Death is the great forget, they said,
A mindless, restful leaving

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Further Light News

Issue 2 is quickly approaching the finish line! We’re laying out the pieces for our print issue, which is over 30% longer than our previous issue. That means more fiction, more poetry, and more great insights in the connection between the gospel and speculative fiction. Everyone who is a paid or founding Substack subscriber by the end of July will receive a print copy of the magazine mailed straight to their door, so now is a great time to get on board!

The full contents will be announced on July 7th, but here’s a sneak peak at a few pages we’re working on:

Now is also a great time to start working on your submissions for issue 3. The submission deadline is August 31st. We are always in need of more poetry that includes fantastical elements and isn’t preachy. And we would particularly love to receive nonfiction essays discussing Harry Potter, Dune Messiah, and The Magician’s Nephew, which all have major new adaptations coming up. Another subject we’d love to see examined is Latter-day Saint speculative fiction that involves the Salt Lake Temple, like Orson Scott Card’s “Salvage.”

Further Light also got a shout out in the latest episode of Dialogue Book Report, discussing the current trends and markets in LDS short fiction. Go straight to the 40:00 timestamp to hear that part of the conversation or listen to the whole thing to learn more about the LDS short story landscape. (Warning: there are some adult themes discussed.)

Interesting Publications

Did you know that this year’s Tony Award for Best New Musical went to a show written by a Latter-day Saint? (And that it’s a speculative musical?) Check out this interview with award-winning writer Cinco Paul at Saints & Cinephiles. (And then check out his jazzy and humorous Book of Mormon song. Coming to a primary near you?)

Some thought-provoking writing on AI lately:

• Technology ethicist Cal Newport talks about the concept of a “living being” in Genesis and its relevance to modern AI dilemmas in “On God and LLMs”

• Sci-fi author Ted Chiang writes about whether AI can have morality in “No, Artificial Intelligence is Not Conscious”

• BYU adjunct Tanner Millet writes “the three laws” for AI and creative writing

If you enjoyed our recent publication of Nephi Anderson’s “Grandmother’s Rocking Chair,” you might want to read this essay about his Utopian writing about the Millenium. We hope to publish the relevant section of Added Upon eventually as part of our First Light series.

I try to avoid doing too much self-promo here, but I don’t want you to miss this conversation on my podcast Pop Culture on the Apricot Tree about the LDS short supernatural horror film “The Angel.” Make sure to watch the film first (for free!) and then join us and the creators to discuss the future of LDS speculative filmmaking.

Are you a BYU student registering for fall classes and looking for a speculative literature class? Aaron Eastley is teaching a section of ENGL 236 focused on “How Tolkien and Lewis Lead Us to Christ.” Joseph Darowski’s Digital and Visual Literacies class (ENGL 344) will be discussing Frankenstein, Sherlock Holmes, and Superman through various media incarnations. Inspired by Tolkien? Maybe this is your semester to follow in his footsteps and learn Old English with Miranda Wilcox in ENGL 386. If spookiness is more your vibe, Emron Esplin is teaching an Author Studies course (ENGL 384) on Edgar Allen Poe. Maybe your final paper could be published in Further Light!

Read something great that we should know about? Send links to editor@furtherlightmag.com with the subject line “Interesting Publications.”

Community Events

All of June - Lore: The Power of Stories - The Compass Gallery’s annual fantasy show will be open all month. You won’t want to miss this exhibit, so check their hours and plan to come view amazing fantasy art with spiritual significance. Plus you can flip through issue 1 of Further Light, on sale in the book section!

June 17-18 - Writers Cantina - Join local Utah authors for a casual and inexpensive event in West Valley City.

June 22-July 4 - Read the 15th Annual Mormon Lit Blitz - This is an online event, so if you’re not in the Utah area, listen up! The Mormon Lit Blitz is a two-week festival of Latter-day Saint microliterature. Read a short piece every day (excluding Sundays) and vote for your favorite to win a prize at the end! The long list of pieces was announced this week, and the titles are most intriguing.

June 27 - Hoid Presents His Most Excellent Art - This fundraiser for Brandon Sanderson’s Lightweaver Foundation charity will feature live painting of models who are cosplaying Cosmere characters as well as pizza and ice cream from local Provo vendors. If it’s anything like last year’s event, it will be well worth the cost to attend! If you’re not local, you can also support with a donation to access the livestream.

August 17–21 - BYU Education Week - We happen to know there will be a track on science fiction and theology that you don’t want to miss!

Got an event we missed? Send information to editor@furtherlightmag.com with the subject line “Community Events.”

Submissions & Deadlines

Jun 19 - Audition for Lord of the Rings musical - Hale Center Theatre is putting on the Lord of the Rings musical next year and you could be in it!

July 20 - Submit to Infinite Valley’s American fantasy issue - Our other favorite LDS SFF magazine is collecting for an “American Dreams” issue right now. Submit your America-inspired fantasy, sci-fi, or alternate history short story to be considered for the issue!

July 20 - Write a review of a fake piece of LDS art - Irreantum is collecting new pieces for a special themed issue of reviews of LDS art. The catch is that these works don’t exist yet. Check out this fake review of a (speculative?) novel written by Brigham Young as an example. I’m hoping for a review of a magical installation or perhaps some space-based performance art.

Aug 1 - Enter Wayfare’s short play competition - Wayfare Magazine is hosting its third annual short play competition. We loved the winners of previous years, some of which incorporated some speculativeness. Maybe you’ll try your hand at it?

August 31 - Submit to Further Light issue 3 - Submissions continue to roll in! We are always in need of more poetry that includes fantastical elements and isn’t preachy. And we would particularly love to receive nonfiction essays discussing Harry Potter, Dune Messiah, and The Magician’s Nephew, which all have major new adaptations coming up. Another subject we’d love to see examined is Latter-day Saint speculative fiction that involves the Salt Lake Temple, like Orson Scott Card’s “Salvage.”

October 1 - Send in a paper to LTUE - Got something clever to say about your favorite science fiction or fantasy property? Submit an essay to LTUE’s academic track to share your thoughts with everyone (and get free conference admission and snacks in the green room—seriously, those mini eclairs are worth it).

Got an opportunity we missed? Send information to editor@furtherlightmag.com with the subject line “Submissions & Deadlines.”

Of course, Picard and his crew discover that this quasi-divine figure is a member of the Q—which, in Star Trek canon, are a near omnipotent race of beings that, with a snap of their fingers, can reconfigure reality to their whims. This particular Q has taken the form of a lion, populated the planet with talking animals, and behaves indistinguishably from the character in CS Lewis’s story. To differentiate him from Aslan, let’s call him Qslan.

The question this hypothetical episode raises for its viewers is this: Is Qslan the same thing as Aslan? He has the form of (and behaves indistinguishably from) Aslan. Is that enough?

Our answer is no (and we suspect yours is too). The universe in which Aslan is the moral sovereign of Narnia is simply not the same universe in which Jean-Luc Picard commands the Enterprise. Any encounter with a Q pretending to be Aslan is and will always be just that: a mimicry. Further, any encounter between Captain Picard and the real and actual Aslan would fundamentally change the Star Trek universe: it would no longer be Star Trek, but only an alt-universe mimicry of it.

We think this situation is a good proxy for why some people reject Latter-day Saints’ claims to be Christian. In their minds, our Jesus talks like their Jesus, acts like their Jesus, but is, like Qslan, a mimicry. To understand why (and why Qslan isn’t Aslan), it is useful to understand what makes the Star Trek universe fundamentally different from the Narnia universe—and what makes science fiction different from fantasy, on a fundamental level.

Most will agree that the differences between science fiction and fantasy extend far deeper than aesthetics (dragons and castles vs. aliens and spaceships). Some might argue that science fiction involves plausible extrapolations of known science (the possible), while fantasy deals with the impossible. But this explanation fails because science fiction often deals with the impossible too (perhaps faster-than-light travel). All speculative fiction is counterfactual fiction—fiction that assumes the world is different than what it currently is. For example, speculative fiction may assume that the earth is flat, or that the year is 2120, or that the Nazis won World War II. However, science fiction assumes a particular kind of universe, while fantasy assumes another. Science fiction consists of the subset of speculative fiction set in a naturalistic universe, whereas fantasy is a subset of speculative fiction set in a non-naturalistic universe.

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While Nephi Anderson’s “Grandmother’s Rocking Chair” can be categorized as speculative fiction, it is also an attempt to use Mormon history to influence young church members to remain faithful to the church. Published in The Contributor in May 1890, just a few months following his first story’s publication, “Grandmother’s Rocking Chair” appeared early in the Home Literature movement, and just a year after Anderson’s popular A Young Folk’s History of the Church appeared.

Similar to Mark Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, published just a few months before, “Grandmother’s Rocking Chair” suggests that the main character travels to the past by way of accident. While the timing is tight for Anderson to have been inspired by Twain’s novel, it also followed Edward Bellamy’s Looking Backward (1888) and William Morris’s A Dream of John Ball (published serially in 1886 and as a book in 1888), both of which use similarly vague devices for sending a character to another point in time.

Despite the relatively short time since the publication of Anderson’s first story, “Grandmother’s Rocking Chair” shows improvement in Anderson’s writing. Ben, who seems to be somewhere between 10 and 16 years old, is acting rudely under the influence of friends. When his family is gone one night, he sits in his grandmother’s rocking chair and travels to November 1838, where he experiences the persecutions of the Mormon expulsion from Missouri. But before he suffers bodily harm, he is miraculously returned to his own time.

The evocative personalization of the historical events of the Missouri War overwhelm the concerns of Ben’s present life—perhaps undermining the plausibility of his initial grumpiness. And in the end, the story’s claim that Ben will feel grateful following his experience in 1838 Missouri doesn’t quite seem plausible, since it suggests that his gratitude comes from feeling the suffering of those who lived 50 years earlier.

-Kent Larsen

Grandmother’s Rocking Chair

by Nephi Anderson

“What to be so thankful for, I can’t see.”

“Benjamin South, what ails you to-night? I have never seen you in such grumbling spirits before.”

“Well, I have never had so much cause to grumble, as you call it, before, I guess. That’s the reason. You are continually talking of being thankful, about what I don’t understand. If ever person had cause to complain, I have.”

“Why, Ben South, I’m astonished at you! Haven’t you enough to eat, good clothing to wear, a comfortable home, a good position, surrounded by the best of society and—well, I’m perfectly amazed—” and a pair of bright, blue eyes stared straight at the object of her wonder, and the exclamation came to a sudden stop as if in utter bewilderment.

Back in the corner of the room Grandma South sat listening to the animated discussion. She had even dropped her knitting on her lap, and sat looking at the disputants. Grandma was thoroughly aroused sure, as it took more than an ordinary occurrence to stop the click, click, of her needles.

“Well, now, don’t let it take your breath away, Sis; you’ll need it to enumerate all those blessings I enjoy.” Ben’s sarcastic tone had its effect on his sister. It pained her sensitive nature and grandma saw it and came to the rescue.

Ben greatly respected his grandmother. The wrinkled features crowned with snow-white locks combed back smoothly over her forehead, presented a beautiful and sacred appearance. No matter how much trouble Ben caused his mother and sister, when grandma spoke, he was conquered.

Grandma motioned Ben to sit down by her side, which he did, trying to smooth things over with a good-natured laugh.

“So my boy has nothing to be thankful for?” she said.

“Why, grandma, thanks giving is a long way off yet.”

“Is it? I thought it was with us always. Now I want you to tell me your troubles,” and she laid her hand gently on his arm. “Give me an account of your trials and sufferings that are afflicting you so, and I will try to secure a remedy.”

Appealed to thus directly, Ben was thrown into confusion, and he felt that his stumbling excuses were very poor explanations of what he had so grumbled about. Now the truth of the matter was that Ben had no more cause for discontent than the majority of Utah’s boys have. As his sister had said, he lacked for none of the necessaries of life, and enjoyed many of its comforts. The reason for this unsatisfied condition of his mind Ben hardly knew himself, and in the only place where it could be found, he failed to look, namely—within himself. True to human nature, that was the last place he would search. It was simply a case of neglected duty and the accompanying results—a loss of the Spirit of God. Ben had formed the acquaintance of some of the boys of the city who were not of the class that attend Sabbath schools and Mutual Improvement Associations. These companions had led him from his duty and enticed him into many of their ways, and Ben was in danger of becoming as wild and reckless as they. Mingling with these evil influences Ben’s mind became dark at times, and a feeling of doubt would often creep into his reasonings as to the truth of his religion. Of course this was only on occasions. He had not yet expressed himself in this way, but at the rate he was going, it would not take long to reach that point.

Grandma South was in the habit of talking to Ben on the principles of the Gospel; and as he sat by her side this evening she enumerated the blessings that he enjoyed, the greatest of all being the privilege of having the Gospel of Christ in its fullness and purity, and having access to its many blessings. She told him that in her youth this was one of the few advantages that she had enjoyed unmolested; which subject branched, as it usually did, to her early days, spent among the persecutions of Missouri and Illinois. Ben generally listened with a great deal of pleasure to these narratives of his grandmother’s, but this evening he found himself comparing her simple accounts with far different ones he had heard from his companions, and read about in books loaned him by them, which pictured the early events of the Church in very dissimilar colors. Poor fellow, he was not wise enough to decide between them, and so his mind became darker and the scene of greater confusion than ever.

“Come, Ben, are you not going to the party to-night? It is getting late,” called his mother from the doorway of the kitchen.

“No!” answered Ben abruptly.

Sister South (Widow South she was sometimes called, as she had been a widow for a number of years) was a little startled by her son’s answer; not so much by the tone, for, sorry to say, it was often harsh lately, as by the fact that he was not going to the dance, as he seldom missed a ward party.

Gertie’s escort now arrived, and soon departed with a partner. Brother Olsen and his wife called soon after and persuaded Sister South to accompany them to the party. Grandma gathered up her stockings and ball of yarn withdrawing to her own room and to bed.

The house became still, and Ben was left alone. He went to the hearth, and adding more fuel to the fire, drew grandma’s rocking chair up to the blaze, and seated himself comfortably. Now, grandma’s rocking chair was a coveted piece of furniture, and in consequence was seldom unoccupied. If you could have sat in it once, you would soon have found the secret of this. In the seat was the cushion which mother had stuffed with the best duck feathers, and Gertie had adorned with fancy work in the shape of borders and flowers. The high back covered with a neat tidy, made such an easy rest for a tired head. Then you could rock as gently or as vigorously as you pleased and feel perfectly safe. That chair was made to last; that was shown by its stout hickory frame and raw-hide seat and back. Oh, it was a wonderful household article! It had even crossed the plains, strapped on behind the ox cart; so it was a sacred heir-loom in the family.

The fire in the grate blazed up cheerfully and cast a rudy light throughout the room. Ben leaned back in his chair and watched the flames in their wild frolic. How they danced and leaped! now quivering near the glowing coals, and now leaping up into fantastic shapes. Now a fiery arm would reach out as if to grasp some unseen foe, and then playfully jerk it back again. Then it would strive to ascend the great, black chimney’s throat; up and down, back and forth, round and round went the capricious flames till they made Ben’s head fairly swim to look at them. Even grandmother’s rocking chair began to be disturbed. As Ben watched he saw the fire stretch out a flaming arm, and the chair, nothing loath, joined its arm with it, and they actually danced! That old, sensible, stay-at-home chair with its glowing partner waltzed and polkaed, and wheeled and spun round and round. Well, Ben hung on for dear life, frightened nearly out of his wits. At the same time he felt like laughing outright at the strange spectacle. He surely would, had it not been for the feeling that everything was scarcely right in this wild whirl.

At last they stopped, and Ben breathed easier. The old chair had stood the ordeal well. In fact it seemed to have gathered a newness of life in its dizzy flight. As Ben examined it, it certainly did look like a new chair, just out of the workshop. In the excitement the cushion and tidy had disappeared, and all the little draperies and ornaments had been shaken off. But now his attention was drawn to something else. The room itself had undergone a change; it had become smaller; the walls had become rougher as if made of logs; the pictures on the walls had diminished wonderfully in both quantity and quality; everything was as neat and scrupulously clean as ever, but Oh, how bare and cheerless it had become!

In wonder Ben stepped to the door and looked out. It was broad day. An autumn haze hung over the earth. The mountain which greeted him every morning was not there. On his right as far as the eye could reach stretched the rolling prairie. On the left was a dense forest about three miles wide, following the course of a river. Farmhouses dotted the landscape, most of which showed signs of having been recently erected; still they had an air of comfort and thrift about them. Much of the prairie had been brought under cultivation, and had been converted into fruitful fields and gardens. The ring of distant choppers came from the wood; the plowman had left his furrow, and the herd-boy was putting up the bars of the corral.

On the sunny side of the house Ben encountered two children, a boy and a girl. They were playing. Wrapped up in their innocent sport, they were enjoying themselves as only children can, as only age can appreciate. The little girl was dressed in a plain garment made of some home-made material. Woolen stockings and a pair of well worn shoes decked the pattering feet. A blue gingham sunbonnet lay on the grass. A pair of bright blue eyes looked out from under the fine, light-colored hair which the breeze tossed about her forehead. Not many summers she had seen, yet each had left a rosy kiss on her cheeks. The boy, her brother, had on an old straw hat set well back on his head. His unruly locks had stolen out through a rent in the crown and were waving majestically in the air. One suspender held up the pantaloons, a re-make of his father’s, and the bare, brown feet scorned the idea of being imprisoned in shoes.

A number of birds were flying overhead; they seemed to have found a comfortable retreat in the gable of the roof where the cornice should have been. The children were busy making a nest of mud as they had seen the swallows do in the spring. After a failure or two, they succeeded in making one stick to the log. As they stepped back to admire their work, the litttle girl said to her brother, “I think the birds might come and live in it. It will take them such a long time to build one, they’re so little you know.” At this they both retreated to give them a chance, but as no notice was taken of this proffered residence by the birds, the children, determining to have somebody live in it, set out chasing a gay butterfly that was lazily flitting by.

Someone motioned to Ben from the doorway; answering the summons, he saw a woman that he had seen before, but where or when he could not call to mind.

“Well, Benjamin, I see you’ve come. I’m glad of it. I am in need of someone like you just now—oh, don’t stare so—my name is Grandma South. Of course you don’t understand that now, but you will soon enough. Now won’t you go to the clearing and get some wood? then we shall have some supper.”

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It’s not like I was trying to turn Samantha’s bedroom into a storage closet. But when she left for BYU in August . . . well, it just happened. It started with little things, like when I accidentally ordered ten cases of green chiles instead of ten cans. The pantry was full, the area under our bed packed with dried beans and canned white wheat. So I shoved the cases in her closet.

Next was a pile of books I bought for Jacob’s birthday. I hid them under her desk. An extra supply of toilet paper went on her bed, an emergency chocolate stash behind her chair. I could easily clear it all out by the time she came home for summer break.

But then my grandmother died, and I inherited fifteen giant tubs of craft supplies. Whoever said collecting craft supplies and actually crafting were two separate hobbies had obviously met Oma.

So I stashed them in Samantha’s room and promised myself I’d sort through them long before the beginning of May.

Fast forward.

To March.

To a little countdown calendar sitting on our kitchen table reminding us it was only “five more weeks till Samantha comes home!”

I stood in the doorway, staring in horror at the wall of bins before me. What had Oma always said? The only way out was through? Okay, through I’d go. I opened the first bin and sneezed. Apparently her craft supplies hadn’t been used anytime this century.

And then I heard a voice.

It was like the Holy Ghost, except this voice was Oma’s. And she was telling me to write a limerick.

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Further Light News

Welcome to everyone who came to chat at our booth at Storymakers last weekend! We hope you’re checking out the website and getting a feel for the stories we publish. We can’t wait to see what you send in!

Another exciting thing that just came out this week: an interview with Liz Busby on the history of Latter-day Saint speculative fiction and our goals for Further Light on BYU professor Christopher Blythe’s YouTube channel. If you’re not following his work already, you should be—his coverage of LDS folklore and esoteric traditions is excellent fodder for fantasy and horror.

Issue 2 is quickly approaching the finish line! We are nearly done with copy edits and art commissions and should be moving into layout in the next week or so. Everyone who is a paid or founding Substack subscriber by the end of July will receive a print copy of the magazine mailed straight to their door, so now is a great time to get on board!

Subscribe now

Interesting Publications

Shining a Light on Culture

Some great cultural commentary over at Public Square Magazine this month, including a piece on the future of LDS cinema and the 15-year anniversary of the Book of Mormon musical and the last acceptable bigotry.

Need more LDS cinema takes? Saints & Cinema ranks depictions of Brigham Young on the silver screen. Stick around for the sci-fi video game Brigham at the end!

We loved this essay about why “Maybe Christian Art Shouldn’t Be Clean.” Author Phillip Synder particularly calls out the difference between being “clean” and having an actual moral message:

Gratuitous violence isn’t necessarily the problem, it’s the conclusion that violence leads the reader/viewer to concluding. In John Wick or a Steven King novel, the conclusions is that the violence is interesting and fun. But watch Schindler’s List or read The Hunger Games, and you’ll thirst for righteousness and pray the Kingdom comes.

Illuminating Fiction

Still Small Stories published a melancholic ghost story called “The Happiest Place on Earth” by Tesia Tsai. The title implies Disneyland, but we swear the geography of this story is straight up Lagoon. Anyway, you won’t look at theme park flowerbeds the same after reading it.

“What Comes After Forever” by Aeryn Rudel is a really fascinating piece of religious sci-fi about a priest on a colony ship where the cryo systems are breaking down. It’s a bit depressing for our taste, but we love the conclusion about what services are really essential. (And you should check out the magazine the published it, Incensepunk Magazine, where the fiction is “high tech, high church.”)

Parables are an interesting form of religious storytelling that sometimes blends both allegory and the fairy tale tradition. Wayfare Magazine recently published a new parable called “Keepers of the Well” by Tyler Johnson. They are asking for writers to send in their interpretations of the story. We’d love to hear what you all think this story means.

Congrats to fellow LDS speculative fiction magazine Infinite Valley on the release of their fourth issue featuring four new stories!

Enlightening Ideas about the Fantastic

Mythlore recently published a piece that Latter-day Saint fantasy readers may be interested in: an interpretation of the cave scene in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince as evoking the garden of Gethsemane. Apparently, there’s a tradition in visual art of portraying the angel who comes to help Jesus as holding the “bitter cup” for him. The ending of Deathly Hallows has always been obviously Christian, but these are additional interesting parallels!

Speaking of allegory, JRRJolkien has us laughing out loud at this faux-argument between Tolkien and Lewis about allegory:

C.S. LEWIS: Are you still upset that Aslan the Lion is Jesus?? LMAO

TOLKIEN: I just can’t help but wonder: do you do these things to personally spite me, Jack, or is it just an unintentional consequence that you do so?

LEWIS: Oh Tollers, you know you’re important to me, but not everything is about YOU, you know! Plus, at least I only have ONE Jesus in my story. You’ve got three!

Read something great that we should know about? Send links to editor@furtherlightmag.com with the subject line “Interesting Publications.”

Community Events

Jun 5 - Lore: The Power of Stories - Opening night for the Compass Gallery’s annual fantasy show during the Provo Art Stroll! You won’t want to miss this exhibit, so check their hours and plan to come view amazing fantasy art with spiritual significance.

June 17-18 - Writers Cantina - Join local Utah authors for a casual and inexpensive event in West Valley City.

June 27 - Hoid Presents His Most Excellent Art - This fundraiser for Brandon Sanderson’s Lightweaver Foundation charity will feature live painting of models who are cosplaying Cosmere characters as well as pizza and ice cream from local Provo vendors. If it’s anything like last year’s event, it will be well worth the cost to attend! If you’re not local, you can also support with a donation to access the livestream.

August 17–21 - BYU Education Week - We happen to know there will be a track on science fiction and theology that you don’t want to miss!

Got an event we missed? Send information to editor@furtherlightmag.com with the subject line “Community Events.”

Submissions & Deadlines

May 31 - Submit to the Mormon Lit Blitz - Participate in the longest running contest for LDS-themed flash-length work. Send your in fiction, poetry, or nonfiction under 1000 words. Published finalists are paid $25 and winners of the contest receive a $125 prize.

June 1 - Submit to LDSPMA’s first-ever anthology - A new extended deadline! We love LDSPMA’s mission to help Latter-day Saint creators succeed in publishing, media, and the arts, so of course we’re excited that they’re putting out an anthology for this year’s conference theme of “Instruments in God’s Hands.” Send in fiction, poems, or personal essays under 1200 words and say you were there for the first one!

July 20 - Write a review of a fake piece of LDS art - Irreantum is collecting new pieces for a special themed issue of reviews of LDS art. The catch is that these works don’t exist yet. Check out this fake review of a (speculative?) novel written by Brigham Young as an example. I’m hoping for a review of a magical installation or perhaps some space-based performance art.

August 31 - Submit to Further Light issue 3 - Submissions continue to roll in! We especially need more people writing nonfiction, so if you want to improve your chances at being part of Further Light, we highly suggest thinking about how your favorite fantasy and science fiction interacts with the restored gospel.

October 1 - Send in a paper to LTUE - Got something clever to say about your favorite science fiction or fantasy property? Submit an essay to LTUE’s academic track to share your thoughts with everyone (and get free conference admission and snacks in the green room—seriously, those mini eclairs are worth it).

Got an opportunity we missed? Send information to editor@furtherlightmag.com with the subject line “Submissions & Deadlines.”

I know you conjured me, but not from hell;
I came in light, but I was not aflame.
You should be careful of the powers you name,
For some are deaf, while others hear too well.

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Loughbrickland, Irlanda
Agosto 2, 1840

Querido Hermano José:

Acatando la prudente indicación que usted nos dio a los enviados de no dispendiar los recursos como el papel y la tinta en salutaciones y excesivas formalidades, le deseo las bendiciones del Dios Todopoderoso y le comunico que después de sentir el rechazo y la indiferencia de muchos, el Señor ha tocado los corazones de algunos hombres entre quienes escucharon nuestros sermones en Belfast, y ha recibido en Su pueblo a un bendito hombre mediante el bautismo por inmersión, que se llevó a cabo en la tranquilidad del lago Brickland, en un hermoso y pequeño poblado que lleva ese nombre. Se trata del hermano Thomas Tate, de quien daré pormenores en una misiva próxima.

Por ahora me veo compelido a presentar ante usted un asunto peculiar para su consideración especial, dada la singularidad del caso. Justo después de haber oficiado la sagrada ceremonia del bautismo de nuestro ahora hermano Tate, se acercó a mí una joven distinguida por sus modales elegantes y su propiedad para conducirse en sociedad. Me dijo llamarse Maggie Saville, que su tío abuelo había escuchado mi sermón en Belfast y que la había enviado a pedirme que le concediera una plática, aunque sólo fuera por un momento. Su tío abuelo le había encargado hacerme saber que desde hace muchos años lo atormentaban ciertas preguntas muy específicas y que al escuchar mis palabras en ese sermón, supo con certeza que debía buscarme para dar con las respuestas que tanto ha esperado.

Le pregunté a la joven dónde vivía su tío abuelo, dispuesto a acudir en su ayuda, y me dijo que estaba en este mismo lugar, y que me estaba esperando en un mesón, así que fui y subí a sus habitaciones, donde su amable sobrina nos sirvió té y lo procuró, pues aunque se veía un hombre alto y fornido, también se advertía el cansancio de una larga vida llena de trabajos y en su semblante la profundidad de alguien que ha contemplado los rincones más recónditos del alma.

Cuando me vio, el hombre se mostró algo agitado y nervioso. Me habló con una voz grave y ronca, pero no agresiva. Me dijo que su nombre era Robert Walton, y que era un capitán de mar retirado, y que necesitaba con urgencia hallar respuesta a ciertas preguntas que lo atormentaban y le causaban un sufrimiento imposible de describir.

Hermano José: las cosas que este hombre me manifestó haber visto y escuchado sobrepujan la definición de lo que consideramos pecado y los alcances de sentirse extraviado y condenado. Apenas una transgresión que los antiguos griegos llamaban ὕβρις1 podría ilustrar la gravedad de las cosas que me relató, si en realidad han ocurrido como él las dice, y me temo que así sea. Por lo tanto, le dije que me consideraba incapaz de presentar sus preguntas del modo adecuado y que sería mucho mejor que él mismo le escribiera a usted, y que, de ser la voluntad de nuestro Dios, usted le respondería.

El hombre entonces hizo una seña a la joven Maggie y ésta sacó de su valija de viaje el paquete de folios manuscritos que le estoy enviando junto a esta carta.

Habiéndome permitido disponer del tiempo y del sagrado llamamiento con que Dios lo ha llamado, le ruego me disculpe y se sirva considerar leer esta misiva para dar respuesta a las interrogantes que atormentan el alma de este pobre hombre, quien, a sus más de ochenta años, dice resistirse a morir sin antes tener la paz en cuanto al asunto.

Suyo en la hermandad del Señor,

John Taylor, élder de la Iglesia de Dios

Belfast, Irlanda
29 de julio de 1840

Señor profeta José:

Mi nombre es capitán Robert Walton. Mi crianza fue religiosa, como la de la mayoría, pero abandoné la fe cuando conocí la Ciencia y vi cómo se la podía emplear para conseguir cosas hasta ahora inconcebibles, llevarnos a lugares insospechados y librarnos de la esclavitud. Durante mi formación como marinero, además de cumplir con las labores exigentes que el oficio comporta, leí libros de cartografía, astronomía, botánica, y me obsesioné con Aristóteles y sus comentaristas.

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Loughbrickland, Ireland
August 2, 1840

Dear Brother Joseph,

Following your wise instruction to us messengers not to waste resources like paper and ink on greetings and excessive formalities, I wish you the blessings of Almighty God and inform you that, after experiencing the rejection and indifference of many, the Lord has touched the hearts of some men among those who heard our sermons in Belfast and has received into His people a blessed man through baptism by immersion, which took place in the tranquility of Brickland Lake, in a beautiful little village of that name. That man is Brother Thomas Tate, about whom I will give details in a forthcoming letter.

For now, I feel compelled to present a peculiar matter for your special consideration, given the strangeness of the case. Just after I had officiated at the sacred ceremony of the baptism of our now Brother Tate, a young woman approached me, distinguished by her elegant manners and propriety. She told me her name was Maggie Saville, that her great-uncle had heard my sermon in Belfast and had sent her to ask me to grant him a conversation, even if only for a moment. Her great-uncle had charged her with informing me that for many years he had been tormented by certain very specific questions and that upon hearing my words in that sermon he knew with certainty that he should seek me out to find the answers he had so long awaited.

I asked the young woman where her great-uncle lived, ready to attend to his need, and she told me that he was in this very town, awaiting me in an inn. And so I went to the inn and up to his room where his kind niece served us tea and looked after him, for although he was a tall and strong man, one could also see the weariness of a long life full of labor, and in his countenance the depth of one who has contemplated the hiddenmost corners of the soul.

When he saw me, the man seemed somewhat agitated and nervous. He spoke to me in a deep, hoarse voice, but not aggressively. He told me his name was Robert Walton, that he was a retired sea captain, and that he urgently needed to find answers to certain questions that tormented him and caused him indescribable suffering.

Brother Joseph, the things this man told me he saw and heard surpass all understanding of what we consider sin and the limits of what it means to be godforsaken and condemned. Only a transgression that the ancient Greeks called ὕβρις1 could capture the gravity of the things he related to me, if they really happened as he says, and I fear that they did. Therefore, I told him that I felt incapable of posing his questions properly and that it would be much better if he wrote to you himself, and that, God willing, you would answer him.

The man then signaled to young Maggie, and she took out of her travel bag the packet of handwritten pages that I am sending you along with this letter.

Having been granted the time and the sacred calling with which God has called me, I beg you to excuse me and please consider reading this letter to answer the questions that torment the soul of this poor man, who, at over eighty years of age, says he refuses to die without first having peace regarding the matter.

Yours in the brotherhood of the Lord,

John Taylor, Elder of the Church of God

Belfast, Ireland
July 29, 1840

To the Honorable Prophet Joseph Smith:​

My name is Captain Robert Walton. My upbringing was religious, like most, but I abandoned the faith when I discovered Science and saw how it could be used to achieve things previously inconceivable, take us to unimaginable places, and free us from bondage. During my training as a sailor, in addition to fulfilling the demanding duties of the profession, I read books on cartography, astronomy, and botany, and I became obsessed with Aristotle and his commentators.

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For a Latter-day Saint, I’m unusually interested in alcohol.

I’ve rarely felt tempted to drink it; I know myself well enough to know it wouldn’t end well—when the Word of Wisdom speaks to “the weak and the weakest of all saints,” I smile and say thankfully, “That’s me.” And yet the names of unfamiliar spirits can send me down Wikipedia rabbit holes, seeking strange knowledge like the difference between “liquors” and “liqueurs,” or ales and lagers, and why James Bond drinks his martinis shaken, not stirred.

It’s the culture of the thing that attracts me: the history, the creativity; the vineyards from the Renaissance still run by the same families and the beers hand-brewed by monks; it’s the way a beverage (Scotch, bourbon, absinthe) can represent a place or a people or an era; it’s all the bottles in all the cellars of the world, filled decades ago by men now dead, waiting to be opened and emptied in an evening.

And we teetotalers get… Sprite? No, thanks. I’ll just have water.

This essay isn’t about alcohol. It’s about stories, and specifically about Star Wars’ Andor, which recently finished its second season on Disney Plus.

In the opening minutes of Andor‘s first episode, the title character kills two security guards who are trying to rob him. It’s all very gritty—ugly weather, dirty cops, nasty red-light district—and on my first uncareful watch, I rolled my eyes. Few pop culture tropes are as tiring as “that show you love, but dark.”

And then, a bit later, I realized something interesting was going on.

If you haven’t watched Andor, ask yourself: how would Hollywood usually treat these deaths? The guards were bad guys. They worked for the Empire, if only indirectly, and they were telling the protagonist at gunpoint that he had to give them money or go to jail. If they were in the original Star Wars trilogy, the movie would make sure you forgot them immediately—their dialogue would be limited to “Stop right there!” or “You rebel scum,” they’d be wearing helmets to cover their faces, and their voices would be distorted to help you pretend they’re not human. For allegedly antifascist art like Star Wars, it’s an awfully fascist way to treat people.

In Andor, these guys have faces, and their deaths have consequences.

While our protagonist anxiously builds a false alibi, we learn there are detectives on the case—two of them, the inspector and his deputy. The deputy has stayed up all night gathering evidence and thinks he can find the killer in a matter of days, but his boss is about to leave for a performance review where he’ll have to report his crime statistics to the Empire. He knows what will happen if he ends his report with, “And by the way, two of my own were bumped off last night.”

The inspectors’ dialogue deserves an essay of its own. It’s an argument between youth and age, zeal and world-wisdom, between an Imperial true believer and a very mild sort of Rebellion—it’s even a philosophical contest between deontology and consequentialism—and it’s all carried off with a mixture of wit and realism that I can’t remember Star Wars ever achieving before. Both inspectors make good points; each is self-serving in ways he won’t admit, and if you think it’s obvious which decision they should make, then you probably haven’t thought the thing through.

And remember, these are the bad guys—low-ranking bad guys, no less, invested with agency, intelligence, and humanity. And they’re not the only ones.

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When my primary teachers told me that the Holy Ghost spoke as a still, small voice or a burning in the bosom, I was always confused. Since the day I was confirmed, I experienced the Spirit as music—a soundtrack constantly playing to fit whatever circumstances I’m in. A quick-paced brassy theme to warn of danger. A high flute trill to accompany an epiphany. Once, when I despaired at a tough AP World History essay question, the final boss theme from a video game played in my mind. A boss that had taken me days to conquer. I sat for a moment, gathering the resolve I’d used in my many attempts, then tackled the question. I happily received a B+.

No one else can hear this soundtrack. That is, until test day in Spanish 3. I’d confidently turned in my unit one test with five minutes to spare and was packing up my binder. My classmates chatted in a low hum as we waited for the bell to dismiss us—except for Robin, seated in the next row over. They rarely spoke outside of conversation practice, but this time, they leaned over the bar anchoring their chair to the desk and whispered to me. “Do you have to play a fanfare whenever you turn in a test?”

A record scratched through my mind and I nearly dropped my binder. “You heard that?” I hadn’t been humming along with it, had I?

Robin raised their eyebrow with a silver piercing. “Kinda hard to miss.”

“I’m sorry.” My cheeks burned. I must have been humming. The theme song from Pink Panther started to run through my head, though in a lower register than the usual tenor sax. What that was supposed to mean, I had no clue.

“Is that ‘Pink Panther’ on the tuba?”

I just stared in answer. Robin played tuba in band. Of course they’d recognize that instrument.

“Look, you may have accommodations, but headphones will keep you from being distracting.” The bell rang and they shot out the door without waiting for a reply.

This was definitely not me humming.

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Further Light News

We’re currently working on editing issue 2, and that includes finding art to go with each of the fantastic pieces we’ve accepted. If you’re an illustrator or artist who would like to work with us, now’s the time to pitch your portfolio to editor@furtherlightmag.com!

Next month, we’ll have a booth at Storymakers right at the top of the escalator, so come see us on your way to class! Buy a copy of issue 1, pitch us your story or essay idea, or just come grab a piece of chocolate from our resident dragon (she hoards only the good stuff).

Interesting Publications

We’re loving LDS fantasy legend DJ Butler’s new podcast High Low Brow. If you’ve seen Project Hail Mary, you owe it to yourself to check out his discussion of the importance of religion in the book version.

Congrats to fellow LDS speculative fiction magazine Infinite Valley on the release of their third issue featuring stories from three fantastic authors!

We’ve pitched Burgindie’s short LDS horror film “The Angel” before, but now it's finally available on YouTube! Polygamy, mysterious visitors, secret handshakes—this short has deep roots in our culture. After you watch, check out this interview with Barrett Burgin about the film on Saints & Cinephiles.

The BYU English department has put up its fall schedule, and we’re super excited to see Aaron Eastley teaching a course on “Living Stories: How Tolkien and Lewis Lead Us to Christ.” If you’re looking for religious folklore to inspire your next Further Light submission, we also suggest Chris Blythe’s course on “Saints and the Holy Dead.” BYU students, make sure to add them to your registration cart before they fill up!

Meanwhile at Weber State, Ryan Evans is teaching a course on Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn trilogy—sounds like fun!

A certain ex-Mormon content creator has been spreading some hurtful assumptions about why Latter-day Saints love to write speculative fiction, but Jasmin Rappleye and Shad Brooks are here with a play-by-play response.

The Daily Wire has an article covering recent releases in right-wing-coded fantasy, which includes a review of Larry Correia’s new book American Paladin. (We also really enjoyed this YouTube explainer of the right-leaning trend on BookTube.)

Read something great that we should know about? Send links to editor@furtherlightmag.com with the subject line “Interesting Publications.”

Community Events

May 14-16 - Storymakers Conference - Storymakers, held in Provo, is a great opportunity to hone your writing craft and network with fellow writers. And of course we also love the Whitney Awards that promote great LDS writing. If you’re attending, please come visit our booth and chat with us!

June 17-18 - Writers Cantina - Join local Utah authors for a casual and inexpensive event in West Valley City.

August 17–21 - BYU Education Week - We happen to know there will be a track on science fiction and theology that you don’t want to miss!

Got an event we missed? Send information to editor@furtherlightmag.com with the subject line “Community Events.”

Submissions & Deadlines

Apr 26 - Get your art into The Compass Gallery - Time’s almost up to be part of The Compass Gallery’s of fantasy art this summer titled Lore: The Power of Stories. After visiting their Fantastically Human exhibit last year, we know this one’s gonna be great. Submit your art to be exhibited alongside Steve Argyle and Howard Lyon.

May 15 - Submit to LDSPMA’s first-ever anthology - We love LDSPMA’s mission to help Latter-day Saint creators succeed in publishing, media, and the arts, so of course we’re excited that they’re putting out an anthology for this year’s conference theme of “Instruments in God’s Hands.” Send in fiction, poems, or personal essays under 1200 words and say you were there for the first one!

May 31 - Submit to the Mormon Lit Blitz - Participate in the longest running contest for LDS-themed flash-length work. Send your in fiction, poetry, or nonfiction under 1000 words. Published finalists are paid $25 and winners of the contest receive a $125 prize.

July 20 - Write a review of a fake piece of LDS art - Irreantum is collecting new pieces for a special themed issue of reviews of LDS art. The catch is that these works don’t exist yet. Check out this fake review of a (speculative?) novel written by Brigham Young as an example. I’m hoping for a review of a magical installation or perhaps some space-based performance art.

August 31 - Submit to Further Light issue 3 - Though we’re just starting to nail down issue 2, we’re already collecting some great submissions for issue 3. We hope yours will be among them!

October 1 - Send in an academic paper to LTUE - Got something clever to say about your favorite science fiction or fantasy property? Submit an essay to LTUE’s academic track to share your thoughts with everyone (and get free conference admission and snacks in the green room—seriously, those mini eclairs are worth it).

Got an opportunity we missed? Send information to editor@furtherlightmag.com with the subject line “Submissions & Deadlines.”

The window glass has rippled
a century of moons.
It does not see out clearly
nor clearly show the room—

a pine table, a wooden chair
pushed under the table; the far
dingy drywall where Jesus
kneels in a calendar,

his fingers tightly interlaced;
a woman holding a letter
who’s trying to write I’m sorry
but failing over and over.

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“My dear boys about to become men,” he said, fixing them all with eyes that seemed to jump around the room like frying bacon, “because manhood follows boyhood as surely as boyhood precedes manhood, it is necessary that you, being boys, and thus men-to-be, must prepare to be the men you will become before you cease to be the boys you are now—it is good to see your smiling faces. Before becoming men—while you are still boys—it is incumbent upon you, and incumbent upon me as your teacher, and incumbent upon our society—as it requires men—to decide and embark upon your path of manhoodian labors, in which you will spend the rest of your days, and to do so in a sensible manner with the proper instruction and opportunities for observation and so forth. And so, in these coming months, you will be given opportunity to meet with and visit with and talk with and sit with and listen to and so forth, under all the men in this great city, even Zarahemla, whom this year are seeking boys to become men under their tutelage as apprentices of their craft, that their superiority of skill and knowledge may pass fully unto you, the new generation, that things will come to be as great or even greater than they are now.”

Jarom paused, pulled from somewhere within his stool a finely carved wooden mug, took a sip of water, then brushed down his beard before continuing. “But that is not all of course. It is well enough to learn to be a man from another man—or other men, as in the case of an apprenticeship in leading warriors into battle, or in dungmongering, an occupation often underappreciated by those who just get their food at market and never think about where it actually comes from. But also you must learn to be a man from yourself. For a man should not be any man, a man should be his own man, the only man that a man can be, at least fully, you understand.” Jarom frowned and looked sternly at them, as if he were worried they might willfully misunderstand him. “And so you will plot your future with care and ambition and so forth. Your opportunities are grand this year. Enom the silversmith is looking to take on up to two apprentices. Importers and tailors are looking for apprentices. Of course, as always, half a dozen lawyers or so. And the highlight this year, great Mulek, son of Amaron of the great house of armorers, making the greatest armor this nation or any nation has ever known, and all the great things they’ve done for us keeping people alive and so forth. Of course,” and here he chuckled, “you’ll have to beat our young Hagoth for that position, so . . . heh. Anyway.”

All the other rich men’s boys looked over at Hagoth who looked at his hands and tried to think of something other than his father, armor, or the gas he was struggling to keep inside his body. Why hadn’t anyone reminded him that drinking goat’s milk for breakfast gave him the poots?

“Today we will start by visiting Mikal, who leads the temple guardians, then Boron whose imports allow our best men to look their finest. And, speaking of clothes, we’ll see someone who makes them, someone who sells them and,” he chuckled, “the local boatmaker.”

Hagoth had no idea Zarahemla still had a boatmaker. His father Mulek hadn’t made fun of him in months and besides, what did Zarahemla really need a boatmaker for, anyway? Hagoth had only been to the sea—and on a boat—once, in Morianton, when he was three, before his mother died. It was his first memory—and the only one of her. She was telling his father to shut up. He treasured that memory. Boats were great. But in Zarahemla?

Boron, for instance, didn’t use boats. He didn’t even “import.” Basically he snuck into Lamanite lands, killed birds, then sold their feathers. “It’s exciting, it’s dangerous, it’s profitable, and you can always keep a feather for yourself. No better way to impress the ladies. You’re all old enough to know what really matters.”

All the potential masters, like Boron, met them dressed in their best finery until the boatmaker, Lehonti, who came to his shop door dressed in a holey sackcloth tunic and worn woolen pants—reminding them that no matter what the clothing hawker had said, wool was not traditional finery.

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I don’t think it would be incorrect to say that Wind and Truth is Brandon Sanderson’s most controversial book to date. Part of this is the sheer length of the volume: the more-than-1300 pages stretch the patience of even hardcore fans of epic fantasy. Though previous volumes have also been behemoths, this one also felt it, with a plot that rushed readers from one side of Roshar to the other and yet seemed at the same time to drag on and on. Many readers of Wind and Truth noticed a certain repetitiveness to Sanderson’s language, leading to the thought that Sanderson’s editors ought to have done more cutting. An irritating increase in modernisms also placed this book out of sync with previous works in the series. Characters who were “courting” in previous books are now said to be “dating” and eventually become “exes.” In a society where the majority of people don’t have watches or clocks, a character tells another to wait “just a sec.”

One particularly awkward example of this trend is the insertion of the modern concept of “therapy” into the book’s medieval/early Renaissance-ish setting. While these characters have always been identifiable as suffering from mental illness, the in-world language tended to be archaic— “battle shock,” “melancholia.” In the previous volume, Kaladin invented the idea of group talk therapy but never referred to it as anything other than being a different kind of “surgeon.” In Wind and Truth, however, the term “therapist” appears as the punchline of a joke at an otherwise climactic moment. Granted, it’s introduced by Hoid, a character who has reason to know more modern terminology, but the contrast has been jarring to many readers. If the goal of fantasy is to be immersive, the sprinkling of modern language in this book breaks that immersion.

Do these imperfections mean Wind and Truth is doomed to be remembered as a rushed and forgettable mid-season finale in the Stormlight Archive? During the last year, I’ve wrestled through the book a second time, and I’ve come to believe that if we can look beyond some of its rough edges, the fifth volume of the Stormlight Archive may be one of the most profound books in the series. Wind and Truth asks many questions that, to me, seem directly attached to deeply Latter-day Saint theology. And it answers these questions in ways that are particularly insightful into how faith operates in the modern world.

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Further Light News

Thank you to everyone who sent in submissions for issue 2! We’ve had so much fun over the last few weeks reading your stories, essays, and poems. Our editors met last night to make decisions on which submissions to include, so keep an eye on your inbox for decisions coming soon. And of course, our submissions box is currently open for issue 3, so keep sending us your work that combines the speculative with the sacred.

Thanks to Theric Jepson for this great review of issue 1 for the Association for Mormon Letters. Our subscribers and contributors have already received their print copies of issue 1. Want your own copy? Check out our list of retailers where you can find Further Light. Want to buy a copy in person? We’re going to have a booth at the Storymakers conference on May 14-16. Come check out our print issue or pitch us on your essay or story idea. We’d love to chat with you!

Interesting Publications

Some updates from our Further Light authors:

• We are looking forward to the release of the final volume of Orson Scott Card’s Alvin Maker trilogy, Master Alvin, on April 28th. Meanwhile, we’re enjoying this wide-ranging interview about the series, writing, and life with Youtuber iSamwise.

• Congratulations to DC Wynters who was part of a successful Kickstarter for Ruins: A Space Opera Anthology.

• Theric Jepson has a new poem out called “Glitter sifts from sky, sifts hell from beauty or beauty” in the latest issue of the engine(idling.

• JS Absher published several poems including “Mystic Neighborhood,” an honorable mention in the 2025 James Applewhite Poetry Prize, and “A Flower for the Scrapper” in the latest issue of LDS literary magazine Irreantum.

Here’s a different kind of religious speculation: Ethan Unklesbay asks, “What if the restoration was Catholic?”

Check out this article about Anthony Bourdain in Narnia, possibly the weirdest but most endearing fan fiction I’ve ever stumbled upon.

Have you seen the film Eternity yet? It’s not a Latter-day Saint production, but the premise sure feels like it: a woman dies and has to choose whether to spend her afterlife with her first husband who died young in the Korean War or the man she raised a family with. We were pretty positive about it over on Pop Culture on the Apricot Tree, but Henry Sorensen deals with some of the negative aspects of the worldbuilding from an LDS perspective in his Substack review. Definitely put this movie on your watchlist and let us know your opinion.

Of course, we love Tyler Johnson’s essay in Wayfare about how the world needs more of the childlike optimism embodied by Harry Potter in an age where we all think the worst of each other.

Has anyone else been watching Starfleet Academy? We’d love to see something written about the LDS implications of episode 7, in which the couple is not married but “sealed” in an intimate ceremony for family, which leads to them becoming king and queen, because of course ruling is a two person job. The concept is so Mormon-coded we want to know if someone LDS was involved.

Read something great that we should know about? Send links to editor@furtherlightmag.com with the subject line “Interesting Publications.”

Community Events

May 14-16 - Storymakers Conference - Storymakers, held in Provo, is a great opportunity to hone your writing craft and network with fellow writers. And of course we also love the Whitney Awards that promote great LDS writing. If you’re attending, please come visit our booth and chat with us!

June 17-18 - Writers Cantina - Join local Utah authors for a casual and inexpensive event in West Valley City.

Got an event we missed? Send information to editor@furtherlightmag.com with the subject line “Community Events.”

Submissions & Deadlines

Ongoing - Submit to Bountiful Journal - There’s a new LDS literary journal hoping to promote the works of students and emerging authors. Check out their wishlist which includes personal essays, fiction, and poetry.

Mar 29 - Submit a poem to Wayfare’s Behold the Man! - Only five days left to submit your poem “about or related to Jesus of Nazareth.” See this page for more details. Winners will be honored at Wayfare’s summer festival. And yes, we checked: your poem may include speculative elements.

Apr 26 - Get your art into The Compass Gallery - This one is for our artist friends: The Compass Gallery is hosting another exhibit of fantasy art this summer titled Lore: The Power of Stories! After visiting their Fantastically Human exhibit last year, we know this one’s gonna be great. Submit your art to be exhibited alongside Steve Argyle and Howard Lyon.

July 20 - Write a review of a fake piece of LDS art - Irreantum is collecting new pieces for a special themed issue of reviews of LDS art. The catch is that these works don’t exist yet. Check out this fake review of a (speculative?) novel written by Brigham Young as an example. I’m hoping for a review of a magical installation or perhaps some space-based performance art.

August 31 - Submit to Further Light issue 3 - Though we’re just starting to nail down issue 2, we’re already collecting some great submissions for issue 3. We hope yours will be among them!

Got an opportunity we missed? Send information to editor@furtherlightmag.com with the subject line “Submissions & Deadlines.”

Sister Thomas waved her hand. “I’d love to stay and help, Pam, but Jared and Omner have basketball practice and little Tiffany has her piano lessons and Sariah wants to be picked up at the high school in half an hour. You know how life is. Toodles!” Her designer sweats disappeared rapidly through the glass door of the church kitchen.

Pam sighed. Another lime gelatin salad. How many was that now? Twenty three? She set the pan on the counter next to the fridge. She wasn’t sure how many would actually fit in the fridge. She’d have to do some juggling.

“Sister Jensen? I hate to bother you, but . . .”

Pam stopped her eyes from rolling with a supreme effort of will at the sound of the breathy voice. She’d recognize it anywhere. But, charity suffereth long, and all that. She pasted a smile on her face as she turned around. “Yes, Sister Love?”

Nyra Love waddled to the cabinets, one hand spread across her extremely pregnant belly. “I just need a pitcher of water, you know, for the little ones, when they come.” She smiled her vapid smile, like a brain-damaged hamster. Her soft voice grated on Pam’s already stretched nerves. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no problem, Nyra. Are you sure you should be helping tonight? Wasn’t your baby due Sunday?”

Nyra Love giggled. “Oh, no. I was due last Thursday but the doctor says all first babies are late. It’s my responsibility to be here, it’s my calling, to serve in the nursery at Relief Society weekly enrichment meetings.” A frown crawled over her face. “What are we supposed to call them now?”

“Just call it a birthday dinner. Do you want help?” Pam wedged Sister Thomas’s gelatin offering into the fridge with the other green masses. All had carrots. A few sported pineapple tidbits or canned pears. Sour cream covered two with a thick layer of ‘frosting’.

Nyra pressed her hand to her belly. “Oh, that was a strong one. Nothing to worry about, Sister Jensen. It’s only Braxton-Hicks.” She waddled from the room, a plastic pitcher clutched in her free hand.

Pam shook her head as she began arranging fresh fruit. Rainbows sounded fun, especially for March. Blueberries, kiwi, pineapple, mandarin oranges because they were easier than orange slices, with a border of strawberries. But that left out violet. What fruit could she add this late, though? It would mean yet another trip to the store. She eyed the carefully carved pineapple boats sitting empty next to the trays. Maybe she should just mix it all and fill up the boats. A faint gurgle across the kitchen caught her attention. She paused, glancing over the simmering crockpots of ham. “Must have been the lids rattling.” She popped open a container of strawberries. If she mixed it all up, the sisters would never notice purple missing and if they did, well, that was their problem. Boats with mixed fruit it would be. And maybe one tray with a rainbow, for fun.

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Not even the devils are evil by nature
                 —St. Thomas Aquinas

I see them from my perch
Atop the ever-burning church

That stands next to the square
In uptown Dis. They aren’t aware,

It seems, that they are being
Watched. Malicious eyes farseeing

Through ashen mist and gloom
Peak out of every smoldering tomb

They pass. I watch them meet
A tortured shade down on the street,

Stopping their hurried walk
To introduce themselves and talk.

Although I am not near
Enough to hear their voices, cheer

Erupts out of their faces,
Irrupting in the hellish places

They pass—the residue
It leaves is something I once knew.

I dig around my mind—
They’re wandering preachers, nuns, some kind

Of monks. No, missionaries!
And as they rove about, each carries

A bag of pamphlets, books
They give to anyone who looks

Them in the eyes too long.
They always say that they “belong

To the Church of...” what?
I can’t recall the name. I shut

My eyes to concentrate.
What is that word they say they hate,

But really love? It’s Moron,
Right? No, that’s not it. Or mon-

Ist, maybe? No. What is
That word? The Devil says that his

Epiphanies all come
When he stops straining, so I hum

A little tune and try
To dream of other things. But why

Is it so hard to think
With them nearby? A twisted kink

Is tangling up my thoughts
Into a mass of Gordian knots.

Maybe I’ve been below
Too long? Come on, I know

This word... I’ve got it! Mormon!
Now they approach the demon doorman

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Lewis’s Space Trilogy is unique in the world of science fiction. Consisting of Out of the Silent Planet (1938), Perelandra (1943), and That Hideous Strength (1945), it follows the protagonist Elwin Ransom as he encounters righteous aliens and wicked men on Mars, prevents the corruption of a paradisiacal Venus, and continues fighting against the forces of evil on Earth. The worldview in this trilogy is explicitly Christian, relatively pessimistic regarding human nature, and even in some ways medieval. Its emphasis on human fallibility and divine glory contrasts sharply with depictions in many works of science fiction of humans as heroes in an indifferent or hostile universe. The books are certainly “soft science fiction” with scientific accuracy deemphasized and supernatural elements introduced. In fact, while reimagining the story of Adam and Eve in Perelandra, Lewis deliberately sidestepped questions about the historicity of Genesis and the means of creation, describing Ransom as having “a sensation not of following an adventure but of enacting a myth.”1 Later, Ransom speculates that the novel’s characters representing Adam and Eve may have descended “on the physical [as opposed to the spiritual] side” from sea creatures and wonders about the nature of “the man-like things before men in our own world.”2 But these were not the most important questions for Lewis, who saw myths as a source of deeper truth than historical facts. This doesn’t mean that he always disbelieved in the literal truth of supposed myths. He accepted that inspired scripture could contain genres other than history, but he also accepted the miracles in the Gospels as historical and saw the incarnation of divinity as Jesus as being the incarnation of myth as historical fact. Lewis insisted that the “quality of the real universe” is more like the “divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic reality” of George MacDonald’s works of fantasy rather than the mechanical cosmos that many infer from modern scientific discoveries.3 Lewis’s treatment of the creation and Fall narratives should be evaluated on the philosophical and theological ideas that it conveys; speculating about how any of it really worked on a physical level is beside the purpose of the Space Trilogy. For this reason, I’ll focus on a subject that should interest Latter-day Saint readers more than Lewis’s response to scientific materialism: the way his story in Perelandra addresses questions related to our own unique theology.

Perelandra begins with Ransom, already an experienced interplanetary traveler, being transported in the nude to the planet Venus (called “Perelandra” in the book’s fictional version of the Adamic language) by the “Oyarsa” or governing spirit of Mars. He knows only that he is to serve some purpose there in the struggle between good and evil. For a while he explores the planet alone without meeting any other characters. It’s a glorious and colorful paradise whose golden sky is compared to the background of a medieval picture, traditionally representing heavenly light. The land consists of flexible islands floating like mats over the waves of a great ocean.

The first allusion to Genesis comes when Ransom encounters trees with delicious fruit. “Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat.”4 Throughout the book, fruit is used as a symbol of the good things provided by God and enjoyed by humans. One of the fruits comes in two varieties: a bland, banana-like kind of berry and a kind that looks the same externally but is extremely delicious. Ransom feels inspired to refrain from seeking out the better-tasting ones and eating only that kind, lest the pleasure of eating them be spoiled. Latter-day Saint readers may be reminded here of the similar metaphor in D&C 29:39 and Moses 6:55 about “tasting the bitter” in order to “know the sweet.” Both of these use the sense of taste to represent the way that positive experiences can be enhanced by contrast. But the meanings of Lewis’s plain fruit and of the Restoration scriptures’ bitter taste are subtly different. The verses in D&C and Moses are often associated with the doctrine of “opposition in all things” from 2 Nephi 2 and interpreted to mean that goodness is intrinsically dependent on evil, and specifically that to fully enjoy positive experiences one must know evil and have negative experiences. Lewis, however, considered joy to depend not on sorrow but on restraint and obedience. By eating the bland and the delicious berries in their natural proportion, and by showing similar restraint in eating other fruits, Ransom showed gratitude and humility towards the God that provided the fruit and was fit to fully appreciate it. In Lewis’s view, people’s inability to “know the sweet” without “tasting the bitter” is a consequence of our ungrateful, fallen nature; if we had not fallen we would not need bitterness as the healthy do not need medicine.

Having thus already learned theological lessons from the planet itself and its vegetable life, Ransom encounters for the first time a humanoid inhabitant: a green-skinned, nude woman referred to as the Green Lady who it becomes apparent is Perelandra’s equivalent of unfallen Eve.

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To me Earth was always the bright planet,
The blue gleam in a starward window.
But as my feet dragged slower in the moondust
That we had forced to yield us unexpected life,
I could not stop thinking of Earth.
My legs were curious to climb a hill,
My ears to hear the buzzing of a fly.

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