Saturday, December 30, 2017

Confession of an obsession: Andrew Peterson and the Wingfeather Saga

As undergrads at Penn State, a roommate and I had briefly overlapping crushes on the same guy. He was into a little-known Christian folk singer named Andrew Peterson, and therefore so were we. Andrew's voice isn't showy, but his lyrics left us awestruck:

I can see in the strip malls and the phone calls
The flaming swords of Eden
In the fast cash and the news flash and the horn blasts of war... 
We ache for what is lost 

Other songs were playful, like this one narrated by a penny:

I'd give you all of me to know what you were thinking
And if I had one wish I'd wish I wasn't sinking here
Drowning in this well, oh can't you tell?
("Loose Change")

Over a decade later, my friend and I have long since gotten over him... Mr. Penn State, that is. With Andrew, by contrast, I'm as smitten as ever. Perhaps even more, now that I've seen the power of his pen extend beyond music and into literature, and even back again.* I've turned to his music to help me grieve with a little girl and climb out of negativity. He has an incredible knack for combining personal anecdotes with universal themes. I've raved about him to dozens of friends, but never paid full homage to him on this blog until now.




About four years ago, I got wind that he'd written a fantasy called the Wingfeather Saga, aiming for the "vastness of Lord of the Rings" with the "whimsy of the Princess Bride." Since his songs always tell stories, a novel series didn't seem as far-fetched as it might have. I requested what I thought was his trilogy for Christmas, and my parents promised to send it over to Cambodia with my colleague. Before the colleague returned, I visited a friend in China and spent Christmas day with a 10-year-old boy who had received the same three books that morning. "Hey, that's my Christmas present too!" I told him with glee. His mom thought I was joking. 

Once my copies arrived, I was eager to dive in. I really wanted to like them, but I tried not to get my hopes up too much. A good fantasy series is quite an accomplishment, and poorly executed attempts can be painful. What if it sacrifices art for preaching or Christian cheesiness? What if the storyline is predictable? What if it just kind of fizzles?

Unfortunately, between lesson planning and grading, my free time was pretty nonexistent that spring. So I urged one of my students, a compulsive fantasy reader, to take a look first. He soon reported back to me, approving but distressed. "Where's the fourth book?" 

"What fourth book? These three were sold as a package." 

"The third book ends in a cliffhanger! I checked online, and the fourth was just published. I need to know how it ends!" Oops.


We eventually got another book mule to bring it out to Cambodia, and by then I'd managed to start reading. I wasn't surprised that Book 1, On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness, was whimsical and well-worded. But I was taken aback by how often I laughed out loud at it... especially the footnotes. What kind of youth fiction is chock-full of footnotes?! Peterson spent over a decade thinking up this story, so it's amazingly complex and rich with detail. The footnotes, along with the maps and appendices, round out the colorful land of Skree, where farmers protect their crops of totatoes from pesky thwaps, while children play zibzy and handyball.** But like the rest of their world, Aerwiar, Skree is suffering:

Oh, yes, the people of Skree were quite free, as long as they were in their homes by midnight. And as long as they bore no weapons, and they didn't complain when their fellow Skreeans were occasionally taken away across the sea, never to be seen again. But other than the cruel Fangs and the constant threat of death and torture, there wasn't much to fear in Skree.

Still, concerns lingered at the end of the book. Each episode in the Igiby family - Janner, Tink, and Leeli, along with their mom (Nia) and grandpa (Podo) - was cute but not always compelling. They seemed to stick out their tongues at danger, and then run back to safety. Could the series hold my attention through another thousand pages? 

Yes indeed! Book 1 ends with the Igibys fleeing their home to guard a precious secret from their oppressors (organized under "a nameless evil, an evil whose name was Gnag the Nameless"). As I continued the series, I realized how well Book 1 lays the foundation for the following books. Like Lord of the Rings, Narnia, and Harry Potter, the Wingfeather Saga has many classic traits of an epic (both war and journey), a discovery which delighted me as a Brit Lit teacher. 

The farther I ventured into the books, the more the tongue-in-cheek liveliness reminiscent of "Loose Change" gave way to the stirring depth of "The Far Country." The Igibys are swept into a flood of events that reveal truths - some lovely, some frightening - about themselves and their world. Darkness isn't just "out there" pursuing them; it's among them and even in them. Plot twists abound as good guys betray them and grief divides them and courage fails them and help arrives from entirely unexpected sources. Yet the central story only grows more cohesive and more gripping. 

The later books still have sprinklings of laughter, though far fewer footnotes. They have strong characters with physical disability, with mental illness, with addiction and shame. They contain powerful imagery of brokenness and redemption, the many who bear the cost of one's mistakes, the necessity of family, the beauty of doing the right thing when it hurts, the power of forgiveness and reconciliation. They're not overtly religious and have less allegory than Narnia. But there's a lot that rings true on a deeper level.

I've enjoyed reading reviews from fellow fans. At a friend's wedding, I nerded out with a whole cluster of fans. They deepened my appreciation for the books, particularly for several minor characters. Some readers call the series "this generation's Narnia;" others say that's a stretch. If you're a die-hard fan of Lewis and Tolkien and Rowling, you'll probably find ways that Peterson fails to measure up; the Wingfeather Saga is not without flaws. But it will draw you in if you let it. 

I've been itching to re-read the books since I arrived back in Cambodia, where they've been in the Logos library since I left in 2015. But to my disappointment - and delight - they've been checked out every time I've stopped by. Apparently I hooked enough people, who likewise spread the word, that the librarian says it's still a hot commodity. 



While waiting, I've had fun with updates on Andrew's Kickstarter project turning the series into an animated show. The 15-minute pilot was just released this week. Despite my bias that "the book's always better," I was impressed at the film's quality. It also managed to convey Peterson's warmth and quirkiness. I've shown it to ten kids, all of whom were hooked and barraging me with questions. The older ones were desperate afterward to read the books. 

Why do I care so much about a book series aimed at kids? Because stories matter. In an interview, Andrew cites the quote, "If you want people to know the truth, tell them. If you want people to love the truth, tell them a story." (source unknown) Like Andrew's music, the Wingfeather Saga has helped me celebrate how God takes broken and twisted things and makes them beautiful - not just in the world of Aerwiar or the land of Skree, but here in my own story. 

*See this song taken from Book 3, The Monster in the Hollows. Even more perfect because the singer, Peterson's daughter Skye, is the inspiration for Leeli, who sings this song in the book. 

**Sample footnote: "A delightful sport in which each team tries to get the ball into the goal without using their feet in any capacity, even to move." 

2 comments:

Gustavus said...

Your comment "Why do I care so much about a book series aimed at kids?" Reminds me of something Lewis wrote. I am not certain it was informed by the early criticism of the Chronicles of Narnia by Tolkien or not, and it is from the dedication of it to his Godchild Lucy Barfield but I really rather like it. Someday you will be old enough to read fairy tales again.

"I wrote this story for you, but when I began it I had not realized that girls grow quicker than books. As a result you are already too old for fairy tales, and by the time it is printed and bound you will be older still. But some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. You can then take it down from some upper shelf, dust it, and tell me what you think of it. I shall probably be too deaf to hear, and too old to understand a word you say, but I shall still be your affectionate Godfather, C. S. Lewis."

Don't burn any friends in fireplaces okay ;)

Chelsea said...

Excellent quote, Gustavus! I've read it before long ago, but it's always worth being reminded of. That Clive was quite insightful.