact, to call it escapist fan-
tasy, or place it in any pigeonhole at all, is to mini-
mize its accomplishment. It is genre-busting fiction
at its best.
It is bold; it is beautiful. Its voice calling to Utah
from afar should energize the world of Mormon lit-
erature and remind us of ideals we cannot afford to
forget. It reminds us that the gospel, properly
understood, is not a straight jacket restricting imag-
ination, knowledge, and experience. Rather it is a
high mountain (or as Joseph Smith would say, a lad-
der) on top of which we can better see the worlds
goodness and evil, ugliness and beauty and better
Spring 2000
make the choices we need to find happiness in this
life and the next.
This remarkable story lays bare the fallacy that
didactic purpose and literary aspiration are oil and
water. The author blends the two seamlessly with a
powerful plot and a complex exploration of the dif-
ficult truths we need to guide us through the
human condition.
SHORT STORY: MARY CLYDE
The Association for Mormon Letters presents an
award in the Short Story for 1999 to Mary Clyde
for Survival Rates (Athens and London: University
of Georgia Press, 1999).
In Survival Rates, Mary Clydes fictional world is
a post-lapsarian desert Southwest, perilous, unpre-
dictable, and inhabited by javelinas, black widows,
cat-eating coyotes, and by an infinite variety of
human survivors, some of them Mormon, some
not.
All of them are believable but ordinary people
who are trying to learn what survival means in a
harsh world where, after all, no one survives for very
long. In each of her well-crafted stories, which gar-
nered Clyde the Flannery OConnor Award for
Short Fiction, her characters, coming off a variety of
life-changing circumstances, grope to cope in
hope.
In a March 28, 1999, New York Times review,
Karen Karbo says of Survival Rates that although
the stories here are all strong, a few are splendid,
and asserts that Clydes writing has many strengths,
but the greatest one is her ability to transform a
shallow experience into something resembling
hope. That she does so with intelligence and wit
makes this collection as good as they get.
Marys stories are wonderfully human, universal,
guardedly hopeful, and always important, incisive,
of good report, and praiseworthy as good as it
gets. We seek after her work.
Mary Clyde does her craft and her faith proud,
and the Association for Mormon Letters is pleased
to honor her achievement.
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MARILYN BROWN NOVEL AWARD
Marilyn Brown, president of the Association for
Mormon Letters and recipient of the Associations
first-ever novel award in 1981, has endowed the
Marilyn Brown Novel Award. This contest, admin-
istered jointly by Marilyn and the AML, awards
$1,000 for the best unpublished novel among its
entries.
In this inaugural year of 2000, the award winner
is Jack Harrell, an English instructor at Ricks
College, for Every Knee Shall Bow, an outstanding
work representing genuine Mormon repentance in
unusual and powerful circumstances and setting.
Because other entries also had such merit, the com-
mittee of judges decided to offer honorable men-
tions and small prizes ($50, $30, and $20) for three
other entries. The prize winners were cited as fol-
lows at the annual conference of the Association at
Westminster College in Salt Lake City:
Third Honorable Mention: The Wildest Waste, by
Laura Dene Card. In clean, readable prose, this
author presents a strong, visual picture of 1860
Scotland. With more powerful opposition among
characters or circumstances, the novel would have
been stronger. But its smooth, polished writing
gives it a place on our roster.
Second Honorable Mention: Barry Monroes
Missionary Journal, by Alan Rex Mitchell. This
novel does many things well. Although it may lack
a forceful, strong central conflict, this story of an
LDS missionary to Germany portrays many of the
scattered inner conflicts a young man may have
upon arriving home until he resolves them by
returning to his mission. Although only one judge
on the panel recommended it as first place, the pro-
fessionalism of the text wins it a firm place among
the entries.
First Honorable Mention: Windows, by Dorothy
W. Peterson. Also recommended by one of the
judges on the panel, this is an interesting look at a
womans act of adultery while her husband is on a
mission, the child that results, and her penance as
she stays committed in her marriage to her hus-
band. Though in some ways the book is flawed,
introducing compelling situations it doesnt explore,
with an ending that is perhaps predictable, this is an
Spring 2000
engaging work that fully involves the reader.
First Prize Winner: Every Knee Shall Bow, by Jack
Harrell. This book was chosen for its power. With
language that crackles, it brings a voice to
Mormon literature that is clearly worth honoring.
The main character of the story is a young man who
travels a slow and painful road to overcoming the
natural man. He begins as a boy who refuses to
accept responsibility, becomes the husband who
longs for freedom, and at last the man who feels
Gods grace in spite of himself and the self-destruc-
tive path that has beckoned to him with a sirens
allure. Always seeming to live in loose connections
to others, but in close proximity to danger, the
young man at one point participates in a day of
drugs in which someone is almost murdered. The
power of the story is in its authenticity and the char-
acters compelling conversion. When he is ready to
accept God into his life, God is patiently waiting.
The relationship with the bishop is treated with
force and poignancy. We are proud to give the thou-
sand dollars to this author, and hope he will find a
viable publisher.
Call for Entries: The Marilyn Brown Novel
Award encourages all writers to prepare to enter the
next contest! You have a year and a few months to
get your own novel into shape. Submissions for the
novel award of 2002 will be due 1 July 2001. For
submission instructions, please send a SASE to:
Marilyn Brown, 125 Hobble Creek Canyon,
Springville, UT 84663.
9 IRREANTUM
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T H E I R R E A N T U M
I N T E R V I E W

Margaret Young
Margaret Blair Young teaches creative writing part
time at BYU. In many ways, she considers herself a
professional juggler juggling care of her husband and
four children, her church callings as a Spanish-lan-
guage institute teacher and ward organist, and her
career as a writer. (She has a personal rule of teaching
only one writing class per semester.) She has published
two novels, with two more forthcoming, two short story
collections, many individual short stories, essays, plus
just a little poetry. She has a degree in university stud-
ies (basically theater) from BYU and a masters degree
in English, also from BYU. She met her husband,
Bruce, a BYU Shakespeare scholar, by taking his liter-
ary criticism class. He had been told that he would
probably not be hired permanently if he werent mar-
ried, and Margaret was promised free tuition if shed
marry him thus, the Young family, plus four chil-
Chains was published by Signature in 1997. My
dren, fifteen years later. (Conveniently, Bruce and
novel Dear Stone has been accepted for publication,
Margaret also love each other.)
but is not yet published. BYU did the dramatic ver-
sion of that one in the Arena Theatre in May 1997.
IRREANTUM: To start off, tell us a little about
Currently, I am working on the project which has
your published works.
captured my heart (and time) more than any other
MY: House without Walls was my first novel, pub-
of my life and I anticipate probably another
lished in 1991 by Deseret Book. Gene England has
decade devoted to its themes. The project is a trilo-
characterized it as home literature and it really is,
gy of novels about black pioneers, whose inspiring,
though Im not ashamed of it. The best story about
and sometimes troubling, stories are surprisingly
House is that my mother probably bought most of
unknown in the Church. I am co-authoring it with
the copies. She distributed them freely, including to a
a remarkable man, Darius Gray, an African
Russian woman (an English teacher) while Mom and
American who joined the Church 35 years ago,
Dad were teaching in Russia. This woman read my
before the priesthood was available to him. Darius
novel, which spoke to her in some very specific ways,
was the first counselor when the Genesis Group was
then asked if she could read the Book of Mormon.
organized by the First Presidency in 1971 as a sup-
She and her son, and later her husband, joined the
port group for African-American Mormons. He is
Church. When my dad, Robert Blair, was called to
now the president of that group and it is still offi-
preside over the Baltic States mission, this womans
cially sponsored by the Church. (In fact, President
son was called to serve in that same mission.
Gray reports to a member of the Seventy.) The tril-
Salvador was my first novel to win an award the
ogy, titled Standing on the Promises, will cover the
Utah Arts Council award for novel. Aspen Books
lives of Elijah Abel, Jane James (and their families),
published it in 1992, the same year that the
the three slaves who were in the first company to
University of Idaho Press published my short story
enter the Salt Lake Valley (Hark Lay, Oscar Crosby,
collection, Elegies and Love Songs. My collection Love
Spring 2000 10 IRREANTUM
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and Green Flake), and Samuel Chambers, a slave
who was secretly baptized in 1844 and then joined
the Saints in Salt Lake after the Civil War. We also
follow Dariuss family, beginning with his great-
grandfather, who was a slave near Independence,
Missouri, at the time of the Saints expulsion. We
use equal parts documentation and imagination.
Each chapter has endnotes. It has been an adventure!
IRREANTUM: In the interest of bibliographic
completeness, could you list for us the New Era
stories and some other articles?
MY: The first story I published in the New Era
was called Mrs. Brant. It appeared in June 1979.
My byline was Margaret Blair. The second story they
purchased was never published to my knowledge.
That one wouldve been under Margaret Blair Fox.
Under the Fox name, I published an article about
home birth in Lets Live magazine, a poem in
Sunstone( I dont recall the title), and an article called
Artist of the Poor in Format: Art and the World.
IRREANTUM: How would you describe your expe-
rience writing each book and the responses youve
received from readers including sales figures, if
youre willing to share them? Have you had a sense
of breaking new ground in Mormon literature?
MY: None of my books has sold terribly
well yet. Ive learned a lot about marketing from
watching it done badly. (The University of Idaho
takes the cake here. The extent of their publicity was
their own little catalogues, published on newsprint
and sent to various university libraries resulting in
a grand total of 250 sales of my book.) For Standing
on the Promises, Darius and I have been very specif-
ic in examining and asking about Deseret Books
marketing plans for our work. (In fact, we had a
lawyer review our contract.) Were satisfied that
theyll do a good job. Ask me next year at this time
how I feel its gone.
As far as being a groundbreaker goodness, a
number of us are breaking new ground in Mormon
literature. Im certainly not the leader. We probably
need to look back to Virginia Sorensen and
Maurine Whipple and Doug Thayer as the head
groundbreakers fine writers who took their cul-
Spring 2000
ture seriously and wrote about it beautifully. And
Levi Peterson is one of my most important mentors.
I suppose one of the main differences between me
and some of my contemporaries who write the same
sorts of things I do is that I boldly proclaim myself
a believer in my faith and that it is my faith itself
which leads me to write what I do which are not
easy things, or quickly resolved dilemmas.
Mormonism is a bold faith with remarkable claims
and a painful past. I am a Mormon who cherish-
es or at least tries to charitably confront some of
the pain of my own Mormon history. I believe in
the infinite worth of our mortal refining process,
and in grace. I believe that one of the greatest les-
sons we will learn in this life is compassion. In some
way, all of my work deals with difficult circum-
stances which (I hope) teach or remind us to com-
fort those in need of comfort, and to do it without
invoking cliches or easy answers.
I RREANTUM : In your introduction to Love
Chains, you admit, When my novels House with-
out Walls and Salvador came out in the same
year the first published by Deseret Book, the sec-
ond by Aspen I knew some people would think
I was schizophrenic. And youve also published
with Signature.
MY: Yes. And theyve accepted another novel of
mine for future publication as well.
IRREANTUM: Thats pretty much a grand slam in
Mormon literature. How would you compare your
experiences with and observations about each of
those publishers? How have you avoided develop-
ing a brand name that one end of the spectrum or
the other would refuse to work with?
MY: It is so easy to avoid developing a name which
one press or another refuses to work with if your
name is not well known. Truthfully, those who know
my work comprise a very small circle. Im always sur-
prised when someone asks me if Im the writer. In
my stake, I am the institute teacher. At home, Im
the mother. I honestly expect that the trilogy will
make my name better known as the writer, but it
will be paired with Darius Grays name and I hope
our work itself will get more fame than either of our
11 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 12
names. Neither of us is in this for a line on our
resumes or for a lot of money. We feel so strongly
about this project. For Darius, it is in many ways the
culmination of his work in the Genesis Group and
he hopes it will help bring to light some of the racial
issues which are so critical to the Churchs growth in
minority communities. For me, it is the answer to a
blessing I prayed for several years ago: that I would be
able to consecrate my talents and find something to
write about which would actually touch hearts and
not just win awards. I used to read several short sto-
ries daily and usually a part of a novel. For two years,
all of my reading has been black history or Mormon
history. My eyes have been opened in so many ways
as Ive focused my research on the race issues in early
Mormonism, and even in contemporary
Mormonism. Ill admit that much of what Ive found
has been very hard to stomach. There was one time I
was reading statements by former Church leaders
which I felt were more reflective of their times than
their faith, and utterly racist by Gods standards,
when Darius called me and said, I just felt impressed
that I needed to bear you my testimony. Youre read-
ing some hard things, and you need to know that the
Church is still true. It really does have the keys to
Gods authority on the earth. Its been wonderful to
have my guide through this difficult terrain be some-
one as wise and faithful as Darius.
IRREANTUM: What has it been like writing with
someone else? How do you accomplish it? What
are the challenges and benefits?
MY: I began writing what I thought would be one
novel about black pioneers. I knew that, with my
Scandinavian heritage, I didnt really have the back-
ground to do this. When I talked about it, I usually
added an apology, saying I knew I shouldnt be writ-
ing a novel about blacks when Im so white I cant
even tan, but someone needed to write it! Very short-
ly after I met Darius, I knew he and I were to write
this together. The language I was trying for in the
book was the language of his childhood; he knew it
well. He also knew the history of blacks in the
Church and outside of the Church better than
anyone Ive ever met. And he came with that wonder-
ful genealogy which we could use. As we worked
Spring 2000
together, we learned that Dariuss contribution was
not just linguistic but logical. I love a good turn of
phrase, but he is always looking for the realism of
what were describing. I can create great banter and
dialogue between my characters, but he consistently
asks me, Would they actually say this in this circum-
stance? and we go from there. We started with some
predictable problems of pride my feeling that I was
the writer and he shouldnt interfere with the writing
part of it, just help me get the dialect right. But as we
have worked, we have come to respect each others
gifts. He is not shy about making suggestions
though he was shy in the beginning. And I am not
shy about rejecting his suggestions though I usually
dont, because hes usually right. We really have
learned to work as a team. The other thing Ive real-
ized is that it matters that we are working from two
races and two genders. At one point, I thought that
when it was done, Id relinquish marketing to Darius
(who has only one child at home, whereas I have
four). I liked the idea, and knew it would give him an
opportunity to carry out his Genesis stewardship,
which is not limited to Utah but covers the entire U.S.
However, as Ive spoken to my husband and friends,
Ive come to feel that my whiteness matters too. My
presence as co-author blunts the concerns of anyone
thinking the trilogy represents some black guy grind-
ing an axe. And Darius covers the concerns of folks
who might accuse me of writing about people I
couldnt possibly understand.
IRREANTUM: Youve written, As a teacher of
writing and literature, I find that my students are
hungry for good writing, that they feel betrayed by
easy resolutions and cheap tears. Will you discuss
whether you think such readers are finding more to
satisfy them in the current world of Mormon liter-
ature? How can writers reach more readers who
perhaps choose not to read Mormon fiction at all
because of those easy resolutions and cheap tears?
MY: We really are at a good place in Mormon lit-
erature. Its not as good as the place were heading
to, but its far beyond the world of Shirley Sealy. Im
thinking not just about fiction, but playwriting.
Several AML-List members have written wonderful
plays. What a coup for Tim Slover to have A Joyful
12 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 13

Noise playing off Broadway! And Eric Samuelsen MY: You bet its possible to teach creative writing.
and Thom Duncan are remarkably gifted play- Much of the process is simply opening my students
wrights. In poetry, we have the likes of Susan Howe up to their own voices and their own perceptions,
and Lance Larsen both published in well-respect- then letting them find their writerly intuition and
ed journals outside the Mountain West. In fiction, I pursue it. And they do. They really do grow as writ-
think Dean Hughes has shown the depth of his gift ers as they read excellent writing (essential) and do
in his World War Two daily exercises which
series, evidenced by his increase their sensitivity
receiving the AML award to the world around
for novels in 1997. them. In my current
Marilyn Brown has class, Im in the poetry
always had such a talent; unit right now. I open
I hope her work will get each class with two
more attention in the questions: What poets
future. Im almost afraid have you fallen in love
to name names, because with since last class?
there are so many fine and What have you
authors and I wouldnt seen with your poetic
want to leave someone eyes? I get wonderful
out. Those Ive named responses. I love teach-
are all active Mormons. ing. Ive heard writers
There are some less- say they hate teaching
orthodox Mormons, like amateurs, because they
Terry Tempest Williams are inundated with so
and Phyllis Barber, who much lousy writing
have written about our when the assignments
culture and been very come in. I do not feel
well received outside that way at all. Rather, I
Utah. We are doing bet- find delightful phrases
ter. Of course we still or insights or images in
have a lot of sentimental just about everything
literature as does much of popular culture, my students write. Sure, there are lots of cliches as
Mormon or non. But we are making tremendous the kids get started, but we trash those in pretty
strides. Perhaps our biggest obstacle is that we have short order. Most importantly, I get close to my stu-
a reputation for sugary work replete with cliches, dents and this includes my institute students. As
and those who are hungry for meatier fare will tend my world expands to include them and their unique
to presume the whole of Mormon literature can be experiences, perceptions, and voices, I have that
lumped into a pile of saccharine. We perhaps have much more fodder for my own writing.
some PR work to do and certainly the Association
for Mormon Letters can and should be an impor- IRREANTUM: How did you come to writing in
tant part of that. general, and to Mormon writing? What works of
Mormon literature have you personally most
IRREANTUM: Tell us about your teaching profes- enjoyed? What works of general literature?
sion. How does teaching writing and literature MY: The Brothers Karamazov was my great initia-
affect you as a writer? Is it even possible to teach tion. I read it in high school. On one of my trips to
creative writing? Guatemala (which I visited with some frequency

Spring 2000 13 IRREANTUM

spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 14
with my linguist father, who was studying and
teaching Mayan dialects), I took two books besides
my scriptures: Moby Dick and Doug Thayers Under
the Cottonwoods. One of my non-Mormon friends
from high school gave me Don Marshalls Rummage
Sale for my birthday when I turned eighteen and
I enjoyed it thoroughly. Ive already mentioned oth-
ers of my mentors in Mormon writing. In general
writing, I find my mentors change as my projects
change. For years, Charles Baxter was one of my
favorites, and he started me on several stories in
Love Chains. Toni Morrisons Beloved was perhaps
the most influential book Ive read because of where
it led me to the things Im currently doing. As far
as coming to writing, I knew for years I wanted to
be a writer. The first story I wrote took me a year to
finish. I was twenty-one it was quite an appren-
ticeship. I had not realized it was so difficult to write
well. (I had sold a couple of stories to the New Era,
but they were not really good stories.) Now I have a
solid sense of what it takes, and Im grateful to have
the time and energy and by now a bit of abili-
ty to devote to writing books I care about deeply.
IRREANTUM: Most fiction is a combination of
three elements: what the author has experienced,
observed, and imagined. How do those three ele-
ments work together for you? How much is auto-
biographical?
MY: Theres the old writers cliche, Write about
what you know. I have not always obeyed it. When
I came to BYU to begin what I anticipated would be
my writing career, I created stories with mazelike
symbols and Mormon themes. I was reading great
literature but all classics. I didnt even know who
the contemporary authors were. Professor Bruce
Jorgensen made a list for me of about twenty con-
temporary authors, and I began reading them. Then
one night or actually one very early morning I
began writing something from my own life. No sym-
bols or set-up themes. I had just gone through an
excruciating divorce, and I began writing about life
with my ex-husband. For several weeks, I would get
up at 3:00 A.M. and write that story. Ultimately, I
sold it to the Southern Review. (It was called
Grandpas Growth and is also in Elegies and Love
Spring 2000
Songs.) That was how I came to understand the
write about what you know rule. So most of my
short stories are autobiographical. My novel Salvador
certainly is. And my novel-play Dear Stone, though
fictionalized, was sprung from the life of my hus-
bands sister, Nancy, who died of multiple sclerosis
the very day we opened the play. It was an emotion-
al time. Bruce and I had been with Nancy as she
died. I called Eric Samuelsen, who had directed Dear
Stone, and we opened the play as scheduled dedi-
cating it to Nancy. (Bruce had already written the
program notes paying tribute to his sister.) Of
course, the trilogy inhabits a world I do not know,
which is why its so essential that I have a co-author.
IRREANTUM: Tell us more about your writing
habits: how often you write, how you balance it
with other things, any rituals or conditions you
must have for a good writing session, and perhaps
some comments about whether you use notes, out-
lines, research, multiple drafts, et cetera.
MY: When my babies were little, their nap time
was always my writing time regardless of the condi-
tion of the house. I produced a bunch of bad writing
during most of those years but learned essential
things. I do not demand any conditions for my writ-
ing now except time. I dont need to be in a cabin by
the ocean or in some Samoan rainforest to get
inspired. If I did, I wouldnt have done any writing. I
try to keep the right balance in all the things Im doing
(and Ive spoken about that on a number of occasions,
including at an AML conference), but I do find that
if I go to the computer near bedtime to do just one
or two revisions, several hours will go by without my
being aware of the time, and my mind will be so filled
with ideas for revisions or plot developments that I
wont be able to get to sleep. So Bruce has decided my
computer time should be restricted to daytime hours.
I usually go along with that. Because I still have chil-
dren at home, I do not have the luxury of unlimited
writing time and I find thats good. I tend to leave
my writing against my will, but that will pulls me
back to it the next day. For the trilogy, I have read
probably fifty books and have a file of research notes
on my computer. Generally speaking, I have occa-
sionally outlined a plot, but rarely followed the out-
14 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 15
line as my characters have taken on life and decided
where they wanted to go. I usually let them.
IRREANTUM: Have you sent out much for con-
sideration by national agents and publishers? Tell
us about those experiences. Do you think this
nation will ever have a Mormon Saul Bellow or
Flannery OConnor, someone winning a Pulitzer
or National Book Award for fiction that deals with
Mormon themes, settings, and characters?
MY: Ive worked with an agent but found that
her enthusiasm for my work didnt match the pub-
lishers. She was a New York Jewish woman, who
learned that Mormon writing doesnt generally
invite much of a national audience. Ultimately, she
negotiated my contract with Aspen for Salvador and
got me an advance from the University of Idaho for
Elegies. But lately, Ive marketed my own stuff.
Weve certainly seen some Mormon writers break
into the national market, but the cases are rare. Levi
Peterson could not sell The Backslider nationally,
though its one of the best things any of us Mormon
writers has done. Brian Evenson may, in the future,
be considered the Mormon Flannery OConnor
because of the grotesqueness of his characters, but
his work doesnt have the redemptive qualities of
OConnors. Still, I have no doubt that we will
someday have our own Flannery OConnor or Saul
Bellow, but I dont believe Ive seen any of that per-
sons work as yet.
IRREANTUM: What will it take to get Mormon
characters and themes before a national audience?
What kinds of stories, characters, plots? People
love reading about Asians, Jews, Catholics why
not Mormons more often?
MY: Well, we obviously have had Mormon books
and characters before a national audience, but the
portrayals have been, almost without exception,
biased, often even demonic as though we are all
some version of Mark Hofmann, or sexual deviants,
or protectors of sexual deviants. Conversely, we have
the problem of Home Literature which protects
more than it reveals, and thus would come across as
unrealistic and preachy to a national audience. I
really do believe we are transcending that, though. I
Spring 2000
cannot emphasize enough how pleased I was that
Deseret Book not only wanted Standing on the
Promises but undertook a major sales meeting with
us. (There was another press interested in publish-
ing it.) Sheri Dew, who is such a powerhouse, said
it was essential that Deseret, which is owned by the
Church, publish this book, that the issues which
arise in our trilogy be discussed under the Church
insignia. Deseret Book knows that we will be quot-
ing some of the troubling things Brigham Young
said regarding the seed of Cain and we have per-
mission to do that, provided we set the historical
context. (Brigham Young was representative of most
religious leaders and U.S. citizens of that time in his
racial views.) They know that in novel two we will
describe the lynching of Sam Joe Harvey by a mob
consisting mostly of Mormons and again, we will
not be censored if we do not make the lynching gra-
tuitously violent. My impression from the Deseret
Book staffers is that this book matters to them
about as much as it matters to Darius and me. And
I really believe it matters to God as well. We are still
surrounded by folklore from the past. It still gets
taught in seminaries and Sunday Schools. Historical
fiction is a good way to introduce some Mormons
to their own hidden prejudices, and to their broth-
ers and sisters of color, and to the African heritage
in this Church. Could this trilogy go to a national
audience? I dont know and I dont think Deseret
Book is planning on an attempt. But President
Hinckley, thanks to Sheri Dew, has a book out from
Random House. I suspect that as our own presses
get better and our writers continue to strive for
greater light and knowledge, people like Sheri Dew
will be able to sell even fiction titles to larger press-
es. I suspect thats how it will happen.
IRREANTUM: Youve been involved in the AML,
Dialogue, and other independent intellectual and
cultural efforts. What are your thoughts, observa-
tions, and hopes related to the place of such efforts
in the overall Mormon community?
MY: My hope is for greater unity for all of us
Mormons: black and white, male and female, liber-
al and conservative, intellectual and nonintellectual.
We simply cannot afford to label each other as ene-
15 IRREANTUM
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mies as some have done. We cannot afford to nur-
ture our prejudices. We cannot afford to refuse to
look at ourselves and our history squarely. Our
errors in judgment, our leaders troublesome past
statements, are readily available on the Internet, and
future generations will find them (as current gener-
ations do). I celebrate the ways Dialogue and
Sunstone have really tried lately to explore Mormon
thought in nondivisive ways. There was a time,
years ago, when I found Sunstone so polemical that
I refused to support it. That has changed. I appreci-
ate that Elbert Peck sends Sunstone Symposium
participants notification that the symposium is not
about Mormon bashing, but about building faith
and unity. I am glad to have Neal and Rebecca
Chandler wonderful people editing Dialogue
and fully support the direction theyre taking it.
IRREANTUM: Do your books have happy end-
ings? How do you handle flaws in your characters?
How do you balance portraying things realistically
versus idealistically? What about potentially
explicit things like sex and violence?
MY: My books tend to have rather ambiguous
endings. I handle flaws in my characters with joy
and delight. And I tend much more towards the
realistic than the idealistic. There is sex and violence
in some of my work. I address this in my opening
essay in Love Chains. I do not believe in gratuitous
sex or violence or sentimentality.
IRREANTUM: What has been the general reaction
to your story God on Donahue, specifically the
reaction to showing God possibly as a character in
a pop culture setting?
MY: Some have predictably been offended. I have
never considered that the character I created in the
hitchhiker was actually God, but he certainly was
God in Josephs imagination, and what Joseph
imagined led him to his own epiphany.
Spring 2000
IRREANTUM: Could you comment on the tem-
ple as a presence in your fiction. Its in Salvador,
Love Chains, House without Walls, and perhaps
exclusion from the temple will be a theme in
Standing on the Promises.
MY: Certainly temple imagery is prominent in
my work, as a symbol of Mormonism itself and lev-
els of consecration. And I do see the temple as more
symbolic of my faith than a regular Mormon
chapel. In the temple, borders come down as we
dress alike and speak alike (in some ways). So much
of my writing deals with borders we set up between
ourselves and others, and the temple is one place
which truly begins to make us alike unto God.
And yes, the temple will play a very big part in the
trilogy. Elijah Abel helped build the Kirtland and
Nauvoo temples, and was washed and anointed in
the Kirtland temple. He helped build the Salt Lake
temple too, but was denied permission to be sealed
there to his wife though he held the Melchizedek
priesthood. This is a sad history for all of us
Mormons, but Elijahs answer to the denial should
inspire us: He finished his life by serving his third
mission for the Church. He returned early, very ill,
and died two weeks later, on Christmas day.
IRREANTUM: What other projects are you cur-
rently working on?
MY: We (the Genesis Group) are also staging a
play about Jane Manning James, complete with
some wonderful and very traditional Negro spiritu-
als. It will have been staged by the time this is print-
ed (were doing it as the March 5 Genesis meeting),
but we hope to take it further. It is yet a work in
progress.
16 IRREANTUM
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E S S A Y Rouchefoucauld adds that a solemnity of behavior
Our Senses of Humor Are Our Lines of
Defenses
By Richard H. Cracroft
There are, of course, a number of dangers inherent
in the topic of humor. In the first place, a college
dean has no place talking about jokes. Deans are
jokes. In the second place, a stake president has no
business talking about humor; stake presidents are to
be humored; indeed, stake president and humor are
contradictory terms, like fun run, generous banker,
charming composition teacher, friendly Ute fan, or a
seminary teacher who sticks to the scriptures. (No
doubt my nearly ten years as stake president will soon
come to an end because of this, for, with the famous
Reverend Sydney Smith, who once explained when
asked why he never attained a bishopric in his church
while inferior men did, I also say, I sink by my levi-
ty, while others rise by their gravity.)
Flirting with humor can be dangerous because
humor, as E.B. White wrote, plays like an active
child, close to the big, hot fire where is Truth. And
sometimes the child feels the heat. Humor is
indeed a danger to human pretensions, to
hypocrisy, to vanity, and thus a danger to all of us,
for at some point each of us must learn the defini-
tion of human being which reads, a person who
will laugh while looking in the family album then
look into the mirror and never crack a smile.
Humor is a threat to our pride, for it is an occa-
sional reminder that the sure and firm-set earth
upon which we tread can shake and tumble us at
any moment. If you say that such is also the effect
of religion, you are speaking gospel truth. True
humor and true religion mount a steady siege
against the layers of falseness which can congest and
destroy our souls. Humor and religion can become,
then, the Dristan of our spirits, transforming us
from postnatal drips and putting us into Celestial
Contac; but perhaps Im being Excedrin!
Humor is especially dangerous to the somber-
spirited one. Sydney J. Harris insists that many
ponderous and humorless men equate mere solem-
nity with seriousness, and the Frenchman La
Spring 2000
is often a trick to disguise the deficiencies of the
mind. Too many, concludes Harris, inadvertently
reveal themselves in a heaviness of manner [that]
masks an emptiness of substance. Too often those
who seem to be taking their subjects seriously are
simply taking themselves seriously.
A sense of humor is the ability to discover, to
identify, and to appreciate the ludicrous and the
incongruous in words, in situations, in ideas, in
human beings, in the universe. It is, as Stephen
Leacock has written, the kindly contemplation of
the incongruities of life, and the artistic expression
thereof. Or, as a neighbor put it, it is what makes
you laugh at something which would make you
mad when it happened to you.
A sense of humor is at least a partial way of look-
ing at life. It is a person opting to see himself or her-
self from a comic instead of from a solemn perspec-
tive. Humor is a kind of self-dramatization in which
a human being clambers out of himself, springs to a
nearby pinnacle, and views himself from a different
standpoint, from a comic stance which either dimin-
ishes the problem by placing it in a cosmic context
or magnifies the problem by exaggerating the matter
to ludicrous dimensions and thus diminishing it.
While humor presents the ludicrous as it is, wit
exposes the ludicrous by contrasting it with some-
thing else. Wit is, wrote Mark Twain, the sudden
marriage of ideas which before that union were not
perceived to have any relation. Humor, unlike wit,
may be gentle or rough, subtle or sophisticated, but
it need not be critical. Humor can range from the
bludgeonings of burlesque to a subtle turn of the
pen, but true humor is always a product of natural
growth, a product of accident not art. Humor is
spontaneous. It is a child psychiatrist writing in a
newspaper about disciplining children, It is permis-
sible to spank a child, if one has a very definite end
in view. Humor is a slip of the chalk on a menu
board at a local eatery: Dreaded veal cutlets.
Humor is natural, relaxed, and often innocent, and
its duty is to describe the ludicrous and incongruous.
Incongruity is the key. It transforms the solemn
into the familiar, generally by means of exaggera-
tion, and makes the solemn accessible for laughter.
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Incongruity is the discrepancy between what some-
one thinks he is and what he really is. The tensions
caused by incongruity, by appearance battling
against reality, are the foundation of humor, wit, the
essence of the laughable, of the comic spirit.
William Hazlitt said it well: Man is the only ani-
mal that laughs and weeps, for he is the only animal
that is struck with the difference between what
things are, and what they ought to be. Again, we
seem very near to describing the goal of religion,
which is to narrow that gap.
Cartoonists thrive on incongruity. I recall the clas-
sic Calvin Grondahl cartoon in a Daily Universe of
several years ago. In the cartoon a BYU student is
seen rising, cut and bleeding, from a pile of rocks, all
of which have obviously been thrown at him. He says
to the BYU security police as they come to his assis-
tance, All I said was, Let him who is without sin cast
the first stone. The evident incongruity here attacks
self-righteousness, a sad form of affectation.
The complexities of humor depend so much
upon launching the right incongruities at the right
moment. The sense of humor must, therefore,
include a keen sense of timing, which is almost a
moral sense, a delicate mechanism with a hair trig-
ger that can go off at the wrong time, even for the
most successful humorist.
To end, I will merely say this: We have enough
jokes, I think; what we need are more laughs and
more of optimism and faith in the universe which
enables laughter. What we need is a greater sense of
the ridiculous, the ludicrous, the incongruous.
Laughing at the laughable, which often includes
laughing at ourselves, will enable us to put mun-
dane realities and Eternal Truths into their proper
Spring 2000
perspectives, unfettered by our Self, which can dis-
tort the simplest of truths.
Our senses of humor are our lines of defense
against the vicissitudes of life. Often we will have the
choice between laughing and crying at lifes tricks.
Sometimes crying may be the way to spell relief. But
often the best way to get the red out is to laugh.
Twain, in the Mysterious Stranger, has Satan confide
that your race, in its poverty, has unquestionably
one really effective weapon laughter. Power,
money, persuasion, supplication, persecution these
can lift at a colossal humbug push it a little, weak-
en it a little, century by century; but only laughter
can blow it to rags and atoms at a blast. Against the
assault of laughter nothing can stand.
In an essay, Twain, whose own life was not always
happy, has summed it up well: Humor is the great
thing, the saving thing, after all. The minute it crops
us, all our hardnesses yield, all our irritations and
resentments slip away, and a sunny spirit takes their
place. Let us strive to cultivate that sunny, Comic
Spirit. Gloom, like the poor, is always with us.
Good humor is scarce.
Richard H. Cracroft is the Nan Osmond Grass
Professor in English and director of the Center for the
Study of Christian Values in Literature at BYU, where
he has taught since 1963. Editor of Literature and
Belief and a past president of the Association for
Mormon Letters, he founded BYUs Mormon literature
course and with Neal Lambert published A Believing
People (BYU Press, 1974), the first anthology of
Mormon literature. This essay first appeared in the
March 1983 issue of BYU Today.
18 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 19
E S S A Y and empathizing. Saying how I felt, sharing some
Latter-day Frogs and Other Amphibians
By Edgar C. Snow Jr.
In anticipation of a Y2K societal breakdown, I sat
down one Sunday afternoon last year and compared
the plagues in Exodus to the plagues in the
Revelation of John. In need of comfort, I figured
my worst fears about Y2K glitches would pale in
comparison to these two celebrated disaster scenar-
ios of (literally) biblical proportions. I thought I was
right, but discovered one exception: the plague of
frogs in chapter 8 of Exodus. Id never really focused
on this one before. Were talking about frogs. A
plague of frogs. How scary could that be, I won-
dered. Annoying, yes, but awe-inspiring, fear-
inducing? Ancient Egyptians, being attacked by a
lot of Budweiser-type frogs. Now submitting
ancient Egyptians to Budweiser commercials over
and over again was a form of torture I could under-
stand. But frogs? Heck, we found about twenty
baby frogs on our deck last summer, and my two
boys starting packing them in their pockets. Now, I
have to duly note that a mere salamander scared
quite a few people I know not too many years ago,
but a plague of frogs?
Well, my exhaustive pondering and studying of
this topic searching the Encyclopedia of
Mormonism, Mormon Doctrine, and some old
Readers Digest issues made me reminisce about
whats known in my house as the Decomposing
Toad Incident. You see, my wife was startled a few
years back by a toad she uncovered in a flower pot
on our front porch. She promptly called me at work
to discuss the matter. I had just read Men Are from
Mars, Women Are from Venus, so I thought Id give
my newfound insights into the feminine mystique a
try. I said something like: I know how you feel
about that. Im really sorry. I mowed over a frog
once in the back yard as a teenager and it scared me,
too. Took me weeks to get over it. Ruined a pair of
jeans. And the song Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a
good friend of mine, kept ringing in my ears for
weeks. The guilt was palpable. I was acting the way
a womans girlfriend would act, I thought, listening
Spring 2000
feelings. That kind of thing.
But she didnt want me to empathize with her.
She wanted a real man, a man of action who could
fix the problem. She interrupted me and demanded
that I come home immediately and remedy the sit-
uation. I cant have a decomposing frog in my
flower pot! she said. When I got home a little early
that night, I investigated the situation as my wife
superintended. I armed myself with a stick and, like
a wary fencer, thrust and parried into the flower pot
dirt till I uncovered a little, fat, undecomposed
toad. I looked at my wife and she said, defensively,
Well, when I touched him, he was really slimy and
gross. The toad sat there. I poked at him again. He
forcefully leaned into the stick and tried to shrug
me away with one shoulder, kind of the way a
defensive lineman throws off a blocker. So I poked
him again to see if he would stiff-arm me and hop
out of the way. He held his ground. It was a less-
than-apocalyptic event. But that was before I
became a believer.
While continuing my desperate search, one
evening I felt compelled to pick up a video guide-
book hidden in the TV cabinet, and I came across
the entry for a 70s horror movie titled Frogs.
Hmmmm. Sounded like a movie made from clip-
pings on the cutting room floor of Cecil B.
DeMille, the missing piece to my theological puz-
zle. This was a wonderful opportunity, I reckoned,
to see just how scary a bunch of frogs could be. The
problem is, I havent been able to find it at any video
rental shop. Lately Ive been thinking a remake of
Frogs would be timely, or maybe as an X Files
episode, given the advances weve made in special
effects, and the recent frog mutation stories we keep
reading about in the paper. Seems that human pol-
lution (or a natural parasite, depending on your
source) is the cause of a lot of three-legged, mutat-
ed frogs, a perfect motive for frogs to unite in
revenge against the human race. With a little imag-
ination, you could make those mutations even more
interesting. Giant mutant frogs, with teeth and
claws like Jurassic Park T-rexes, could roam the
countryside in search of human prey, their tongues
15 feet long, catching people like flies.
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That video guidebook lifted my vision to new
amphibious vistas. I soon began recalling long-for-
gotten incidents that spoke to me in ways Id never
before countenanced. Consider, for instance, a story
about my friend Davids fearless eight-month-old
daughter. I recalled how when they visited me at my
parents house in the 80s, he let her crawl around
on our back porch. She spied a toad hanging out by
the screen door and crawled toward it, cooing,
drooling, and gooing. My dad said, David, youd
better watch her; shell grab that toad and put it in
her mouth. If my mom had been there, she prob-
ably wouldve said, She might even poke her eye
out with it! David replied, Let her learn by expe-
rience, I always say. Then he started to say some-
thing else but the thought was lost when all three of
us lunged toward his daughter as she snatched the
toad and plunged its entire head into her mouth. I
dont remember who performed the toadectomy,
but she wailed, and the toad escaped to live and
jump another day.
About this time my wife and I watched a Chuck
Jones-produced Warner Brothers cartoon entitled
One Froggy Evening with our two sons. Frog plagues
transformed instantly from mere possibilities to
creepy plausibility in one sitting. Its about a man
who discovers a box inside the foundation of an old
building being torn down. To his surprise, theres a
frog inside. And to his amazement, the frog hops up
and sings and dances, of all things, ragtime, while
he twirls a cane and hat! The man whisks the box
away, money $$ign$$ floating in the air behind
him. He takes the frog to an agent, but the frog will
perform only in front of the man who found him.
He then rents a performance hall and advertises his
singing and dancing frog. When no one shows, he
advertises free beer (a Mormon attendance-promot-
ing principle, but with alcohol) and packs the
house. Of course, the frog performs behind the cur-
tain, but merely croaks when it is raised. Finally,
impoverished, the man is sitting in the dead of
night on a park bench, his frog next to him singing
opera, when a cop accosts him for disturbing the
peace. Again, the officer never sees the frog perform;
he just hears the racket. The man points to the frog
as the cause, and the man ends up in an insane asy-
Spring 2000
lum. In the end, the man sneaks up to a new build-
ing foundation and drops the box inside. Then, 100
years into the future, another man opens the foun-
dation time capsule, discovers the singing and danc-
ing frog, and whisks the box away, money $$ign$$
floating in the air behind him.
Nor was it long after that I happened to read a
bedtime story to my boys entitled The Secret
Shortcut by Mark Teague. In this beguiling story
about the creative excuses of two incorrigibly tardy
boys, there was one intriguing excuse that made me
croak. They were late, they claimed, because they
encountered a plague of frogs on the way to school.
No doubt these boys had also been reading Exodus.
My sons giggled at Teagues illustrations, showing
millions of frogs piled every which way, but seeing
this through the eyes of an adult I was now visual-
izing how loathsome such a plague would be. Frogs
would just be everywhere. On your head. In your
pockets. Under your feet. In your undershirt. In
your bed. In your shoes. In your car. In your cereal
box. In your bowl. Under your seat right before you
sat down. And in fact, this is about what Exodus
chapter 8 describes:
And the river shall bring forth frogs abundantly,
which shall go up and come into thine house, and
into thy bedchamber, and upon thy bed, and into
the house of thy servants, and upon thy people,
and into thine ovens, and into thy knead-
ingtroughs: And the frogs shall come up both on
thee, and upon thy people, and upon all thy ser-
vants. . . . [A]nd the frogs died out of the houses,
out of the villages, and out of the fields. And they
gathered them together upon heaps: and the land
stank (vv. 3-4, 13-14).
It was at this point I made the successful trans-
formation from skeptic to amphibiphobe, being
forced in the process to confess my wife was onto
something about how nasty decomposing frogs
could be. After reading Teagues book, I was now a
believer. And since faith precedes the miracle, it was
then that the miracle occurred. About two months
ago, we returned from a long weekend and my wife
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lifted a toilet seat on the second story in our house S T O R Y T E L L E R S

and discovered a live frog swimming, hopping, and F R O M Z I O N
splashing around inside, like the creature from the
Black Lagoons little brother. I put on rubber gloves,
grabbed a colander, and, with my family cowering
Our Storyteller from Zion
By D. Michael Martindale
behind me, I scooped it up, ran to our deck, and
flung it into the wild from which it had come. To
Who am I? Who are you? Who are we? These are
this day it remains a dark, miraculous mystery how
basic questions that people ask sooner or later in their
he got there. And I for one have been counting my
lives. We form self-images to explain who we are. We
blessings that my wife didnt discover the frog while
develop a reputation in our minds for other people to
she was sitting down. That truly would have been a
understand who they are. We create and join com-
plague on me and my house. My recommendation?
munities in an effort to understand our identity as
Take some precautions. Knock on the toilet seat,
social animals and our role in the universe.
then listen for splashing. Look before it leaps.
As we develop our answers to these questions, we
And now as the real next millennium approaches,
begin to believe that we have discovered truth.
I feel prepared for whatever the new year will bring.
Prominent science fiction author Orson Scott Card
Yet I have only one regret: I shouldve kept that frog.
believes otherwise. In a sort of relativistic approach
Im thinking now I could have made some serious
to identities, he believes we create our truths with
money with him. Sometimes late at night, after my
stories. Traditional psychotherapies rely heavily on
wife and kids are asleep, while Im worrying over
this process, he says. You thought you were trying
bills, I think of some of the marketing
to do X, but in fact your unconscious purpose was Y.
possibilities no, probabilities. Of course, we could
Ah, now I understand myself! But I think not I
have kept him in the toilet and created a small
think that in the moment of believing the new story
shrine out of the bathroom, charging a nominal
you simply revised your identity. I am no longer a
admission fee, but why limit yourself? Think major
person who tries to do X. I am a person who was
speaking and appearance fees. Big royalties. Stupid
being driven to do Y, without even realizing it. You
Pet Tricks on David Letterman and other talk
remain the same person, who performed the same
shows: Phil, the Toilet Swimming Frog! You can
acts. Only the story has changed.1
almost hear Robert Stacks voice on Unsolved
If this is correct, Card points out, then the true
Mysteries: Spontaneous generation in a commode?
cause of our behavior tragically remains forever
Complete with a reenactment. And finally, I could
unknowable. And if we can never know ourselves
contribute a new chapter to Werner Kellers The
with any reliability, efforts to understand other peo-
Bible as History: Pharaohs Frogs in Our Modern
ple are completely futile. Yet our ability to function
Sewer System. No, no, this story deserves even
on a day-to-day basis requires a reasonably effective
wider treatment Im selling it to the Enquirer:
method of predicting patterns of behavior in others.
Ancient Frog from Egypt Plagues Household in
Will that car stop at the red light? Will the bank
Alpharetta, Georgia! Frog Speaks Hebrew! So let it
protect my money? Is the food in this restaurant safe
be written, so let it be done.
to eat? Without the daily multitudes of assumptions
we make about other peoples behavior, we couldnt
Edgar C. Snow Jr. is a practicing attorney and
function for one minute in society.
author of Of Curious Workmanship: Musings on
Where do people accrue the knowledge they need
Things Mormon (Signature, 1999).
to understand themselves and others in a sufficient-
ly orderly way? Card says through our stories. As
people develop stories about themselves that define
their self-image, so are communities built upon
communal stories we tell one another about our-

Spring 2000 21 IRREANTUM

spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 22
selves. There are two kinds of stories, says Card,
that not only give us the illusion of understanding
other peoples behavior, but also go a long way
toward making that illusion true. Each community
has its own epic: a complex of stories about what it
means to be a member of that community.2 We
could spend hours examining the epic stories that
define the community called America what it
means to be an American, what the country stands
for, the inspiring tales from its history, the acts of its
great leaders. We could do the same with the com-
munity called Latter-day Saints.
The second category of story, Card goes on, that
shapes human behavior so that we can live together is
not perceived as being tied to a particular communi-
ty. It is mythic; those who believe in the story believe
that it defines the way human beings behave. These
stories are not really about how this character or that
character behaved in a certain situation. They are
about how people behave in such situations.3
He brings up scripture as a perfect example of
mythic stories. Even though all scriptures tend to be
epic in the sense that they arise from and are accepted
by specific communities, those within the communi-
ties accept them as mythic, as explaining how people
and the universe and God behave. When members of
the community believe it, they behave as if it were
true, making it become true to a large extent.
This philosophy can go a long way toward heal-
ing the schism between the two warring factions in
literature and other narrative arts such as film and
theater that schism between the elite and the
masses, between the sophisticated and the
gauche, between the snobs and the real peo-
ple. Boiled down to its essence, the dividing line
between these two factions is the quality they seek
after in their literature. The elite tend to favor that
which is artistic aesthetically pleasing while the
masses tend to prefer that which is entertaining. But
what is the most critical element in an entertaining
book? The story. The masses look for story.
Now if stories are as vital as Card makes them out
to be, then the quality of storiness has every bit as
much validity as the quality of artistry. Perhaps
more, because we are defining ourselves and our
communities by our stories. That which is aestheti-
Spring 2000
cally pleasing speaks to our senses and our intellects.
That which defines our identity speaks to our souls.
How many people have enjoyed the masterpieces
of the world: the Mona Lisa, the Sistine Chapel ceil-
ing, the sculpture of David? But how many have
been brought to tears by them? To be sure, some
have, no doubt. But how many people have been
brought to tears by a moving book or film or play?
The story that impacts us seeps into our very souls,
teaches us, changes us. In a story, we know who
people are and why they do things we come to
understand people. In a story, we can discover reve-
lations about ourselves, come to understand why we
do what we do.
With this paradigm this story, if you will we
can see the drastic lengths to which the arrogance of
the elite truly extends. More than just a snobbish
feeling of superiority for their sophisticated tastes,
the arrogance of the elite would rob people of the
stories they need to define themselves. Are only the
intelligent, the educated, the sophisticated allowed
identities? Do not the simple, the naive, the down-
to-earth also have the right to stories that speak to
them and their needs according to their current state
of being? To belittle the literature that speaks to the
masses is to deny them their souls, their identities,
their membership in communities of their choice.
The stories-as-identity-builder philosophy also
aids us in defining what Mormon literature might be.
Put simply, it is the body of stories that define who
we are as individuals and as a community. Whether
the story is didactically about what a Mormon should
be, or descriptively about what a Mormon often is, or
not about Mormons at all but written by a Mormon
who is revealing who he or she is by the subconscious
decisions made during the creative process, all of it is
Mormon literature, because all of it defines who we
are in some small way.
Orson Scott Card published a collection of his
essays titled A Storyteller in Zion. Its not a throw-
away title. Communities and stories are at the very
core of who Orson Scott Card is. He tells us, As a
science fiction writer I have wrestled in book after
book, story after story, with the question of what
makes a good community, of how the individual
and the community must balance each others rights
22 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 23
and needs. Someday I hope to reach some firm and
final answers.4
To him, the individual who is not a productive
part of a wholesome community is a worthless indi-
vidual. To him, stories define the individuals and
the communities. Without stories, community can-
not survive. He has gone into the world and repre-
sented our community to it didactically, descrip-
tively, and by example without any mention of the
LDS culture. He helps define us to ourselves and to
the rest of the world. He is a storyteller and a mem-
ber of the embryonic Zion community that is still
waiting to flower. These things define his identity as
he contributes to defining ours.
D. Michael Martindale was born in Minnesota and
attended BYU as a computer science major. He served
in the Germany Frankfurt Mission and has since lived
in Utah. He is the author and composer of the opera
General Prophet Joseph Smith, which he produced as
a musical recording. Currently he is striving to become
a published science fiction author.
Notes
1. Orson Scott Card, Maps in a Mirror: The Short
Fiction of Orson Scott Card (New York: Tom
Doherty Associates, 1990), 273.
2. Ibid, 274.
3. Ibid.
4. Orson Scott Card, A Storyteller in Zion
(Bookcraft, 1993), 166.
Spring 2000
D R A M A
Bar and Kell
By Eric Samuelsen
CHARACTERS:
BAR
KELL
BRANDIE
(Each actress plays multiple roles, and also serves
as narrator at times.)
(KELL is looking out the window of her house.
BAR sits, watching her watch. BRANDIE stands
to the side.)
BRANDIE: From the first day Kellie Frandsen
moved into the ward, she found herself under the
wing and protection of Barbara Bartlett.
BAR: Come on, Kell. What do you see?
KELL: Give me a sec, Bar. Im trying to Uh
A trike. A Barbie house. Oh, thats nice, one of
those, what are those? Like, big plastic castle? You
know the kind Im talking, with a slide.
BAR: Kids, in other words. Girls.
KELL: I saw one of those at K-Mart. Hundred
and eighty five bucks.
BAR: Welfare types. When they want it, they can
afford it.
KELL: Boxes. More boxes. Oh, and a gas grill.
BAR: Theres a man in the house, then.
KELL: Not necessar
BAR: Trust me Kell. Barbecue equals testosterone.
Never fails.
BRANDIE: It was Bar who brought over coffee
cake and a quart of orange juice that first day, Bar
who purchased shelf paper and mops, and Bar
who sprayed the eaves for wasps.
KELL: Lots more boxes, mostly boxes. We should
go over, right?
BAR: In a bit.
KELL: Oops. She dropped that one. We should
help, Bar.
23 IRREANTUM
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BAR: I want her full attention.
BRANDIE: Bar who decreed that the wood stove
in the family room cut the room in half and was
anyway too dangerous to light, and Bar who first
took a sledgehammer to the brickwork. And who
called Sylvia Thomas and Cathie Goosens and Bev
Crittenden and Sophie Arguello and started mak-
ing assignments.
KELL: Shes taking a breather, looks like.
BAR: Good a time as any. Get the lemonade, lets go.
(They rise, mime walking over to BRANDIE.)
BRANDIE: And after that first day, that long
dreadful move-in, it seemed easier, somehow, to
continue following Bars lead. Kell found herself
planting when Bar planted, canning when Bar
canned, sewing kids clothes to Bars patterns. And
the next family who moved in, Kell was the first
name Bar called to help.
BAR: Kleinmans old place, of course.
KELL: (Aside.) Government subsidized housing,
the only rental in the ward on that list.
BAR: How many times have I been in that place,
cleaning.
KELL: Both of us.
BAR: Lets just hope theyre a little less trashy than
the last ones. (To BRANDIE.) Hi! Let me give
you a hand with that.
(They mime lifting a box from a truck.)
BRANDIE: Thanks. Its not so much heavy as
awkward.
BAR: (Assessing her. To the audience.) Pretty face,
not much character to it, looked real young, way
too much eye shadow and three broken nails.
BRANDIE: Preciate you helping out. You dont
even have to help if you dont want to, itll be so
good just to have someone to talk to.
KELL: I know how that can be.
BAR: But well pitch in too. Where do you want
this one? (Mimes picking up a box.)
BRANDIE: (As they all work.) Master bedroom,
I guess. Our last place we were in this little trailer
court, I was bout the only one home days and it
like to drove me nuts, not having company, ended
up taking that job at Walkers just to meet people,
didnt turn out so good onnacounta I have three
Spring 2000
girls. That Doreen, we trade babysitting onna-
counta her boyfriend got laid off and she wants
extra shifts so I end up with hers bout three times
as much as she gets mine though the agreement
was wed trade hour for hour; shes got em now
while I move and believe me Im taking my time
about it, even things out. (Holds out her hand.)
Names Brandie, by the way, last name of Jacobs.
BAR: Barbara Bartlett; this is Kellie Frandsen.
KELL: My pleasure.
BRANDIE: See, men Kenny aint married, been
together six years off and on, got us three girls,
onnacounta its kinda hard for me to get to
Planned Parenthood for birth control all the time
and Kennys sex drive is way stronger than most
men, I even think about refusing him. . . .
(BRANDIEs voice fades, and we hear the follow-
ing dialogue, though BRANDIE continues mim-
ing a long monologue.)
KELL: (Under Brandies preceding monologue.)
Im not naive. I do have four children of my own.
And I didnt find any part of Brandies Oprahfied
outburst surprising.
BAR: Ive seen plenty of them. Welfare women.
No morals or self-discipline.
KELL: Women like Brandie.
BAR: Like I say, ADC doesnt mean Aid to
Dependent Children.
KELL: Hate to call em trash. Poor white . . .
something
BAR: Adultery Drugs and Calamity comes nearer
the mark.
KELL: What I found amazing was her openness,
the cheerfully casual way in which she spewed
forth intimacies to complete strangers.
BAR: To her, its just chit-chat, what passes for
conversation. It didnt bother me.
KELL: Like it was the subject of some television
program shed seen and was telling us about.
BAR: She wasnt kidding about her love of conver-
sation. Just try and get her to shut up.
BRANDIE: (Her monologue concludes) . . . You
know, me and Dorine we hitched all the way
across country to see Aerosmith last summer, and
if you look real close on the video you can see me
24 IRREANTUM
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right there in the mosh pit and I even pull up my
top and flash the camera. Cool, huh. Do you
want to see my tattoos?
KELL: It was very nice to meet you, Brandie.
BRANDIE: Hey, you guys were great. Woulda
took me all day to get that trailer unloaded myself.
KELL: Ill call you, we should get our girls togeth-
er.
BRANDIE: Preciate it. It was real nice of you,
Kellie and Barbara, to help me out
BAR: Oh, well be back.
KELL: We will?
BAR: As soon as we get lunch for the kids. All
new shelf paper, scrub that linoleum; I hate those
shower curtains, watermarks are so depressing. You
ever thought about painting the paneling in the
family room? Brighten the whole place up.
BRANDIE: Well, honest, I. . . .
BAR: Kell, you still have the rollers from when we
did Arguellos?
KELL: Sure, coupla cans of primer too, I think
BAR: Oh yeah, youll wanna prime it. You watch,
your room will look ten feet longer and a lot more
cozy.
BRANDIE: Well, I dont know.
BAR: Leave it to us, Brandie. Well get you moved
in properly.
BRANDIE: No, thats really not
BAR: No arguments please. Im a demon with
shelf paper.
BRANDIE: No kidding?
BAR: I never kid, dont have time for it. Consider
it our welcome to the 28th ward. (Mimes walking
back home with KELL.) Theyre LDS, they had a
framed picture of the temple, saw it in one of
those boxes.
KELL: Well, yeah, she told me she was, I guess
you were measuring the kids bedroom.
BAR: All right then.
KELL: But, like, the very definition of inactive.
BAR: Less active. Okay, shes got a ways to go. Its
up to us to see she gets there.
KELL: Right. Active in the Church, sealed in the
temple. Good luck.
Spring 2000
BAR: First things first. Get them married.
Education. Shes our project, Kell. You and me,
were going to make that girl over.
BRANDIE: By six that night, thirteen ward mem-
bers were in Brandies home,
KELL: Propelled there, against their will, by the
cattle prod that was Bar Bartletts voice on the
phone.
BRANDIE: Painting and repairing, measuring and
cutting to fit, unpacking boxes and laying down
shelf paper.
KELL: By ten, Bar had every box unloaded, a fam-
ily room reeking of primer, a new sand box in the
back, fresh curtains on the front window. . . .
BAR: And new shower curtains in the master bath.
But that was just preliminary.
KELL: (She and BAR sit with BRANDIE, watch-
ing children play. Every time they reprimand a
child, it indicates a passage of time, perhaps a shift
of position, a freeze or a pause.) So, how close are
you to finishing the GED?
BRANDIE: I dunno. Its kinda hard you
know you do the classes nights for awhile, and
then the car breaks down, or you get a chance to
pick up an extra shift. . . .
BAR: Well, rides arent a problem.
KELL: Between Bar and I, well get you there.
BRANDIE: And its not like Im any kinda whiz at
school.
BAR: Nonsense.
BRANDIE: It just never did seem to stick,
remembering dates and all. Who them people
were. Alexander Hamilton, whoever.
KELL: Yeah, history wasnt my strength.
BRANDIE: Or figure out why it mattered.
KELL: I hear you.
BAR: You still need it. A high school diploma
BRANDIE: I know.
BAR: Now look; Kell did some checking, they got
classes starting in just two weeks time, less than a
year, youll be (To an unseen child.) Stephanie,
you leave her shovel alone and I mean now!
BRANDIE: You are right, you know. Ive seen
how they do, cops and all.
25 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 26
BAR: Exactly.
BRANDIE: You say, Its my boyfriend, hes beatin
on me, they treat you completely different than if
you say husband.
KELL: Its just natural.
BRANDIE: I hate that look you get. Boyfriend,
and then they see the kids.
KELL: Well. . . .
BRANDIE: You know what theyre thinkin.
BAR: So do something about it.
BRANDIE: Easier said than done.
BAR: Were not trying to tell you what to do. Its
something to think about, is all. Kell was looking
into this the other day, turns out that twenty-five
percent
KELL: (To a child.) Honey, you go up the ladder,
down the slide.
BRANDIE: I dont know. Beauty college, huh?
KELL: Its just a thought.
BAR: One year training, and then youre, you
know, marketable. And its flexible; you can work
in a salon, or maybe even cut hair out of your
basement while you stay home with the kids.
BRANDIE: Its something to think on.
KELL: You bet it is.
BAR: Its good, honest work.
BRANDIE: I aint afraid to work.
KELL: Of course not.
BRANDIE: I aint never been afraid to work.
KELL: Sure.
BRANDIE: I just . . . standin on your feet all day,
hands in someones hair. . . ?
(A pause.)
BAR: Still, its a thought, right? Just a suggestion.
BRANDIE: I suppose.
BAR: Now, Kell called em last week, and they do
require a high school diploma, but
BRANDIE: (To a child.) We dont throw sand,
sweetie.
KELL: Its something to think on, is all.
BRANDIE: The bishop says the same.
BAR: Does he?
Spring 2000
BRANDIE: We were just talking to him; he thinks
we should get married too.
KELL: With three kids, its something you ought
to consider.
BRANDIE: Maybe so.
KELL: Think of the advantages.
BAR: Not to mention child support, and Im not
saying anything about you and Kenny, but it hap-
pens, you know, the D word. D-I-V-O.
KELL: Theres a level of legal protection
BRANDIE: Its just . . . Kenny. You know.
BAR: (To a child.) If you do that again, were leav-
ing this park this minute, I am not kidding!
BRANDIE: I dont know. Head Start, I saw this
thing on the news, said at risk kids
BAR: Brandie, face facts. Thats your girls. At risk.
BRANDIE: Im a good mom.
KELL: Of course you are.
BRANDIE: I am.
BAR: At risk. As long as you and Kenny
KELL: (Leaps up.) The swing!
BRANDIE: You know, I prolly shoulda kept better
track of immunizations.
(A pause while BAR nods her head in triumphant
agreement.)
No, honey, youve got that shoe on the wrong foot.
KELL: I just think that you and Kenny need to
find a way to put all that behind you.
BRANDIE: I know.
BAR: I mean, its how many other guys? Two,
three?
BRANDIE: Who knows?
KELL: No kidding.
BRANDIE: It dont really matter.
KELL: I dont mean to sound . . . I mean, I hope
you dont think Im being nosy or
BRANDIE: What?
KELL: How do you? . . . I wouldnt even know
how to meet
BRANDIE: (A sudden outburst.) I mean it aint
like hes so pure. It aint like Kenny hadnt had a
few on the side himself. I aint so bad.
KELL: No, Im sure you
26 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 27
BRANDIE: It just seems to bug him worse when
I do it.
BAR: But you see, with marriage comes a kind of
commitment
BRANDIE: Were committed. To each other. Then
other stuff happens.
KELL: We dont pull hair!
(Breaks away. A small change of costume for BAR,
and she becomes AUNT DOT.)
It felt good, you know. Knowing I was half of the
partnership, Bar and Kell Enterprises, service with
a smile. Knowing we were making a difference.
Then we met Aunt Dot.
BAR as AUNT DOT: You leave her alone!
BRANDIE: Aunt Dot, please
AUNT DOT: I know how you do. You Mormons,
with all that were better than anyone else, we fart,
it dont smell, we pee, it aint yellow, we sweat, it
dont stink. Leave her be.
KELL: We are Brandies friends, we are trying to
help her
AUNT DOT: She dont need to get married!
KELL: She needs to make her own
AUNT DOT: A piece a paper from a judge make
Kenny stop hittin her? Huh? A few words from
the bishop help him keep a job?
KELL: Shes our friend and we care about her.
AUNT DOT: You care! Yeah, about every house in
the neighborhood having a nice mowed lawn, toys
picked up and kids all scrubbed. You care about
doing your visiting teaching. (The last four words
spoken with infinite contempt.)
KELL: Thats ridiculous, you dont even
AUNT DOT: You got her pegged inactive and it
screws up your holy bookkeeping. You dont know
where shes come from and you dont care where
she ends up, so long she dont make you nervous
bein single and with kids. (To BRANDIE.) I got
five hundred bucks for you take care of that bun
you got in the oven.
BRANDIE: Aunt Dot. . . .
AUNT DOT: I mean it. Five hundred dollars, you
can go to that guy in Wendover, get it taken care of.
BRANDIE: Whered you get five hund
Spring 2000
AUNT DOT: And you tell this one and that
friend of hers to leave you be.
BRANDIE: I dont . . . Kellie, maybe you better
KELL: Maybe so. Ill come back later.
AUNT DOT: And dont come back! You aint
wanted. Or needed!
(Steps out, BAR returns to being BAR.)
KELL: And I left. But the next day. . . .
BRANDIE: Hey, Kell. I was taking my girls to the
park, wondered if, you know. . . .
KELL: Sure, Ill be right along.
BRANDIE: Looked like a nice enough day. Those
cloudsll hold off, I think, couple hours anyway.
KELL: I guess so. (Pause.) Brandie, about yesterday. . .
BRANDIE: No, I dont wanna talk about it. (An
explanation.) When my Mom would get locked up
for drunk or drugs, start swingin away with that
extension cord. . . . (Pause. She collects herself.) Id
stay with Aunt Dot. Shed put me up, long as I need-
ed. Kell, shes someone real important in my life.
KELL: I understand.
BRANDIE: But she dont run me.
KELL: The five hundred dollars.
BRANDIE: I wouldnt take it. (Fiercely.) Im keep-
ing this baby.
KELL: And that was when I knew wed been mak-
ing a difference.
(Quick costume change as she becomes KENNY.)
BAR: With Kenny too. He was harder to get
through to, kinda hoody looking guy, used to tool
around the neighborhood in his pickup playing
Aaron Tippin or Alan Jackson turned up high.
BRANDIE: Like to drove Bar crazy, seein as how
she was head of Neighborhood Watch and was just
itching to call the cops with his license number.
BAR: But Id invite them both over, dinner and
cards with Arguellos and Braithwaites.
(To KELL and BRANDIE who are holding hands,
KELL as KENNY, holding a plastic coke bottle
with the top cut off.)
Kenny, Brandie. Glad you could both make it.
KELL as KENNY: Yeah.
BAR: (Making an effort, indicates the coke bottle.)
Kenny. We do have plenty to drink.
27 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 28
KENNY: Its for spittin in.
BRANDIE: Kenny dips.
BAR: Dips?
BRANDIE: Chews? You know.
BAR: Oh! Well. . . .
(KENNY spits into the bottle.)
Good of you to bring your own . . . spitting . . .
thing. . . .
KENNY: (Hes making a joke here, which he finds
very funny.) Didnt wanna get it on your carpet!
BAR: Thank you. Me neither.
BRANDIE: (To audience.) But after that rocky
beginning, the evening went much better than
expected.
BAR: Kenny was charming, really. Sort of.
KENNY: So the guy says to the doc, no kiddin?
Thats the only way to cure a snake bite? And the
doc says, Yeah, thats it. Suck out the poison. So
the guy goes back to Jim, back to his friend there,
and he says, he says, Jim, the doc says youre
gonna die.
(KENNY laughs uproariously under the next three
lines, sucking in the air as he laughs.)
BAR: (Disapprovingly.) He told . . . jokes.
BRANDIE: That real funny one about the
hunters. (Laughs along with KENNY.) Love that
joke.
BAR: And he had the most . . . interesting opin-
ions on a wide variety of topics.
KENNY: Hey, you mark my words, one day,
theyre flying in one day in those black helicopters
they got . . . and theyre takin our guns away. And
I mean soon. (Pause. Belligerently) Oh yeah? You
wanna fight about it?
BAR: But we all survived the evening. As did our
house. Mostly.
KENNY: Sorry about your carpet there. (Peering
at his bottle.) Never knew this stuff to wear
through a coke bottle before.
(KELL transforms quickly back.)
BAR: And next morning, and the each morning
after that, the makeover continued. Sometimes Id
meet with Brandie, and sometimes we both would.
Though, for some odd reason, Brandie actually
Spring 2000
seemed to respond better to Kell than to me.
BRANDIE: Hey Kell. Were over here.
KELL: Thats so cute, what youve done with her
hair.
BRANDIE: (Pleased as punch.) Oh, its just a little
French braid.
KELL: Youll have to show me how to do that. I
never can.
BRANDIE: I will. (They sit and watch their chil-
dren. Companionable silence.) Oops.
KELL: Shes okay. Landed on that padded little
rump, shes fine.
BRANDIE: I swear, if I fell down as often as those
kids do. . . .
KELL: I know, Id be in the hospital for a month,
just one of those falls. Theyre so resilient.
BRANDIE: Okay, now, whats that? Resilient?
KELL: Resilient. Means they bounce back easily.
Fall down, get right back up.
BRANDIE: Yeah. They are. Resilient.
KELL: Right.
BRANDIE: (Savoring the word.) Resilient. Good
for me, hangin out with you college types.
KELL: I never actually finished college, you know.
Dropped out my junior year after I met Tom.
BRANDIE: Still, you went. Not for me. Nobody
in my family. Ever.
KELL: (To audience.) And it seemed so strange. I
mean, going to college, that was automatic. Not
even something you thought about not doing. (To
BRANDIE.) Maybe your girls will, though. First
in your family. You could still go, for that matter.
BRANDIE: Maybe.
KELL: You never know. Youre a good mom to
those girls.
BRANDIE: (Suddenly lashes out. Bitterly, deri-
sively.) Oh yeah, Im great. A great mom.
KELL: What?
BRANDIE: You know what that means? A good
mom? Where I come from?
KELL: No.
BRANDIE: If you can keep your boys out of
prison and your girls from bein pregnant until
theyre eighteen. Thats a good mom. Eighteen,
28 IRREANTUM
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and then they can join the army. Thats a good
mom in my neighborhood.
KELL: I see. Was your mom? . . .
BRANDIE: Im twenty-two and my oldest is
seven. Whats it sound like to you? College girl.
KELL: Look, Im sorry. . . .
BRANDIE: I was fourteen, my first time with a
guy. I screwed Jimmy Tuttle right in my moms
bedroom, five days after my fourteenth
birthday which she forgot. Did him right on her
brand new comforter, she bein in the county lock-
up for D and D. Told her about it when she got
out, and she whipped my ass till I got welts all
over with that extension cord.
KELL: A world I could hardly begin to under-
stand.
BRANDIE: And then she passed me and my sister
around to her boyfriends. And I do not know who
the father of my oldest is. So no, Kellie, in answer
to your question, my mom was not a particularly
good mom, not even . . . not even in my neigh-
borhood.
KELL: Im really sorry.
BRANDIE: Kell, can I ask you somethin?
KELL: Sure.
BRANDIE: Who was your first? First guy you ever
slept with?
KELL: (Steadily.) Well, Brandie, my first time in
bed with a man was with Tom, my husband, on
our wedding night.
BRANDIE: That was your first time? The day you
got married?
KELL: That night.
BRANDIE: And not before?
KELL: No.
BRANDIE: And you aint fooled around since?
Slept with other guys?
KELL: Since Ive been married?
BRANDIE: Married, not married, so what? Do
you fool around?
KELL: No, Brandie, I havent. Not ever.
BRANDIE: Thats just so weird. Never once?
KELL: No, Brandie. I have to tell you, Ive never
even really thought about it.
Spring 2000
BRANDIE: I aint never met someone who didnt
fool around at least some of the time.
KELL: Brandie, I have to tell you in all honesty,
Ive never met anyone who did. (Pause.)
BRANDIE: Look at em, just runnin around.
KELL: Yeah.
BRANDIE: Gettin along.
KELL: They seem to be.
BRANDIE: Now Im gonna ask you this straight
out, and I want you to answer me honest.
KELL: Okay. . . .
BRANDIE: Why are you my friend? Why do you
spend time with me?
KELL: (To audience.) And I truly did not know
what to say. Because Bar told me to? No, dont even
think that, thats not a good way to be thinking.
BRANDIE: Well?
KELL: Because youre our project, because once I
was Bars project, and now Ive grown beyond that,
to become her equal and her partner, and we
decided to do this together, raise you to our level,
help you become like us, happy, like we are. I
could say no such thing, of course.
BRANDIE: Tell me straight. Why?
KELL: Because I want things to be better for you
than they are. I guess . . . because I like you.
(Points out to the children.) Because youre a good
mom.
BRANDIE: You think? (Looks at her children.) A
good mom. (Pause. Breaks the tension.) Ill say
this. Aint none of them pregnant yet.
KELL: Well, shes only seven. Give her time.
(They laugh together companionably. BAR looks
at them impatiently.)
BAR: And that Sunday.
KELL: Sorry Bar. Yes, that Sunday, after four
months of nearly daily visits
BAR: Babysitting trades
BRANDIE: Long chats at the park
KELL: Rides to the local high school, where
Brandie made good progress towards her GED.
BAR: A breakthrough.
KELL: Brandie and Kenny came to Church.
29 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 30
(BRANDIE looks around, in terror.)
BAR: Brandie!
BRANDIE: I aint been in one a these places in
like ten years. Where . . . what happens. . . .?
KELL: Its okay, Brandie, just stick with us.
BAR: Your girls look great.
BRANDIE: Where do they go?
KELL: For the first meeting, you can all sit with
us. After that, theres Primary for the girls.
BAR: Theyll be with our kids, theyll be fine.
KELL: Dont worry about a thing, theyll love it.
BRANDIE: Kenny?
KELL: Tom and Jeffll take care of Kenny, dont
worry. Then well all meet here, in this room after-
wards.
BRANDIE: How do I . . . Do I look all
BAR: You look fine.
KELL: And in fact, she did.
BAR: Kenny had really made an effort too. Bolo
tie, his nicest cowboy boots.
KELL: And best of all, he wasnt . . . chewing any-
thing.
BAR: And one Sunday led to two, and two to
four.
KELL: It was amazing.
BAR: We worried about the bishop.
KELL: The marriage thing.
BAR: I told the bishop how to handle it.
KELL: We knew Kenny well enough to think that
hed react badly to a disciplinary council.
BAR: I told him all that. But you never know if
theyre gonna listen.
KELL: We did feel it would be better for him to
wait, hope theyd marry, give them a chance for
further growth, than a letter-of-the-law kind of
discipline theyd neither understand or appreciate.
BAR: But the bishop could not be expected to
hold off forever.
KELL: Brandie was about eight months along,
when it happened.
(BRANDIE is now TIFFANY, a five year old.)
Tiffany, hello. Stephanie isnt here right now,
honey.
Spring 2000
BRANDIE as TIFFANY: My mom wants to know
if you want to see her get married today.
KELL: What did you say, sweetie?
TIFFANY: My mom wants to know if you want
to see her get married today. At the church?
KELL: Today?
TIFFANY: Uh huh. She wants to know if you
want to come watch.
KELL: So I dashed to the phone, and Brandie
confirmed it. She and Kenny had talked about it
the night before, and decided, on the spot, to get
married the next day. (To BAR.) Today, in fact.
This afternoon.
BAR: Well get them a crock pot, I think. Should
be about twenty dollars each. You call Bev
Crittenden and see if she and Cathy and Sophie
and Meredith can work up that quartet they sang
in church two weeks ago. Oh, and Rachel
Fessmacher we need the Primary kids, as many
as we can get they should sing I Love to See the
Temple. Thats the next step for them, sealed as a
family. . . .
KELL: I still have to get my kids ready. (Mimes
undressing a kid.)
BAR: Right, and so will they so wed better get on
the phone now.
KELL: She needs a bath, Bar.
BAR: Kellie Frandsen, those phone calls are not
going to make themselves.
KELL: (Mimes pulling a shirt over a childs head.)
Okay, in the tub now.
BAR: Kellie!
KELL: Im on it.
BAR: And Ill call the bishop. We need to do this
right.
KELL: And despite the short notice, the chapel
was nearly half full.
BAR: You can do a lot with an hour and a ward
phone list.
KELL: Some of Kennys family. Mostly ward
members, of course. And Aunt Dot.
BAR as AUNT DOT: (Sitting, as though in
church.) Damned Mormon church. Messing with
peoples lives. Should just leave well enough alone!
30 IRREANTUM
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BRANDIE as AUNT PEARL: Now Dot. Its difficulty silencing those last nagging doubts.
Brandies day. BRANDIE: I hope Im doing the right thing. . . .
AUNT DOT: Nobodys business, them not bein BAR: Nice peach dress, she looked great, even
married. eight months pregnant, a beautiful bride.
AUNT PEARL: Dot. Brandies big day. BRANDIE: Maybe itll make a difference, keep
AUNT DOT: Richest church in the world, think Kenny from hittin me and me from wantin to
theyre bettern anyone. Dont do this, dont do fool around so much.
that. Damn Mormons. KELL: She had to admit it really was for the best,
AUNT PEARL: Dot. . . . and that Brandie really was better off than shed
AUNT DOT: Making folks get married, like been.
thatll solve every problem. They get married, BAR: A beautiful bride. A brilliant success.
Walkers gonna give her a raise? Make Kenny stop BRANDIE: (Almost praying it.) A good mom.
cheatin? And cut em offa welfare if they so much (To the bishop.) I do. I mean, yes.
as smoke. This is wrong! KELL: Kellie just wished that the look on Bars
AUNT PEARL: Three kids, and a fourth on the face, as Brandie repeated the wedding vows, were
way? Its her decision, Dot. just the tiniest bit less . . . proprietary. And ever so
AUNT DOT: It aint right! Gettin married aint slightly less familiar.
right for my niece! Do you hear me! It aint right!
KELL: We helped her move. We unpacked boxes Eric Samuelsen, a professor of theater at Brigham
and scrubbed floors and put up shower curtains. Young University, has had numerous plays produced,
And painted. including Gadianton, The Seating of Senator
BAR: (Quick change back.) Kell and I, we babysat, Smoot, and The Way Were Wired, which won the
and gave rides, and talked. We are her friends. AML award for drama for 1999.
BRANDIE: (Quick change back.) I dont know. I
just dont know.
KELL: (Troubled.) What were my motives?
BAR: We baked bread and we invited them to par-
ties and we . . . we put up with chewing and
speeding in that truck in our neighborhood!
KELL: Was I helping her, or just trying to feel bet-
ter about me?
BRANDIE: I hope . . . I just hope. . . .
BAR: We were her friends.
KELL: This is the right thing. I think. I hope. . . .
BAR: Her friends. We really were.
KELL: Im sure, the right thing for Brandie.
BAR: Tiffany carried the ring in on a little satin
pillow I loaned her from my living room.
KELL: And Kenny looked . . . presentable, in
Toms best white shirt, and Jeff Bartletts sports
coat.
BAR: And the bishop didnt talk too long, thank
heavens.
KELL: When it was over, Kellie Frandsen had little

Spring 2000 31 IRREANTUM

spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 32
S C I E N C E moned renewed determination to free himself from
F I C T I O N
And the Moon Became as Blood
By Scott Everett Bronson
My mother never locked me in a closet or chained
me to a bedpost and left me alone for hours. Hiking
with my father in the Uintahs, I never got lost, never
fell into a mineshaft and waited and prayed for res-
cue. But now I think either of those situations might
be an improvement over my current condition; for
with them one might reasonably hope for escape,
whereas here I have no faith that I will be saved.
Help! Karl shouted as the tape peeled back
from his mouth.
Of course no one heard his cry or the frustrated
whimpers and moans that followed as he worked to
remove the tape from his wrists and ankles. Karl was
alone in the apartment; of that he was certain, even
though, with the lights out as they were, his apart-
ment was as black as the pits of hell. Dont leave
me! he shouted again, hoping to be heard by
someone out in the hall. It was a thin hope; he
couldnt guess how long hed been unconscious,
stuffed into his closet. It was possible that the last
shuttle had already left. Then I am lost, Karl
thought.
Getting out of the closet hadnt been too difficult,
but his cheeks and forehead burned where they had
rubbed against the floor as he had worked to
remove the tape. For a few seconds he ceased his
struggling with the tape around his wrists and
ankles and lay panting into the cushiony fibers of
the floor. He considered resting for a while, but the
throbbing lump on the back of his head reminded
him there might be a chance he still had time . . . if
he hurried.
Lights.
Nothing happened.
Great. If theyve disconnected the whole city, he
thought, then I truly am lost. As panic began to
prickle the hairs on his neck and arms, Karl sum-
Spring 2000
the tape that bound him. And despite the pain,
despite the disorientation, despite the dread that
carved a hole in him, Karl managed to scrape and
tear the tape from his wrists.
Then, using his wristphone he discovered that the
city computer was still awake, though dormant, and
that while it had been disconnected from the
nuclear power plant, it was still online with the solar
collectors and could provide minimal life support
and communications systems. Everyone admitted
to the Acropolis was given the code to power up
those systems in the event of emergency, so he
ordered the computer to do so. Then he called again
for the lights in his apartment.
Only the emergency lights came on.
Karl tore at the tape around his ankles and con-
tinued to issue commands to the computer.
Open the window.
The screen on the north wall of his apartment
displayed a live view, received by satellite transmis-
sion, from the top of Mt. Timpanogos. In its slow,
360-degree pan, the camera was now focused on
Utah Valley. Home, Karl thought. And Ill probably
never see it again. In the flesh.
East exterior view.
The image on the screen wavered for a fraction of
a second then became a stark black and gray
panorama of the lunar landscape east of the
Acropolis. In the lower left corner of the screen Karl
saw the lights of the shuttleport.
Enlarge dee-ee-one.
The shuttleport filled the screen, and Karl saw a
small jumper shuttle taxiing onto the raked runway.
Is that the last one? he asked.
The computer remained silent.
Enlarge see-five.
The image of the shuttle increased in size and
quickly moved off the screen but not before Karl
saw the name painted along the side. Soledad.
Everyone at the Acropolis, from the highest ranking
shuttle commander to the lowest ranking custodian,
had known the evacuation plan. Soledad was the last
to leave.
Shuttle comlink, code That wasnt a code
that Karl was supposed to know, but he had over-
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heard it a few times and had made a mental note to
remember it. But now he couldnt.
Karl knew, as he stood there trying to remember
the code, that his last chance for a return to life back
on Earth was about to launch into a slow rising
orbit around the moon without any immediate
plans for return. Without any immediate ability to
return. Fuel for the evacuation had been parceled
out right down to the last frozen drop. There were
still plenty of vehicles that had remained moonside,
but none of them had power or design to escape the
lunar gravity well.
Full view, he whispered. Karl chewed on his
lower lip and clenched his fingers into fists as he
watched the shuttle drift over the dunes. The jour-
nalist lobe of Karls brain recorded the phrase, Not
really dunes though, for they werent shaped by
wind, but they look enough like dunes that that is
what the so-called natives call them.
Karl laughed at himself. Im still writing the article
that no one is ever likely to read.
At that moment a fountain of brilliant white fire
erupted from the rear of the shuttle and it shot up
into the black sky, into a low lunar orbit. Once
around the ball, then out into space and home.
Karl sat shivering with the cold knowledge that
there wasnt a single soul but him on the surface of
the moon; he was all alone. Karl watched the shut-
tle rise into the blackness. He wanted to say some-
thing, something that would express for him all of
the frustrations and fears the sheer terrors that
churned like a storm-ridden sea within him. He
wanted to say something that would release the tide
of tension that was rising, rising. All he could think
to say was something completely vile, and as much
as he wanted to, he didnt say it, couldnt say it. His
mother had taught him not to use such language,
though he occasionally did. So what came out was
simply a sound, a sound that he meant to be an
angry growl but actually sounded more like a whim-
per. Karl closed his eyes. Oh, how he wished he
could express himself to someone. But there was no
one there to hear, except God if He was listening.
Karl thought about crying. Weeping. Then he
decided that it wouldnt do any good. It might clean
something out. A bit of something. But it wouldnt
Spring 2000
be cleansing completely cleansing. Now why do I
feel like I need cleansing? What do I need to be
cleansed of? Im not the filthy one. Im not the one
who just stranded some poor fool on the moon.
Who would have thought it, that the Third World
War like the First and Second would begin with
Germany?Well, some thought it, and they considered
the rest of us a bunch of hopeless fools.
While Karls mother wept in the background,
Karls father looked at the floor for a long while,
chewing his lip. Finally he looked up and said,
How long will you have communication capabili-
ties?
I dont know, Dad. Karl swept his arms back to
take in the entire control room with its thousands of
lights, screens, and buttons all in full operation.
Ive got everything up and running. The power
plant is shut down, but most of this stuff runs off
solar energy.
What about when you go into night?
Well, according to the manual Karl indicated
a screen behind him the collectors can store
enough energy to operate all life support systems for
more than two weeks, so I should be all right.
Well, thank the Lord for that at least.
Karl did not reply. He didnt feel like thanking
the Lord for anything at this point, and might have
said so if his mother werent in range of the screen.
Karls father looked into Karls eyes, waiting for
the response that Karl stubbornly refused to give.
His fathers eyes narrowed slightly and, purely by
reflex, Karl imitated the gesture. The two men
watched each other and nearly matched each other
in all their facial ticks and quivers, even the very
breaths they took. I am him, Karl thought. At least,
I will be in thirty years, if I live that long.
Karls father jutted his chin forward and said,
Well pray for you, Karl.
Karl wanted to sneer. Instead he took a deep
breath and said, Thanks, Dad.
Suddenly Karls mother shouted, Why? Why did
they do this? She approached the screen; Karl
could see the tear tracks on her face. Karl, why did
they do this to you?
33 IRREANTUM
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Momma, I told you. I was ambushed by neo-
patriots. They bound me and stuffed me in a clos-
et.
But why didnt someone wait for you? Surely
they knew you werent with them.
Momma, I wouldnt have been the first to take a
flex suit and disappear into the dunes. Its happened
a few times.
But you would never kill yourself.
Nobody else knows that, Momma.
His mother reached out a hand as if to touch his
face. But the fact that she could touch only a cold
screen seemed to hurt her to the core of her soul.
Her face twisted, her arms retracted to cover her
breasts, and her knees buckled. Karls dad held his
wife as she sobbed.
Karl looked away for a minute.
Karl
Karl looked up at the sound of his dads voice.
Karl, they will come back for you, right?
They say they will, Dad.
When?
I dont know. Sometime within the next six
months.
His dad looked shocked and his mother cried
out.
I know that sounds like a long time, but if things
are as hot down there as the NewsNet indicates that
they are, I really am safer on the moon than I am
flying into a war zone.
His dad had his hands in his pockets, staring at
the floor. He looked up and said, Will they find
these so-called neopatriots?
I dont know, Dad. Karl took a deep breath.
According to the information I was able to give
them, they have determined that at the time I was
attacked, there were officially 156 people other than
myself still on the moon. They have already begun
investigating those personnel, but I dont know how
much good that is going to do.
Why?
Because before this assignment I had been work-
ing on a story about the neopatriots, and according
to one of my sources, there are neopatriots at every
level of the military structure. Im sure therell be a
cover up.
Spring 2000
Are you sure it was neopatriots?
Oh, Im sure. Just before they knocked me out
one of them whispered, Sweet dreams, Adolf.
But youre not German! his mother cried.
That doesnt matter, Momma
Fifty years ago
This goes back
Your grandparents came
further . Tell her, Dad
After the Wall fell
Tasche
Momma
Dont those bastards know youre an American?
They all fell silent beneath the weight of that
question.
Karls dad looked a little embarrassed by his wifes
vulgar outburst, but he also looked as though he
agreed. He even looked as though he wished he had
said the words himself.
Karl squared his shoulders and said, That
doesnt matter to these people, Momma my name
is Schneider.
I went for a walk out on the surface today. Yes, it
was stunningly beautiful, but I missed the sound of
the wind blowing past my ears and the sound of my
feet thumping on the ground. The only wind I heard
was my own breath. And the only thumping I heard
came from my own chest.
Jamie, dear. Karl leaned over the genuine wood
desk in the corporate offices of Pharmtech
Industries, a pharmaceutical company that had
been in the process of establishing a research and
manufacturing lab in lunar orbit before the evacua-
tion occurred. He looked directly into Jamies beau-
tiful lavender eyes and said, How can you not want
this story?
Jamie held his gaze for a minute, then stood up
and walked to the door of her office. She had a
motion-sensing camera on her screen that followed
her movements. Pharmtech had the best comm-
screen in the complex; the resolution was incredible,
and Karl was suddenly made aware of just how
incredible when he watched Jamie walk away from
the screen. Her UV-suit, little more than another
34 IRREANTUM
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layer of skin, had woven into it a copy of Yatonos
latest and greatest batik painting. Flames and feath-
ers blossomed over the perfect curve of Jamies but-
tocks; Karl was riveted.
Karl, Jamie said, her back still toward the
screen, What are you looking at?
Karl blushed but refused to look away.
Jamie closed the door of her office and turned
toward the screen. She laughed when she saw Karls
face.
Nice suit, Karl said.
Yes, practical yet fashionable at the same time. I
dont get burned by the sun but I can start a few
fires. She stood still for a moment, almost posing
for him, then returned to her desk. She had the
well-toned body of a 30-year-old (Without sur-
gery!), the well-smiled face of a 40-year-old, and
the well-grayed hair of an 80-year-old. Nothing fal-
sified, and all of it far from petrified. Karl found her
to be refreshing and stimulating. Finally he did look
up to her face. He was sure that Jamie could see the
heat waves distorting the air around his head.
But Jamie wasnt laughing. After a pause she said,
Schneider, why havent we ever gotten married?
She hadnt closed the door to ask this question; this
was an old, and often public, routine.
Because youve never proposed to me.
Have too. Dozens of times.
Marriage.
That too, Karl.
Karl studied Jamie for a moment. She faced him
with her arms draped magisterially on the armrests
of her chair. As much as he tried not to, Karl
couldnt help staring at her proud little breasts. He
keyed the screen to focus a closeup above the neck.
Then he said, I never proposed to you though,
Jamie.
Why not?
Mormons are not encouraged to marry outside
of their faith.
Oh, do you have faith then?
Karl thought seriously for a moment and here
broke the routine, answering as truthfully as he
could Once upon a time, yes. Im not sure now.
Jamie raised her eyebrows and nodded knowing-
ly. Maybe theres hope for me then?
Spring 2000
I dont know, Jamie. Can we have a personal
relationship and a professional relationship at the
same time?
What professional relationship?
Youre my editor, Jamie.
I havent had to edit anything of yours for a long
time. I just read it and bid for a good location in the
Net. Im more like an agent. And Ive got to tell you,
its depressing me.
Speaking of the Net, you should be able to get
this story assigned to a peak hour. I should think
evening prime with hourly teasers all day and a late
prime cap.
Jamie revealed no expression for a moment. Then
she said, Must have been a pretty weak faith if get-
ting stuck on the moon for a little while has made
you lose it.
Karl held his gaze on her for a minute, thinking,
Shes afraid of something and not sure how to tell me.
He said without emotion, Being the only person
on the moon, a quarter of a million miles from any
other human, has turned out to be a very big deal
for me. Even though he now felt emotion welling
inside of him, Karl went on, Its very lonely, Jamie.
I He chewed on his lip. I feel like even God has
abandoned me.
I dont know, Karl. The way things are going
down here, He may have saved your ass.
Karl closed his eyes and rubbed his face, then
leaned his head on his hands and said, Do you
want the story?
No.
Karl looked up. Jamies eyes were glazed with fear.
I cant take it, Karl.
Why?
Surely you dont think the North American
Security Alliance will let anti-American propaganda
such as youre proposing go out on the Net?
What are you talking about? Theres nothing
anti-American about it.
The whole Adolf thing is a little hard to swallow,
Karl.
Since when did NASA start running things?
You know how they are. They dont run things.
All they have to do is give someone a call or a visit
and say something like, That was an interesting
35 IRREANTUM
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conversation you had with Karl Schneider this
morning. That kind of thing could intimidate just
about anyone.
Including a hard-nosed NewsNet editor.
Maybe.
Karl sighed and watched sadly as Jamie uncon-
sciously displayed more vulnerability than he had
ever seen in her. Her eyes darted about and her
hands fluttered lightly over her breasts as though she
meant to clench her fingers in fervent prayer but
couldnt remember how.
Jamie, Im sorry.
Karl saw some of the old Jamie return. Well,
hey, she said, then leaned over and picked up a
plaque from her desk and held it in front of her face.
It was the gift hed given to her for her last birthday,
an etching of her favorite aphorism: Saying Im
sorry is no excuse for being an idiot.
See ya later, Jamie.
Goodbye. You lucky little punk.
Karl saw, and heard, tears as she keyed off.
The earth is stationary in this sky, but as my vehi-
cle inched toward the crest of the dune, the earth
seemed to rise above it, and I forgot to breathe. At
first it looked like a hump growing out of the moons
back a blue and white tumor beautiful against
the finite gray and endless black. Then it broke free
from the horizon and floated into the void. It wasnt
a full earth, and strangely enough my first thought
then was, It looks like a football. A blue, brown,
and white football.
Karl tried to run out of the observation deck into
the plaza. In the excitement and terror of the
moment, he had forgotten about the effect his mus-
cles had in low-gee, even though he had learned to
move nearly as well as a native over the preceding
three weeks. He came very close to topping himself
on the archway leading to the plaza, despite the fact
that it was over five meters high.
Once out in the open Karl forced himself to lope
across the lawns and sidewalks of the plaza. He was
moving close to three times as fast as he would on
Earth, but it seemed like he was hardly moving at all
because the movements felt languid. He practically
Spring 2000
flew through Thatchers Field, reaching the hill at
the far end in four leaping strides. He launched
himself over the first row of orange trees in Grants
Orchard, where he then had to slow down a little to
keep from snagging on the trees. After that, it was
nearly a straight line to the office complex at the far
end of the Acropolis.
As he ran, Karl ignored the immensity and inge-
nuity of the Acropolis that had so engaged him upon
his arrival and, indeed, every moment that he had
spent there in the three weeks since hed bounced in
from the shuttle. His thoughts could not encompass
more than the terror he felt at the moment. Terror at
the thought that the Earth might be dying, might be
in the process of being destroyed.
He rode the glass elevator on the outside of the
office tower the twenty-five stories to the top of the
Acropolis, then switched to the center elevator that
took him through the regolith to the trolley depot
on the surface. The power-ladder there was not run-
ning, but it was easy enough to pull himself up,
hand over hand, to Rand Observatory. It took Karl
a few seconds to focus the 10-inch telescope on the
Persian Gulf, and when he did his breath left him.
Scores of flickering orange lights with black web-
like trails dotted the coastal regions and some inland
regions around the gulf. The Earths primary oil
supply was burning.
Karl watched horrified for a few minutes before he
hurried down to Pharmtech Industries. Every channel
on every frequency he tried gave him only static or a
blank screen. Even though he didnt know how to over-
ride the Unified North American Communication
Commissions restrictions against foreign communica-
tions, Karl had to assume that all satellite links with
Earth had been disconnected. Or destroyed.
Karl opaqued the windows, shutting out the light
from the plaza, keyed the screen to a link with the tel-
escope in Rand Observatory, cut the lights in the
office, and spent the next 24 hours watching the
earth burn. Orange flares erupted sporadically across
the surface of the planet most visibly in the night
shadow below the terminator accompanied by
dome-shaped clouds that oozed into the atmosphere.
Black smoke from the oil fires mixed with the white
mushrooms sent up by nuclear blasts until the entire
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planet was covered with a dark, bloody-looking soup.
The feelings of loneliness that Karl had felt up to
this moment suddenly seemed insignificant next to
the thought that he might be, or soon would be, the
only person alive . . . anywhere.
Upon further reflection I realize that of course
there are still people alive. What their lives are like
now, what their futures may be, I can only imagine.
And my imagination dwells on the horrific. So, I
find myself now alternating between wanting life,
then wanting death, for those I love.
Karl took one of the six-hour flex suits and
walked in a straight line away from the Acropolis.
The silence and the emptiness of the Acropolis
had been too great for him to bear. For days he had
wandered through the caverns and crevices of the
domed lunar village, looking for ways to occupy his
mind; to hold the anxiety at bay.
He sought comfort in the familiarity of his apart-
ment. He read, listened to music, watched videos,
and wrote for several days, leaving the apartment
once each day for a stroll through the plaza.
Eventually that routine began to grate on him, and
he took to exploring. He investigated research laborato-
ries, storage facilities, and offices. He window-shopped
all the stores along the Mall. Even though there was no
one around to care whether or not he took something,
it violated his sense of propriety to do so.
So it was that when he took to rifling through
other apartments, he experienced the same kind of
thrill and excitement that he had as a young teenag-
er sneaking illicit peaks at his grandpas porno vids.
Indeed, in several of the apartments he did find
those kinds of recordings, produced both commer-
cially and privately. The commercially produced
recordings lost appeal very quickly, but some of the
private recordings fascinated both Karls libido and
his journalistic interest in people.
Most of them were simply individuals, couples, or
groups of people performing various sex acts for the
camera, occasionally play-acting some lame little
script in an apparent attempt to spice up the viewing
pleasure. One couple had merely done everything
they could to gross out some friends back on Earth.
Spring 2000
Two of the recordings, however, held some allure for
Karl. Hed found one in an apartment just a few
doors from his own. In it the couple poured honey
on each other. A standard sort of fantasy, yet this was
done completely in extreme close up. Every body
part took on the nature of landscape. The honey fell
from the darkness like molten sunlight, blanketing
hills, valleys, towers, and plains.
The other recording was even more intriguing. It
was a young corporal in the Air Force, Amelia Perez,
whom Karl had met a couple of times. She was a
communications technician (That means tele-
phone operator, shed said, smiling). Apparently
she was also a dancer. Or wanted to be. Her tech-
nique was weak, but her imagination and sincerity
were strong. She had moved all her furniture back
or out of her apartment and performed a 15-minute
ballet to a recent jazz hit. As she danced, her cloth-
ing seemed to melt away. She had used an F/X pro-
gram to add the illusion of clothing. She had also
used it to add a partner to the dance. A female
robotic lover with shining silver skin seemed to be
caressing and stimulating Amelia. As the music
reached crescendo, Amelias simulated lover brought
her to simulated climax. Then the music ended.
After repeated examination of the recording, Karl
noticed a wet sparkling gleam on Amelias inner
thigh and realized that she had achieved literal
orgasm through the music and the dance and her
apparently vivid imagination.
Karl longed for just such an imagination. He had
been obedient all his life to the tenets of his religion
and remained pure and virginal. Of course, he had
not maintained such virtue without monumental
frustrations. He often thought it would have been
easier to have lived 30 or 40 years earlier when
temptations werent quite so profuse. And now he
would die having never known the intimacy of a
woman. He was angry about that. Very angry. And
nearly insane with boredom and loneliness.
So he had gone for a walk . . . outside.
When his head had cleared enough for him to
even care about how long he had been out, he
looked down at his chronometer and couldnt
decide if he should despair or rejoice at the realiza-
tion that he had gone too far. It had been 3 hours
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and 45 minutes since he had climbed into the suit.
If he wanted to live, by any remote chance, he
would have to decide now to turn around and follow
his footprints back. If thats what he wanted, he
might be able get back before his oxygen ran out if he
hurried and concentrated on not breathing too hard.
Karl walked up to the ridge of a rill, turned and
looked back at his trail. He closed his eyes and lis-
tened to his breath, sharp and hollow. He listened to
his blood whoosh-thumping rhythmically through
his ears. Why did I come out here, he silently asked
himself. Am I already insane, or did my subconscious
bring me here? If I just stand here long enough, unable
to make a decision, then making a decision will
become moot.
But you should make a decision, a voice said
inside his helmet.
I cant, though. I just cant. Then Karl started to
laugh. Listen to me, he said, still laughing. Im
talking to myself now. I suppose that was
inevitable.
Not necessarily, the voice said. Turn around.
What ?
Karl turned and saw a man standing on the oppo-
site ridge of the rill. And the man wore no flex suit,
or hard suit, or any kind of suit at all, just flowing
white robes and sandals. Karls knees buckled, and
he pitched over into the rill. He tumbled about five
meters and was vaguely aware, when he finally
stopped, that his face guard had smashed against a
rock and cracked.
Karl smiled and said, Thank you.
Where is faith? In the heart, or in the head?
He opened his eyes on a brilliant white light and
silently thanked God for a painless death.
He moved his arm up to shield his eyes and
became aware that he was lying on his back in . . .
He stretched his other hand out and felt grass. He
sat up, and heaven, or paradise, or spirit prison or
whatever, looked just like the inside of the Acropolis
of Lunaton, the first structure of a proposed
metropolis on the northwestern shore of the Sea of
Tranquility.
Then the berobed and besandaled man stepped
Spring 2000
into view and said, No, youre not dead.
Then I must be hallucinating, Karl said.
Sorry, the man said.
Karl studied the man, picking out new details.
The man wore his hair longish and sported a thick,
untrimmed beard. He smiled easily.
Who are you? Karl asked.
Peter.
Peter who?
Simon Peter. Simeon. Simon Bar-jona. The
Denier.
The Apostle?
That too.
Karl shook his head, sighed, and rubbed his
whole face with his hands. Then he actually tried to
think, but his mind was completely empty. He
looked at the ground, and the only thing he knew
for sure was that he was sitting on grass. His cogni-
tive self could not progress beyond that point. Still,
another part of him burned with searing shame, and
another part of him longed for an embrace from
this man.
After several minutes of watching the grass grow,
Karl stood and began to stroll. He looked up at the
vaulted dome of the Acropolis, the first real struc-
ture of the grand scheme of lunar development.
Acropolis was not even the official name of the
plaza; Plaza A was its official designation. Plazas B
and C had been under construction before the evac-
uation. But the complex city by loose
definition was in the crater Julius Caesar, and the
plazas were designed to protect their inhabitants
from vacuum and solar radiation, fortresses against
the enemies of space. Thus, an Acropolis. Even
Allred Theater, nestled down against the south wall,
was a modified version of an ancient Greek open-air
amphitheater.
Karl wandered down the shallow slope of the the-
aters house and stopped a couple of meters from the
stage. He thought back to his first night in Lunaton,
sitting in this very theater, watching closing night of
a production of Bertolt Brechts Galileo. Karl
remembered how he had learned something that
night that he had never known: that Galileo had
recanted on his discoveries about the order of the
universe. Am I like him?Karl wondered. Did I recant
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my faith, or did I ever really have faith?
Thats what Im here to find out.
Karl flinched when the Peter phantom spoke.
Im not a phantom.
Right, Karl said, wanting to, but afraid to,
accept the evidence of his eyes.
Peter smiled.
Okay, Karl said. Lets say that you are Peter,
and that we are here, and Im not lying in the bot-
tom of a rill halfway to Tranquility Base. Why are
you here?
I told you that. To discern your faith.
Dont you already know all about my faith?
Well, yes. Let me reword it then: to help you
discern your own faith.
Why?
Because its time, Karl.
Karl didnt understand what Peter meant by that.
Karls brain was still idling in neutral.
Peter pointed his arm toward the general direc-
tion of Earth and said, Do you know whats going
on down there?
Karl shook his head slightly, wondering, Down
where?What is this ghost talking about?
You missed the Second Coming, Karl. You
werent there when Christ returned, when all the
inhabitants of Earth were either brought up to meet
Him or burned in their sins.
Peter paused, but Karl could not think of a
response still could hardly think anything at all.
So, Karl, we have some unfinished business.
Uh-huh. Unfinished business.
We need to decide which group you fall into.
Will you burn, or will you be brought up?
Uh-huh. Im asleep.
Ive got to tell you that your viewing habits in
recent days have not been some of your better
moments. You see, it doesnt matter how much faith
you have your whole life if you lose heart when the
end comes. Youre supposed to endure to the end,
and the end hasnt come yet.
For me, Karl said, his face hot with shame.
For you. Thats right. Youre beginning to see.
Maybe. Karl stared at Peter for several minutes,
trying to get his brain into first gear at least.
Karl, you wont figure this out thinking about
Spring 2000
it. Peter pointed at Karls chest. Youll have to feel
it out.
Did everyone have to do this? I mean, didnt it
all happen at once? Werent they all either burned or
brought up together?
Yes. But it was still each persons individual deci-
sion. For when they saw the Lord, they were either
grateful that the day had finally come, or they were
not. For some it was a great day. For the rest it was
terrible.
So why am I receiving special treatment?
Special circumstances.
So how do I decide?
Do you want to live, or do you want to die?
I want to live! What kind of question is that?
Yet, an hour ago you had nearly decided to die.
Karl hung his head. Not really, he thought. I
havent exactly been myself, lately.
I know that, Peter said in a kind, understand-
ing voice.
So how can I prove that I have faith?
Come with me.
Where?
Outside.
Karl gestured with his arm toward the airlock.
You mean out there?
Yes.
Theres no air out there. If I go out there with-
out a suit, my blood will boil.
Yes. Youll burn.
But
Or you wont. Come with me. Trust me. Its as
easy as walking on water.
For most of my life I feared death as the end as
the final blackness despite the positive teachings of
my faith. At last I think I believe that while death
should be staved off so that one might live as long as
one can, when the inevitable moment does come, it
should be embraced.
Karl stood up and looked at the last words he
would ever write. Though he believed them implic-
itly, bringing them out of himself had been very dif-
ficult.
At the moment that Peter had said, Come with
39 IRREANTUM
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me, Karls body had begun to shake with near-con-
vulsive tremors. He didnt realize it at first, but even-
tually he understood that he shook because of trep-
idation, and desire. He realized that this was the
moment he had been waiting for preparing his
whole life for. And he wanted it. Even though he
was unsure of his faith.
Karl knew that he was going to die, whether it be
slowly, in six months or so when the food and oxy-
gen ran out, or quickly, in a boiling vacuum.
Or in the twinkling of an eye.
Peter waited for Karl outside, and now Karl stood
at the window of the observation deck watching
Peter, who simply watched back.
All right, Peter. Im coming. And one way or
another, I suppose youll take me home. Thats all I
want.
Peter nodded.
And I know that deathbed repentance is invalid,
but I still have to say, Im sorry. Im sorry for being
weak and carnally minded. Forgive me, please.
F I C T I O N
The Black Canary
By Marilyn Brown
D ECEMBER, 1918
Even in the beginning, Helper, Utah, was a long
narrow rope of a town as lanky as the track it strad-
dled. When in 1881 the D&RG Railroad cut their
way through the mountains, they found themselves
in a black flume with cliffs on either side as mighty
as any in the Wasatch range: big jagged rocks that
stood like castles on either side, rocks that seemed to
speak their own language in terms of promises,
treasures, and prospects. Like flowering weeds,
extending tentacles of fragile villages, shacks, and
markets, the coal mines began to bloom: in Price,
Spring Creek, Castle Quarry, and Castle Gate.
In Helper itself there were soon two churches, three
saloons, a school, doctors. There had already been
Spring 2000
Peter smiled and held out his arms, waiting to
give the embrace.
Karl walked into the airlock. He programmed the
override sequence that would allow him to open the
outer lock without closing the inner. Then for sev-
eral minutes he held his finger over the button that
would open the outer door. Finally he took a deep
breath, smiled and pushed the button.
And the escaping air lifted and carried him gently
onto the moons surface.
Scott Bronson, a native of San Diego, now lives in
Orem, Utah, with his wife and five children. Besides
writing, Scotts obsessions include acting, directing,
reading, and being a supply manager for a nursing
home. Reading is the only obsession he has not been
able to turn into a source of income.
strikes, troubles, murders, burglaries, and parades.
The mining company of Castle Gate soon built rows
of houses for immigrant miners: Italians, French,
Serbs, Greeks, Japanese, Chinese, and Poles. And in
the year of 1918, the mining company had drawn
plans to build a large community meeting hall.
It was in the excitement of that expansion that on
a mild December afternoon the Boggery Saloon was
proud to acknowledge the delivery of a piano. As the
large box-shaped van drove from the railroad station
through Main Street and turned at the alley that led
to the back door of the saloon, several school chil-
dren ran to keep up with it. As the back door
opened, Mr. Baptiste himself, dressed in his stained
apron, appeared on the stoop and clapped his hands.
Vee are glat to see you, Shentlemen, he said.
Others from the back kitchen strained to look
past the saloon keeper, their eyes wide. When Mr.
Baptiste got down from the stoop, the men followed
him, rubbing their hands in the cold.
It iss time, Mr. Baptiste said. And the driver of the
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van came around from the cab and opened the doors.
Standing on the truck was the new piano wrapped in
a blue quilt. It looks fine, Mr. Baptiste said.
One of the men who emerged from the back
kitchen to help the men carry the planks caught the
eye of the crowd. So much so that there was a sudden
hush, and the school boys began to talk behind their
hands. He was one of those few African men who
had ever come to work in the mines at Helper. And
he was particularly endowed with very black skin.
Several of the townspeople who had come to watch
the event gasped when the man came out on the
stoop and jumped to the ground. They had never
seen this particular man before. Some in the group
had never seen a piano, but there were probably more
who had never seen a man with such dark skin. So
the sudden burst of small talk and inaudible whis-
pering may have been about a number of things.
As the weight of the instrument shivered the
planks on its downward way to the stoop, a pair of
wide-eyed young girls, one a head taller than the
other, stood so close that they were in the way.
Moof please, Mr. Baptiste said. Moof please.
The taller girl with dark hair and saucer-blue eyes
removed herself, but the light-haired girl, her curls
in wild disarray, leaned out with a sudden lightning
motion and while no one could possibly have
done anything about it plunged her fingers into
the blue quilt. With vigor, she hit the wrapped key-
board with a bang. The sound shot into the crowd
with a shrill dissonance. Mr. Baptiste drew back his
arm to push her away. But she was already gone.
No no no, Mr. Baptiste cried out. Get out off
here! He flailed, pushing angrily at the girl, though
she was out of his reach. The deed had been done.
The keys had been played for the first time. And the
sound of the clashing notes rang out in the alley
with a surprising power.
The men who were helping to move the piano
exchanged glances, smiled. Mr. Baptiste kept say-
ing, Get out off here. Get out off here. And when
they ducked behind the van, he asked, Who are
dose young girls?
One of the men was the mine boss, Charlie
Steuben. He rubbed his neck with his handkerchief
and looked after the girls with a grin. I know who
Spring 2000
they are, he said. Their fathers work in my crew
at the Castle Gate mine. The frizz-head is Gazel.
Sophia Gazel. I think the other is that Greek girl,
Asha Diamante, though she has grown so tall.
The girls turned into the alley as though they
were going to run away. But they did not run far.
They crouched down behind some trash barrels for
a few moments to catch sight of the last few
moments of the piano they would possibly never see
again. And it was at that moment as though
Sophia had disturbed the sky with the sound of the
clashing notes that it began to snow. A fine sharp
swirl of ice suddenly began to blow into the faces of
the men at the truck as though the collision of
sound had forced the sky to open. Tottering on
uneven wheels, the piano finished its journey down
the ramp from the moving truck and shimmied into
the back stoop of the Boggery Inn in a flurry of
flakes. The men had barely lifted the heavy piano
into the kitchen when the snow blew into their faces
with a great force. Brushing it away from their eyes,
they rocked the piano over the stoop and, clattering,
began to pull the heavy instrument into the inside
room. In only moments, the piano disappeared into
the kitchen, and Mr. Baptiste had shut the door,
closing out the yellow light.
I played the piano! Sophia sang. She skipped
and leaped down the distance of the alley, carelessly
slipping and righting herself on the pavement slick
with the new snow.
I think Mr. Steuben will report us, Asha said.
No! Report us? Who is going to do anything
about playing a chord on the piano?
It wasnt a chord, Asha said.
Sophia giggled, covering her mouth with her few
fingers visible through the red-knit half glove. You
think if it had been a chord it might have been
okay? She laughed out loud. But you can never
say I didnt play the piano! She said it over and over
again, still dancing.
Perhaps because Asha was so much taller than
Sophia and could see more, she was twice as wary.
On the way out of the alley, she kept her eyes on the
others from the school, on the troublemakers Ikaros
Rizos, Nikos Kazantakes, and Fazio Bonacci. She
kept her eyes on the back door of the saloon to
41 IRREANTUM
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make sure no one would come out, and on the back
doors of the Lowenstein Mercantile and the
Panhellenic Grocery.
Youre a worry wort, Sophia said. Theres noth-
ing to worry about. Nothing. And now no one can
ever say I didnt play the piano at the Boggery Inn!
Asha felt her neck grow cold. This was not the
first time Sophia had embarrassed her; she had
never been able to outguess what Sophia was going
to do. Yet this time there seemed to be something
different that nagged at her, something unknown,
until she finally realized, with some shame, that she
was actually feeling jealous. She realized that she
would like to have been the one who played the dis-
sonant notes. She could still hear them ringing in
her head when the snow began falling in a thick
cloud. Suddenly the lamps inside the kitchen of the
saloon were burning, the diamond shapes inside the
saloon windows threw shadows on the black alley,
and the ice whirled down out of the sky like gnats
against the light.
As it grew stronger, the snow began to shift direc-
tions in the alley, exploding in billows of wind, forc-
ing the white flakes up, around corners, around the
back sheds of Lowenthals Market, the blank walls
of the Strand Theater, and Stone Jams Drug Store.
Soon the boys and the other townspeople who had
witnessed the spectacle of the moving piano vacated
the alley, letting the snow and the wind fill the
empty space.
I ought to go home, Asha said, but her words
seemed weak almost a whisper.
No! Sophia protested, her limbs still tense,
swinging. Well go in and ask him if you can play
the piano too.
Asha, who had learned to trust that Sophia would
do any outlandish thing, froze and shivered.
Not
Yes, Mr. Baptiste. You know how to play, dont
you?
Asha had taken six lessons from Joanna Larson.
And she had practiced maybe ten times on the
school piano, the only piano there had been in
Helper until now.
Sophia, she said. I think I ought to go home
because its snowing. Awaiting her at home were
Spring 2000
her chores, especially feeding the canaries, who
would be flapping their wings about in the cages on
the back porch, expecting her.
But Sophia was paying no attention. She had
stepped back out of the alley to go to the front side
of the Boggery Inn. She must pass the Stone Jam
Drug Store and the Strand Theater.
Asha, youre not getting out of it that easy!
When Sophia begged and wheedled, Asha could
seldom resist her. And to tell the truth, she knew she
would like to have played one of her small numbers
on the piano: The Water Is Falling, or Little
Lamb, Who Made Thee?
She followed Sophia around to the street. The
snow was coming fast now, beginning to drift about
the brick buildings. If we dawdle, youll have to
stay at my house, Sophia laughed, tipping her head
back and licking the snow off her lips.
When they rounded the Strand, they could see
the lights sputtering on all along the street and
across the street. Only the Rainbow Gardens Dance
Hall remained dark, a small lamp flickering in its
window. Its marquee would light only when the
dances began later in the evening.
Sophia turned around in the street, her light curls
lifting. Behind her, Asha watched the road to her
home darken as it began to blur in the snow. Asha
could no longer see the community of shacks built
by the D&RG Railroad where her father and four
brothers who worked in the coal mines would be
passing soon on their way home, stomping their
snow-wet boots on the wooden steps while they
smelled their mothers corn beef hash or corn bread
and potato soup.
I cant even see the road, Asha said.
Ha! Sophia whirled in the street, laughing. Itll
still be there when you go back. She stopped and
grasped Ashas hands. Asha, you must not miss this
opportunity, for it may never come again! You can
stay with me all night if you have to. Well call your
mother at the drugstore.
She turned away from the rows of wooden hous-
es that seemed miles away. Stumbling along behind
Sophia, she saw the lights of the Boggery Inn as
though they were the harbor and she were a small
boat tied to a tug and she could not reel free.
42 IRREANTUM
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At the front of the Boggery, the snow had begun
falling like a bridal veil across the windows with dia-
mond glass. The shadows of the lights played in
long patterns on the snow. A few people standing
out upon the stoop of the Boggery were covering
their heads with their arms, the wind driving the
snow in their eyes. Asha and Sophia had not expect-
ed to see so many people standing upon the outside
steps waiting to get in. Or it may have been possi-
ble that these patrons were not planning to go in,
for they were not in a queue, and they were not
moving. On second look, they seemed to be simply
standing there looking into the saloon door.
As the girls came nearer to the saloon, they could
hear the reason people were standing at the door.
Bundled in their scarves and coats, the group was
not made up of the saloon regulars, but shoppers
from the town. Something had drawn them in, and
now the faint sound of the music told them what it
was. From the sliver of light in the slightly open
door of the saloon came the sound of the music. A
music of a kind Asha had never heard before. It star-
tled her. As they drew close, they heard something
like a miracle on the keys of the new piano.
As they could not get close to the door, Sophia
stopped at the front window and stretched on her
toes trying to look inside. Asha did not have to
stretch, however. If her mother and father had been
worried about their daughter who at thirteen years
old was growing so tall they feared she would never
be married, at least she had an advantage now. A
head taller than Sophia, she could stand at the win-
dow and see everything in the lighted room: the
tables, the glittering bottles, the visitors, the fire-
place wreathed with pine boughs, the dark rafters lit
with blazing electric chandeliers.
Some red Christmas lanterns hung inside the
window casings surrounded by evergreen wreaths. A
green tree draped with chains of popcorn and cran-
berries stood in the center of the room, and on the
far wall, beyond the decorated tree, was the piano.
Because the tree was standing between her and the
piano, she could not see who was sitting with his
back to her in the half-light beyond the smoke from
the cigars and the men moving to and fro.
So tell me! Sophia said.
Spring 2000 43
Asha leaned her head against the glass to see if
she could better hear a sound she had never heard
in her life. Her ears began to rock with the sound.
She was stunned.
Whats going on? Sophia said.
Somebody is playing the piano, Asha said, and
then she whispered, Shhhh, because she wanted
to hear what the piano was saying. As she closed her
eyes and touched the cold yellow diamond glass
with her ear, she could hear the rocking chords of
the bass, and the deep, bumping rhythm, the grind-
ing, the trickle above the beat beat boogey woogey
of the piano strings.
My. Oh! Sophia said. What! I didnt know
there was anybody who could make those keys
shake like that.
Asha was transported. The sound of the piano keys
played havoc with her, finding a resonance in her
body as though she were as hollow as a drum. Where
the sound touched her she felt a response she had
never felt before. She was caught up, mesmerized.
Because Sophia wanted to see more than her
height would allow, she walked to the steps of the
saloon. So Asha followed her. Though they must
stand at the bottom of the stoop behind the others,
they could hear the music bumping out into the
street. Asha wondered if any of the others could
hear what she heard. She imagined that she alone
knew there was magic in that music, and that she
alone was the object of its power.
As the snow deepened, the passersby left the
stoop to go home to their evening meals. But Asha
and Sophia stayed transfixed, until Mr. Baptiste
came out to the front in the light to shovel some of
the snow away. Sophia hung back in the darkness so
that he would not see her face and then darted to
the top of the stairs to look through the door. What
she saw startled her, and she motioned for Asha to
hurry while Mr. Baptiste was shoveling the board-
walk in a corner far away.
Standing close, Asha easily looked over Sophias
head. From the angle of the door, she could see past
the Christmas tree and into the far corner against
the wall. At the bench of the piano, the person who
sat was tapping the darkest fingers against the keys
she had ever seen. At first she thought he was wear-
IRREANTUM
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ing black gloves. But when she looked again when
she followed the hands to the arms, to the neck ris-
ing out of a ragged, olive-green shirt, she saw that
the neck was dark, and the hair as black and tight as
a head full of tied knots of string.
Its that black man! Sophia whispered.
Asha was taken back. She could not name the
feelings she was experiencing, coursing up and
through her at the notes that spoke in perfect har-
mony to the drumlike sound of the notes below.
Girls! Mr. Baptistes voice startled both of
them. You no touch my piano now! You better get
home! He was standing at the foot of the stairs
with the shovel, waiting to get by. Get. Get. His
voice was a rasp on the night. It did not match the
snow, the lights of the chandeliers.
No one had ever known there was anyone in the
town of Helper who could play the piano like that.
Not so well. Bobbing up and down, he was making
the instrument shake. Asha turned around sharply.
Mr. Baptiste was standing at the bottom of the
P O E T R Y
April
By Jolayne Call
April is the month when
white light, Christs light
bursts through the earths
prism in the green of grass
of mesquite and palo verde
in the pinks and yellows
of saguaro, jumping cactus
the purple of prickly pear
my yard backs the desert
and bubbles with young
a baby rabbit watches there
and deer with their young
descend to feed scant paces
from their hunters of fall
Spring 2000
stoop, waiting to bring his shovel back through the
door. You can vamoose, or serf drinks. So what it
be, ladies? They hurried to get out of his way
before he shoveled Sophia and Asha like heaps of
small bones.
Down Main Street, on their way to the Gazel
shack, Sophia could not stop saying over and over
again, I have never seen any man so black. Wasnt
he black?
Asha was quiet, holding her scarf like an umbrel-
la over her eyes to keep off the snow. I have never
heard anyone play the piano so well.
Marilyn Brown is the author of several historical
novels set in Utah, including The Earthkeepers, which
won the first-ever AML award for the novel in 1981.
She recently endowed the biannual Marilyn Brown
Novel Award, administered by the AML, which grants
$1,000 to the best unpublished novel among its entries.
With her husband she owns and operates the Villa, a
community theater in Springville, Utah.
a snake sleeps on the road
new skinned and warm
pliable in springs amnesty
Its April, light blessed April
that holy month of miracles
when Christs spring of love
flowing forward, flowing back
ward creates a ring of waters
filling the deserts of our lives.
On Lazarus
By Jolayne Call
We followed Jesus up the path that day,
through the thick dust to Lazarus tomb,
wondering what he wanted with a man
four days dead in the desert heat.
Lazarus had been sweet with spices
and wrapped with winding cloths
and deadso we gave him to death,
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burying him there by that lightning- Convex clear hexagons

scarred tree that strains for the sky. Light spurting along each inner curve
A nestling dome
We heard Jesus call Lazarus, Lazarus, Pulsing, slightly liquid
Come forth and he came, the dead man,
death dangling from his shoulders, Certain stuff
dropping with the winding cloths to lie Began to jostle
a white chrysalis upon the pale path. Paperbacks popped out windows
Crusted Farberware flung itself into the sink
I gripped my sword so tightly A stash of amphetamines
that when I released it, my hand Wriggled out from under a bed
had no strength, a useless tool And toppled into the toilet
in a useless hand for what now
was death? Where was its power? All the children mildly convulsed
In their sleep
I stayed when the others left, Livers sweetened, smoothed
stayed to trace our footsteps Pancreases settled
back to the open, empty tomb Along with the backs of their necks
back to the rough stone bed.
I touched it, just to be sure. My husband woke and strapped in beside me
And its cold became my cold.
He had been deadI had seen him We dont know how to drive it yet
this was no trickno error. But theyll be here before long to show us
Meantime we tap the controls
But the world is changed, Marcus, Beam at each other
and how shall we live, we who live And tendril out to the motherboard
by the sword, how shall we live Just to test and yes to tighten
when death is a chrysalis? The contact.

Born and raised in southern Alberta, Canada, Pregnant Sonnet

Jolayne Call graduated from the University of Alberta By Cathy Gileadi Wilson
and holds a masters degree from BYU. She has 13
brothers and sisters and 6 children. She lives in Provo, Adolescents pale and glance away
Utah, with her husband and children, where she is From the Silent Testimony of Sex they see:
working on a series of fantasy novels. Me motherly, my belly becoming a boy,
Beaming beneath the never-big-enough blouse.
Our House is a Spaceship
By Cathy Gileadi Wilson The married flat-bellied ladies sneer or sigh
As, lumbering through the diminishing-daily
At my computer one midnight doors, I
Online with Zion See other mothers, abstracted, warm, patting,
They turned our house smile
Into a spaceship At the punching poking ruffling my smock.

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My man towers, not yet fatherly, but amazed,
Grins, hovers, and prescribes, encircles me;
I glow; the virgins splutter at my cheeks
So mother splattered, rounded lips, right eyes.
My ruler thoughts are softened by the new,
Insistent one who drains some of my life
Into his life, into his brain; my self
Can sense him alive inside, already a part
A part, blood-fed, flesh-clothed, dependent, yet
A seedgod burst past earth-power to beget.
Cathy Gileadi Wilson is a writer, teacher and poet
living in Price, Utah. She is the author of
Everywomans Herbal, Homeschool Genesis, and
Simple and Essential: A Step-by-Step Guide to
Natural Healing with Essential Oils. Cathy is the
mother of nine children.
What I Have Planted: Notes on Cathy Gileadi
Wilsons Poetic Burden
By Harlow Soderborg Clark
Picture a church house. Sacrament meeting has
just let out and people are hurrying, jostling to
priesthood meeting or Relief Society or the various
classes for young women and men. A woman great
with child makes her way through the throng, sens-
ing that her belly makes teenage boys uncomfort-
ably aware of their adolescent sexuality, teenage girls
aware of both sexuality and maternal hopes.
Suppose the woman is a poet. How does she capture
all the emotions of such moments, all the spatial
awareness, all the sounds of people gathered togeth-
er in the Lords name? One way is to create sounds
that are fun to say, Me motherly, my belly becom-
ing a boy (see Pregnant Sonnet above). The line
is evenly balanced, half the words beginning with
m, half with b, and could become sing-song, but the
comma shifts the balance, much like shifting the
leverage on a teeter-totter allows a child to lift a par-
ent. That shift in balance preserves the fast repeti-
tion of similar sound, but makes it more complex,
like the complex sounds in a hall with many people,
Spring 2000
or the movements of a body complicated by bearing
a child before.
Language, whether words on paper, colors on
canvas, or torsos and limbs moving to music, lets us
shape the world in delight. Perhaps words on paper
are at a disadvantage in shaping such a world. How
can words, one line after another, capture many
things happening at once, like the way people react
with each other in a noisy place of worship? Puns
can do a great deal, carrying as they do many mean-
ings at the same time. Consider how the phrase
Silent Testimony of Sex plays on different defini-
tions of the word testimony.
The adolescents pale because a baby blossoming
under a blouse has always testified of sex. The ado-
lescents are shy before such testimony, shy as the girl
whose parents tried to stop her nail-biting by telling
her the nails would go down into her stomach and
form a little ball. When she saw a pregnant woman
she smiled shyly and said, I know what youve been
doing. The adolescents likewise know and
acknowledge that knowledge glancingly. But like
the girl, they dont really know, their knowledge is
pale and shy.
But the capital letters in Silent Testimony of
Sex suggest another meaning of testimony besides
simply a witness to the existence of. Within a reli-
gious community a testimony affirms the goodness
of something, the things holiness. And testimonies
are usually spoken, but this one is as effective silent
as spoken. And there is another meaning of
testimony that might suddenly delight a reader who
pictures the speaker lumbering through the dimin-
ishing-daily doors, bearing this child, and think,
Ah, shes bearing her testimony.
The phrase diminishing-daily doors, is another
sort of pun. Because doors are passageways, they
function symbolically in our culture as keepers of
the unknown, as in the song When We Get
Behind Closed Doors, or the game show where
contestants must choose between doors number 1,
2, or 3. Opening a door diminishes the mystery. We
all know that door number 1 might open onto a
Cadillac, or a pen of pigs. Opening the door tells us
which. A door can also open into a deeper mystery,
as opening the door between two people can pro-
46 IRREANTUM
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duce a third, a person who will require more space
of doorways as that person grows.
Passing through the diminishing-daily doors,
the poems speaker comes into the world of other
married women, some new mothers who share her
delight at bringing forth life, some flat-bellied who
sneer or sigh, the mystery of knowing and pro-
ducing bodies having diminished into burden.
These are the women the adolescent girls will
become as they embrace the Testimony of Sex, as
they marry within the covenant taught them in the
church house, as they turn away from sex before
making the covenant of marriage. They will sneer,
sigh, or smile at their own knowledge of sex per-
haps all three as they come to know not only the
joys but ambivalence.
And the adolescent boys? We see their covenant
future in the speakers man towering, hovering in
amazement encircling his wife in a silly grin.
All these reactions show us a place and culture
that make clear the testimony the speaker bears is
not simply a silent witness to her sexuality, but a
Testimony to the divine nature of sex for the com-
munity that both sanctifies sex within a covenant of
marriage and sanctions sex outside that covenant.
(Note that our language recognizes both blessing
and prohibition in that word sanction, as if all things
contain their opposite.) In the fourth stanza the
speaker contemplates how bearing this Testimony
who drains some of my life / Into his life affects
her self, softening her thoughts, turning them away
from rule.
The flat-bellied ladies who sigh know how much
life insistent children can drain as they move apart
from their mother, how much burden children can
be. The poem suggests the speaker will know this
too. But a burden is also the song a prophet sings.
Or a poet, and the closing couplet completes the
burden in a burst of praise for the child who is a
part of her but separate enough to move apart the
word apart:
A part, blood-fed, flesh-clothed, dependent, yet
A seedgod burst past earth-power to beget.
Spring 2000
A reader coming across such Untitled exuber-
ant singing in Cracroft and Lamberts 22 Young
Mormon Writers might well wish to hear more,
might delight in meeting the poet, recognizing the
name Gileadi from an Old Testament class, and
recognizing it again years later on AML-List. Cathy
replied to an e-mail about her poetry by saying she
had written books about herbs and home schooling
more than she had written poetry lately, but had a
few poems coming out. They were more closely
connected to the earth, she said.
The Summer 1997 issue of Dialogue carried her
Father Sky/Mother Earth. The poem a celebra-
tion of afternoon irrigating is told in first person
present tense, the tense of prayer, as the speaker
addresses the parents in her title, celebrating her
ability to bring forth life like the water and soil and
sun:
I have something to say:
Today I join the flow
To the corn and the peppers
I am forty and I still bleed
That lovely word chthonic comes to mind, with
its connotations of primitive mystery closely tied to
the earth.
Cathys poem Straw in the next issue of
Dialogue (Fall 1997) shows the garden growing
toward harvest with the neighboring farmers on the
mountain having already harvested some grain. The
mountains round reminds the speaker of her sons
round head, the straw of his new-cut hair. As it
begins to rain, the family gathers on the doorstep,
sitting close.
Our toes outward, a circle of light
We have
No shadows in the setting sun
The poem is bucolic, and yet the family is not
complete. The speaker finds herself thinking, mid-
poem, of a robin crying for
47 IRREANTUM
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His strangled mate limp
On the railroad ties by the edge of the lawn
Her song caught in her mouth
Both the Dialogue poems were published under
the name Cathy A. Gileadi-Sweet as a way of
reclaiming her maiden name and sundering herself
from her married name, perhaps as a way of
uncatching the song from her mouth. On Tuesday,
July 13, 1999, Cathy Gileadi posted a note to
AML-List of her wedding to Russell Wilson, sign-
ing the post
Cathy (Gileadi) Wilson
(That looks SOOO good) :)
Responding to a query about whether recent
events had inspired new poetry, Cathy sent
IRREANTUM a group of poems including an untitled
poem about human and animal shapes in the
mountains (September 1999) and Afternoon at
Autumn Solstice (Winter 1999-2000). She also
included a rather bitter poem about how the belief
of some Latter-day Saints about the someday return
of polygamy makes every man an
Incipient Polygamist
He is questing for his mother
A damp cheekbone
The turn of a thin hip
A flexed ankle, squatting
Ten oclock tea on the breath
Thin spun threads on the crown of her head
Just that much cushion inside the shoulder
To rest his head upon
He walks about broadcasting
A silent question air
At the grocery in the library along the freeway
And those who apply
He takes to God
How many righteous women does it take
To equal one righteous man?
How many component
Spring 2000
Knees, familiar phrases
Glints of afternoon in the iris
To create
His mother?
This is a very different poem than Straw. There
is nothing in it as subtle as that poems suggestion
that the white-hatted hero did not get to the rail-
road tracks before the train. Incipient Polygamist
suggests how widely Cathy Wilsons poetry ranges,
as does the whimsical Our House Is a Spaceship
(above), which plays on the idea of Zion, a place
and culture she has commented on several times
recently on AML-List. But the bulk of Cathys poet-
ry, like the bulk of a growing child shrinking door-
ways, still seems tied closely to the earth and bring-
ing forth life. Consider the chthonic fecundity
(hmm, fecund ditty?) of
Their Names
We keep to the edges
But the skylight calls our names
Stand here and look into me:
The covenant wombs, they
Round to be filled
Their fundal toddle mounding
Give me sons and daughters
Not just sex, you begin to see
But progeny
They are mothers Even as girls they are mothers
The dark earth soft in their hands
Anyone, anyone
Longs for their arms
The mother speaks to their feet
She finds her way through their soles, she
Finds them even through asphalt
And library floors, she
Remembers them, she
Calls their names
Now, chthonic, Cathy replies. Can you
believe it????? A word I had to look up!!!! This is seri-
ous, a day for celebration. As much as I declaim
noncompetitiveness, I wilt and die when someone
48 IRREANTUM
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uses a word I dont know :). Russell will grin.
Oh, maybe chthonic wasnt the word she original-
ly used to describe her recent poetry. Such a lovely
word to say, though. Thats the joy of working with
words. And there are the puns, always the puns.
Replying to a request to reprint the untitled poem
from 22 Young Mormon Writers, she supplies the
title weve given here, Pregnant Sonnet. Looking
at the poem an editor notes a couplet following four
quatrains instead of three. Pregnant indeed.
The possibilities of bringing forth words echo the
closing lines of Father Sky/Mother Earth, where
the speaker momentarily hold[s] the sky with a
look then addresses her audience more directly
than before:
Just for once I want to tell you
What I have planted in
My garden
And my sons
And my daughters
Presumably you addresses the parents in the
poems title as well as the reader, inviting all to con-
sider what she has planted in her garden, in her
sons, in her daughters, what her sons and daughters
have planted in her garden and inviting her chil-
dren to hear what she has planted in them. It is a
good thing to be included in that you, to watch
what comes forth from the garden.
Harlow Soderborg Clark, father, mail sorter, free-
lance writer and scholar, and champion weed grower,
is IRREANTUMs poetry editor.
Spring 2000
R E V I E W S
Trust in Smith for
an Enjoyable LDS Novel
A review by Barbara Hume of Robert Farrell
Smiths All Is Swell: Trust in Thelmas Way and
Falling for Grace: Trust at the End of the World
(Deseret Book, 1999)
Its interesting to watch a writer take characters
through a story that requires three books to com-
plete, yet have each book able to stand alone. For
such a work to satisfy most readers, it cannot take
an episodic or picaresque approach in which the
characters do not change. We want to see characters
learn from their experiences. And thats what Smith
gives us in these novels. Not only the main charac-
ter but also many of the characters change, learn,
and grow in realistic ways.
The viewpoint character in these books is a young
man named Trust Williams. Smith employs a cur-
rent technique that Im still trying to adjust to: the
chapters that focus on Trust are told in the first per-
son, but when the writer wants to get into other
characters heads, he switches to third-person narra-
tion. When I recognized this change from the old
tried-and-true methods, I scowled a bit, but since I
was almost through the second book before I
noticed it, I can hardly claim it was intrusive! Diana
Gabaldon uses this approach in her wildly popular
Outlander series.
The first novel focuses on an important part of
many young Mormons lives: their Best Two Years.
It carries the main character from pulling his mis-
sion call out of the mailbox through his farewell, his
entire mission, his homecoming, and his inevitable
return to his mission field for what he had left
behind. Trusts mission experiences are funny, mov-
ing, unique, sometimes slapstick, and always enter-
taining. The story gave me a new admiration for the
young people who serve missions and have to
spend all that time dealing with human nature, the
most difficult part of any endeavor.
As you might expect, the most trying human
nature he has to deal with in the first book comes in
49 IRREANTUM
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the form of missionary companions. He also has
what we Mormons euphemistically refer to as
growing experiences in dealing with the people of
Thelmas Way, whose way of life and thought
processes are completely alien to him. And Trust
does grow considerably during the the novel.
He also meets the other most important charac-
ter in the series: Grace, an engaging young woman
who is completely different from the self-centered
blonde beauty he had been infatuated with before
his mission. The way these two characters from dif-
ferent worlds come to care for each other is one of
the narrative threads that hold together the struc-
ture of the first book. Another is the planning of the
sesquicentennial pageant for Thelmas Way. As the
plot moves toward the actual staging of the pageant,
Trust moves toward becoming a more mature and
generous human being.
The second novel in the series takes Trust and
Grace out of the Tennessee ambiance of the first
book into the world Trust grew up in. Grace goes to
California with him to see if she can adjust to his
world as he did to hers. In some ways, though, the
feeling is the same: the first book deals with weird
and unique people in the back hills of Tennessee,
and the second deals with weird and unique charac-
ters in the wilds of modern California. I felt that
Smith perhaps missed an opportunity to parody the
rich, pompous, self-righteous contingent of the
prosperous modern LDS community, but maybe I
think so because Im not one of them. (Well, Im
not rich, anyway.)
The first novel covers Trusts mission and the second
covers the progress of his wooing of Grace (and her
wooing of him). I hope Smith is up to the challenge of
writing an interesting story about characters that have
gotten to the happily ever after stage. There are many
dull books out there about sweet young couples. Im
looking forward to seeing what unique twist Smith will
give to Trusts bizarre life this time.
Heres a sample of the easy-going, humorous
style of these novels. Trust has decided to call his
parents to tell them he is bringing Grace to
California. His parents are less than thrilled,
because Grace is not exactly what they had planned
on for their upwardly mobile son:
Spring 2000
The next day I called my parents from the
boarding house and told them that I had partial-
ly seen the light and was coming home. They said
they were partially happy, but wanted to know
what the catch was. I told them the catch, in
every sense of the word, was Grace, and that she
was coming home with me. Surprisingly, my par-
ents were all right with this. I think they saw the
opportunity of picking her apart on their turf as
something of a blessing.
Mom, Im not bringing her home so you and
Dad can make her feel uncomfortable and
unwanted in person.
Well see, Mom replied sweetly. (10)
I find the books to be skillfully written. Smith
handles dialog well, his characters are consistent,
and his humorous asides make reading it a pleasure.
The themes are woven gently into the fabric of the
narrative instead of hitting you with the sledgeham-
mer touch of some Mormon fiction. Ive read quite
a few humorous Mormon novels written by
women; I was pleased to see one from a male per-
spective. Only the most prickly among us could be
offended by the amiable humor, and goodness
knows theres plenty about the Mormon culture to
poke fun at.
Barbara R. Hume, a professional writer for the past
25 years, has written genre fiction as well as nonfiction
technobabble. With a strong interest in Mormon litera-
ture, she has written numerous reviews of LDS novels.
Into the Future
A review by Gabi Kupitz of Pam Blackwells
Ephraims Seed (BF Publishing, 1996) and Jacobs
Cauldron (BF Publishing, 1998), books one and
two in the authors Millennial Series
In the futuristic Salt Lake City where Ben and
Peg Taylor reside, select members of the LDS
Church are hunted down by forces of the United
World Economic Network (UWEN). UWEN is a
50 IRREANTUM
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consortium of countries involved in international
trade agreements. UWEN has become so large and
controlling that it now seems to rule the world, and
the sovereignty of nations is becoming a thing of the
past. Because members of the LDS Church are well
organized, UWEN perceives them as a threat and
thus targets the Church and its members, both eco-
nomically and politically. The Church
Administration Building in Salt Lake City has been
bombed by UWEN with ensuing loss of life,
including that of an Apostle. The Brethren are in
hiding, and the city is no longer the haven it once
was.
Ben is a Jewish convert to The Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter-day Saints. A doctoral student at
the University of Utah, he is married to Peg. It is the
second marriage for both. Ben has two young chil-
dren from his first marriage who live with their
maternal grandparents in California. Bens name is
on UWENs hit list.
Counseled to flee the city (and Bens graduate
program), Ben and Peg make their escape south
along the I-15 corridor. The trip is not for wimpy
drivers. Ben and Peg accept temporary shelter with
friends, Alex and Moira Dubik, who have built a
major compound in the Pah Tempe area of south-
ern Utah. While awaiting the arrival of friends who
have spirited Bens children out of California, Ben
and Peg are introduced to Moiras mother, Grace,
who is blessed with prophetic abilities, and Sangay
Tulku, Alexs meditation teacher, a Tibetan rin-
poche, who enlists Bens scholarly expertise in lin-
guistics to translate some rare and sacred plates.
Meanwhile, another LDS family on the run
encounters marital discord, and the eventual disso-
lution of that family unit provides many sub-stories
and plots. As the civil situation in America deterio-
rates, the Church is the only organization capable of
offering leadership and basic commodities. The
overriding goal of almost all LDS members is to
thwart the anti-Christ and to build Zion.
Blackwell has a gifted sense of story, and the read-
er is immediately drawn into the Ben and Peg char-
acters as they leave Salt Lake City. However, from
that beginning the two novels gain so many charac-
ters, all with decisions to make and stories to tell,
Spring 2000
that the plot becomes very crowded. People of every
age and color are given a voice in the series. While
the testimony of some grows, others are in danger of
losing their hold on reality and testimony. Good
versus evil is strongly pronounced and graphically
depicted, as in the case of the mysterious Lu Han,
who suddenly becomes emperor of China, and his
Russian stooge, Dmitri Gornstein, whose allegiance
to Han is fixed when Han performs a swift eunuch-
making surgery on him.
Romance flourishes. Adultery rears its head.
Visitations by heavenly beings are commonplace.
Meantime, John the Beloved is key in building the
Zion to which all characters, good, moderate, and
evil, are drawn. In short, despite an overabundance
of characters, implausible situations (at least, to this
reviewer), and clumsy editing, there is something
for nearly everyone interested in a fictional, futuris-
tic preview of the latter days. Millennial Series
enthusiasts can look forward to forthcoming titles:
Michaels Fire and Enochs Compass.
Gabi Kupitz is a cataloger for juvenile literature and
special collections at the Harold B. Lee Library,
Brigham Young University.
Mormon Kubrick
A review by R.W. Rasband of Neil LaButes Bash:
Latter-day Plays (Overlook Press, 1999)
Neil LaButes trilogy of short plays, Bash, has just
been published in paperback; until now they have
been relatively inaccessible to the average reader
(one appeared in Sunstone). Its hard to judge a play
from just the text. The actors bring out humanity in
characters that might not be obvious at first in cold
print. We will have to wait for the cable channel
Showtime to televise its production of Bash later
this year to really gauge its impact. But these the-
atrical pieces on the page have their own effect.
This book lacks an informative introduction by
LaBute like those in the published screenplays of his
films. Thats a shame, because work as controversial
as his can create misunderstandings. For instance,
last weekend I finally saw Kevin Smiths Catholic
51 IRREANTUM
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movie farce Dogma. Its hilarious if you have a high
tolerance for colorful language. It does have a core
of genuine religious feeling. Nevertheless it brought
down the wrath of conservative Catholics who
questioned Smiths loyalty (he says he is a faithful
member of his church). A similar question can be
asked about Bash: how does LaBute handle distinc-
tively LDS themes?
Two of the titles of this trilogy refer to Greek
tragedy: Iphigenia in Orem and Medea Redux. The
first is a monologue by a young businessman from
that Utah city who is staying in a Las Vegas hotel
room. He tells his story to an unseen stranger; as he
reveals his tale, a creeping sense of horror unfolds.
This could be considered a companion piece to
LaButes great In the Company of Men, except the
evil involved is even greater. Indeed, each of the
plays climaxes with a murder; the book edition is
dedicated for emma, chet, and billie, the names of
the victims. The nameless young businessman
describes his conventionally Mormon background,
and it feels eerie to read about the U and the Y
and Relief Society and a mission in this context.
Iphigenia has the nasty sting of an O. Henry story
suddenly turned lethal. The penultimate line, the
cliche Be good to your kids, theres nothing like
em in the world, believe me has never sounded so
sinister.
The middle play, A Gaggle of Saints, involves John
and Sue, part of a group of young Mormons from
New England who visit New York City for a party.
While in Central Park after dark, away from their
women, John and two of his friends encounter a gay
male couple and beat one of them to death in a rest-
room. The savagery of John and the obliviousness of
Sue mark this as similar to Your Friends and
Neighbors: we get a glimpse of a fearful reality
behind the smiles.
The final play, Medea Redux, is another mono-
logue, this time by a rural young woman who is
seduced by her junior high school teacher. It has the
thinnest connection to Latter-day Sainthood (she
apparently is not LDS but lives for a time with
Mormon relatives in Utah). The affair has tragic
consequences that can be guessed from the plays
title.
Spring 2000
So how does Bash stack up as Mormon litera-
ture? My first reaction is to ask myself if I really
know these people. This is the first thing by LaBute
that Ive encountered that specifically identifies his
characters as Mormons, but ironically I see more
familiar LDS stuff in his earlier work. The ruthless-
ly competitive guys with short hair and white shirts
and ties of In the Company of Men reminded me of
unpleasantly political, unspiritual events on my
mission. LaBute knows male one-upmanship like
no writer since David Mamet. One of the married
couples of Your Friends and Neighbors could be a
dysfunctional relationship at BYU: they hurt each
other out of timidity and sheer inexperience. There
is a certain saving compassion in these films.
Conversely, the guy in Iphigenia in Orem turns out
to be a patriarchal monster in sheeps clothing. He
may in fact sit next to me in sacrament meeting, but
does this feel a little forced? The Greeks said char-
acter is destiny, and in Medea, victimization begets
violence. But this is the human condition that
Mormons share with everyone else. Is murderous
homophobia confined to Latter-day Saints? Are we
predisposed to self-righteousness and destructive-
ness because of Mormon culture?
LaBute has been called the next Stanley Kubrick
because of his mordant wit and piercing, all-seeing
eye. Maybe Im just uncomfortable when that eye is
turned on my friends and neighbors. These plays are
very well written. I greatly admire the art of Bash.
Im just not sure how much I like it.
R.W. Rasband <rrasband@hotmail.com> is an
alumnus of BYU, teaches Gospel Doctrine in Sunday
School, and lives in Heber City, Utah.
Recent Releases
Andersen, Carl. Book of Mormon Sleuth,
Bookcraft, $9.95. Twelve-year-old Brandon finds
entertainment at his Aunt Ellas farm as she crafts a
game for him based on clues from their daily Book
of Mormon study.
Briggs, Betty. Quality Concealed, Evans Book,
$9.95. Sixteen year-old Heather Chambers is faced
with the issues of popularity, peer pressure, and val-
ues in this novel.
52 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 53
Daybell, Chad G. Dougs Dilemma, Bonneville
Books, $11.95. This sequel to Errand for Emma
finds Doug making choices that challenge the
Dalton family.
Marcum, White Out, Bookcraft, $19.95. Sheriff
Raif Quinn struggles to solve an untimely murder
during a blizzard.
Nelson, Lee. The Blackhawk Journey, Council
Press, $16.52. Black Hawk, a Ute warrior, vows
never to cut his hair until the Mormons are driven
from his land. His people leave death and destruc-
tion in their path as they seek vengeance on the
white settlers. Half-breed Silas Hastings secretly
helps his Ute friends while serving as a recruit in the
Nauvoo Legion.
Peck, Lisa J. More Precious than Diamonds,
Bonneville Books, $10.95. In this novel, a sequel to
Dangerous Memories, Betsy Ashforth faces mystery
and romance.
Robinson, Timothy. Three Days without Light,
Bookcraft, $15.95. An Easter story from the per-
spective of a boy living in Zarahemla. Based on the
events from 3 Nephi leading up to and including
the Saviors appearance to the Nephites at the tem-
ple.
Smith, Marion, Riptide, Signature Books,
$14.95. A grandmother who is frustrated by police
and LDS Church inaction about child stalkers gets
a gun and decides to take matters into her own
hands.
Smith, Robert Farrell. Loves Labors Tossed: Trust
and the Final Fling, Deseret Book, $15.95. In book
three of the Trust trilogy, Trust and Grace return to
Thelmas Way and discover that the construction of
a dam threatens the existence of the town.
Tarr, Kenneth R. The Gathering Storm,
Bonneville Books, $11.99. Based on scriptural and
prophetic writings, this is the first in a series of nov-
els about the last days.
Yorgason, Blaine M. Gabriels Well, Shadow
Mountain, $17.95. Cluvarous Jones and his family
experience greed and sedition after a geologist dis-
covers oil deposits on the outskirts of their town.
Spring 2000
P U B L I S H I N G
N E W S
By Kent Larsen
President Hinckleys Book Standing for
Something Released
President Gordon B. Hinckleys book, Standing
for Something: Ten Neglected Virtues That Will Heal
Our Hearts and Homes, was released in Salt Lake
City on Friday, 12 February and nationally on 22
February. Hinckley held a news conference for jour-
nalists on the 12th to answer questions about the
book.
Standing for Something is the first attempt by a
current LDS Church President to write a book for
the general public. The book is not an attempt to
proselyte but to communicate core values and
virtues that Latter-day Saints have in common with
most of western civilization. Hinckley avoids LDS-
specific terminology common in most books by
General Authorities.
The book was the idea of Sheri L. Dew, vice pres-
ident of Deseret Book and second counselor in the
Relief Society general presidency. Dew pitched the
idea to the books publisher, Random Houses Times
Books. In keeping with general practice among the
General Authorities, Hinckley will not promote the
book, in spite of some reports to the contrary.
Standing for Something is also unlike books by
many other public figures in that he didnt use a
ghostwriter. Hinckley says he has never used a
ghostwriter for a book, speech, or anything else.
Initially the book seems to have sold well, show-
ing up in the upper hundreds in on-line bookseller
Amazon.coms rankings. Scattered reports also say
that the book reached much higher, even the top 25
according to one report.
Eugene England Named Writer in
Residence at Utah Valley State College
Latter-day Saint author and former Brigham
Young University professor Eugene England was
named Utah Valley State Colleges first Writer in
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Residence. The move recognizes Englands influ-
ence on Mormon culture and efforts to promote
both Mormon literature and the teachings of the
LDS Church.
England is one of the fathers of Mormon
Literature as an academic discipline. A founding
member of the Association for Mormon Letters, he
was the driving force behind the development of the
study of Mormon literature at BYU, the first insti-
tution to hold formal classes in Mormon literature.
Accompanying the announcement were articles
in the Salt Lake Tribune, Deseret News, and Provo
Daily Herald reviewing Englands career and influ-
ence. His career has been marked by a struggle with
the prevailing cultures skepticism toward his ideas.
Controversial Mormon America Getting
Mixed Reviews
Mormon America: The Power and the Promise, by
Associated Press religion writer Richard N. Ostling
and his wife Joan Ostling, has gained positive
reviews from non-LDS critics, who generally praise
the book as a fair assessment of the place of the LDS
Church in American society. These critics also say
that the book is unlikely to please either LDS
Church members, who will say that the book goes
too far in emphasizing negative aspects of the
Church, or Church critics, who will say that the
book doesnt go far enough.
Mormon America has been reviewed in most
major newspapers and has, if nothing else, called
attention to the LDS Church as a rapidly growing
force in the United States and world. In interviews,
Richard Ostling appears to admire the Church even
as he criticizes it.
The New York Timess Timothy Egan calls
Mormon America a long overdue primer on one of
the fastest growing religions in the world. Mormon
America seems poised to be a standard one-volume
reference on the Church for years to come.
Tim Slovers Joyful Noise Opens Off-
Broadway in New York City Author Deborah Laake Dies
LDS playwright Tim Slovers AML award-win-
ning play Joyful Noise opened off Broadway in New
York City on 10 February for a scheduled seven-
Spring 2000
week run. The play, which tells the story of Handels
writing of the Messiah and its first performance in
London, was brought to New York by the Lambs
Theater, the same company that produced the play
in San Diego.
Joyful Noise was recognized by the Association for
Mormon Letters for 1996 and has since won many
awards and honors.
Salon Columnist Slams Card
Salon columnist Donna Minkowitz interviewed
Orson Scott Card for her column and blasted Card
after he didnt live up to her expectations.
Minkowitz says she was a big fan of Card for his
award-winning Enders Game, which she saw as an
anti-violence statement compatible with her own
views on life.
Minkowitz, a self-described Jewish lesbian radi-
cal, found that Cards views were quite different
than she supposed and was disgusted to discover his
anti-gay rights views. That discovery colors much of
the interview, which Minkowitz calls the most
unpleasant . . . Ive ever done. In spite of the inter-
view, Minkowitz says she still thinks Enders Game is
a good book.
Of particular interest are Cards criticisms of
Mormon and American culture, one of the few
areas where Minkowitz found common ground
with him. Card told Minkowitz: Im ashamed of
our society for how it treats the poor. One of the
deep problems in Mormon society is that really for
the last 75 years Mormons have embraced capital-
ism to a shocking degree.
Card said he takes flack from Mormons for
expressing views like these. There are Mormons
who think Im the devil because theyre unable to
tell the difference between Mormon doctrine and
right-wing conservative views. . . . When I talk that
way, there are some people who are extremely trou-
bled because they think Im saying that theyre
wicked. And theyre correct I am.
Phoenix-area author and journalist Deborah
Laake died 6 February, an apparent suicide. Laake is
best known among Mormons for her 1993 book
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Secret Ceremonies, an expos of her life as an LDS
Church member in which she disclosed informa-
tion about the temple ceremony. She was excom-
municated soon after the book was published.
Laake had battled breast cancer since 1994 and was
being treated for depression. She was 47.
Laake had received recognition for the brutal
honesty of her writing. She was given a special
award from the Columbia School of Journalism in
1983 for her article Wormboys, and in 1998 she
was awarded the Arizona Press Clubs top prize, the
Virg Hill Print Journalist of the Year Award.
Dancing Naked Sells Through First
Printing
Dancing Naked is the first novel by Mormon
writer Robert Hodgson Van Wagoner and was
named the 1999 Utah Book of the Year award by
the new Utah Center for the Book. In Van
Wagoners novel, a nominally Mormon professor
confronts his past and his own homophobia after
the death of his 15-year-old son.
According to publisher Signature Books, sales for
Dancing Naked are reminiscent of those for Levi
Petersons The Backslider, considered by many the
best LDS novel ever written. Signature has almost
sold through its first printing of 1,000 copies of
Dancing Naked and has ordered another 1,000, in
spite of the fact that Deseret Book, the largest retail-
er of LDS books, does not carry the title.
Food Storage Title Tops 300,000 in Sales
LDS author James Talmage Stevenss Making the
Best of Basics was repackaged by Aspen Books and
reintroduced in the fall of 1998 to coincide with the
furor over the new millennium. Since then it has
sold more than 300,000 copies, with sales dropping
off toward the end of last year.
Aspen was able to adjust quickly to the drop in
sales, and relatively few of the copies sold have been
returned. Publishers frequently are left with too
much stock of even best-selling titles because of the
difficulty of predicting when the titles will stop sell-
ing. Aspen hasnt been so lucky with other Y2K-
related titles.
Spring 2000
Recent Mormon-Related Reviews
Andrews, Sarah. Bone Hunter
(St. Martins, 1999)
Holiday Reading, Dennis Lythgoe, Deseret
News, 3 December
Billman, John. When We Were Wolves
(Random House, 1999)
A Dangerous Friend, Los Angeles Times,
5 December
Brodie, Fawn McKay. No Man Knows My History
(Knopf, 1945)
Fawn McKay Brodie, Margaret Quamme,
Columbus Dispatch, 6 December
Crowe, Chris, ed. From the Outside Looking In:
Short Stories for LDS Teenagers (Bookcraft,
1998)
A Literary Cornucopia: Choosing Out of the
Best Books at Christmastime, Richard H.
Cracroft, BYU Magazine, Winter 1999
Day, Dianne. Death Train to Boston
(Doubleday, 1999)
At the Library, Greensboro News & Record,
19 January
Gates, John. Brighams Day (Walker & Co., 2000)
John Gates: Brighams Day, James A. Martin,
Publishers Weekly, 10 January
Hinckley, Gordon B. Standing for Something
(Times Books, 2000)
Standing for Something: Ten Neglected Virtues
That Will Heal Our Hearts and Homes,
Publishers Weekly, 31 January
Book by Pres. Hinckley homes in on values,
Carrie A. Moore, Deseret News, 12 February
Quotes Selected from Standing for
Something, Deseret News, 12 February
Hinckley on Values, Virtues, Peggy Fletcher
Stack, Salt Lake Tribune, 12 February
Jensen, Julie. Two-Headed (drama)
Growing Up in Rural Utah, Ivan M. Lincoln,
Deseret News, 30 January
PCHS Librarian Takes to the Stage, Jane
Southey, Park City Record, 2 February
Two-Headed Tackles 1800s Issues, Ivan M.
Lincoln, Deseret News, 8 February
55 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 56
Jolley, JoAnn. Secrets of the Heart
(Covenant Communications, 1998)
A Literary Cornucopia: Choosing Out of the
Best Books at Christmastime, Richard H.
Cracroft, BYU Magazine, Winter 1999
Kimball, James. J. Golden Kimball Stories
(Whitehorse Press, 1999)
Wit and Wisdom of J. Golden Live On,
Dennis Lythgoe, Deseret News, 12 December
Kuchner, Tony. Angels in America
(Theatre Communications Group, 1993)
The Best Plays of the 1990s, Michael
Kuchwara, Associated Press, 20 December
LaBute, Neil. Bash (drama)
Waiting for the Words to Come, London
Telegraph, 29 January
Faith Worse than Death, Michael Billington,
Manchester Guardian, 3 February
Gifted but Vile, Charles Spencer, London
Telegraph, 4 February
Power Play, Sheridan Morley, The Spectator,
12 February
Larson, Stan, ed. What Ere Thou Art Act Well
Thy Part: The Missionary Diaries of David O.
McKay (Freethinker Press, 2000)
Missionarys Diaries Are a Legacy, Dennis
Lythgoe, Deseret News, 30 January
McCloud, Susan Evans. Farewell to Babylon
(Scribe Publishing, 1999)
A Literary Cornucopia: Choosing Out of the
Best Books at Christmastime, Richard H.
Cracroft, BYU Magazine, Winter 1999
Millet, Robert L. Illustrated by James C.
Christensen. Parables
(Shadow Mountain, 1999)
Voracious Readers Will Want to Digest
Delightful Contents, Steve Rabey, Akron
Beacon Journal, 11 December
Ostling, Richard and Joan. Mormon America:
The Power and the Promise
(HarperSanFrancisco, 1999)
Look inside Mormon Church, Laurie Scott,
Atlanta Journal & Constitution, 4 December
A Utah-Based Church Spreads its Arms, Linda
L. Giedl, Christian Science Monitor,
23 December
Spring 2000
Theocracy in the Desert, Timothy Egan, New
York Times Book Review, 9 January
Book Explores Mormon Church as Enigmatic
Force, John Boudreau, Contra Costa Times,
23 January
Mere Mormonism, Carol Stream, Christianity
Today, 7 February
New and Notable, Tom Williams, Houston
Chronicle, 12 February
Perry, Anne. Tathea (Shadow Mountain, 1999)
A Literary Cornucopia: Choosing Out of the
Best Books at Christmastime, Richard H.
Cracroft, BYU Magazine, Winter 1999
Silko, Leslie Marmon. Gardens in the Dunes
(Simon & Schuster, 2000)
Folk Tale of Survival, Tayari Jones, The
Progressive, February 2000
Swinton, Heidi S. American Prophet: The Story of
Joseph Smith (Shadow Mountain, 1999)
December Marks Season of Gift-Giving for
Three Major Faiths, Judy Tarjanyi, Toledo
Blade, 4 December
Turow, Scott. Personal Injuries
(Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1999)
Holiday Reading, Dennis Lythgoe, Deseret
News, 3 December
Ure, James W. Leaving the Fold: Conversations
with Inactive Mormons (Signature Books, 1999)
Leaving the Fold: Conversations with Inactive
Mormons, Publishers Weekly, 13 December
Van Wagoner, Robert Hodgson. Dancing Naked
(Signature Books, 1999)
A Great Mormon Novel, Judy Quinn,
Publishers Weekly, 24 January
56 IRREANTUM
spring 2000.qxd 2/11/03 2:29 PM Page 57
A M L - L I S T stand and treasure it as a pearl of great price. Others
H I G H L I G H T S
Compiled by Jonathan Langford
Did a new millennium burst upon us this past
January 1? Pedants and popularizers may ponder
and prattle, but AML-List strode forward boldly
into the new year, bridging old and new in our lit-
erary conversations during the months of
November 1999, December 1999, and January
2000. Join us in ushering in a new era for Mormon
literature at AML-List by sending an e-mail message
to AML-Request@cc.weber.edu that reads:
Subscribe AML-List Your Name in Quotes
<your@address.in.brackets>
Depicting Spiritual Experiences
Lisa Spice (Oct. 29, responding to the proliferation
of items like the Birdies story on the Internet): If it
ever was true story, it seems it is too private to share.
. . . I guess it might be a faith-promoting rumor.
Larry Jackson (Nov. 1): This, I think, is a key to
these kinds of stories. I believe many of them are too
private to share in public circumstances. And often,
even Sacrament Meeting is too public.
The Birdies story is based on a true incident,
which I am certain was very uplifting for those
involved. Other lists (and I think this one, as well)
have discussed the appropriateness of the storys
telling outside the immediate circle of family and
close friends.
Since the story was first told, it has undergone
many changes. It would appear that each person has
rewritten it (just a little or just to clarify, of course)
to suit that persons particular purpose. For exam-
ple, when the story first started appearing on sites
outside of LDS circles, all references to the Church
and its teachings disappeared. Other changes have
occurred simply in the process of retelling, where
memory is often faulty, and where the mind screens
and sometimes adjusts the story through the experi-
ences of the teller.
This is one of the dangers of telling a sensitive
spiritual story in the first place. Some will under-
Spring 2000
will not recognize its value, and will allow it to
become common and lose its savor.
Jacob Proffitt (Nov. 1): Do we violate the trust of
the Spirit by relating spiritual experiences? Is this
why we hear so little of the spiritual experiences of
the Saints? Were assured that miracles follow the
faithful, yet we hear so little of the miracles that we
assume must be happening in the Church. And cor-
respondingly, is it why some of us are so eager to
hear the experiences of others because we want
confirmation of our own experiences (ones we dont
dare communicate)?
Thom Duncan (Oct. 29): What qualifies as an
LDS faith-promoting rumor?
Ardis Parshall (Nov. 2): I see a sliding scale, with
the legitimate account of a spiritual experience at
one end and the passing on of a faith-promoting
rumor at the other. All stations along that scale
share common traits, but ultimately you are con-
vinced that something is legitimate, or you recog-
nize you are being manipulated by schmaltz. We all
have different standards of judgment, which
accounts for your being moved and my being left
cold by the same story, or vice versa.
Id like to hear other peoples standards, and will
share a couple of mine. (Literary connection:
Understanding what moves different types of peo-
ple can lead to the construction of more convincing
characters and situations.)
Is the narrator trying to prove something to himself
and to me?
Ultimately, spiritual matters cannot be proven
with the same methods youd use to prove physical
questions. Yet some stories aggressively try to prove
a spiritual point, rather than bearing testimony of
something the narrator already believes. This can be
very subtle, but its the strongest indicator to me of
whether something is legitimately spiritual or mere-
ly a faith-promoting rumor.
When the narrator believes that God watches
over His children and illustrates that belief with the
story of the seagulls and crickets, I believe it too.
There were crickets, there were seagulls, the seagulls
did behave as the typical story tells it, even though
that behavior was not unique to 1848 or 1849, and
57 IRREANTUM
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even though diarists did not call it a miracle at the
time. It is entirely consistent with my experience for
people who believe that God is an active participant
in their lives not to recognize that at the time, but
later: As I look back over my life, I see many times
when God protected us. One of those times was just
after we arrived in the Valley, when . . .
On the other hand, the story is sometimes told by
people who are not sincerely convinced that God
takes a personal interest in human affairs but think
they should be, or who think that I am not con-
vinced and its their duty to convert me. This ver-
sion of the story is told very aggressively, as though
we will both be convinced of a spiritual truth if the
narrator can only present overwhelming proof. This
kind of narrator tries to prove the Book of Mormon
is true by marshalling archaeological and linguistic
evidence, or prove that God exists by turning the
seagulls and crickets into a unique, miraculous
event.
Its an easy distinction to make with a real-world
example, but a difficult one to put into words.
Basically, I ask myself whether the narrator is using
the episode to illustrate an already-cherished belief,
or as a tool to persuade us that we ought to believe.
Does the narrator seem to improve on the truth?
If someone really believes the spiritual principle,
there is no need to go beyond testifying of the liter-
al event. Faith-promoting rumors, though, tend to
make things bigger than life, piling detail upon
detail in an attempt to make the story more con-
vincing. Isnt this a guideline you use in all areas of
life? Dont you mistrust the slick salesman whose
guarantees are just too good, or the witness who
remembers too many trivial details?
Is the narrator publicizing something that should
remain private?
Were all entitled to receive revelation for our-
selves and our stewardships, but each one of us is
subject to a limited number of stewards who are
entitled to receive direction for us. When someone
who is not my steward presents a private spiritual
experience as something that I should accept and
act upon, I immediately sense manipulation and
react with some degree of hostility.
That is what bothered me about the Birdies story,
Spring 2000
even in what was apparently its original form: The
story did not accord with my understanding of the
afterlife and my responsibility to the dead, yet the
narrators and those who circulated the story took it
upon themselves to preach their novel doctrine to
me. The story was not presented as a testimony of
their own personal belief, but as a call to action that
should involve me.
Julianne Hatton (Nov. 3): Is there a proper forum
for these types of experiences?
Jacob Proffitt (Nov. 3): Now that is an interesting
question. You know, I really dont think there is. At
least not in the sense of a forum as a discussion or
dialogue. Spiritual experiences are extremely per-
sonal and their application must needs be similarly
personal. . . . Perhaps this is why seeking after signs
is so often compared to adulterythe sharing of
something personal with those not intended to
share the experience.
On the other hand, there are times and places
where it is appropriate to share those experiences.
This may be an instance where fictional accounts
are more important than the actual experience.
They are more easily generalized and made applica-
ble in a broader sense when they are abstracted
somewhat.
Personally, I think that writing is better suited to
sharing spiritual experiences than visual media.
Writing can more easily contextualize a broader
range of input. I think writing is a more intimate
communication, but that may just be my personal
prejudice.
Benson Parkinson (4 Nov.): I figure its appropriate
to write things in family history. The subtext is, this
is not something Im putting out for the sake of
prestige or influence outside my stewardship, or Id
publish it outside the family. But it is something
thats important for me to tell you, my posterity,
because youre like me. If Im someone who can get
an answer to a prayer, so are you. . . .
If you depict a spiritual experience in fiction,
youre not saying The Lord told me this, so respect
me, or believe me. Youre saying, This is what
its like. See if you agree. See if this rings true. Ive
been very conscious of this in my missionary novels,
and its a big part of what Ive tried to accomplish
58 IRREANTUM
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with them. I believe this should be at the heart of
Mormon fiction. It should ring spiritually true.
Margaret Young (4 Nov.): Ive also been very
uncomfortable with the Birdies story and others like
itthe bold distribution of (purportedly) personal,
sacred experiences, and especially the invention of
such things, which is nothing less than mockery
Of course, there is a place to tell our sacred, person-
al storiesbut I dont think were to put them on
the Internet and make multiple copies for Seminary
teachers to use. I taught Institute last night. My stu-
dents shared three extraordinary experiencesthe
sorts of things which could well be used in Especially
for Mormons. But these were real experiences my
students had had. One student began her sharing by
stating that this was a sacred experience which she
was hesitant to share. I was grateful she did share it,
but would never betray my reverence for her or for
her experience by making it available on the
Internet. (Can you imagine anything which would
better help a wicked and adulterous generation in
its sign-seeking than a Web site for miracles?
www.LDSmiracles?) For one thing, Im pretty sure
my students story would eventually get improved
in its telling. For another, I had her tell it within a
very particular context, to help teach a particular
lesson. Its purpose was to shed light on a doctrine,
not to stand alone and get repeated. That sort of
thing would be self-canonization, dont you think?
Figure of Speech Reruns
Edgar Snow (Nov. 2): Ive been reading a lot of
Twain lately and saw something Ive noticed in
other authors and in myself: namely, the sneaky
repeated use of pet figures of speech. A striking
metaphor is like a really juicy orange: you just cant
stop squeezing it. Does anyone else on AML-List do
this? I cant seem to help it, but I limit my reruns to
a maximum of three uses, and each one must differ
at least one iota from the other.
Lisa Peck (Nov. 3): Guilty. I have to admit every
time I write a childrens story I somehow put in
making chocolate chip cookies. It took the eye of
my critique group to point out that I had done this.
I dont think I would have ever noticed. (So now the
kids eat and make different kinds of cookies each
Spring 2000
storykidding.) Somehow in my subconscious
mind I associate being a kid with having cookies
around. (I have to admit my mother made choco-
late chip cookies every day of my existence since I
can remember. She never missed. I know that
sounds wonderful, but being allergic to sugar I
didnt eat any of them.)
Eric D. Snider (Nov. 3): Ive had a huge problem
with this in writing reviews. There are only so many
synonyms for good, and I know there are certain
ones I keep using. Engaging comes up a lot, if the
show is particularly interesting, as does bland if
someone or something is dull and nondescript.
This is the one instance where writing a bad
review actually is easier than writing a good one.
There seem to be a lot more descriptive words for a
movie or play that stinks than there are for one
thats good. Or maybe I just need a better thesaurus.
Ensign November 1999 Artwork
Edgar Snow (Nov. 10): Has anyone looked at the
painting, He Anointed the Eyes of the Blind Man, by
Walter Rane, at the end of the recent Conference
Report issue of the Ensign? Im generally reluctant to
use exclamation points, but what a provocative
piece! And in the Ensign! Im nearly astounded.
Now I dont claim to understand whats going on
entirely, especially the strokes at Jesus elbow, the
light coming from the floor, and the way Jesus
hands are almost unattached, but Id like to hear
someones interpretation.
Nan McCulloch (Nov. 11): I agree that the
November 1999 Ensign work of art He Anointed the
Eyes of the Blind Man is a very moving piece. To me,
the light coming from the ground is symbolic of his
sight being restored from the clay of the earth mixed
with Christs spittle, [whereby] Christ transformed
something as common as clay into a healing balm.
Bill Willson (Nov. 11): Forgive my untrained artis-
tic eyes, but . . . I failed to see what Ed saw that was
so provocative. Also, why was he astounded about
this particular piece appearing in the Ensign? I
examined my copy of this work in Novembers
Ensign and still do not feel provoked or astounded.
Edgar Snow (Nov. 12): Let me explain what I
meant by provocative and my surprise that the
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Ensign would carry that painting.
Heres an easy example of what I mean. Look at
the cover artwork of that same November 1999
issue. It is done with skill and is pleasant to view,
but after looking at it once, I come away with no
lingering impressions, thoughts or questions. In
fact, I dont really want to look at it again. Im not
drawn to it. Its like a popular novel, not like Huck
Finn (which Ive read six times in my life and hope
to read six more times). The cover is a mere illustra-
tion, and once it has served its purpose, Im done
with it. . . . Its main strength is that it shows a pic-
ture of the resurrected Savior that does not allow for
any controversy. It is a safe, doctrinally sound cover.
Now, I do like the color scheme a lot and it would
match a room in my house.
Look at Ranes art on the last page. First of all, I
dont like the color scheme. To put it in my house
would not be as a part of decoration, but as art to
provoke thought and spiritual insight. . . .
Illustrations of Christ typically have him as the
focal point and he is depicted gloriously (and right-
ly so) in all his perfection. But Ranes Christ is not
the focal pointin fact, if this reproduction is faith-
ful to the original, we dont even see all of Jesus face,
which is in the shadows, a face that typically has a
halo or other radiance about it. The focal point is
Jesus almost plunging his fingers into this mans
eyes, and the hands seem to float in the air. And the
light thats ordinarily about Jesus is coming up from
the ground. Immediately I realize something deeper
is going on here, and Im intrigued. I am drawn . . .
over and over again to it. And I am pleased that the
Ensign took a chance to reproduce a challenging
piece rather than mere illustration. For me it com-
plements the challenging messages inside this
Conference Report.
Bill Willson (Nov. 12): Thank you for your
insight. Now I see the deeper meanings or possible
interpretations of the art, and how it provoked and
astounded you. I can understand the way you feel
about it. I guess it was the very reasons you were
attracted that made me feel not so attracted to it. To
each his own. I do get a deeper message after read-
ing your interpretation. I guess all pictures of Christ
do not need to focus on Him. This picture shows
Spring 2000
we are all precious in His sight, but the darkness
and obscurity of His features put me off. If the artist
had not given this work a name, I would have never
guessed what it was about, and Im still not con-
vinced he has captured the theme he was trying for.
Rachel Ann Nunes (Nov. 12): For me its com-
pelling because of the way the blind man leans so
hopefully toward Jesus, fingers interlaced tightly
and mouth slightly ajar, an outer expression of how
he aches, yearns, desires to be healed and believes
that he can be, and yet hope after a lifetime of
blindness is almost a physical pain. What if instead
of pronouncing a healing, Jesus simply blesses him
with courage to endure? And then the blind man
begins to hear the desired words and. . . . Thats
where the painting stops the story for me.
William Burrell (Nov. 15): The artist was able to
capture what must have been a very powerful expe-
rience in a way that I could relate to it. The disem-
bodied hands of Christ, the way they appear out of
the light and dark areas between the blind man and
the Savior, the real sense of pressure on the eye sock-
ets, almost a sense of painful pressure that must
have been involved. Normally we see sanitized ver-
sions of what must have been very earthy experi-
ences. After all He spit in the dirt, made a paste
from the clay and applied it to the eyes, right? I can-
not imagine that what went on in the curing of the
infirm was a delicate process, and this artist did not
portray it that way.
The formal aspects of the painting interest me
too. [Rane] has used composition effectively, put-
ting the Christ figure almost out of the picture to
center on the action of Christ and the reaction of
the blind man. [I admire] the resultant interaction
between God and man [and] the use of light and
dark to add to the mystery of the occasion. I am
most intrigued by the apparent distressing of the
surface with linear incised markssurface treat-
ments that are outside the realm of most Church
art, treatments that indicate a strong emotional
involvement on the part of the artist.
Maybe these elements just combined in an acci-
dental way to produce a uniquely expressive piece.
Maybe they were planned that way. But it works for
me.
60 IRREANTUM
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Marvin Payne (Nov. 15): In the cover illustration
on the November Ensign, I dont for a moment
imagine that the figures in the picture have spirits in
them. In the Rane picture, they do. And it is the
two spirits, speaking so urgently to each other (and
not to me, or at me), that bring me back to the pic-
ture.
Shelly Choong (Nov. 15): I think two things really
caught my eye. First off, I think this piece is
provocative for what Rane chose to leave out more
than anything else. What is missing is a good part of
the Lords arms. What we see clearly is the arms of
the blind man. To me this symbolizes what were
often told: To rely on the arm of the Lord and turn
away from the arm of flesh. Here the blind man
cannot see Jesus arms and yet hes relying on the
Savior to heal him.
The second thing I noticed was the expression on
the Saviors face. I like the fact that he is not the cen-
tral figure of this paintingthe blind man, the
receiver of the gift, is the central figure. But when I
look closer at the Saviors face in this painting, I see
a man who is on a mission. In a lot of paintings we
see Him as serene and thoughtful. But I feel an
intensity from Ranes depiction of the Savior. Again,
I think this is coming more from what was left out.
The Saviors eyes are shadowed. His mouth is set.
He is helping those who are blind, to see. He is
reaching out to those who cannot see his arm, but
believe in Him. That is His primary mission
therefore the center of His life is his siblingsus. So
I see the blind man as a representation of all of us,
and the Savior doing all He can to heal those of us
who have faith in His arm.
Benson Parkinson (Nov. 15): When I first glanced
at the piece, I wasnt looking for symbolism and
attached no significance to the fact that Christs arm
is in shadow. I did like the physical and emotional
tension expressed in the blind mans arms and face.
But as I look again, I see it a very different way. The
column could be seen as a veil with a shadowed
Christ behind it. . . .
A lot of Mormon art, going back to the Art and
Belief movement at BYU in the 1970s, makes use of
architectural lines, written notes, uncompleted
images, and ambiguous space to suggest the rela-
Spring 2000
tionship between this world and the spirit world.
This seems very much in that spirit to me. We see a
blind man struggling, then these luminous hands,
then this vagueness that we dont entirely under-
stand, then, darkly, the face of Christ. That strikes
me as very much like prayer when we seek a bless-
ingwere the beggar, with Christ reaching to us
through the veil.
A fine piece.
Larry Jackson (Nov. 16): The painting is different.
I like things that are different. I find it to be in some
minor ways disturbing. Overall, I like it.
I like the excitement of the blind man, who seems
to exhibit faith as if something is really going to
happen. The scripture account says it did, but also
leaves the impression the man did not really know
who this Jesus was. . . .
I like the way [Jesus] is at the side. I like the focus
of the painting on the miracle itselfthe hands, the
eyes, the act of healingrather than on the healer.
Some of our younger children didnt recognize
the painting at first as one of healing, and thought
there was blood on the hands, rather than clay.
Perhaps the clay is so red for a symbolic reason. The
seemingly detached hands are disconcerting, but do
give emphasis to the manner in which the Lord per-
formed this restoration of sight.
An earlier post commented on the black stripes
on the Saviors sleeve, which I didnt notice at first.
Perhaps they symbolize another prophets words,
But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was
bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our
peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are
healed (Isaiah 53:5).
The low angle of perspective tells me that
although this is a miraculous healing, it is intended
to be a simple, even earthy procedure for those
involved.
The light to me seems to come from behind and
to the right, not up from the bottom of the paint-
ing. This tells me it is near sunrise, early in the day,
when some are just beginning to see.
Price of LDS Books
Sharlee Glenn (Jan. 10, responding to an online
review of her novel Circle Dance): It embarrasses me
61 IRREANTUM
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when people ask how much my book costs. Usually
I tell them to just check it out at the library. . . .
Does anyone know why our LDS publishing
houses tend to price their books so high? Do they
really have to charge that much to recover costs?
Wouldnt they sell more books if those books were
more reasonably priced?
Richard R. Hopkins (Jan. 10): Actually, LDS
books, on the average, are significantly cheaper than
similarly produced books in the trade market. I
dont know why members always think they should
be cheaper, but such expectations force LDS pub-
lishers to keep their prices down, which forces
them/us to be really tough on the printing compa-
nies. As a result, some of the cheapest printing
prices in the country are available here in Salt Lake
City! A factor in all this is the simple limitations of
the LDS market. No matter how good a book is,
there are constraints on the number that will be
sold. Therefore, the LDS publisher has to charge a
higher mark-up in order to make a reasonable prof-
it and stay in business.
Lynn Gardner (Jan. 11): Everyone I know just
takes turns buying, then passes the books around to
everyone they know. Not good for businesscer-
tainly not good for royaltiesbut when they simply
dont have the money . . .
D. Michael Martindale (Jan. 11): The real solu-
tion to all this is mass market paperbacksat least
from the buyers perspective. From the publishers
perspective, I dont know if mass market paperbacks
are not economical given the limited market, or if
trade paperbacks are preferred just so a higher price
can be charged, since the LDS market will buy
them.
Steve Perry (Jan. 11): I try to be as thrifty as any-
one, but I see absolutely no reason to apologize for
the price of books (and tapes and CDs!).
Things cost money. They cost money to make,
they cost money to publicize, they cost money for
the distributors and to maintain a store, they cost
money to stock, and it costs money to pay the
author the pittance they get for their months or
more of effort. Im glad to pay it when I can. When
I cant (which is as often as not), I go to the library
and check it out, but I never complain about the
Spring 2000 62
price when I buy a book. . . .
For a movie which lasts about two hours Id have
to pay $5.00; for a book which I can stretch out
over several days and reread again through the years
at will with no extra charge, whats $10.00?
Jacob Proffitt (Jan. 11): What it is is almost twice
your competition. On its own, $10 isnt too much
to pay for a book. For some books, Ive been willing
to pay $50 and more. But if Im experimenting and
looking for something to read, I have a choice. I can
look at mainstream mass-market paperbacks in the
local bookstore for around $6 or I can hit an LDS
bookstore where the lowest book is going to be $10.
If my budget is $20, I can choose three books or
two. Typically, Im going to choose three.
Ardis Parshall (Jan. 12): My observation is that
among my friends, ward members, and extended
family, the greatest number of nonfiction LDS
books are given as gifts and are seldom read from
cover-to-cover, or are bought as reference materials
and are rarely used except in preparation for a lesson
or talk. Regardless of how seldom they are used,
books are still venerated, put on the shelf, admired
as one of the signs of a stable Mormon home, and
kept forever. In other words, books arent merely
books, they are Books (pronounce that word with
awe). Would people buy them if they didnt look
like the objets dart that we use them for?
Melissa Proffitt (Jan. 12): I would rather pay $12
for a trade paperback than $7 for a mass-market
one. Somehow I feel Im getting a better dealpos-
sibly because Ive bought so many poorly bound
mass market paperbacks, possibly because when I
started buying books, I bought only mass market
stuff and I know exactly how much those prices
have gone up in the past 15 years. (Not that this
means anything; production costs have probably
gone up too; but when Im paying twice as much for
a book that falls apart in my hands, I get irritated.)
And I like the way the books look.
Margaret Young (Jan. 15): I know that I am very
hesitant to fork out $27.00 for a hardback book
unless I know I will be devouring it as I devoured
[Toni Morrisons] Beloved. And we all know that
there are plenty of folks who have no intention of
reading any of the pretty books they have on their
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shelves, but theyre all hardcovers. (Or at least they
look that way, and they seem to be books.)
Vickie Speek (Jan. 18): Hardbound books are too
heavy to hold while you are in the bathtub. I prefer
softbound books that I can bend and shove into my
purse. Ill take a paperback, any day!
Beth Hatch (Jan. 18): Yes, I know the words are
the same. But I think theres more to it, at least for
me. (And I may definitely be in the minority.) For
example, I buy art prints that I like and then I put
them in garage sale frames that sometimes dont
even fit them well. My lion and lamb print has a
one-inch white border showing above the sky. The
frame is too big for it. But thats okay. I still get to
look at the lion and the lamb, and Im happy.
However, Im sure there are art collectors out there
who would be appalled. And my teenage son com-
plains about the sound from our ancient stereo and
speakers. But I can hear the song lyrics, and they
sound just fine to me. But, as a bibliophile (and
actually, the dictionary definition for bibliomaniac
may fit better), it really does matter that the words
are printed in an attractive font on thick white pages
between shiny, beautiful covers. Sometimes I even
notice the smell. I suppose its the glue, but some
books smell better than others.
LDS Bookstores
Beth Hatch (Jan. 17): Ive been thinking about
why more LDS people dont buy books. And I think
Barnes and Noble has the answer. I adore Barnes
and Noble. I go there when Im excited, when I
want to get away, when Im depressed, when Im
worried, when I have money to spend, when I dont
have money to spend but will spend it anyway (I go
away feeling guilty a lot). I go there to search out
books Ive read reviews about, but most often I buy
books that I stumble onto. My usual routine is to
wander around gathering an embarrassingly big
armload of books (which I put away when Im
done!) and then I go find a table and chair and I
spread the books out and begin leafing through
them, one by one. (Bliss!) I eventually end up with
a pile I dont want, a pile I want but cant afford at
the moment, and a pile that I cant live without. Its
amazing how many books I stumble onto that I
Spring 2000
cant live without.
And that brings me to Deseret Book. I realize
they cant put armchairs and tables in their stores,
but I wish they could do something. I have to trav-
el 25 minutes to the nearest store and when I get
there I want to check out the books Ive seen in the
Deseret Book Club mailer and read reviews about
in the BYU magazine. I want to stand in front of
the fiction section in delicious anticipation. But it
almost never fails. I will barely have picked up the
first book and begun to leaf through it when a sales
clerk will come up to me and ask if Im finding what
I need. Can she help me with anything? I have very
definitely received the impression that browsing
anywhere near Barnes-and-Noble-style is not okay.
I still stay an embarrassingly long time and browse
through as many books as I dare, but its usually
uncomfortable, and I almost always leave feeling
that I didnt get to see all that I wanted to see.
So, my question is, what can Deseret Book, and
other LDS bookstores, do to increase the exposure
people have to their books? I know there are books
there that I would buy if I could figure out what was
inside them. I think there are other people who
probably feel the same way. Could Deseret Book
put sample chapters on their Website? The little
blurbs in the book club mailer are just not enough.
Jeff Needle (Jan. 17): I think youre dead on right
about the Deseret Book outlets. But I think it goes
a little further than that. It has to do with focus. Ive
yet to walk into a Deseret Book store that had any
sense of mission beyond the LDS community.
When anyone stumbles in to the store, not knowing
its LDS, they are made to feel as if theyve stumbled
into some secret enclave, and are directed to Crown
Books or Barnes and Noble.
Members are treated little better. Im in a peculiar
situation. Im a familiar face at the store, but they
know Im not a member. The managers know my
name, theyre friends of mine. But the welcome is
sometimes a bit chilly. You dont quite know
whether theyre glad to see you.
Your implication that the stores are not friendly
places is correct. And the increasing amount of shelf
space dedicated to trinkets, rings and statues makes
me think Im in a Catholic bookstore!
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