Miltons & Shakespeares
For a while I considered marketing this book not to its primary and most naturally receptive audience (my fellow Saints), but to All The World. Great missionary tool and everything, you see. Actually, it does seem a prime time to be writing and selling books about Mormons—two have been published recently (three if you include President Hinckley's book) and well received (which is not to mention the LDS-based cover stories in Time, U. S. News, and Newsweek). So why not mine? But I finally decided to return to my original plan of talking to the people who will understand, people who already care. People who don’t need to be told why Nauvoo matters, because they know. It was, really, the sensible thing to do anyway.
But I, like all LDS writers, am ever aware of the mandate to be “Miltons and Shakespeares of our own.”1 We feel it very keenly. And we often feel the responsibility to be a light unto the world.
It probably surprises no one that I don’t imagine we’ve fulfilled that prophecy yet. Nothing’s easy in this church, is it? It’s a religion of stress, you might say (but oughtn’t). It’s not like we yelled “Alleluia!” and got our hand stamped for entrance into heaven. Oh, no! Nothing so easy! But that’s good, right? Didn’t our mothers always tell us that something worth having was worth working for? And didn’t Daddy always tell us our mothers were always right? And didn’t we finally get sick of hearing it? And then don’t we go on and promulgate such nonsense to the next generation? And isn’t that because it’s not nonsense, but wonderful truth?
And the LDS writer has something else to work on besides salvation: The Fulfilling of Prophecy. It’s something we all feel and it’s something we all (should, at least) take very seriously.
One example to prove that LDS writers are indeed very aware of this prophecy.
I’m guessing you’ve never heard of Curtis Taylor and that is no surprise; I’ve only barely heard of him myself. My familiarity with him is based entirely on a novel called The Invisible Saint. I’m quite certain it is the funniest booklength fiction I’ve ever read. It’s the story of poor Thomas Bigelow of Modesto, California whose mother dies right before he inexplicably turns invisible. But the story’s irrelevant to what we’re talking about here. If you would like to read it, here’s some bibliographic info: Taylor, Curtis. The Invisible Saint. Orem: Stanley Curtis, 1990.
Now, on some page before one, he quotes Orson Whitney’s statement already alluded to (“We shall yet have Miltons and Shakespeares of our own”). On some page before this page some pages before one, he has included a phony statement (also attributed to Orson Whitney) regarding The Invisible Saint:
“When I said that we would have Miltons and Shakespeares of our own, I didn’t realize that they’d come in this form; I thought they might be Saints.”
The irony (to me at least) is that The Invisible Saint is a brilliantly Sainty book. It is very true to what it means to be a Saint in these latter days, even if it is the story of a man who, oddly enough, one day goes invisible (which, to the best of my knowledge, remains an atypical experience even among the Saints).
The purpose of all this is just to remind us of the prophecy without actually explaining anything. Where are those darn Miltons and Shakespeares? They must be floating around here somewhere!
At least one thing’s for certain: I don’t need to worry about it. Milton and Shakespeare both wrote in verse. And you’ve seen my verse!
[ill]
return to the table of contents
Thanks for revisiting Nauvoo with me. I would love to hear your thoughts.