Space Enough, and Time

I’m almost halfway through N. D. Wilson’s Outlaws of Time: The Legend of Sam Miracle. It’s a great read. On some level, it’s comfortable. On another level, though, it is different and engaging with a great open-ended feel.

Last week, Wilson talked with Publishers Weekly about writing. When asked about why he started writing for children:

I could try to give all sorts of philosophical answers, but the truth is, that’s where my imagination lives. When I sit back and think of adult stories, I think of film. But when the itch shows up to write a novel, inevitably it is for kids. You could say my imagination stopped in the sixth grade. My reading level increased, but not my imagination. Writing for kids has provided me with more than enough scope for the stories I love to tell – magical doors, time-walking priests, snake arms. I think I have too much fun to write for the grown-ups.

It’s an interesting concept, that your imagination “stops” at a particular age. I don’t take it to mean that you stop imagining so much as the kind of stuff you enjoy imagining the most settles down.

One of my favorite moments from the book so far involves Father Tiempo, a priest who travels through time in order to save (and save and save again) Sam Miracle from those who would “steal his heart.” It’s all about Time and Time’s Author:

Father Tiempo laughed, and his voice rattled off the canyon walls. “I’m beginning to understand why the old man liked you. Time is beyond your comprehension. Time is a wind. Time is an animal. Time is choices. Time is light woven into song. Time is the Poet speaking the next word. We are small, and so we hear and live only one works at a time, living in the way that you would read a book. Outside of the book, where only the Author exists, there is no time at all. It is not even a book. It is one endless, ever-growing but already-grown page. Most people live in the lines, but I march in the margins. I am sent to make the edits, the notes, the corrections. You and I and all creatures are ink on the page, but I can lead you through the white space between the words, where time is thin. I can lift you off the page until only your shadow is dragging behind.

Makes you wonder how well he would get along with the Doctor, for sure.

You can read the rest of the Publishers Weekly article here.

(image from christandpopculture.com)

Got my copy of N. D. Wilson’s Outlaws of Time: The Legend of Sam Miracle yesterday, and I’m looking forward to spending some quality time with it this weekend.  Wilson has had at least one article and one interview pop up in the media the last few days.  The article, “Why I Write Scary Stories for Children” is a well-rendered piece.  And while it revisits earlier themes of his work, the article moves things forward well by personalizing the topic of why he writes children’s books with a darker edge.  Consider:

There is absolutely a time and a place for The Pokey Little Puppy and Barnyard Dance, just like there’s a time and a place for footie pajamas. But as children grow, fear and danger and terror grow with them, courtesy of the world in which we live and the very real existence of shadows. The stories on which their imaginations feed should empower a courage and bravery stronger than whatever they are facing. And if what they are facing is truly and horribly awful (as is the case for too many kids), then fearless sacrificial friends walking their own fantastical (or realistic) dark roads to victory can be a very real inspiration and help.

I particularly like the story of how he handled his oldest son’s issue with the White Witch’s minions in the Narnia books.  And then later:

I don’t write horror. But I do write stories about terrified sheltered kids and fatherless kids and kids with the ghosts of abuse in their pasts. Those kids encounter horrors—witches and swamp monsters, black magical doors and undying villains, mad scientists and giant cheese-loving snapping turtles. Those kids feel real pain, described in real ways. They feel real loss. They learn that the truest victory comes from standing in the right place and doing the right thing against all odds, even if doing the right thing means losing everything. Even if doing the right thing means death. My characters live in worlds that are fundamentally beautiful and magical, just like ours, in worlds that are broken and brutal, just like ours. And, when characters live courageously and sacrificially, good will ultimately triumph over evil.

I think the strong, almost tangible, presence of evil in stories like The Lord of the Rings and the Harry Potter books is what grants them such impact.  But it’s also a risky move to make, as you (literally) don’t want to scare readers (or viewers) away.

It’s a great article.  You can read it in its entirety here.

I’ll let you know how the book is after I finish it.

(image from theonering.net)