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More award-winning fiction by Kenny Kemp:
2011 National Best Books Awards - Finalist, Religious Fiction
2012 Next Generation Indie Book Awards - Winner, Religious Fiction
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WHY HARRY POTTER WORKS . . . YET DOESN’T
I’m one of the few who were not captivated by Harry Potter. When the first book came out, I judged that a story about witchcraft was not my cup of tea—not because it was evil but merely because I think children...more
WHY HARRY POTTER WORKS . . . YET DOESN’T
I’m one of the few who were not captivated by Harry Potter. When the first book came out, I judged that a story about witchcraft was not my cup of tea—not because it was evil but merely because I think children’s literature should prepare them for the real world, where magic is not an option.
Now don’t get me wrong. When I was young I devoured science fiction, but the stories focused on ordinary people in fantastic worlds, not fantastic people in fantastic worlds. Sure, the hero had a laser pistol, but he usually met his adversary armed only with guts, grit, and gumption.
People told me Harry Potter did just that; he did not use magic to solve his problems. But I doubted it, so I stayed clear of the books and movies. I found, however, that staying clear of Harry Potter was difficult; it has so infused our culture. And this gave me pause.
Now, I’m writing a book series that targets Harry Potter’s audience: young boys (girls have Hermione, but she’s outnumbered by Harry and Ron) and I’m curious as to why Harry Potter is such a phenomenon, so I gave the first book another look and here is what I found:
For 90% of the book, Harry is a cipher. Granted, he’s a famous cipher, but he barely speaks and we rarely hear his inner thoughts. Ron and Hermione are far better developed and more proactive. But Harry has these inborn powers. For example, the first time he reaches out for the broom, it pops up into his hand. This immediate success violates the mainstay of fiction, the try-fail cycle. Even Luke Skywalker gets zapped in the hind end by the remote with which he’s sparring. It takes at least a couple of minutes for him to take his “first step into a larger world.”
But Harry has no difficulty with the broom. Or with Quidditch—he single-handedly wins the very first game in which he plays. He easily bests Malfoy throughout the book and navigates Hogwarts with only minor difficulties.
And yet Harry is such a shade throughout the book that I wondered how he was going to survive the inevitable confrontation with Voldemort, much less prevail. Of course he does, but his success has nothing to do with him; his parents are more responsible than he is. Indeed, as an infant, Voldemort couldn’t kill him, and then, in the climax, Quirrell can’t kill him either, due to the fact that he cannot touch Harry’s bare skin because of Harry’s innate “goodness.”
It is at this impasse—Harry unable to subdue Quirrell and Quirrell unable to touch Harry—that the lights go out. Harry wakes up three days later to discover that Dumbledore arrived in the nick of time—a deus ex machina—and defeated Voldemort. (For now, of course.) Deus ex machina (lit. “god from the machine”) was a device used in Greek plays, most of which involved mortals getting into trouble and the gods arriving via an elevator to resolve everything. This device has been eschewed for hundreds of years because it deprives the hero of the power to resolve his difficulties.
Dumbledore deprived Harry of his greatest moment by arriving and defeating Voldemort. Not a very good showing for our young hero. At least Luke Skywalker fired the shot that destroyed the Death Star. But the first question remains: why, given the passivity of the hero and his marginal involvement in the climax, did Harry Potter find his way into our consciousness?
I think it goes back to the same issue faced by all authors of fantasy and science fiction. The world in which they place their plot, whether it is outer space, Middle Earth, or Hogwarts, is fantastic, and thus the world itself becomes a character in the story, and in the cases I’ve mentioned, unfortunately the main character.
Tolkien’s dwarves in The Hobbit are so interchangeable as to be the same person with different names. George Lucas put his storm troopers behind masks in order to remove their individuality. And Harry Potter is allowed to be a cipher because it’s not so much what he does at Hogwarts, it’s what Hogwarts does to the reader: it captivates with potions, spells, ghosts, secret passageways, floating candles, and, in the single stroke of true genius I saw in the book, the Mirror of Erised, wherein our hero sees that which he most desperately desires: himself with his parents. In this moment, Rowling achieves what she is unable to do through the first half of the book: she gives Harry humanity, shows us his pain, and promises healing.
So the book really works, not because Harry is at Hogwarts, but because we are. This fantastic place, where magic is real, is the secret hope of all children, who are faced with a world that is too big, too confusing, and too powerful to overcome. In reality, we must wait to grow up to drive a car, understand politics, or get money. But for the children at Hogwarts—and their tag-along readers—magic is a shortcut to adult power.
Unfortunately, in the real world, there is no magic, and so Harry can’t help an 11-year-old boy understand fractions. In fact, his constant disobedience, fighting, cheating, and general disrespect of rules gets him in hot water and people are injured and die, right under the noses of the very adults who were entrusted with these children. Dumbledore is guilty of child abuse for allowing Harry, Hermione, and Ron to go into the trap door to confront Voldemort, where they might have been killed. He could have stopped the whole adventure at any time by destroying the Sorcerer’s Stone. Instead, he encouraged them and even secretly gave Harry the invisibility cloak to allow them to sneak around Hogwarts undiscovered in the middle of the night. Seems to me, the most dangerous person at Hogwarts is not Voldemort’s ghost—it’s Dumbledore.
That aside, the fantastic place that is Hogwarts may convince you that I’m just a killjoy curmudgeon. To you I say: J.K. Rowling has cast a spell on you. The story you love so much is at best unsatisfying dramatically and at worst destructive of the very virtues you teach your own children. A child who grows up thinking, even on a subconscious level, that his problems can be solved with magic is going to be terribly disappointed when real life proves impermeable to wizards, wands, and wishful thinking.
Sure, it’s just a book, but a book you let your child read instead of the classics you grew up on. Unless your 11-year-old boy reads Treasure Island and Kidnapped before you let him eat the cavity-causing cotton candy that is Harry Potter, you’re depriving him of a balanced literary diet and a fighting chance at the gladiator camp that is real life.(less)
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I am the author of Dad, Are You There?
I wrote the book to counter, in a small way, the denegration of a father's place in our culture. Nowadays, not only doesn't father know best, he's almost always depicted as a dispensable fool. But the truth is so...more
I am the author of Dad, Are You There?
I wrote the book to counter, in a small way, the denegration of a father's place in our culture. Nowadays, not only doesn't father know best, he's almost always depicted as a dispensable fool. But the truth is somewhere in the middle and (in my experience anyway), leans toward the "knows best" end of the spectrum, at least when the subject is manhood.
There are no parenting handbooks, really. There are lots of books on what not to do, but prescriptive books are usually preachy and not very helpful.
This book is about the hard, painful road from boyhood to manhood. In my view, a man becomes a man not when his body matures, but when his heart, mind, and soul accept the responsibilities of manhood. Most men stumble into manhood, only realizing their accomplishment many years later when their own son says, "Thanks, Dad, for teaching me what I needed to know," to which the father often says, "What did I teach you?" and the son responds, "Everything."
Lecturing doesn't work. Punishment can crush the soul. But example is the best teacher and Dad, Are You There? is a small book about a big subject: how a boy becomes a man.
I hope you like it.(less)
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R.L. Stevenson's Kidnapped shows the author at the height of his powers: an historical novel for boys, full of adventure and a fascinating sidekick character, the roguish Alan Breck, whom we do not know for most of the story whether he is a murderer...more
R.L. Stevenson's Kidnapped shows the author at the height of his powers: an historical novel for boys, full of adventure and a fascinating sidekick character, the roguish Alan Breck, whom we do not know for most of the story whether he is a murderer or a freedom fighter. He and our hero David Balfour get along like brothers: sharing trials, standing off the entire crew of the schooner "Covenant," bickering, pulling each other out of scrapes, traveling great distances (inside and out), and finally bridging the 15-year age difference and ending their journey as peers and friends. Watching David become a man over the year of this book is moving, and watching his evil uncle Ebenezer get his just desserts at the end is delicious.(less)
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Though not his magnum opus, Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer more than sets the stage for the deeper and more profound Huckleberry Finn. And that is no small thing. As Twain says in the prologue, he just wanted to remind adults what it was like to be a child,...more
Though not his magnum opus, Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer more than sets the stage for the deeper and more profound Huckleberry Finn. And that is no small thing. As Twain says in the prologue, he just wanted to remind adults what it was like to be a child, and free.
Tom is, in many ways, more interesting than Huck, because his character is more well-rounded: sometimes he's a good, obedient boy and a believer, if reluctant; others, he's just as much a rascal as his partner-in-crime Huck. He has other friends besides Huck and is in love with Becky Thatcher.
Sudden turns to drama (the cemetery murder scene) and hand-wringing fear (the cave sequence) make light touches like the fence white-washing chapter that establishes Tom as the consummate huckster even more delicious. A book for the ages, and not just young ages. Re-read it and enjoy!(less)
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Can't say enough about this, my favorite book as a boy. I hadn't read it since I became an author myself, so rereading it again it was illuminative; I see now the weaknesses in the plot, but the strong characters still astound.
More than anything, I...more
Can't say enough about this, my favorite book as a boy. I hadn't read it since I became an author myself, so rereading it again it was illuminative; I see now the weaknesses in the plot, but the strong characters still astound.
More than anything, I had a sense-memory of the awfulness of Long John Silver, the blood-thirsty pirate hiding behind a cook's apron for his chance at betrayal and murder. As a young boy, I had no experience with evil men and never imagined a man could be so evil and still be kind at the same time. I remember wanting to shout at the page, "Look out, Jim! He's a bad man!" Fortunately, Jim was not only a good boy, but a smart one as well, and when he finally gets Silver's number, he's a tough adversary for the old one-legged pirate.
Stevenson said the book was "all about the map. Without the map, there was no story." We are led to believe he was referring to the map of Treasure Island, but I think he was talking about the map to men's hearts. Wonderful.(less)
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Michael Crichton was an idea guy and apparently a busy man. So far, two books have been published with his name on them after his death. The first, Pirate Latitudes, was completed by Crichton, though the writing is uneven and thus it was probably edi...more
Michael Crichton was an idea guy and apparently a busy man. So far, two books have been published with his name on them after his death. The first, Pirate Latitudes, was completed by Crichton, though the writing is uneven and thus it was probably edited after his death.
Micro is another story. Clearly, the writing style in the first third of the book is Crichton's, with emphasis on the "gee whiz" scientific aspects of the story that so often (and welcomely) permeates his books. The last two thirds, a pure adventure story, is clearly Richard Preston's, and departs from Crichton's usual precise but affecting style.
While this is not necessarily a bad thing, the book leaves one flat, primarily because there are so many protagonists (7) that we're supposed to like and relate to, but one by one, they are killed off until the least likely of them survives. It's hard to believe Crichton would not have allowed the brother of an early (apparent) casualty in the book to survive, but he dies unceremoniously, and this is disconcerting. Crichton knew better, I think, than to do this.
Preston, whose main experience is in dramatizing non-fiction, can get away with this sort of thing in his books because his stories usually have the added fantastical and sometimes nonsensical elements of factuality that readers often happily exchange for drama. After all, truth is stranger than fiction.
That being said, I wish Crichton himself had finished this novel because his dramatic instincts are apparently better than Preston's. Clearly, this book began as a way to update two movie classics: Fantastic Voyage, and The Incredible Shrinking Man, past due, now that CGI capabilities make the apparent miniaturization of humans easy.
But Crichton would have, I hope, in subsequent passes to his manuscript, edited the villian into a more believable person and given the quest of the little people a bit more tension and rising action. As it is, the antagonist is the most cardboard villian since Snidely Whiplash, and the events of the story seem scattershot, with no increasing tension beyond the de rigeur ticking clock, employed long ago to great effect in Fantastic Voyage.
I don't think this book will stand alongside Crichton classics such as Jurassic Park and Andromeda Strain, but it was an acceptable, quick read, a literary cotton candy: sugary, but not much there.
We miss you, Mr. Crichton. RIP.(less)
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" I'm of the opinion that it is unlikely that the star of Bethlehem was an actual star or a comet, as some have postulated. My reasoning is this: for th...more
I'm of the opinion that it is unlikely that the star of Bethlehem was an actual star or a comet, as some have postulated. My reasoning is this: for the ancients, the night sky was both the most predictable and mysterious aspect of their world. Most stars changed position precisely from year to year, while at the same time, wandering stars (Gr: "planets") moved along the ecliptic, sometimes speeding ahead, other times stopping, and sometimes some of those stars occasionally appeared to move backwards ("retrogression"). These movements were as familiar to those people as the evening's TV programming is to us today. So if there really was a "star" above the manger, wouldn't the entire Levant have made the trek to Bethlehem? Yet all we know of is a few shepherds and three magi who saw the star and came to see the newborn Christ child. So: if it wasn't an actual star or a wandering planet, what was the Star of Bethlehem?(less)
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Medved pulls from many sources for this book and collates them into a general entry-level discussion about the "facts" most of us have been taught about American history -- "facts" that are demonstrably untrue.
I'll leave it to Medved to give you chap...more
Medved pulls from many sources for this book and collates them into a general entry-level discussion about the "facts" most of us have been taught about American history -- "facts" that are demonstrably untrue.
I'll leave it to Medved to give you chapter and verse, but I would like to discuss the reason why these distortions prevail. After all, they make America -- and by extension, you and me -- look bad, and that includes the very people who teach them. Why do they do it?
Self-loathing has at its core a sense of unworthiness and childishness. Academics feel unworthy because they know in their heart that they've won the lottery and now have the cushiest job imaginable: tenured positions at prestigious learning academies, where nothing more is required of them than to lecture pabulum to their inferiors. They don't have to battle their peers; their peers are also tenured monastics in the ivory tower of academia.
The childishness finds its roots in a teenager's attitude: "I'm an adult, but please pay my rent." Teenagers have an excuse, however: they will eventually leave the nest. Academics never leave the safety of academia, where they are surrounded by similarly arrested adolescents where the only thing left to stand out is to be more outrageous than your competition, and, like teenagers, instead of opting for excellence and responsibility, they sink to the lowest common denominator: ridicule of authority. When you cannot answer the argument, mock the arguer.
In this case, American history, full of great achievers, is a surrogate for every parent who tells a teen to clean his room; it's something to be dismissed, ridiculed, and gainsaid. Instead of understanding that part of their job as teachers is to prepare students for the dangerously unfair world out there, where luck only comes (occasionally) after great effort, they mock and find fault with the world so they don't have to feel like the losers they are for not entering it.
"When the blind lead the blind, both fall into the ditch."
I know something about this: I have a doctorate myself.(less)
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