Laughed Behind

It's a christian fundamentalist book. OK, I can deal with that.
It'€™s about the rapture. All right, that doe'nâ€automatically mean the book is bad.
It'€™s mind-numbingly boring and poorly written.

Houston, we have a problem.

Perhaps it’s the inherent nature of christian fundamentalism that condemns the books of its assimilatees from the start. After all, the christians have to be good, while the unbelievers have to be misguided-wrong at best and evil-wrong at worst. This doesn’t exactly make for complex, nuanced characterization or shades of grey. All good women have to accept their preprogrammed roles as wives and mothers, whereas I prefer reading about women who have careers, goals and ideals other than “pray for my husband and bake him cookies with hearts on them” (yes, that’s what a main character’s wife does in this book). What makes Left Behind, by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins, the utter dregs of a deep, deep cesspit is firstly, its gleeful descriptions of how bad life on earth is going to be after all the teletub--er, True Christians leave. Secondly, the book glosses over some biblical concepts which I’ll describe later. And finally, every single unbeliever in this book is a hollow shell which christianity easily fills, as opposed to the kind of intelligent, inquiring person who might be too difficult to convert. So let’s begin the (acid) trip into the fundamentalist fantasy of a biblical prophesy coming true all by itself…

The disappearances (of the characters’ minds)

The story, such as it is, begins with Remington – sorry, Rayford Steele piloting an aircraft and thinking about Hattie Durham, a pretty flight attendant. She’s something of a change from his wife Irene, who of late has developed an “obsession with religion”. Of course, it’s an obsession with the correct religion, christianity, so that’s a good thing. It leads to a couple of other obsessions, since Irene becomes fixated on the rapture and equally hellbent on saving her husband, but again, these are all presented as wonderful aspects of Irene’s nonexistent character (she has no apparent job and she drops out of college after their marriage). She never appeared in the book, which was a relief, since a lobotomy patient in a coma would have been more interesting.

Rayford neither has nor expresses any strong, well-thought-out opinions about any facet of her religion, no matter how offensive or contradictory that religion gets. For instance, at her new church, people are nosy enough to ask him what god is doing in his life. Isn’t that between him and god? I mean, if they want to know so badly, why not ask god to reveal it to them? Rayford retreats behind excuses, not a response I find admirable, but perhaps reinforcing the fundamentalist belief that a skeptic really doesn’t have a leg to stand upon. You wouldn’t want to scare your reading public by showing them reality, after all, though it’s quite all right to jerk them out of the narrative by reminding them that they’re reading a book. Irene’s rapturemania is the first instance of this. The fact that she becomes interested in the very subject of the novel – OK, not that big a coincidence – allows her to become the authors’ megaphone, but when I came across this particular snippet:

"Can you imagine, Rafe," she exulted, "Jesus coming back to get us before we die?"

it was just too much of a meta-reference. Anyway, Irene cries at the end of this discussion (if all else fails when converting the Great Unwashed-in-the-blood-of-christ, resort to emotional manipulation), and Rayford envies her confidence. Yes, that’s the other thing about skeptics. Deep down, they really wish they were like fundamentalists. Especially the kind who exult over their “devotion to a divine suitor” and cry when they don’t get their way.

Rayford’s long flashback finally comes to a merciful end, and we are returned to the present, where a number of people on the plane abruptly vanish, leaving their clothes behind (Jesus is a clothing-optional kind of guy).

"A whole bunch of people, just gone!"

A whole bunch of grapes vanished too! I'€™m telling you, captain, someo'e’s raiding the food cabinets!

Sobbing as all women do in moments of stress, Hattie breaks the news that more than a hundred people on the plane have vanished, which I would have found difficult to believe even if I were still a fundamentalist. A hundred people on one plane were all True Christians? Either the requirements for such supreme status have been relaxed somewhat, or the entire congregation of the Reformed Baptist Church of the Lord decided to take that flight. Rayford soon joins them in mind if not in body, since he quickly concludes that “Irene had been right. He, and most of his passengers, had been left behind.” Yes, who needs time to think matters over, much less any kind of evidence? Rayford doesn’t even know that the disappearees are True Christians, but he recognizes his role as the authors’ puppet and behaves accordingly.

Meanwhile, accidents are occurring all over the world, with thousands of people dying in car and plane crashes. This doesn’t allow the people time to repent and be saved, but on the plus side, they don’t have to spend any time with the characters. God is merciful, brothersnsisters! Certainly more so than the authors, who go into loving detail on exactly how people left behind will suffer. Even suicide is not enough for them, so they throw in a videotaped birth where the woman’s husband catches the fetus’s disappearance on tape. Since it’s a fetus, it must still have been in utero, which means the husband went where no amateur video cameraman has gone before. We are not told whether god also took the woman’s milk away to heaven to nourish the baby, or if it will be possible to raise the infant on manna alone, with regular supplements of the blood of christ. Still, this partiality towards children is emphasized later on, when Hattie reports, "Sir, we lost every child and baby on this plane." Every child under twelve has disappeared.

What is it about the age of twelve that causes god to deny a child automatic access to heaven, much like Michael Jackson letting only the kiddies into Neverland? Moreover, have any of the ten-year-olds told a lie? Have the eleven-year-olds touched themselves where only their future spouses have the right to touch (except that since they’re going to the neutered fundamentalist version of heaven, they might as well have been born sans genitalia)? If so, how can god be in the presence of these sinners? And if he automatically forgives them, shouldn’t he automatically forgive the thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds as well – and pretty much everyone, for that matter? Not that anyone in the book asks any questions of the sort, however. They watch the news like catatonic sheep, tears streaming down their faces. I could understand Rayford doing this, since he’d been separated from his Total Woman, but there’s nothing particularly heroic about his maudlin state, and at times it verges on the unbelievable.

At the end of the hall he paused before the French doors that led to the master suite. What a beautiful, frilly place Irene had made it, decorated with needlepoint and country knickknacks. Had he ever told her he appreciated it?

He sounds as though he'€™s auditioning to be in a Chick tract ohomosexuality, and she sounds like Laura Ashley on steroids. When he finds the cookies she baked for him, with cutesy little chocolate hearts on top, his cup ranneth over.

What a sweet, sweet woman! he thought. I never deserved her, never loved her enough!

Unfortunately, since Irene comes across as an uptight dullard, I just couldn’t cry as hard as Rayford did. The authors pile on the pathos with a shovel, though they use a bulldozer when it comes to the proselytizing.

Resistance is not just futile, it doesn’t even exist

Since it’s just not enough for a skeptic to lose half his family, the authors give Rayford a figurative castration as well, by having him feel “stupid and weak and worthless” because he didn’t share his wife’s raging theophilia. He goes so far as to wish his college-attending daughter Chloe – supposedly a competitive, tough, independent skeptic – had been more wimplike and gullible. He never once wonders if the christians, rather than being safe and happy now, are cowering before the vengeful god of the Old Testament, afraid to say one wrong word for fear that they’ll be punished; instead, he begins making excuses for god’s actions. And the part in the bible about Jesus coming quickly, although it’s been nearly two thousand years post mortem? Oh, that meant that when he came, he would do so quickly. In other words, if your significant other shouts to you from another room, “Come quickly!” you can proceed there after a decade, as long as you run real fast when you do so.

The arrival of Chloe might have been a breath of fresh air if Rayford had not been possessed by conversion fever by the time, disgorging lame arguments like Linda Blair vomiting pea soup in The Exorcist. Notably missing during their conversations are any doubt that god exists or any question of the bible’s authenticity – or even much knowledge of the book. Rayford’s stance is that if heaven is where his wife and son are, that’s where he wants to be.

OK, time out. The authors are conveniently glossing over the part of the bible which claims that “in the resurrection, they neither marry nor are given in marriage” (Matthew 22:30). When Rayford finally sees his wife again, she won’t be his wife – she’ll be like his sister or his mother. Though from the sound of it, he’ll be getting as much sex after her transformation as he did before, so perhaps he won’t notice. In any case, there’s only one burning desire he has right now, and that is to make his daughter conform to his newfound religion. Since Chloe doesn’t seem to be giving in to Pascal’s Wager, he takes her to Irene’s church, where one of the pastors has been left behind as well. This begins a sojourn into what was the most annoying part of the conversion process – the near-hysterical insistence on a speedy decision. Caution and thought are anathema to these people. I would have liked it if Chloe had seen the flaws in this approach, but she’s a straw skeptic whose idea of a rejoinder is “Gross”, thereby reminding me of a teenage girl who might go on to tell daddy that he’s being totally uncool.

"Oh, brother," she said. "Do you wonder why I walked out?"
"I figured it was because the questions and answers were hitting a little too close to home."

He'€™s far less interested in establishing any kind of common ground or dialogue than he is in proving his point of view superior to hers (which is only possible because Chloe has no viewpoint). Nothing she says, short of “This is my brain. Take and eat”, will satiate him; when she says that she has to be intellectually honest with herself, Rayford labels her “pseudo-sophisticated”. Perhaps if Chloe was really sophisticated, she would be baking cookies for God’s followers instead of bothering her pretty little head over such big words. The drivel continues for page after stupefying page, as Rayford spouts his newfound belief with evangelical zeal, seizing any and every opportunity to push it in his daughter’s face as she makes token protests and finally stops saying anything at all.

At least she was still sensitive to his feelings. Maybe he should have been more sensitive to hers, but he had decided he couldn't let those gentilities remain priorities anymore. He was going to contend for the faith with her until she made a decision.

In other words, he’s going to badger her into believing, and he invites Hattie to dinner in the hope that he can convert her as well. See, he was previously a sinner because he had designs on Hattie’s body. Now, however, it’s Hattie’s brain he wants, so everything’s cool. If Jesus had only gone around nagging or manipulating people instead of wasting his time healing and feeding them, he might have converted everyone to christianity there and then. Moral of the story : don’t send a god to do a man’s work. Eventually, of course, Chloe gives in and decides to pray. However, since she’s a “skeptic”, she decides to ask god to perform a certain action before she believes in him. And what would that action be? To resurrect an innocent victim of one of those car crashes? To cure someone with AIDS? To show her a vision of heaven?

Chloe prays that Buck Williams, a fellow left-behinder who’s attracted to her, will get on the same flight as she does and sit next to her (maybe he’ll hold her hand as well, and share his Tootsie Pop with her). Naturally he does so, and tears fill her eyes as she realizes that she loves Big Bro… er, that god is looking out for her love life. Buck also understands that it’s impossible for a man to find and then sit next to a woman he likes without divine assistance. “You asked and he delivered,” he says. “Sounds like you're obligated.” Because what god would let a man sit next to a woman without payback in mind? Chloe agrees with all the serenity of a heavily sedated cow being carried into the abattoir. "I have no choice… Not that I want one."

Hello again, lunch. Nice to see you back, breakfast. Glad you could join us as the paranoia parade continues into the political side of matters…

Christianity makes strange bedfellows

As soon as hotshot reporter Buck Williams was introduced, the book began to spiral down into an unbelievable comic-book atmosphere that was only reinforced by the name of his magazine, the Global Weekly. Perhaps he started out on the Daily Planet. In a steaming heap of exposition, we are told Buck is the youngest ever senior writer, the envy of the veteran staff, and probably the Grand Duchess Anastasia as well. Recently, he flew to Israel, where a Dr. Rosenzweig had invented a “miracle formula” which fertilized sand; since this made Israel very rich, the country was able to make peace with its neighbors. Uh, news flash. The neighbors are also very rich, thanks to their supplies of oil, and are unlikely to turn pacifistic on these grounds. But remember, this story is set in an imaginary land made of marshmallows, so let’s just go along with that premise and pretend it'€™s realistic that

Chaim Rosenzweig was… protected by security systems as complex as those that protected heads of state… A kidnapped and tortured Rosenzweig could be forced to reveal a secret that would similarly revolutionize any nation in the world.

We'€™re in official mascientist territory, with a single person having knowledge that could rule/change/destroy the world. So, Chaim had no research associates? No graduate students or postdocs? Did he run his own gels and wash his own glassware? I assume he never submitted anything to any scientific journals either. Anyway, while Buck is in Israel, the Russians attack, only to be defeated by a very selective meteor shower which leads Jewish scholars to exclaim that God’s defeat of Israel’s enemies had verily been prophesied in the bible. Let the record show that God is able to fulfill prophecies in fiction written by his followers! Glory! Even more incredibly, the scriptures went on to speak of enemy soldiers being buried in a common grave… brace yourselves… and this actually happened. See, when the scriptures predict such a rare occurrence, you know they'€™re divinely inspired.

Christian friends wanted Buck to take the next step and believe in Christ, now that he was so clearly spiritually attuned.

Yes, the force was strong in that one. Unfortunately the Buck stopped there, and as a result, he too is left behind, although he bewails his fate somewhat less than Rayford does. He’s far too busy dodging the merciless minions of the amoral antichrist to cry until he meets “a beautiful girl” ten years his junior, who looks up to him in wide-eyed wonder at his age and experience (sounds like an Electra complex to me).

You are a lovely person, Chloe, and I was moved to tears by your story.

Jesus wept. Go and do thou likewise. But before you do, drop everything and listen to even more exposition, this time on the mysterious ways of god as he tries desperately to feed his addiction to humans – or, more specifically, to their recognition and respect. Remember, you’re nogody till everybody loves you.

Strange as this may sound to you, this is God's final effort to get the attention of every person who has ignored or rejected him.

Except for the thousands who died in the plane and car crashes, I suppose. Oh well, even a god must be permitted some collateral damage. And for some reason, his “final effort” to draw attention to himself will involve seven years of hardship and suffering for the people left on earth. It’s as though he wants to punish them for taking so long to give him the adulation he craves, though of course none of the behinders see it that way. None of them have any concerns or criticisms about god’s actions; none of them even question why it has to be seven years, or why Jesus’s kingdom on earth will last for exactly a thousand years. Then again, no one, from Rayford to the pastor to god, wants a discussion or a dialogue – and the two which appear in the story say so explicitly. They want a captive audience which they can manipulate to produce the desired effect.

€śIt will be so bad that people will cry out for rocks to fall on them and put them out of their misery." Several in the room began to weep.

I wouldn'€™t have minded a rock or two putting me out of my misery when I read this claptrap. In the end, however, the antichrist reveals his amazing power of mass hypnosis by openly killing someone and blaming the murder on another man, whom he also kills. Everyone present is taken in except for Buck, who’s been prayed for, so he sits there with the usual tears trickling down his face as he realizes god has saved him. Without so much as a moment of sympathy for the dead people whom god refused to help, Buck runs off to join the rest of his friends and they form a special group to spread the word and fight evil. I’d have called it the Superfiends, or perhaps the +-Men. With arms around each other, they proceed into the sequel, probably crying all the way to heaven as they do so. After all, the lachrymose ludicrousness is one trademark of

The style, or lack thereof

Rayford liked it. He was thinking of her. Then he realized she was thinking of him, and he was touched.

This book is for people who like short sentences. And everything explained repeatedly in very simple ways. So that not much reflection is required. Subtlety, after all, is characteristic of the serpent in the garden, and should be avoided at all costs. Even when Dick meets Jane… er, Buck meets Chloe, the attraction between them is shoved in the reader’s face, lest we imagine that someone else, like the short pudgy pastor or her father, might be destined for fruitfulness and multiplication with Chloe.

Buck was stunned. He loved Chloe's name, her eyes, her smile.

If I was writing a twelve-book series, I would stretch the sexual tension out and make the relationship as exciting and as complex as possible, but that may be anathema to fundamentalists. After all, the last thing Mr. LaHaye and Mr. Jenkins want is to accidentally arouse their readers and thereby lead them into the darkness of debauchery. Therefore, Buck and Chloe are forced into conversations such as

€śThirty and a half, going on thirty-one," he said with a twinkle.
"I say, how old are you?" she shouted, as if talking to a deaf old man. Buck roared.
"I'd buy you another cookie, little girl, but I don't want to spoil your appetite."

I'€™m not sure what’s worse – the lame attempt at humor or the idea of a man addressing a (much younger) woman he finds attractive as “little girl”. There’s something disturbingly Lolita-esque about this relationship. The cookie fetish remains consistent, though; it must run in the family.

A book designed to push an ideology can still be interesting; although I don’t agree with all the principles of objectivism, I like The Fountainhead. Even a fundamentalist novel might be good if it focused on some of the better aspects of Jesus’s teachings. However, the only purpose of the heroes of this book is to convert as many people as possible before going to heaven. The characters are so intent on seeing their loved ones again that I doubted they would bother to subjugate themselves to god if they weren’t sure of a happy reunion. No one becomes a christian because they love god and want to serve him, or because they admire Jesus and believe that his message was the truth. They become christians because god either has done or is going to do something for them. That’s hardly a ringing endorsement for either the religion or for the authors’ ability to preach/write. Ultimately, the only way that the True Christians can get to the happy hunting ground described in one work of fiction is by writing about it in another. Thanks, but I’ll stick with reality.

Back to the Nutwatches!