A novel called The Shack by William P. Young was highly recommended to me by three people, one of whom I admire a lot. Actually, a fourth person said it was "gripping." And you know what? It's far worse than I quietly suspected. The first 150 pages have all the nuance and artistic soul of a Thomas Kinkade painting. It reads as if written by a committee of technical writers. My theory, actually, is that it was originally meant for fifth and sixth graders, but the people promoting its online sales have shrugged and realized there're adult Christians who will buy uninteresting and uninspired fiction about the lord.
It's fewer than 300 pages, and yet I'm still only two-thirds from getting through it. My mind wanders a bit. The upshot is that it's one long After School Special episode of "Touched by an Angel," where Della Reese is God, and the main protag named Mack grows increasingly stupid. It's just plain weird. I don't want to hurt any Christian people's feelings, but come on. I'm trying to be kind here. It's a stupid novel. Here's some of its poetry:
"A knock at the door startled Mack from his concentration, and he could see that it was Willie. Their conversation must have been sufficiently perplexing to warrant an early visit. Mack was just relieved that Nan had already left."
No wonder the writer(s) couldn't find a publisher. Of course, it's now taking the "Christian community" -- whatever that means -- by storm. Bloggers are now bickering about its theology, which is even more bizarre. I'm having a hard enough time getting past the lack of tension, contrived conflict, stilted language, POV lapses, and uneven prose ... in sum, I've become completely detached and uninterested in comparing my personal beliefs with someone else's.
