Review: American Trinity: And Other Stories from the Mormon Corridor

 

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Review by Doug Gibson

I really enjoy reading fiction by David G. Pace. He often captures the conflict between traditional Mormonism, its cultural comfort level, and inevitable questioning and repudiation of mores necessary in a changing world. In Pace's work, this conflict, if continued, can irreparably damage a marriage, cause a general authority to want to rebel, or lead one of the Three Nephites to be fed up with Christ for giving him a never-ending gospel calling.

That leads to the signature story, "American Trinity," in this new anthology, published by BCC Press. Zed is one of the Three Nephites, and the endless stretch of time, the constant changing of environments and culture, have him burnt out, to put it mildly. He only has occasional contact with the other two Nephites, and spends a lot of time at the theater. One of the Three Nephites, Jonas, has become of the world, enjoying multiple marriages and children that he outlives. The other, Kumen, goes the other way, living nomadic and looking for little, mundane miracles he can give to Saints. They are the kind of miracles tailor made for a Fast Sunday sacrament meeting.

I was enjoying the story, Zed's history and his anguish, and expected it to just end, with Zed facing another day. And then wordsmith Pace ups the ante and provides a powerful climax that near brought me to tears. Our protagonist comes across the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, in Greenwich Village, on May 25 1911. Zed comes to a 12-year-old girl, who jumped out to escape flames. She's dying. He can't help her. But somehow this brave soul accepts her death, and -- at least for a little while -- saves Zed. "'Don't be afraid,' she told him."

There are 12 stories in the anthology. Some I particularly enjoyed were "City of the Saints," a Babbit-esque tale of a recently called lesser LDS general authority trying to assert himself and resist conformity. Another, "Sagarmatha," involves a disaffected Latter-day Saint man escaping his crumbling marriage by traveling to Nepal on a mountain-climbing trek. While on it, he devotes considerable energy to protecting a sick dog.

"Caliban Revels Now Ended" is a well-crafted story of a missionary, with his companion, who read The Book of Mormon to a stroke victim, Ian, who cannot talk to them. "There was something about reading the verses aloud--the way they filled the old house with an authoritative cadence--that conjured for Ethan an assurance he hadn't felt before: that the book was a good one; that it was speaking to him," Pace writes. The story concludes 20 years later, with Ethan no longer an orthodox Mormon, no longer a believer in the Book of Mormon as fact. Yet Pace writes, "Still, as Ethan drove away that summer night, he hoped that someone had read one of the final passages of the Mormon's book to Ian before he passed on--a passage that, to Ethan seemed to transcend both orthodoxy and disbelief."

I see through the stories a respect for the Book of Mormon, not as a factual tome, but as a book, created by a man with talents, that can change the lives of individuals. In "American Trinity," Zed reiterates his deep affection for the Book of Mormon as a history that survived, although he is disappointed at Mormon's excessive abridgment.

A couple of others stories I particularly recommend are "Stairway to Heaven," for its take on how surprising too-soon death can be interpreted within LDS culture, and "The Mormon Moment," a lighthearted yet insightful tale -- told in quotes -- of an older LDS man trying to convince "Dot" to vote for Mitt Romney over Barack Obama. It reminded me of the culture of 2012, only 12 years ago but it seems like a long time. Frankly, I'd like to see Pace capture this subject with Donald Trump in 2024.

Buy this anthology, and also pick up Pace's novel, Dream House on Golan Drive. It's an excellent read of a Utah Mormon family in the 1970s, and the novel's narrator is "Zed" of the Three Nephites. I've no doubt Zed's still around today, hoping against hope for Christ's Second Coming, and an end to his calling.

The Darkest Abyss is a fascinating, offbeat journey through stories related to Mormonism

 

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Review by Doug Gibson

BCC Press released "The Darkest Abyss: Strange Mormon Stories," near Halloween or so of this year and that really wasn't a bad choice. A lot of the tales provided by author William Morris are curious -- but satisfying -- reads. They all tend to have a little something of fantasy, sinister, otherwordly, -- take your pick. There's even a "witch" in one tale, and a grown-up dryad who's definitely a bigger threat than the "witch."

 Let me start with the dryad tale, "Wild Branches." In it a conventionally eccentric Latter-day Saint mom is very attuned to nature. Her daughter, speaking to a professor, explains that mom was brought by dad from his mission in Finland, in a trunk, and eventually planted in the U.S. The parents are a bit nomadic, traveling a lot, moving often. Dad likes archeaological digs, but as daughter relates, mom was always better at discovering things in the earth.

This story takes a twist at the end that the author, in a podcast, notes veers toward "cozy horror," although it's certainly not a traditional horror tale. I was caught surprised by the ending, which is sinister. However, re-reading the story, focusing on the mom, her likes, dislikes, talents, it makes perfect sense.

"Proof Sister Greeley is a Witch (Even though Mormons Don't Believe in Witches)" is one of my favorites in this book. Morris crafts it in numbered paragraphs, each one supporting the premise of the title. I like the story because I think most Latter-day Saints have a "Sister Greeley" in their ward or branch, eccentric, kind of scary to youngers, misunderstood by members lacking depth, and highly skilled in often underappreciated talents, such as cooking or home nursing. The "Sister Greeleys" of the world also get it that there are "some things the brethren of the priesthood just can't understand," as Morris writes in the tale. 

To me the whole story had the type of pleasant vibe I get from reading the late John D. Fitzgerald, author of "Papa Married a Mormon" and "The Great Brain" books.

Let me interrupt to say what's obvious. Morris is a very talented storyteller who manages to create unique situations and plots within the culture of Mormonism. This is whether he writes about things that can happen daily in this world, or when he constructs alternative universes and supernatural characters. In a review I published years ago for his short story anthology, "Dark Watch," I wrote that "his prose reflects the uncomfortable situations, the struggling to find the right words to persuade, the inclination to rely on a convenient Scripture to try to sway, and the realization from most of those talking that they won't change the minds of those listening to them."

That brings me to another story in "Darkest Abyss," "A Mormon Writer Visits Spirit Prison." I love this fantasy story because, admit it, all of us Mormons wonder what it will be like doing missionary work in the afterlife. How many times do your hear members of the ward insist that their departed ones are busy as bees doing missionary work for their fellow dead? It's an iconic visual in the church's culture.

Morris provides a spin on that scenario that reminds of C.S. Lewis' wonderful novella, "The Great Divorce." In Morris' tale, a post-life missionary gets an earful from a man penned in spirit prison. The man provides solid reasons as to why he's not receptive to this after-the-fact attempt to save his soil. The Mormon Writer prostlyting engages in mostly platitudes. Morris provides superb dialogue that will remind us -- uncomfortably or not -- of the pabulum we sometimes hear in wards, homes, firesides and some literature. Here's an example:

- I am not God. But I am a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ.

- Yes, you are. I don't know why that matters to my situation at all.

- It matters a great deal.

-So you say.

-- Oh, so I'm a lion now. Or am I the politician?

-- You certainly aren't the lover.

-- And yet I do love you. That's why I keep visiting.

-- And do you enjoy your visits to Arkham, Mr. Wayne?

The story ends with the "missionary realizing" he has little empathy or understanding of the man he's trying to convert. It's a fun, uniquely crafted story.

There's 18 stories in the anthology. "Emma Travels West" is an alternative-universe 19th century tale with Emma Smith visiting wary Utahns and pitching her version of plural marriage. I enjoyed how Morris handled media reaction to her visit. "There Wrestled a Man in Parowan" reminds me of reading a great Levi S. Peterson story. (When I mention other authors, please don't think it's an insinuation of Morris being derivative. He is a unique valuable talent in the genre. Many of his stories remind me of books and stories I have enjoyed.)

"A Sword Bathed in Heaven," and "Uncle Porter's Revolver," are excellent reads that deal, in a supernatural manner, with contemporary topics of the last days, or final battles, and firearms for protection. In 'Uncle Porter's Revolver," a young city man is harshly influenced by the unwelcome gift of a firearm. 

What I enjoy about Morris's writing is in these stories, and others, I have heard people in my life talk like the people in the stories. And that's a strength of "The Darkest Abyss," no matter how out there in the "multiverse" some of these stories venture to, the characters are often people you would meet today.

Read this anthology. It's worth readers' time and investments. A few other stories that are must reads include "With All Our Dead, "The Only 15," After the Fast," and "A Ring Set Not with Garnet but Sardius."

Book of Laman an interesting take on Mormon scripture

Review by Doug Gibson

While reading "Book of Laman," (By Common Consent Press, 2017), author Mette Ivie Harrison's literary take on the LDS scripture, "The Book of Mormon," I kept thinking of Joan Osborne's song "What If God Was One of Us."

What if God was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the bus
Tryin' to make his way home?

If God had a face what would it look like?
And would you want to see if, seeing meant
That you would have to believe in things like heaven
And in Jesus and the saints, and all the prophets?

I don't claim that this is the author's intended theme, but to me it's that Laman is like nearly every one of us. We're trying to believe; that's why we head to church once a week and read our Scriptures. But we often fight a losing battle with spirituality and godly enthusiasm when it's stacked against frustration, grief, resentment, anger, temptation, envy, disappointment, love and hate, and even justice. OK, you're saying Laman tried to commit murder and we don't. But would we never think of doing that if forced to leave a comfortable home to spend a generation in the desert?

And that's what Laman is dealing with in his book. With some literary license, Harrison paints a picture of the Jerusalem family of Lehi and Sariah as one saddled with a discredited, formerly drunk, over-zealous father who abandoned his sons and wife for a spell and is mocked for it. It's a dysfunctional family who is then commanded by its head to leave their home.

Laman is also jealous/annoyed at his supercilious yet supremely devout younger brother, Nephi. The relationship between the two, from Laman's perspective, is interesting. The elder brother does believe that the younger brother speaks for God, and is God's choice to lead the exodus. The problem is Laman, and Lemuel, just can't stand Nephi. Harrison's portrayal of Nephi is not flattering. It reminds of the ubiquitous overzealous, condescending, condemning missionary invariably met in our tours of spiritual duty. We know they're doing what they're supposed to be doing but can't they show a little humility?

"The Book of Laman" is not, as I anticipated, a satire or a polemic. It is a straightforward, at times even plodding retelling of the beginning of "The Book of Mormon." All the major early scenes are includes, up to the arrival to the Americas and the split between the families. It concludes with a very old Laman, mostly ignored and sometimes mocked, filled with regret.

Laman's life is a lot like our lives. He sins. He repents. He has spiritual experiences. He has dark moments of anger. He'd like to be a better person who pleases God more often.

Like "The Book of Mormon," some characters are not developed. Lemuel is a bit of a shadowy character, who becomes more menacing as the novel progresses. Lehi and Sariah, as they age become, perhaps appropriately, less relevant. A scene with Lehi offering final blessings to his children is, however, strongly written. It captures Laman's conflicting desires to follow Lehi's counsel despite his anger at his brother Nephi.

Besides the conflict between Laman and Nephi, the most interest relationship is between Laman and his wife, Naomi, who share a bond and deep love. They are true confidantes. Ironically, due to their deep connection, much of Laman's later aggressions against Nephi is supported, and even prodded, by Naomi, including the burning of a temple that prompts Nephi's faction to leave.

Near the end of the book, Laman, begging forgiveness of God, is rewarded with a vision of Christ's visit to his new land. Through a voice from heaven, his sins are forgiven him. Again, he's not much different from those of us who beg God's mercy, and ask that He forgive our sins.