Levi Edgar Young

I think we sometimes assume that Utah was in some kind of literary isolation from the rest of the world, ignored by national and international authors, except to lampoon Mormons, and populated by few who had any knowledge of or opinion about current notable works. Of course, a minute’s thought and perhaps a little research into the period of Mormon literature’s “Lost Generation” shows that can’t possibly be true.

Still, it sometimes seems a little strange when General Authorities seem to know them personally.

In the first half of the 20th century, I would have assumed the General Authority most likely to host a literary visitor or know of current potential Nobel prize winners would be Orson F. Whitney. But Whitney wasn’t the only literary-minded General Authority. Levi Edgar Young apparently held a doctorate in history from Columbia University, unusually enough obtained while serving as a General Authority. After graduating from the University of Utah in 1895, Young taught there until he was called to serve in the Swiss-Austrian mission starting in 1901. A year later he was called as mission president, serving until 1904. He returned, married, and moved to New York City to attend graduate school at Columbia, and while he was there, in October 1909, Young was called to serve in the First Council of the Seventy. He was only set apart to as one of the Seven Presidents in January of 1910 when Apostle John Henry Smith visited New York City.

Young finished his Masters degree at Columbia University in 1910, and The Lakeside Press of Chicago published his book, Chief episodes in the history of Utah, in 1912. By 1916 he was in charge of an archeological expedition to San Juan county. Although a General Authority, he was a history professor at the University of Utah from 1922 until his retirement in 1939. At his death in 1963 he had been a General Authority for 54 years and the senior president of the First Council of the Seventy for 22 years.

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[Conference Address]

by Levi Edgar Young

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A great many tourists come to Utah, and pay high tribute to the work of our people. They see something here that is delivering mankind from bondage, and bringing liberty. Such a revival is not the work of man, but the work of the Spirit of God. Miss [Thelma] Cazalet looked into your faces and noted your honesty; your sincerity of life. “There is something about the people here that is impressive,” she remarked in words that to me were graciously given.

Miss Cazalet is a friend of Susan Ertz, who also visited Utah something over a year ago. I had the pleasure of taking Miss Ertz about the city and bringing her to this building where she heard an organ recital. It was an impressive hour. Miss Ertz has written a great novel based on the trek of the Mormon pioneers to the far West. In her story the hardships and sorrows of the people are clearly portrayed; and she tells of the great truths of colonizing the West, and pays high tribute to the pioneers of this State.

It is only recently that the noted Austrian writer, Walter Eidlitzs completed his two volume work entitled ZODIAC. I think the novel bids fair to obtain the Nobel prize for literature this year. Herr Eidlitz came to Utah from Vienna, Austria, because he had been told by one Ann Litisch that the Latter-day Saints seemed to have a power far beyond anything she had ever experienced in her life. Here Herr Eidlitz would be able to find the power and light that the world needs, namely, the priesthood of God. Herr Eidlitz was in our home for two weeks investigating the truths of the Gospel of Jesus Christ our Lord, and he was greatly impressed with our testimony that the holy priesthood of God had been restored to earth.

I think that all people who accept the Gospel of our Lord are the intelligent ones of the world. It is true that we bring from Europe and other parts of the world the poor in material things, but not the poor in spiritual gifts. We have brought from Scandinavia, Germany, England, Italy, France, and other nations those who have humble faith in the Savior. It is only such who can understand the Gospel. They, like the Apostle Paul, find power in faith; a faith that produces and works itself out in a life of love. They learn like the rest of us that true faith gives all; and in return receives all.

General Conference
Saturday Afternoon Session,
October 7, 1933

I assume that Young was the host for Susan Ertz and for Walther Eidlitz because of his position at the University of Utah. Ertz, while 20 years younger than Young, was a popular novelist by the time he met her when she came to Utah from London, apparently to research the novel Young mentions above, The Proselyte (1933). The novel, which follows an English girl who marries a Mormon missionary, was evidently highly praised. Ertz, who died in 1985, apparently never wrote anything else about Mormonism.

Despite Young’s apparent conviction that Eidlitz was interested in Mormonism, he was more fascinated by the religion and philosophy of India than that of Utah. He left his family in Austria in 1938 and traveled to India, where, as a result of the outbreak of World War II the next year, he was consigned to an internment camp by the British government of India. There he converted to Hinduism and eventually changed his name to Vāmana Dāsa. Despite Young’s appraisal of his novel Zodiac (1930, English translation 1931), Eidlitz/Vāmana Dāsa is best known for his spiritual autobiography Bhakta: Eine indische Odyssee (1951, translated as Unknown India: A pilgrimage into a forgotten world, 1952). He died in 1976.

Given all this, I’m not sure exactly what to make of Young’s remarks. I do tend to believe that “people who accept the Gospel of our Lord are the intelligent ones of the world,” but I’m afraid his examples didn’t end up supporting his claim—since neither author accepted Mormonism.

Instead, I think the more reasonable conclusion might be that some intelligent people do find Mormonism interesting and engaging, even if they don’t accept its truth claims. And for those interested in Mormon literature, Ertz’ case in particular shows that the stories of Mormonism are worth exploring.

Are there other conclusions that we can take from this?

Carter’s voice is intimate—exposed. He speaks of faith and doubt and spirit and family and struggle with the disarming honesty that causes you to lay your judgmental attitudes aside and simply listen to his complex thoughts and simple heart. His tales include his time with Eugene England before he died, the disappointments and triumphs of a Mormon mission, a tutorial through clippings with his grandmother, bright Alaskan lights and dark Alaskan doubts, a black sheep brother who showed him the way, the weight of priesthood, and the liberation of the Spirit. Each essay was carefully crafted like a sonnet or a piece of excellent cinema. Ponderous, vulnerable, honest, loving, good, afraid. Many of the things we carefully sidestep, Carter plunged into and felt his way through it, even when it became painful. It’s a brave, beautiful piece of work. Personal essays aren’t my typical reading, but this particular collection had me enraptured and made me want to pick up some more of Eugene England just to get some more of that style of intimacy and quietly spoken lives.

Now I do have a beef with one of the essays, “The Departed.” I started writing it about in this review, but then realized how disproportionate my discussion about that one essay was becoming in regards to the context of the whole book. So if you’re interested in reading my comments about Richard Dutcher and Eugene England in context of What of the Night? go to this other post here.

As it is, though, I wanted this short review to highlight how truly moved I was by Carter’s work. I recommend it enthusiastically without hesitation. Those who read it will be blessed by an insightful mind, a compassionate soul, and a troubled heart.

However, I couldn’t help juxtaposing that beautiful essay about Eugene England with the one Carter wrote about Richard Dutcher, “The Departed.” I still really like Dutcher, and think his Mormon films are some of the best in the genre. He’s a man who I have met briefly and still very much admire. So I’m going to try hard not to judge Dutcher too harshly in my following comments, as I believe he still has a valuable voice and I believe, even after he left the Church, his legacy for Mormon Cinema and the Mormon Arts is an extremely positive one. But I have to say my peace about Carter’s approach to Dutcher’s moment in the sun in the history of Mormon Letters.

Like Carter, Dutcher had a huge impact on me when his films began coming out. I was an avid supporter, watching his films, buying the DVDs, attending his lectures. I defended him to those who would criticize him or would question his commitment to the Gospel. When his Joseph Smith film didn’t pan out, I actually anguished about it in prayer (and I believe the Lord gave me an answer, which I won’t share, but will only say that it came to pass). I wrote raving reviews of Dutcher’s work, and tried to re-define and re-view his sometimes disturbing comments in my blog posts. Those very comments many people were saying indicated that he had lost the faith and that he was on his way out of the Church. I wouldn’t believe that. Dutcher, in my mind, was on his way to becoming one of the Great Mormon Artists, with a capital G, and a man of the Spirit.

But to keep believing this I had to ignore certain signs that I kept seeing on the way. These signs alerted me, but I dismissed them because I simply didn’t want to believe them. In his seminars and speeches, Dutcher started out bright and brilliant and full of light. I went away edified. But as time passed and I attended more such events, his tone got increasingly darker, more angry, more arrogant, more hostile. It was quite the contrast and it caught me off guard. But I continued in my faith towards the man. A faith that, unfortunately, I discovered was ill placed. Dutcher did not finish what he had originally set out to do. He had promised us bread, but then gave us a stone.

When Dutcher’s letter came out about his abandonment of the Church, I was crushed. But, surprisingly, not surprised. I had seen the warning signs, and tried to will disbelief in them, tried to will Dutcher to stay in the Church. But, deep down, I knew better. He had already shown his hand.

I relate this only to give the context to what I’m about to say. In his essay, “The Departed,” Carter sets up Dutcher as a kind of cultural martyr. Carter outlines his journey with Dutcher’s work, how Dutcher inspired him from God’s Army and onward. The disturbing thing, though, is that Carter’s own enthusiasm for Mormon Letters (and, am I reading it right, maybe Mormonism itself?) rose and fell with Dutcher’s own success and subsequent fall. “I wanted the church to be brought back to me through the art that arose from it. And I had hope, because things were progressing. I started to see a nook for myself; I started to finding a community” (p. 121). In this way it seemed that Carter’s own faith in Mormon Arts (and possibly Mormonism itself, or at least cultural Mormonism?) was too connected and too dependent on the fate of one man. He was flying on the back of a broken angel instead of realizing the powerful, gorgeous wings that protruded from his own back.

I commend Carter on the one hand, because he is very kind, compassionate, loving, and supportive of Dutcher throughout the essay. Rightfully so. Dutcher is still a good man and remains a self proclaimed “friend of Mormonism” as the Salt Lake Tribune recently quoted him saying. I have no personal beef with him and only hope for him to have success in his continued efforts as a talented filmmaker. I believe Dutcher is honest and sincere in his beliefs. But on the other hand Carter’s portrait of Dutcher’s journey stuck in my craw and is really the only major flaw I saw in what is a beautifully crafted and eloquent set of personal essays which I would suggest to all lovers of Mormon Literature. Yet Carter seems willfully unable to entertain the possibility that Dutcher’s story may be less Joan and Arc and more King Lear.

Carter seems to think that the reason we don’t have Dutcher in our midst anymore was because we didn’t support him in his art. Carter takes a condemnatory attitude towards Mormon culture for not supporting this obvious genius in our midst:

Essentially, States of Grace was a box office misfire. When I went to see it, there were two other people in the theater with me. What happened? The greatest accomplishment in Mormon Cinema to date comes into our hands, and we ignore it?… But there is no doubt about one thing. Richard had put out a deeply personal story. He had bled it out the way one must in order to make a story true. But then he found himself playing to an empty house (p. 124).

Now I adored States of Grace, too. A beautiful film, surely. But let’s be frank about one thing… any artist who feels like anyone owes him anything is full of himself. As a culture we are not beholden to support anyone’s artistic vision, no matter how beautifully crafted. Carter charges Mormonism with the inability to listen to each other because it didn’t come in droves to States of Grace. This is a mistake.

You’re not guilty of uncharitable vice when somebody wants to charge you $7 to listen to a story that you know you won’t like. It’s one of the pragmatic aspects of the arts that it is on one hand so personal, but on the other hand so commercial. It’s a mistake to take it too personally. No matter how personal it is, a film is also something you’re selling. Nobody is obligated to buy it from you. With money as limited as it is for many of us, it’s better if we spend our cash on things we’ll actually love. Does it say something that some people prefer The Avengers over one of my favorite art house movies like Remains of the Day? Sure. But I don’t blame anyone for their tastes, especially when The Avengers proves that a movie can both be excellently crafted, but appeal to the widest (billion dollar!) audience.

And let’s remember that God’s Army had more Mormons see it than all of my dozen plus plays put together… times a thousand. Mormon artists as gifted as a Eric Samuelsen or a Margaret Blair Young or a J. Kirk Richards, as accomplished as they are, have never had such luck. Dutcher was very fortunate to get the audience and attention he did… that’s rare for any artist, in or out of the Church. And, frankly, it had a lot less to do with his talent as an artist (although he is certainly talented!) but that he was one of the first people to tell the Mormon story on film in a way that took it seriously.

This immediate success he received with God’s Army seemed to spoil him a little, though. A sense of entitlement seemed to lace his comments as time wore on, and he took it very badly when his work as an artist was not sufficiently “appreciated.” Now on one level, I can understand this. As a playwright and possible screenwriter, I very much want to make my living off my art and labors. I want thousands, heck, millions of people to watch my plays and movies. But I don’t blame my culture if one of my plays or films doesn’t accomplish that. At that point, I re-evaluate and try again, I just don’t just up and leave the Church because they’re not “supporting” me.

But that’s another flaw in Carter’s essay. States of Grace lack of success is not why Dutcher left the Church. Again let’s go back to the recent Salt Lake Tribue article:

When Richard Dutcher wrote the screenplay for his dark drama “Falling” in 1999, he hadn’t started shooting his landmark LDS missionary film “God’s Army,” and he was a devoted member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

When Dutcher finally filmed the movie in 2007 — around the same time he was filming “States of Grace,” the quasi-sequel to “God’s Army” — he wasn’t a Mormon anymore.

“In a very real sense, the writer was a very different person than the director was,” Dutcher, 47, said in an interview this week. “The director was no longer a believer, but the script writer had been.”

This information alone casts a different light on Dutcher than the one that Carter was trying to paint. This shows that this very pinnacle of a Mormon film that Carter and I and so many other people were so impressed with was not made by a believing Mormon after all. Not that Dutcher wanted us to know that critical information at that point, which raises a whole host of other questions about his motives in creating the film. It also makes me re-think his reaction when he was so obviously angry with Mormon culture for not accepting his “vision.”

Later in the article, Dutcher reveals what had led him from the believer that filmed God’s Army to the disbeliever that filmed States of Grace. This transition occurred during his research for his unrealized Joseph Smith biopic:

In researching the life of Smith for his film, Dutcher said, “one day, I just simply asked myself the question, ‘What if it simply isn’t true?’ ” In a faith where adherents often begin their testimony with “I know this church is true,” that question carries enormous weight.

“My own brain, something from the deepest part of me, said, ‘Of course it isn’t true.’ After that, the whole house of cards fell,” Dutcher said. “In a very real sense, in the time span of one minute, I went from being a true believer to being a complete nonbeliever. It was actually quite terrifying.”

It was the Joseph Smith story, the very biopic people bemoaned (including me) that we didn’t get to see from Dutcher, one of the foundational beliefs of Mormonism. In a moment that was more whimper than thunder, Dutcher simply didn’t believe it anymore. No great, years-long struggle. Not even the martyrdom of the unappreciated artist. It was just the flick of a light switch, a single imposing question, and his faith was gone, flick, without a fight.

Dutcher went from the believing Elder Dalton in God’s Army to the disbelieving Elder Kinegar in an instant. That scene in God’s Army still haunts me in regards to Dutcher, where Elder Dalton confronts Elder Kinegar. Dalton says that he knows Elder Kinegar knows the Gospel is true because he has heard Kinegar say it. “I lied,” Kinegar defiantly replies. During his filming of States of Grace, is that all we were getting from Dutcher? “I lied.”

There were a few moments when I was with Dutcher that still disturb me. The first was during one of his early presentations at UVSC. He was giving a great presentation, I was feeling the Spirit, but then he said a comment that was disturbing about how he appreciated that people were plumbers and whatnot to earn a living, but that apart from having to earn for their families, he just couldn’t do something that had no meaning. A young college aged girl raised her hand, “My father is a plumber. His work has meaning.” Again, Dutcher repeated his assertion… it was better to be an artist than a plumber. An artist’s work was more meaningful. Maybe someone should remind Dutcher of that when his sink is overflowing, his toilet is clogged, water is getting over all of his scripts, disease is infesting his house, and he still really needs to go to the bathroom.

A similar moment happened at a retreat I attended which Dutcher was also in attendance. We were in a split off group and the comments that Elder Ballard once made to that Conference of Artists came up. Elder Ballard was very supportive of the artists in the Church, but warned them not to become too full of themselves, that a person fixing the plumbing was just as valuable as an artist. Dutcher warmly contested the point, “Elder Ballard is wrong. We are better!” he insisted. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Again, I don’t want to say this to cast stones at Dutcher. These are just moments in time compared to all the good he has done, the hearts he has inspired, and the voice he has given to both those on the fringe and in the center. For every flaw he has, I believe he has ten virtues. He is a talented filmmaker, a kind hearted man, an insightful soul. His journey is valuable, HE is valuable. But not more so than any other person, and not more so than any other Mormon Artist, which is why I took umbrage from this statement about Dutcher from Carter in “The Departed”:

The very definite possibility that Richard will never make another Mormon-themed film breaks my heart, as does the idea that Mormonism can’t serve as a community to the person who helped me tell my story. Equally sad is that the field of Mormon arts has been left to hard-working but only semi-talented artists like me (p. 128).

I loved nearly every other word in Carter’s book, but this sentiment I refuse to accept outright. Mormonism didn’t reject Dutcher, Dutcher rejected Mormonism. Before he even started filming States of Grace, Dutcher had made up his mind, the Tribune article makes that much at least clear. That much is his right, and I honor his beliefs and wish him good luck. But let’s not make him a martyr. I don’t think that even Dutcher would want that. 

I demarcate a clear difference between those who willingly leave the Church on their own accord and those who are excommunicated unfairly. Dutcher left of his own accord, nobody forced him out. He seemed to dare the Chruch to excommunicate him when at Sunstone he quoted Max Golightly saying that “the first great Mormon artist would be excommunicated.” When the Church didn’t take him up on that dare, he simply left.

As to Carter’s self deprecating comment, “Equally sad is that the field of Mormon arts has been left to hard-working but only semi-talented artists like me,” I think that dishonors the rest of us Mormons Artists who have stayed in the faith, including Carter, by placing Dutcher too high.

Stephen Carter’s work is worthwhile, my work is worthwhile, Christian Vuissa’s work is worthwhile, Melissa Leilani Larson’s work is worthwhile, Margaret Blair Young’s work is worthwhile, Eric Samuelsen’s work is worthwhile, J. Kirk Richard’s work is worthwhile, James Christensen’s work is worthwhile, James Goldberg’s work is worthwhile… Dutcher’s wonderful ex-wife Gwen, who I believe is still with the Church, is also a fabulous artist (I know because my wife was her model once). Gwen, who traveled much of the path with Richard, her work is also worth while. I would place a whole host of Mormon artists who haven’t given up on the faith as Dutcher’s equals in talent and, in some cases, his superiors. Mormon Arts did not begin with Dutcher and they did not end with Dutcher. Carter’s beautiful group of essays is a testament of that.

Carter accuses Mormon culture of not listening to Dutcher. I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe they heard only too well. Maybe they heard the signs long before Carter and I did, because we made ourselves deaf to them because of our adoration of Dutcher. While they all folded, we kept throwing the chips in, never calling Dutcher’s bluff. I believe we were rather naïve in this regard.

Back to Eugene England. He wasn’t excommunicated, but I certainly believe that he was an individual who wasn’t given his proper value in the Church. Carter isn’t wrong when he points to those we have willfully misused. But I would prefer to dwell on an example like Eugene England who clung to the faith despite the hardships and judgments that were pressed upon him. He clung to Mormonism and Mormon Arts even when he lost his job at BYU. He clung on even when his efforts to bolster and strengthen the faith were seen as dissident. He hung on until even his body was reflecting his inner state, as cancer ravaged his flesh and he became paralyzed. He hung on even when he seemed most forsaken and alone. Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!

Like Carter recently wrote in “Wanted: One Internet-free Dark Night of the Soul,” at the AML blog, Dawning of Brighter Day, that belly of the whale experience seems requisite for every hero’s journey. For one it is when his tragic flaw is revealed. For another it is when her heroic virtue is revealed. The latter seems to have been the case for Eugene England. As Sir Thomas More says in Robert Bolt’s A Man For All Seasons, “He will not refuse one who is so blithe to go to him,” or to repeat what England himself said, “Some people don’t believe me when I say this, but I have spent my entire life being an apologist for the Gospel, because I know it’s true.”

He suggested that it might be fun to a Mormon literary version. Here are mine — feel free to add your own via the comment box:

“The parents of the protagonist in Margaret Young’s Salvador drive her in a white van with a big red stripe and navy blue hubcaps to El Salvador. The mother calls it the Yankee Doodle Dan Van. Is that an appropriate use of our nation’s flag?”

“Explain why even though Kit in Coke Newell’s On the Road to Heaven joins the Church and serves a mission, his past as a mountain hippy makes him unfit to marry your niece and/or granddaughter.”

“Why does Doug Thayer hate rich people?”

“Is Josi S. Kilpack’s culinary mystery series against the Word of Wisdom? Shouldn’t it be more like Carob Brownie or Banana?”

“What do you think the ‘B’ stands for in Linda Hoffman Kimball’s The Marketing of Sister B?”

George F. Richards ca. 1915

When I came across this text I laughed out loud at the anachronisms and decided I had to include it, even thought it is perhaps just a variation on the General Conference theme of caution over what we read. But then, as far as literary criticism goes, this is the subject most Mormons hear most about—so much so that today it seems to define the LDS market.

The author, George F. Richards, was a fixture in the Quorum of the Twelve for the first half of the 20th century. Called as an apostle on the same day in 1906 as Orson F. Whitney and David O. McKay, Richards was ordained first and eventually was the president of the Quorum on his death in 1950. The son of an Apostle (Franklin D. Richards) and the father of another (LeGrand Richards), he was also the only person to serve concurrently as an Apostle and as Patriarch to the Church (acting).

As far as I can tell, Richards wasn’t a particularly literary man. Aside from his conference talks, I haven’t found many published works by him—a couple of documents about the Temple (apparently written while he was president of the Salt Lake Temple) and a handful of articles in Church magazines. However, he did speak regularly in conference, essentially twice a year for more than 40 years. The following short excerpt comes from one of  them:

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Evil effects of reading pernicious literature

by George F. Richards

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A danger which confronts the children of the Latter-day Saints, I am impressed, is that of reading dime novels and literature of that caliber. I read, from a Salt Lake daily paper, a few days ago, an account of a band of boys, ranging from fifteen to seventeen years, who had been misled in this way. When they were discovered, and the place of their rendezvous was disclosed, it was found that the interior of the place was lined with arms and furnished with a library of dime novels. It was learned, by confession of these young boys, that they had broken into stores and residences on numerous occasions, that they had stolen from their neighbors. One young boy admitted that they had contemplated robbing his mother, and when the question was asked, “What would you have done had she resisted?” the ready response was, “We would have killed her.” This, I take it, is largely the result of reading such literature as was found in the dugout which they frequented. We are told in proverbs, “As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.” James Allen, treating this subject, tells us that “character is the entire sum of our thoughts.” I desire to read one or two of his sentiments along this line; he says:

“As the plant springs from and could not be without the seed, so every act of a man springs from the hidden seeds of thought, and could not have appeared without them. This applies equally to those acts called spontaneous and unpremeditated, as to those which are deliberately executed. Act is the blossom of thought, and joy and suffering are its fruits. Thus does a man garner in the sweet and bitter fruitage of his own husbandry. A noble and godlike character is not a thing of favor or chance, but is the natural result of continued effort in right thinking, the fruit of long cherished association with godlike thoughts.”

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Conference Report, April 1910

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The article Richards refers to is apparently an article in the Salt Lake Herald of 26 March 1910 titled “Murder Plot Told by Five Bad Boys” and the story it tells is basically what Richards describes. It is also not at all unusual for the time. The Deseret News of 24 August 1910 includes an article titled “Youthful Scamps” which reports on a “band” of teenage criminals in New York City known as the “Savage Scamps” who also had a bunch of dime novels in their loot when arrested. Looking over the New York Times archive, I found many more such stories, along with a lot of hand wringing about dime novels, stretching back at least to the 1880s. Most of these stories attribute influence toward crime to these works and often report that the criminals had dime novels in their possession.

The idea that criminals are avid readers of novels is what made me laugh—it didn’t exactly jive with my mental stereotype of what hardened violent criminals do all day. I can see it now, the gang roost adorned with makeshift bookshelves under a sign that reads “The Jets Gang Library. Members only!”

Of course, that doesn’t mean that novels, even dime novels, have no influence. Allen’s book, As a Man Thinketh (1902), is among the most successful early self-help books, preceding Dale Carnegie’s How to Win Friends and Influence People (1936) and Napoleon Hill’s Think and Grow Rich by decades. In the book Allen argues that the way to mold your own character is by controlling what you allow to influence that character and influence the way you think, because, “as a man thinketh, so is he.”

Indeed, few authors really want their books to have no influence whatsoever, so it may be hard to argue against Allen’s views. What isn’t clear to me is the details of how this works. While it is all fine and good to argue against “pernicious” literature, what exactly that is can be difficult to say at times. In most dime novels, for example, the “good guys” win in the end.

What seems to make the difference, though, isn’t whether or not the “good guys” win in the end, but the amount, type, intensity, descriptiveness and attractiveness of the portrayals of evil in a work, especially when compared to what the audience has experienced before. Perhaps by this view Allen, and Elder Richards, would claim that reading, and especially obsessive reading, of most dime novels isn’t good. And with the caveat that most of us still maintain our free will—that all the arts can do is influence, not control—I guess I have to agree.

Today the preaching against “dime novels” in Mormon venues has largely been substituted with preaching against R rated films and violent music and video games. Like with “dime novels,” the preaching is generally in absolute terms—never read any “dime novel” or play any violent video game or see any R rated film. I don’t know if the absolute terms make sense to me, but I certainly can see how the overall influence of repeated exposures isn’t desirable. The problem is how to figure out when an individual is too close to too much.

The two plays included in the volume are both about the struggles people have to find, or keep, faith. Swallow the Sun is about author C.S. Lewis, the creator of The Chronicles of Narnia and other popular books. Known as a valiant defender of Christianity, it is less known that C.S. Lewis was once an entrenched atheist. “Swallow the Sun is a story of a struggle against God,” said Stewart. “Lewis loved mythology and that sort of thing, so in a way there is a part of him that would have liked to believe. But he refused to be ‘taken in.’ However, along his path there were people like his friend J.R.R. Tolkien, who wrote Lord of the Rings, that showed him that there were thinking people, intellectuals, who believed this stuff. At first he fought them tooth and nail but, bit by bit, he started to see their reasons.”

The other play included in the volume, The Fading Flower, also addresses the struggle for faith, but from a different context. It tells the story of the family of Joseph Smith, founder of Mormonism, years after he was murdered. The story focuses most on Emma and her little known son David Hyrum Smith, “We hear a lot about Joseph Smith III, because he tried to carry on his father’s legacy by accepting leadership in the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in opposition to the LDS faith led by Brigham Young in Utah,” said Stewart. “But I think David’s story is even more interesting. He went west as a missionary for the RLDS faith, to convert us Mormons over here. But the information he found out about his father from the Utah Mormons knocked him for a loop. He started to realize that not everything his mother and brother had led him to believe may be accurate. He then set out on a search for the truth that led to him some very uncomfortable places, personally.”

The publisher supporting this volume of plays, Zarahemla Books, publishes “provocative, unconventional, yet ultimately faith-affirming stories that yield new insights into Mormon culture and humanity.” Christopher Bigelow, the publisher behind Zarahemla Books, is thrilled to have brought two of Stewart’s plays into their repertoire, “Ever since Zarahemla Books started in 2006, I’ve wanted to include Mormon drama in our offerings,” said publisher Christopher Bigelow. “Mahonri Stewart is Mormonism’s preeminent young, emerging playwright, and Zarahemla is honored to publish his work. We know readers will enjoy experiencing these plays in book form, and we hope this volume also helps pave the way for future productions of the plays.”

The Fading Flower and Swallow the Sun can be purchased at Zarahemla’s website www.zarahemlabooks.com and will also soon be available through Amazon and other booksellers.

Outside of Mormon sources, the only references I’ve found to this word are names—primarily Arabic, but also Swedish and perhaps Chinese. But it is also close to words in other languages. In Mormon Doctrine, McConkie connects this word with the name of the Egyptian God Amon and even with the interrogative, which by custom we use to close our prayers, Amen, which originates in the Hebrew verb aman, meaning to strengthen, confirm, which was used adverbally as an expression of affirmation or consent (according to the OED).

The clearest Mormon documentation for the meaning of Ahman is best known from a talk by Orson Pratt, given February 18, 1855 on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. He explained the term this way:

There is one revelation that this people are not generally acquainted with. I think it has never been published, but probably it will be in the Church History. It is given in questions and answers. The first question is, “What is the name of God in the pure language?” The answer says, “Ahman.” “What is the name of the Son of God?” Answer, “Son Ahman—the greatest of all the parts of God excepting Ahman.” “What is the name of men?” “Sons Ahman,” is the answer. “What is the name of angels in the pure language?” “Anglo-man.”

This revelation goes on to say that Sons Ahman are the greatest of all the parts of God excepting Son Ahman and Ahman, and that Anglo-man are the greatest of all the parts of God excepting Sons Ahman, Son Ahman, and Ahman, showing that the angels are a little lower than man. What is the conclusion to be drawn from this? It is, that these intelligent beings are all parts of God, and that those who have the most of the parts of God are the greatest, or next to God, and those who have the next greatest portions of the parts of God, are the next greatest, or nearest to the fulness of God; and so we might go on to trace the scale of intelligences from the highest to the lowest, tracing the parts and portions of God so far as we are made acquainted with them. Hence we see that wherever a great amount of this intelligent Spirit exists, there is a great amount or proportion of God, which may grow and increase until there is a fulness of this Spirit, and then there is a fulness of God.

The “revelation” Pratt refers to is a document titled “A Sample of Pure Language given by Joseph the Seer as copied by Br. Johnson” which was recently published in the 1st volume of revelations of the Joseph Smith Papers in 2009. Whether it is actually a revelation or not may depend on how you distinguish revelation from other documents—unlike other documents in this handwritten revelation book it isn’t labeled either a revelation or commandment. No doubt Pratt called it a revelation because he saw it in the book with the other revelations (most of which are now in the Doctrine and Covenants). The historical note that appears with this document on the Joseph Smith Papers website points out that Ahman was originally spelled Awmen and later changed to Awman. It also appears elsewhere as Aw-man and Ah man.

McConkie connects the “Pure Language” with the “language of Adam” spoken of in Moses 6:57 and concludes that Ahman means “Man of Holiness” and refers to Heavenly Father in the same way that Savior, meaning one who saves, refers to Christ. Regardless of whether that meaning existed in the minds of Joseph Smith, early Church leaders and Mormons up to Mormon Doctrine, it is likely that, to the extent that the meaning of Ahman is known at all, Mormons since that time have defined it as Man of Holiness.

Of course, I think more research is needed, since I haven’t looked at enough of the uses of the word to get a sense for how it has been used. I do know that it hasn’t been used frequently at all. The General Conference Corpus shows 10 uses in the 1855 Orson Pratt speech excerpted above and a total of six uses between 1942 and 1973 by 5 different speakers. Ahman has appeared more frequently outside of General Conference, both in books about doctrine and Mormonism, and even in fiction, where the 1855 Pratt speech has been quoted on occasion. But the use of the word remains rare. Still, I suspect this meaning is the most plausible, along with a general meaning as a name for God.

It is possible that the meaning of Ahman may change somewhat in the future because of non-LDS use. Recently, FLDS leader Warren Jeffs used the phrase Son Ahman in the documents he sent to media and libraries in the U.S., which may make this term more familiar. I have also seen it used by other groups, including one man who has adopted Ahman as part of his own name.

But perhaps the most intriguing issue remaining with the word Ahman is its grammar. The original “Sample of Pure Language” document says that the name of the Son of God isn’t Son of Ahman, but Son Ahman. Man isn’t Sons of Ahman, but Sons Ahman. And Angels are Ahman Angls-men. I still need to puzzle out exactly what is going on with these terms. Are they entirely new terms? Or some specialized gramatical form that is used with Ahman?

As always, I welcome your thoughts. An intriguing word, isn’t it?

Zarahemla Books hits the sweet spot again with its latest book offering, Luisa Perkins’ Dispirited. The supernatural thriller/YA dark fantasy is a worthy addition to Zarahemla’s quality library of Mormon literature, and continues to showcase the diversity Zarahemla displays on its shelf. Zarahemla is as much of a home for genre fiction, as it is high brow literary novels, as it is for personal essays, as it is for short stories, as it is now for Mormon drama (full disclosure: Zarahemla Books will be publishing a book of two of my plays in the next few weeks, as well as an anthology of Mormon Drama which I helped pull together later this Summer… but I was a big fan of ZB’s approach long before those projects). Dispirited continues Zarahemla’s big tent tradition with its blend of dark, magical realism and young adult sensibility (with a dash of the bizarre just to throw you off kilter).

Dispirited jumps right into the conflict in its first chapter when a young boy named Blake is grieving for his dead mother and so stumbles upon the ability to separate his spirit from his body (astral projection). Thus he travels to the astral plane in search for his mother. However, Blake is in for a rude awakening (or unawakening) when he tries to get back into his body, as he discovers that it has been possessed by a powerful evil spirit who has no intention of giving the poor child his body back. In the next chapter we are introduced to Cathy, years after the inciting incident. Cathy is the step sister of “Blake,” and becomes our main protagonist. The real Blake, now an exiled spirit out of his body, enlists Cathy in the battle over the possession and right to his body.  And then we’re off to the races, plot wise.

I found the initial premise fascinating, partly because I felt it was plausible. I have known people (including a personal friend of mine, as well as a Wiccan who I baptized on my mission) who had claimed to have accomplished this feat of “astral planing,” where they could separate themselves from their bodies, travel in a different plane of existence, and then return to their body (although my friend from my mission claimed that she had difficulty getting back into her body, so she never attempted the experience again). As a believer in this kind of supernatural possibility, having had a few difficult to explain supernatural scenarios in my own life, Perkins had me at the get go with this initial conflict. The central premise seemed real and organic, especially from a Mormon worldview. Sometimes magical realism, from the perspective of a Mormon, simply becomes realism.

Which leads me to an interesting aspect to this novel. There is no reason this book had to be published by Zarahemla Books rather than a national publisher. Despite it fitting well into Mormon theology and cosmology, the novel has no identifiable Mormon characters (apart from some subtle possibilities due to Cathy’s family going to Church at one point and saying a blessing over their meal, but that could identify them as members of any general Christian religion, really). The novel says nothing about Mormonism beyond the subtext of the world it inhabits. In this way, it reminded me a great deal of what Orson Scott Card, or maybe even Stephen King, might write for the national market. More than once I thought of Card’s Lost Boys as a possible comparison

But back to the dark “magical realism” the novel employs. As the story progresses, the supernatural elements become more wild and bizarre, even far fetched. I had no real problems with this, as Perkins’ skill in creating these elements still created a great deal of interest in these parts of the novel. A VERY supernatural house (inspired by the photo on the cover), a sprite-like child spirit guide, magical talismans, bizarre landscapes– these all led the novel away from its initial magical realism into outright fantasy. Again, this was still good, for Perkins still made these dimensions of the novel compelling. But some of the edge was taken off in consequence. Where I felt some legitimate suspense and tension at the novel’s outset due to the plausibility (at least in my mind) of the conflict introduced, a lot of that subsided as Perkins led me into a wild (alebit fascinating) world that became less connected to the one at the beginning of the novel that I felt like was just on the borders  of my own experiences.

Apart from that, however, I found very little to nitpick about the novel. Dispirited‘s transparent prose was engaging, its characters very well developed (especially a very strong and believable female protagonist in Cathy), and its plot full of twists and turns that kept you guessing. There was more than one point where I felt I had the novel figured out, only to have Perkins throw me a curveball and get me wondering all over again. The novel’s antagonist is blatantly malevolent and outright sinister (he IS an evil spirit, after all), but even with that he still seemed like a nuanced, complex character with very clear motivations. The novel had a genuinely sweet romance as a subplot, with a unique and interesting love interest for Cathy.

Dispirited was one of the best reads I’ve had all year. It upholds Zarahemla’s high standard, while being a solid piece of genre fiction in its own right, comparable to the higher end works you’d find in the national market. It’s a legitimate page turner that hooked me in the first chapter and never let go.

This post assumes three things, which I think are warranted for much of the AMV readership:

1. You don’t have an academic budget to pay for some of these things.
2. You actually want to own the works so that you can spend time with them and produce literary criticism/get deep knowledge of the field (which means relying heavily on the local library isn’t an option).
3. You don’t live within commute distance of the Wasatch Front.

The Minimum:

Irreantum Subscription/AML membership: $25

Dialogue E-Subscription: $25

Every Title That Zarahemla Books Published This Year: $50 (three titles at around $16 each*)

One Major Anthology (likely from Peculiar Pages): $25

One Other Major Mormon-Themed Work: $15

One Major Mormon-Themed Work of Nonfiction (People of Paradox, for example): $20

Subtotal = $140

* If you can go with e-editions of these then that drops to $10.

Expanded Version:

Segullah Subscription: $12

BYU Studies E-Subscription: $24

Sunstone Subscription: $45

Exponent II Subscription: $28

5 Novels Likely to Be Whitney Finalists/Winners: $80 (these could be Mormon-themed or not, but I think in order to really work in the field, you should be aware of at least, say, the Mistborn series or Shannon Hale’s latest work, etc. This number could, obviously, go much higher.)

Filling Out Your Library: $30 (three titles at around $10 each with things like Salvador or Benediction and other stories, etc. [unless you live near an awesome DI])

The Best American Short Stories: $15 (or a similar title so you have some comparison to what’s happening with the Mormon short story)

Total = $374

Total + AML Conference Attendance (flight/gas money + hotel/meals — assume very modest budget of $500 total): $874

Finally, of course, there’s the cost in time to read all that, synthesize it, and write about it. And if you go to a Sunstone conference or the Rocky Mountain MLA meeting, etc., your costs will rise fairly dramatically.

Emmeline B. Wells

What does it cost to develop a writer? Do readers bear part of that cost? If readers refuse to read anything but the best works, will authors still be able to develop? And what is the role of criticism for a developing author? While these questions are perhaps more about education than strict criticism, when they have such a large potential impact on the quality of literature its hard to see how literary criticism can ignore them entirely.

And Emmeline B. Wells did weigh in on this issue, chiefly in response to a series of complaints about there being too many books, and too few books that are worthy of careful reading. We hear these complaints today, but these complaints ignore Wells’ question in response: how do authors develop if only works of literary genius are read?

I wish I had read carefully and internalized Wells’ essay years ago, before I joined A Motley Vision. I believe it would have informed both my views of Mormon literature as well as what I’ve written. There is sound advice here for readers and authors, and, I think, an important corollary to what I wrote a while ago in What Bad Mormon Literature Do We Need?

I tried to excerpt some portion of this article, instead of running the whole thing, but I could find only one paragraph that I could eliminate from the article. So here is Emmeline’s views on Young Writers.

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Young Writers

by Amethyst (Emmeline B. Wells)

“He that writes,

Or makes a feast, more certainly invites

His judges than his friends; there’s not a guest

But will find something wanting, or ill-drest,”

There is perhaps not a class of people in the world who are more severely criticized than writers… We hear remarks occasionally like these: “There are too many books;” “There are too many scribblers who fancy they can write, who push their works upon the public;” “The world is full of them, we don’t want so much rhyming and scribbling, we want real poetry and prose, worth careful reading;” “We want depth of thought and sentiment, and eloquent and brilliant expression; not so many common place writers.” All this is very discouraging to the young, to the beginner, who must first try his skill and strength in the path of literature; I know some will say one should keep the first efforts to themselves, but the writer is not a good critic, he cannot possibly judge, without prejudice in favor of his own work; of course he should revise, correct and re-write, but some one else must be the judge.

The world is not made up of geniuses, in fact they are very few, and those few are often in need of a balance. If only literary geniuses produced books and writings, the world would be scantily provided with literature; great writers are about as scarce as great singers, and what should we do in all our little villages, in all our homes, our schools, and our churches, if people refused to sing because some one had succeeded in achieving a great musical triumph, and possessed a voice like a nightingale, and had set the world in a furore; if such were the case the world would not be so full of music as it is, and many a sad heart would lack the sweet consolation and healing balm that comes through the soothing influence of song; it is a blessed thing, to be able to sing, or play on a musical instrument. It gives relief to the feelings, and voice and expression to the holiest emotions of the soul; then let us encourage all that which elevates and purifies; and whatever opens up avenues for the exalted emotions of the human soul, tends to fuller development of the inner life and promotes that higher culture, which is a step in advancement towards the exaltation, we all desire to attain.

Instead of discouraging those who have a desire to write, even though their efforts are poor, rather stimulate them to greater diligence, and more persistent effort, in cultivating the talent with which they have been endowed, or in pouring forth the song which is welling up in the soul. We have not too many writers, nor too many books in my humble opinion. We had far better pay out more money for books and reading matter, and less for many other things not so useful or pleasant in a home. I hope to see the day when in every home in the land, there will be a library of choice books and papers, suited to different tastes, and also musical instruments, and other attractions for a home that will elevate the minds of the inmates and produce a higher mental and spiritual atmosphere, and make mankind more godlike in intelligence, which is said to be the glory of God, Himself.

How foolish it would be when one has a song upon his lips not to pour it forth, because some who are learned and able will criticize him severely or unjustly; such a one is unjust to himself, and is not making use of the talent committed to his keeping, and will one day be held accountable for hiding it. Such a one lacks fortitude, and needs encouragement from those who are stronger or braver. St. Paul says, let those who are strong bear the burdens of those who are weak, and if we truly loved one another we would be more willing to do this; but instead of such being the case, many are ready to pull down and discourage those who are using their best endeavors to benefit the world of mankind, and often crush the one who is struggling against difficulties, when they might reach out and help him; a little influence to support one when making an earnest effort to develop one’s gifts is most welcome, and the gratitude of the receiver is ample recompense, for it is always more blessed to give than to receive.

I know it is said true genius will surmount every difficulty and rise triumphant in the greatest emergency, but unless the genius has an indomitable will, or destiny has given him a particular mission to fill, such will not of necessity be the case; most geniuses have had patrons, men or women of influence,who have brought them forward, for true merit is modest and retiring; besides, geniuses are rare—they are like precious diamonds—but there are a quantity of other gems, and people with one talent or two are much more common in this world than those gifted with ten.

Every human soul wants some development mentally, and one day we shall become more fully alive to this truth. In the Gospel there is full scope for this development if it were understood. There are many superior advantages for the Latter-day Saints that will, when comprehended, more fully satisfy the yearnings of the human soul.

But I am anticipating, to come back to the question under consideration in regard to writing and writers, we would say, never shrink from a duty because there is another who can perform it better, let not your heart fail you from writing a few lines because you are not equal to Thackeray, or Carlyle, or George Eliot, or George Sand, or Harriet Beecher Stowe, but write in your own simple, unaffected, unpretentious style, and who knows but many people may be better pleased and more edified than with some heavy article from the pen of a great writer. We want variety, and originality is always more acceptable than affectation.

Should a star refuse to shine because some other more brilliant casts a shadow over it—it may be even the more lovely? What if the sparrow were to decline to sing because the robin’s song was more admired. Each one may shine in his own way, it is not noble to refuse to do what one has the ability and talent to perform; but it is very ignoble to discourage another in any pursuit or profession; we may advise, if we think one has mistaken his calling, and so be helpful to a friend.

“Mormonism” is rich in themes for the production of literature, and one may find subject for rhyme, for poetry, for a variety of prose works, for the drama, and for the most profound writings; and though our home writers may not be very highly esteemed at present, and their works not so meritorious, yet those who desire to see Utah take an honorable place in the nation should encourage the author, and help sustain literary labor. “Despise not the day of small things,” when we see the blossom it is significant of fruit; but the garden of literature wants great attention, careful culling, weeding and pruning. Our young people should try to do their literary work well, and not be offended if they are not successful in being recognized at first.

…

The humble daisy blossoming by the wayside cheers the weary traveler, and has as many admirers as the gayest flower that blooms in the garden; so it ‘ often is with the homely writer, he blesses the lowly and the humble; they comprehend and appreciate him, his simple language is music” to them and they laugh at the critics, who deem his efforts a failure. I rejoice to see progress in this direction and I feel sure there might be much more were some encouragement held out to stimulate young writers. If those who have means and influence would become patrons of literature, and draw out some of the talent that at present is buried in obscurity, the community might be enriched, for there must from natural consequences be a mine of wealth in the hearts and minds of the young people born and reared amidst these mountain vales.

From The Contributor (2) August 1881, p. 348.

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I love almost everything that Wells says here, despite its rather dated language. The complaints she cites in the first paragraph sound like those I hear today. She is right that there is a role for authors who are not literary geniuses (although I have to question what seems like the norm in the Mormon market to exclude whatever pretends to literary genius an only carry the rest!) It is also easy to agree with statements like “We had far better pay out more money for books and reading matter, and less for many other things not so useful or pleasant in a home.” or “How foolish it would be when one has a song upon his lips not to pour it forth, because some who are learned and able will criticize him severely or unjustly.”

Wells’ criticism of the idea that “true genius will surmount every difficulty” might be stronger given that we don’t really know if or to what extent “true genius” may have not surmounted difficulties because what hasn’t surmounted difficulties is long forgotten and likely lost. I also like the intriguing phrase “Despise not the day of small things” (which refers to Zechariah 4:10)—and its easy to see her day as a “day of small things;” but I suspect we today have a hard time seeing our day as a “day of small things,” whether it is or is not.

I suspect that today we are in both a “day of small things,” and a day of greater things. For those who are beginning the development of their talents in whatever art they have chosen, it is a day of small things, even if great things are happening. What is important in a day of small things is that we have in place the elements needed and maintained for a day of greater things.

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