In my last post about On Moral Fiction, I went over the first couple chapters of the book. If you are lost by what follows, you can go back and read that post to catch up before continuing.
When someone hears the words “moral fiction,” or “moral art,” a person might wonder how to define morality. According to John Gardner, “moral” does not equal “not too blatantly immoral.” It can’t be simple, and it can’t be forced upon artists. Continue reading
A while back, Eri
ka Dreifus had recommended John Gardner’s On Moral Fiction, a slim volume dedicated to writing and literary criticism from the POV that an artist has a moral responsibility to their audience, and that art criticism should in part address how well the creator of a work of art has met that responsibility. The book dates from 1978, and it’s amazing how well it (thus far in my reading) stands up over time.
I’m only about three chapters in, and what strikes me most Continue reading
My sister attended Conservative rabbinical school here in L.A. back when I was a California greenhorn, still getting confused because the ocean was to the west instead of east, that people called flip-flops slippers and jimmies, sprinkles. At the time, I was exploring Orthodoxy, but shared many of my sister’s friends from the UJ (now American Jewish University) and her Conservative synagogue. Despite my move to Orthodoxy, I remain friendly with many of her friends and colleagues.
Recently, one of my sister’s classmates came out with a book. Naturally, I was excited, so I checked read the synopsis on Amazon.
Rabbi Shafier’s book, based largely on Mesillas Yesharim
The first time I read Rabbi Shafier’s book, Stop Surviving, Start Living, I just didn’t get it. Not the content of the book — the content was clear as day, written lucidly by Rabbi Shafier, with nice anecdotes and everything. What I didn’t get was that it was based on a book my husband had already read. This one: Mesillas Yesharim, known in English as The Path of the Just, one of the most foundational texts in the Mussar world.
The original. So inspirational…and a bit scary for the uninitiated.
Why, I asked my husband, write a book based on another one, a book that you actually want people to read (because you’re such a fan yourself)? Continue reading
To those unfamiliar with the term, a “moshel” is the Hebrew term for a parable, a story told with the intent to illustrate a lesson (usually a moral or theological one). I equate moshels with the soda your mom would offer you as a chaser after taking whatever foul-tasting medicine the doctor had prescribed you. It makes it easier to get the lesson down, and you might even look forward to the next dose.
Moshels–particularly those of the Baal Shem Tov, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, and the Ben Ish Chai–are familiar to most readers with a Jewish education. They often appear in Rabbis’ drashos, and they sometimes make their way into children’s books. Several authors have recently attempted to update classic moshels and make them more appealing to tweens and teens–most successfully, perhaps, Steve Sheinkin in his entertaining Rabbi Harvey series, which take place in the Old West. One of the most challenging aspects of this genre is that you want to convey the lesson accurately without sounding pedantic, boring, or preachy. Also, some of the settings and situations detailed in traditional moshels don’t appeal to contemporary readers, or (more often) are so unfamiliar as to complicate comprehension of them.
I have my own spin on the Modern-day Moshel that I’ve been trying to market, which I’m not sharing here (because, like many authors, I’m terrified of people copying my idea before I can sell it myself–see this post). However, I thought I’d provide a heads-up to my readers what I’m thinking about right now.
I haven’t been posting to this blog very much recently because I’ve been very, very busy. Among other things, I’ve been writing (I’ll post about that IY”H soon) and reading–reading to my kids, parallel to my kids, and on my own. Notably, I’ve recently read several books that are “message books”–books with a sincere moral message that the author wants readers to absorb. While many such books come across as heavy-handed, these do not. I’m highlighting these books because they definitely represent one of the directions I want to go with my writing–using speculative fiction to explore subjects that might not appeal to children or teens if approached more directly.
HIGH SCHOOL AND ABOVE Orson Scott Card (as a practicing Mormon, he often introduces ethical dilemmas and messages into his books) is most famous for his first novel, Ender’s Game. I recently read the first sequel Speaker for the Dead, and was sucked in right away by the introduction by the author. (In it, Card says that one of his motivations for writing the book was because he wanted to show a central character who is NOT an adolescent, or a drifter, or any other aloof, single man on the fringe of society who usually stars in sci-fi novels. Rather, he portrays a man ready to create a family, who really wants to build bridges between the members of communities.)
Speaker for the Dead follows the hero of Ender’s Game to the age of 35–although 3000 years have passed, he hasn’t aged because he has spent so much time travelling at nearly light speed, teaching people insights into the behavior of the dead, allowing people to walk in the shoes of people before judging them (as it says in Pirkei Avot/The Ethics of the Fathers). This is his personal tikkun (rectification of error) following his (SPOILER ALERT) near-destruction of the species of Buggers at the climax of the last novel. Now, Ender’s sister and travel companion, Valentine, is expecting her first child. Her travels are over, and he realizes he wants his to end, too. But he has one last mission–to find out why members of another alien race have started killing the scientists (actually xenologists–like anthropologists, but studying aliens instead of humans) who have befriended them and studied them.
This novel provides a nuanced discussion about a new kind moral relativism–not that right and wrong are relative, but that our ability to judge them is. The story is a little focused on one side of the argument, and I was able to guess the mysterious cause of the aliens’ behavior right off–but that might be because I 1) am a writer myself and 2) hold a master’s degree in anthropology. However, I really enjoyed the book and it would be an excellent stepping off point for discussion in a classroom, book club, or around the dinner table.
Three Good Deeds uses fantasy, a charming although obnoxious anti-hero, and plenty of droll humor to draw the audience (ages 8 and up) into the story. Despite the light treatment, the message–that a person should be a giver and not a taker–is beautifully interwoven into the text. Warning: the end is a bit of a tear-jerker for softies (it mentions chessed shel emes).
PICTURE BOOK Paul Budnitz’s The Hole in the Middle takes a fantastic approach, as well, to teach its lesson. Morgan quite literally has a hole in his middle. He tries to fill it up with superficial and self-centered pursuits. However, it only shrinks when he does chessed (kindness) for his friend Yumi.
The fanciful, metaphorical style of this book ALMOST overpowers the moral. My 3-year-old and not-quite-5-year-old children laughed at the story outright–it’s just so outlandish. But when I asked the older of the two about the message, she had indeed absorbed it!
I’m wondering if the wackiness of the set-up might make the book so memorable that even if a younger child doesn’t quite understand the message at the time she reads it, she’ll draw on its memory to guide her after she reaches a stage where it’s no longer over her head.
Rebecca Klempner 