The third time it happened, it really bugged me. Once was
completely understandable, twice was a fluke, but thrice?
The third time it happened, it really bugged me. Once was completely understandable, twice was a fluke, but thrice?
On three recent occasions, I’ve checked out novels from the Gilroy library that looked promising. And upon beginning to read, at some point a character asked another one to kneel in prayer with them. Or pulled out the Bible to seek guidance. Or talked about God in a way that seemed not so offhand. I had inadvertently checked out Christian literature.
It was like trick or treating and getting a religious tract instead of a Kit-Kat.
All three were published by Bethany House, a 50-year-old publisher that states on its website that its purpose is “to help Christians apply biblical truth in all areas of life,” which doesn’t sound like the focus is on writing.
I don’t have a problem with Christian fiction; it’s just not appealing. Nor is science fiction, true crime, or Westerns. These are specific genres of fiction that are labeled as such. Why isn’t Christian fiction labeled at the Gilroy library?
The way the Santa Clara County Library stickers its books with their Dewey Decimal numbers, the two places a publisher’s name is typically visible get covered up: the book’s spine and the lower righthand back cover. I don’t have time to leaf several pages in to find the title page when I’m trying to grab a few books for myself without my kids melting down.
I love reading and I read voraciously. What distresses me about Christian fiction is that it seems insular. People who select it want to only read about people like themselves: devout Christians.
The point of literature is to “walk in someone else’s moccasins” for a while. To learn compassion as we temporarily live through a character. If Christians only read about other Christians, they would never learn what it was like to grow up in Afghanistan and develop empathy for that war-torn country across the world (The Kite Runner). They’d never experience the pathos and hilarity of working in a 1930s circus (Water for Elephants). They would never have the chance to learn about a 13-year-old girl who hid in an attic with her family for two years to avoid being slaughtered – and was slaughtered nonetheless (The Diary of Anne Frank).
Christian fiction also strikes me as being about religion first, and a good story second. I don’t need an author whose storytelling talents are in service to some other goal.
I couldn’t help but wonder if some well-meaning librarian had hoped people like me would inadvertently take home these books and see it as a sign, and turn their lives over to Christ. Like what the Gideons are banking on when they stock Bibles in all those hotel room dressers.
So why aren’t the books labeled as Christian fiction?
I talked to Sally Leete, supervising librarian for adult and teen services at the Gilroy branch. She said that over 10 years ago, the Santa Clara County Library system made a decision not to subdivide its fiction topics any further. She explained that if there was a Christian subdivision, then wouldn’t there also need to be divisions for Christian romance, Christian science fiction, Christian mystery, etc? And then Muslim romance, Muslim science fiction, etc? And then all the Jewish categories, on and on?
“It’s a workload issue,” she said. This somewhat glosses over the idea that there isn’t really a publishing trend for any religion now other than Christianity, but someday there could be.
“We feel confident that people can find Christian fiction through searching our catalog,” Leete said. But if the opposite is true, that someone doesn’t want it? She laughed and said, “You can return the book. It’s not a commitment.”
Since Leete purchases the library’s adult and teen fiction, and since there seems to be a surprisingly high incidence of Christian fiction on the shelves, I asked her what percentage of Christian literature she buys. She said she had “no idea,” but asserted that it was a small percentage.
I asked her if she identified as Christian, which made her bristle: “No, but it isn’t the business of a journalist or newspaper to ask.” I guess I can rule out my secret proselytizing theory.
“We try to buy things that are popular,” she continued, “and that serve our patrons. We try not to let our personal beliefs influence the purchasing decisions; it’s part of our professional training.” Well put, and I’m glad that’s the philosophy.
Still … maybe a little gold cross on the spine? Something?
