Books

More than a Beach Novel?

Without an experienced editor or a mainstream publisher, a young writer has found a formula for marketplace success; still his primary goal is evangelization.

Conceived Without Sin, Bud Macfarlane Jr., Saint Jude Media, 1997.

By Regina Doman

The number of Mcfarlane's books now in circulation has now surpassed the combined sales of the last five potboiler novels produced by Andrew Greeley.

The recipe works, but the average reader will feel that it could have worked much better with a little time and some seasoned editorial excisions.

In fact, it is fair to say that at times this novel reads like a good second draft.

Is there such a thing as a Catholic "beach novel?" Many people would argue that the statement is a contradiction in terms. While the term "Catholic" could be applied to anything that is truly good and truly beautiful, they might argue that beach novels--those brick-slab books on cheap paper with glossy covers that line the supermarket aisles--cannot be either truly good or truly beautiful. They are made of transient materials, and their contents are usually pretty transient as well, with nothing of the eternal about them.

Others, who have a taste for that here-today, gone-tomorrow type of fiction, might argue that the pleasure readers derive from such books is a good, and hence some beach novels could be called "Catholic." G. K. Chesterton, who was noted for his love of paper toys and puppet theaters, might agree here.

But what about a novel whose specific purpose is to evangelize others to the Catholic faith? Here the gap between the critics rumbles and yawns open. Some charge that such a book would be almost a blasphemy against the faith it claims to promote. On the other side, other people remain calm and ask: why not? We know many people who will not read a Catholic apologetics tract, let alone sit down with the Catechism; yet they might to enticed to read a novel.

Businessman Bud Macfarlane was willing to take the gamble that more Catholics would fall into the second category than the first. In 1996 he published his first book, Pierced By A Sword, a tale of an impending apocalypse centering around the messages contained in approved Marian apparitions.

If Mcfarlane's theme was unusual, his marketing strategy was unique. Copies of the book were given away free. Satisfied readers were asked to contribute $2 to Mcfarlane's apostolate, the Mary Foundation (previously known for distributing Catholic audio tapes). The novel was not generally available in bookstores; interested parties usually had no choice but to write directly to the publisher (Saint Jude Media, Box 26120, Fairview Park, OH 44126). Yet the net results were impressive; 225,000 copies were distributed, making the novel the equivalent of a Catholic best seller. Unable to overlook that result, Catholic publishers began to take another hard look at the market for "Catholic" fiction.

Now Macfarlane has done it again, and produced a second book in the same genre, Conceived Without Sin. Like its predecessor, the book is offered free from the Mary Foundation, with an optional donation. (In bookstores it sells for $3.99) In less than six months since its publication, Macfarlane has moved 100,000 copies.

Many Catholic periodicals have taken a dim view of Macfarlane's venture, and few of them will review his books. But he continues to receive a warm response from his readers. The number of copies of Pierced By A Sword continues to climb; the number of Mcfarlane's books now in circulation has now surpassed the combined sales of the last five potboiler novels produced by Andrew Greeley.

Although some readers might venture the observation that these books are simply thrown together, Macfarlane works diligently to craft each story, weaving universal themes and images throughout the book. Conceived Without Sin traces the movements of a soul toward God behind a contemporary story line about friendship and marriage. Even the title is a reference to the theology of marriage as a sacrament. In the Catholic understanding of that sacrament, through a loving act of intercourse a couple conceives a child "without sin." While the child has original sin, of course, the act of generation itself is guiltless, even holy.

The sacredness of sex and the nuptial metaphor for the relationship between God and the soul is lurking behind much that goes on in Macfarlane's novel. He makes an effort to use archetypes (children, the ocean) that almost all people can understand. The working out of these metaphors forms the subtext of the story. While some of Macfarlane's metaphors are sophisticated (for example, a team in athletic competition forms an image of the Church, the Body of Christ), at other times he relies too much on dream sequences to reveal the "metaphysical cellar" of his story.

But if the subtext is a bit rough, the plot is much better. It centers around the friendship of two oddly matched friends: Buzz, a vocal Catholic who drives a parcel-delivery truck, and Sam, a homely atheistic computer entrepreneur. Buzz's personal Catholicism is built on shaky grounds; he is quite open about being a recovering alcoholic with a past full of marital failure and domestic abuse. Sam, by contrast, is stable, hardworking, and successful. Other characters who enter the orbit of friendship include Donna, whose tomboy exterior hides a vibrant devotional life, and tough, stone-faced Mark, also a Catholic, whose marriage is on the rocks.

The book deals with practical issues about marriage and the popular conception of romance. Two scenarios that are common in contemporary literature--the marriage that begins to unravel, and the guy who falls for the wrong girl--are worked out in the light of Catholic truth, and some compelling lessons emerge. Readers unfamiliar with these truths (whether or not they are Catholics themselves) will find some of their assumptions challenged.

Through the broken characters of Buzz and Mark, Macfarlane acknowledges that even the orthodox, committed Catholic doesn't have all the answers to all his personal struggles. This book is for the unconverted, in the sense that few of us have really had a true, complete conversion. And the unbeliever will find something to chew on as well.

It is unfortunate that Macfarlane's editorial resources as a self-publisher are so thin. The style of much of the book comes across as shoddy, due to rushed editing--as though, not having time to cook a succulent roast, Macfarlane has chopped up the meat of his plot and served it up as a quick shish kebab. The recipe works, but the average reader will feel that it could have worked much better with a little time and some seasoned editorial excisions.

The central character of Buzz is damaged the most by the deadline-oriented writing. Although the author lays the groundwork for his psychological collapse at the end (for all his public dedication to the Church, Buzz has no active interior life), most readers will not catch such subtle foreshadowing until the second reading, if at all. By working with the entire novel, through another draft, an editor might have helped Macfarlane to highlight the factors that make the final outcome seem inevitable, so that the reader's willing suspension of disbelief would not suffer so many jolts. In fact, it is fair to say that at times this novel reads like a good second draft.

Macfarlane strives to knit the contemporary world of VCR movies, basketball tournaments, and glamorous weddings with timeless spiritual truths. Some readers will no doubt think that this effort was a waste: that these aspects of a materialistic culture should not and/or could not be reconciled with a Catholic outlook. But that effort has produced a book with the essential elements of a very successful novel: characters with whom readers can readily identify, a page-turning plot, and gradual build-up of tension toward a riveting climax.

Can such a book be effective as an evangelical tool? Macfarlane says that he still receives letters from people who have returned to the faith, considered a vocation to religious life, or stopped using contraception as a result of reading Pierced by A Sword. "Most beach novels can't make claims like that," he says.

Recently, he was informed by a couple that Conceived Without Sin saved their marriage. The husband had moved out of the home, and was living in a hotel room when he read the book. Like the character Mark, who goes through a similar crisis in the novel, this reader "changed tactics" and went home to conquer himself instead of conquering his wife.

Says Macfarlane, "If you can figure out why these kinds of things happen, you'll be a step ahead of me."

Regina Doman writes from Front Royal, Virginia.