Last weekend my dad and littlest brother were in town from Florida for my graduation. After the festivities and celebration were over, the three of us decided to drive up to Smithfield, Utah and visit my grandparents for a day. My grandparents have lived in the same house since 1971 and my dad hadn’t been there in over 20 years, so naturally, he was excited. But maybe moreso to show my brother and I the rich, memory-laden history of his past. That’s what I want to delve into here: the power of nostalgia memory evokes and why such emotion is important both in our lives and to Mormon literature.

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This week on the AML email list Kent Larsen was musing on the connection between Mormon home literature and romantic literature. These were my thoughts.

The home literature period for Mormon literature (1880-1930) was all about creating literature by and for Latter-day Saints so that (as with other home industries of the late 19th century) Mormons would not have to depend upon the world’s products–especially given the taint of so much of the low-grade fiction of that day. Orson Whitney’s 1888 speech to the Young Men organization, titled “Home Literature,” is the eloquent call to arms for this movement and contains the prophecy of Mormons having Miltons and Shakespeares of our own. He took himself literally, imitating Milton’s Paradise Lost in a minor epic poem about the plan of salvation, “Elias: An Epic of the Ages” (an excerpt is online here). However, epic literature didn’t really take off as a genre. The more successful home literature circulated in the church periodicals (such as the Contributor, named precisely to encourage young men and women to develop their literary talents by submitting manuscripts), and through a popular series published from 1875-1915 by the Juvenile Instructor Office, the “Faith Promoting Series.” As the titles in that series demonstrate, there was an effort for home literature to replace the romance fiction of contemporary America with missionary narratives, biographical excerpts, and other  nonfiction.

However, and somewhat ironically, some of the greatest proponents of the home literature movement wrote fiction that imitated contemporary romances. For example, Susa Young Gates’ 1909 novel, John Stevens’ Courtship: A Story of the Echo Canyon War, or Josephine Spencer’s highly romantic 1891 short story from the Contributor, “The Descendant of an Ancestor.” These contain sentimental love stories, and like other fiction of the day depended upon a certain melodrama and exoticism to draw interest. It is ironic that Spencer would use eastern polygamy and the mystique of an oriental harem in her Contributor story, but not if we see early home literature as continuous with, rather than distinct from, “gentile” romances of the day.

That continuity is still there today when one examines LDS romance fiction. Though I would love to be proven wrong, it appears to me (as one admittedly not well read in the genre), that Mormon romance fiction succeeds not to the degree that it departs from contemporary mainstream romance (by avoiding explicit sexual content), but to the extent that it is continuous with the style, themes, and intended effects of mainstream romance fiction. We aren’t alone as a people in wanting to have an untainted or less tainted version of a popular genre of fiction. The Evangelical Christian book market has entire publishers or imprints devoted to romance fiction (such as Bethany House).

There is another branch of home literature that descends to us today in the form of nonfiction and biography. Consider some of Neal Maxwell’s slim and eloquent theological volumes (such as All These Things Shall Give Thee Experience, 1979), or the many biographies put out by LDS publishers (more on the order of Francis Gibbons‘ brief and popularizing biographies and less in the comprehensive and scholarly style of Richard Bushman’s Joseph Smith: Rough Stone Rolling).

For more on home literature see the period description by Eugene England in his “Mormon Literature: Progress and Prospects” and Richard Cracroft, “Seeking ‘the Good, the Pure, the Elevating’: A Short History of Mormon Fiction” (Parts I and II), Ensign 11 (June 1981): 57–62; (July 1981): 56–61 (online). Most recently, see Michael Austin’s “Mormon Home Literature” Sunstone 21.4 (December 1998): 12-13.

This might be more of a ramble than anything cohesive, or argument-driven, but I just wanted to comment on the “Writing Salon” held by creative writers and/or faculty members from BYU on March 26th, 2008. It was a well-attended event, and the discussion was interesting, albeit sometimes dominated by speakers who hadn’t been entirely invited. I just want to touch briefly on two subjects that came up with regard to writing. Being mostly Mormons, this again draws on the topics I’ve discussed in previous posts.

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James Goldberg recently sent me the essay he read before two series of New Play Project’s religious plays (”Psalms” in Oct. 2006 and “Thorns & Thistles” in Oct. 2007). His sentiments resonated with me, so with his permission, I share them here:

Toward a Mormon Renaissance

In 1920, while riding on a train, Langston Hughes wrote a poem on the back of a napkin. Maybe you’ve heard it. It was called “The Negro Speaks of Rivers” and it goes like this:

I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

It’s a beautiful poem, I’ve always thought. And a wise poem. There’s something about the way that poem reaches so far back into the past and so deep down into the soul that communicates a grounded, mature kind of confidence. You know what I’m talking about? That’s a poem that can give depth and strength instead of just describing them.

It’s incredible that it does that, when you think about it, because that poem was written in 1920. You know what most people thought of black history and culture back in 1920? The vast majority of white Americans and all too many African-Americans thought of Black as different, backward, inferior: the blacker physically or culturally, the worse. There was nothing to be confident about, as far as most people were concerned. But Langston Hughes wrote my black soul is deep like the rivers and 86 years later we remember him for it. Not because he was the greatest individual writing talent of his day, but because he had something to say–something that went beyond himself. He wrote about the culture and heritage of his people with pride and artistry. He and other like-minded writers, not ashamed to call themselves Negro poets, gave this nation a literature of black dignity. All those individual writers, works, and goals clumped together are remembered as the Harlem Renaissance. And I hope that long after hundreds of movements from the last century have been forgotten, the Harlem Renaissance will be remembered; because America desperately needed the gift it offered to take another step toward being whole.

So. Here we are, 86 years later, in a makeshift theatre in the Mormon community. Mormonism is technically a religion, but it’s also a tradition and a people–trust me, my last name is Goldberg; I understand how these things work. A religion can form a people. It’s been done before.

This people is a good people. We have a rich heritage that goes back far beyond the founding of the church in 1830. We’ve got unique institutions that have helped us keep a sense of community in an age when many communities are falling apart. And we have wisdom, you know? We know something about how to treat each other, about our relationship to God, about the spiritual power that runs all through this world. And along with that, we’ve also got online resources with wisdom on food storage and stuff. Profound or practical, inherited wisdom is part of who we are.

And who are we? Unlike most tribes and peoples, none of this heritage is restricted to any ethnic group or country. Anyone can choose to adopt this heritage as part of their own identity. The whole world is getting less national and more global and Mormonism is one of the world’s first great post-national cultures.

All this means that Mormon writers, like the men and women of the Harlem Renaissance, have a lot to say…if—let me emphasize that—if we have the courage to undertake the same kind of project they did. I mean, black history and black culture in 1920 were already incredibly rich. The black community already had an incredible strength, but hardly anyone had ever managed to write about it in a meaningful, resonant, artistic way. There was a black tradition and a black heritage but no body of black literature. The Harlem Renaissance changed that, and that changed the world.

What I’m trying to say is that maybe it’s time for us to help change the world again. Look, I know it sounds arrogant to say that. I’m 24 years old, and the only times I can focus on theatre full-time are when I’ve saved up enough money to quit my day job for a few months. I mean, I don’t even have insurance–who am I to change the world? Who’s Katherine Gee or Ben Crowder? Who are any of the actors you’re going to see tonight? You know, most of them aren’t even trained actors. They’re just nice people who wanted to help us put on these plays.

Who are we? Well, we’re Latter-day Saints. We’re people who have wrestled with some of life’s big and little issues and have been lucky enough to have help. We’re people who think and act a little differently than most of the country does. We’re people who know a little about God and a little about life. And we’re people who believe that’s enough to say something big.

Are we going to make a difference? I hope so. And I take hope in history.

See, when Langston Hughes was sitting on that train in the evening, watching the sun set, when he wrote, with the voice of his people, “I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins,” he was 18 years old.

The scripture says that through small and simple means great works will come to pass. And maybe with our work, your prayers, and the heritage that binds us, they will tonight. And maybe this will be a part of a process that people can look back on some day and call a Mormon Renaissance.

So, thanks for coming. And enjoy the show.

My last post about the Mormon Literature & Creative Arts database generated some great suggestions for its improvement, and I thought I would respond by describing where we are at and how we see the MLCA feeding into a larger project of supporting Mormon Studies.

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About two years ago, Mahonri Stewart posted on A Motley Vision an interesting review of several Richard Dutcher films, along with a discussion this quote.

His [Dutcher’s] sharpest memory of his first year at the university was a statement made by his playwriting professor, Max Golightly: ‘The first great Mormon writer will be excommunicated from the Church for his writing.’

‘That statement sent chills down my spine,’ Dutcher says. ‘I knew that I wanted to become a great writer. I remember hoping and praying that he was wrong.’

Interesting. As for Dutcher himself, the point is of course mostly moot, but I have to say I hope it isn’t so. I have to trust that this community of faithful believers will not only have room for something great, but be an ideal starting point for such greatness. However, I can see where the quote is coming from, and I think there’s some sad truth to this perspective. If you substitute “excommunicated from the Church” with “scorned by the Church community,” you would be hitting much closer to the truth. Read the rest of this entry »

This year’s Association for Mormon Letters annual conference was at BYU on Saturday, March 8. The theme of the conference was “Literature as Scripture and Literature in the Scriptures,” and there were some great presentations. I would have to say my favorite was Harlow Clark’s discussion of depictions of the Atonement in LDS literature. The number of sources he pulled from and the connections he made were fabulous. I had a difficult time keeping up. In the same session, previous to Harlow’s comments, David Hulet talked about “Creating Mormon Narrative,” and Harlow’s discussion showed how Mormon writers have done just that, which made me think of the ongoing discussion we’ve had at Mormon Renaissance about a Mormon aesthetic and how our own particular doctrines and history contribute to that aesthetic. One example Harlow gave as a distinct Mormon doctrine was that, while other Christians tend to believe that God is the one necessary being and all other beings are contingent on God’s existence, Mormons believe that men and women are co-eternal with God. Harlow then went on to describe how this shows up in Mormon writing (I regret that I was so engrossed in his discussion that I didn’t write down the examples he gave).

Along with some lovely sessions, the AML Awards luncheon was pretty great. Next to the reception in the evening after the conference, the luncheon is my favorite part (other than the sessions). Where else can you find a gathering of the most influential and involved people in Mormon letters? This year’s luncheon was highlighted by Eric Samuelsen’s presidential address. It was not only deeply profound, it was riotously funny. Eric first spent considerable breath scathingly condemning the concept of mission statements. He’s never relished the idea of writing a mission statement for AML, but at the same time, he recognizes a need to discuss why exactly AML aims to promote Mormon letters. While he never got around to actually writing a specific mission statement, his address characterized the need for inclusiveness in Mormon literature. He said, “It takes courage to write even a bad book, courage and determination and invention. Even writers who aren’t very skilled do something astonishingly revelatory. We can even see the face of God in bad novels.” He then went on to explain that in the Mormon literature community, we need everyone. We can’t dismiss writers (and their readerships) that we don’t like, though we can read them critically and discuss what about them works and what doesn’t work quite as well. It was an inspiring speech, and I highly recommend reading it. I also recommend perusing the list of Mormon authors who won awards this year (thank you, Patricia Karamesines, for posting the winners). Among the winners were Coke Newell for On the Road to Heaven (novel), AnnDee Ellis for This is What I Did (YA novel), and Carol Lynn Pearson for “Facing East” (drama). Segullah and the BYU Studies special “Mormons and Film” issue both won special awards.

As mentioned, one of the loveliest parts of the AML conference–and the one that’s least attended–is the reception at Charlotte England’s (widow of Eugene England) home. The England home is a delightful red brick house North of the BYU campus that, with its exotic furniture, original Brian Kershisnik and James C. Christensen paintings, and numerous overflowing bookshelves (many of which house works by Mormon authors), provides an elegant and cozy atmosphere conducive to mingling and discussion. Many of the AML Award winners (as well as other LDS writers who attended) read from their works: Carol Cornwall Madsen introduced us to some of Emmeline B. Wells’ more radical feminist writings in An Advocate for Women: The Public Life of Emmeline B. Wells, Todd Petersen entertained us with the exploits of the small-town central-Utah natives in his novel Rift, Harold K. Moon brought to life the trials of a plural wife being forced to relocate to Mexico with her husband in The Leah Shadow, and Michael Collings read from of the earthy, LDS-themed poems in his Elementals. Other readers included the editors of Segullah and winners of the Irreantum short fiction contest.

The AML conference, I have to say, provided much food for thought. I gained some insights about Mormon letters that I hope to be posting about over the next couple of weeks. I encourage others to share their experiences at the AML conference. For another overview of the conference, see Darlene Young’s (AML secretary) discussion at her blog.

I find it very telling that my posts seem to always bounce off what others are writing about. If you haven’t already read Liz’s post, you’ll want to do that. Gideon also raised the question of individuality vs. the group. I guess this can be taken as a “response” to them, although that’s not my primary intention. I was already going to write about this.

I’ve been thinking alot about the discussion sparked last week with the attempts at defining a Mormon “genre” as well as my musings on expectation as a reader. I want to now address how this affects what I do as a writer, and why that matters to this conversation.

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In light of the recent conversation on united Mormon fiction and literary genealogy, I thought I’d try and rein the conversation in a bit by focusing on a specific piece (albeit well-known) from the Mormon Literature Database. Specifically, I want to look at Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card, my reaction to it, and the type of expectations that seems to reflect; all wrapped up in the notion of “Mormon Literature.”

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The scriptures speak of those “kept from the truth because they know not where to find it” (D&C 123:12), and I believe as much can be said about Mormon works of literature and art as about LDS doctrine. Most people are very ignorant of what has been done. But unlike LDS doctrine, there is no canonized body of literary or artistic works that bear a divine imprint. How is it, then, that people get their ideas of the nature or quality of LDS artistic works? Well, I think they draw their conclusions based on what is visible to them commercially and what is discussed socially. So, for most Mormons, “Mormon literature” probably equates in their minds to the genres that have been most popular through LDS retailers in recent years: 1) historical fiction (Gerald Lund, Ron Carter, etc.); 2) Young Adult fiction (Jack Weyland, Dean Hughes, etc.), and 3) LDS Romance fiction (Anita Stansfield, Rachel Nunes, etc.). Each of these is an important genre deserving attention, but there is so much more! This is one reason we created the Mormon Literature & Creative Arts database years ago. We wanted there to be a place where, as much as possible, Read the rest of this entry »