The Blue Umbrella — Martin

“Not many people are killed by lightning.
Zac’s mother was.”

So begins the story of Zac Sparks, a ten-year-old who has had the carpet pulled out from under his life. He lands unevenly in the town of Five Corners, at the mansion of two cruel elderly aunts, where his existence becomes like that of a prisoner.

The eccentric populous of Five Corners seems surrounded by mystery — a girl who by choice doesn’t speak, a blind balloon seller, a midget butler, a shaggy barber (even smaller than the butler), a mother who rarely leaves her room, a town drunk whose beautiful singing voice is inexplicably heard when she is nowhere to be seen, and the proprietor of a general store who carries a blue umbrella wherever he goes. There are rumours of the upper level of the store being haunted, and Zac has seen strange lights coming from its skylights at night. The more he learns the stranger things become.

There is an effective allusion to Narnia, early in The Blue Umbrella. Zac is reminded of the story his mother had read to him, when he looks at some fur coats; he wishes he could escape, as the children who travelled through the wardrobe had had wondrous possibilities open for them.

Mike Mason’s writing is refreshing — just a hair’s breadth this side of absurdity — in a style reminiscent of Lemony Snicket. The Blue Umbrella draws us into delight — particularly when we see with childlike wonder the beauty and grandeur of weather. It also stirs dread — being rather dark for younger children: Zac’s aunts beat him continuously, and they take him to visit a character whose evil is so palpable that it overshadows their cruelty. Conversely goodness comes through in other characters, although Zac isn’t always sure who to trust.

The Blue Umbrella is about trust — and is also naturally seasoned with truths about important issues including anger, free will, the nature of reality, and heaven. Eventually Zac comes to trust one who “was willing to die for him” — and who, despite Zac’s short-comings, was quick to tell him, “Well done”.

We have a wonderful heritage of fantasy writers for children who desire to capture the truths of the Christian faith in their books — George MacDonald, C.S. Lewis, Madeleine L’Engle and now Mike Mason. Mason is a popular non-fiction writer (attendees at Write! Canada several years ago received a free copy of his book Champagne for the Soul) but The Blue Umbrella fulfills his childhood dream to be a novelist; it stands well on its own but, I’m please to say, is also the first book in a trilogy.

Mike Mason is a Canadian, living in Langley, B.C. The Blue Umbrella is published by David C. Cook — First edition, September 2009

D.S. Martin is Music Critic for Christian Week. He is the award-winning author of the poetry collections Poiema (Wipf & Stock) and So The Moon Would Not Be Swallowed (Rubicon Press). They are both available at: www.dsmartin.ca

"The Princess and the Goblin" — Martin

“I have never concealed the fact that I regarded MacDonald as my master,” C.S. Lewis has said. This alone was reason enough for me, years ago, to investigate the novels of George MacDonald (1824–1905) — a Scottish writer who left a secure career as a minister to scratch out a living as a novelist. Although he spent his life in poverty, he is also acknowledged as an influence on such fine writers as Lewis Carroll, J.R.R. Tolkein and Madeleine L’Engle.

His best works are fantasies — particularly two for children The Princess and the Goblin and The Princess and Curdie, and two for adults Phantastes and Lilith.

Between Christmas and New Year’s this year I reread one of my favourites: The Princess and the Goblin (1872). In this tale, MacDonald shows us what it means to believe. A soldier is mocked by his unbelieving peers for the strange creatures he tells them he’s seen; one by one each of the soldiers gradually comes to his side, because of their own experience. A brave miner boy disbelieves the inexplicable story of an invisible thread, until he himself feels it; a nanny is unable to believe even her own eyes — and the little princess begins to doubt her own experience as some kind of dream, when evidence seems to contradict it.

At one point the princess’s wise grandmother tells her, “People must believe what they can, and those who believe more must not be hard upon those who believe less.”

I highly recommend MacDonald’s fantasies. If you have small children, read The Princess and the Goblin aloud to them; if you don’t, don’t wait until you have young kids in your life to make this discovery.

British poet W.H. Auden wrote, “To me, George MacDonald’s most extraordinary, and precious gift is his ability, in all his stories, to create an atmosphere of goodness...” This is something rare and beautiful, which kingdom writers today would be wise to cultivate.

D.S. Martin is Music Critic for Christian Week. He is the award-winning author of the poetry collections Poiema (Wipf & Stock) and So The Moon Would Not Be Swallowed (Rubicon Press). They are both available at: www.dsmartin.ca

The Three Platonic Ideals: Goodness — Martin

I’m no scholar of the ancients; yet I’m often so drawn to ideas that ring true, that I have to give them further thought. The Greek philosopher Plato, centuries before Christ, spoke of three virtues,— Goodness, Beauty and Truth. The twentieth century snubbed its nose at these ideals as subjective wishful thinking, but such pseudo-sophistication wore out it’s welcome, when it’s ideas proved unable to stand up where real lives are really lived. Plato’s insight is worth our renewed consideration.

Of these three values, often the Christian community has embraced just two: Goodness and Truth. Similarly, even though the art community has rediscovered Beauty, it doesn’t have much to say about Goodness. Our "tolerant" Canadian society, while ready to accept Beauty and Goodness in and of themselves, is wishy-washy on the subject of Truth. I believe we need all three.

C.S. Lewis read George MacDonald’s novels when he was a young atheist. He later wrote, "The quality which had enchanted me in his imaginative works turned out to be the quality of the real universe, the divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic reality in which we all live. I should have been shocked in my ‘teens if anyone had told me that what I learned to love in Phantastes was goodness."

When we portray or bring forth Beauty, Truth and Goodness in the novels and poetry we write, in the worship we offer, in the lives we lead, we are reflecting "the real universe" and reflecting its Creator. Hollywood has trouble portraying Goodness. It produces exciting (although sometimes two-dimensional) villains, but its "good guys" are often either boring or seriously tainted. It is a rare film that captures anything substantial of Goodness, Beauty or Truth.

I believe Christian writers often have trouble finding their way, too. Do we try so hard to show Goodness and spiritual Truth that our manuscripts are no longer true to life? Are we, on the other hand, so determined to show the truth of evil in our world that we have lost our taste for Goodness? I wouldn’t want to prescribe a code for Christian storytellers, but I wonder if even some of our best contemporary writers are having trouble here. Perhaps we would all benefit by reflecting — in a biblically balanced way — on Plato’s three ideals. Yes, stories in the Bible freely tell of sin, but there are certain ideals on which Philippians chapter four tells us to focus.

D.S. Martin is Music Critic for Christian Week; his new poetry book, Poiema (Wipf & Stock), and his chapbook So The Moon Would Not Be Swallowed are available at http://www.dsmartin.ca/