 Dear Heartless. Dear The Knife of Never Letting Go. Dear The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. Dear A Monster Calls. Dear Six of Crows. I feel like I should explain why I treated you with such contempt. I grew up with Christian media only. Christian music, Christian books, and heavily screened mainstream movies (mainly because there weren’t many Christian movies then). On one hand, I’m glad. I’m glad those media choices helped reinforce the faith I chose. I’m glad those rules sheltered me from harsh content and from some conversations I wasn’t ready for. I’m sure you can understand that. But those important conversations never happened. So I turned eighteen, and just like magic, I had streaming services, a Spotify account, and a public library card. I could watch what I wanted, listen to what I wanted, read what I wanted. I felt like I had been thrown to the wolves. (No offense.) It wasn’t you. Somewhere along the line, I adopted the idea that if it didn’t come with an explicit Christian label, it must be sinful. I blame my natural rule-following personality—not so much because I liked the rules and was such a good kid, but more selfishly, because getting in trouble terrified me. I saw the PSA’s where a Christian kid saw one PG-13 movie and it haunted them for life. I heard the “everything you read stays with you forever” speech more times than I care to admit. Heck, the thought of even stumbling across a too-mature Christian book terrified me. But there I stood in a sea of books and movies and music. For the first time, I had to decide what I would read and what I wouldn’t. No one would come along and choose for me. But what if I made the wrong choice and read something that would ruin me? Dramatic much? Sure. But it kept me up at night, okay? So I ignored you for a good long while. I played it safe and stuck with the tried-and-true. Which worked out fine, for a little while. But a clash was inevitable. Because I was also adulting. I experienced real life viewpoints and people very different from me. I understood things about myself and my life and my world that I’d never considered before. And I wanted stories that talked about those things. I found several crossover titles that did (novels that appeal to both the Christian and general markets). But Christian novels that did the same were few and far between. I scoured the market. Those conversations just didn’t happen. So I took a deep breath. I scoured all the reviews that I could find, assured myself that this book couldn’t possibly send me to hell. I checked it out from my library—that way, if the hellfire scorched too close, I could send it back and pretend it never happened. I read a general market book. I don’t even remember which of you I chose. (I suspect Heartless.) But you startled me. You were just as clean, if not cleaner than my Christian books. Your characters didn’t engage in all the debauchery that I assumed they did, nor did they encourage me to do the same. If anything, they encouraged me to avoid their mistakes at all costs. I finished the book and let it be. But slowly, ever so slowly, I dipped my toes back in. My friends also read general market fiction. So I bought the occasional general market novel they recommended at a used bookstore. I picked one out at the library every so often. Within a year, I read The Knife of Never Letting Go, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, and A Monster Calls. All three blew me away. You talked about hard things like grief and religious abuse and toxic gender roles. You told creative, inventive tales unlike any stories I’d ever read before. You forced me to take a hard look at the parts of myself I didn’t want to consider. You never mentioned God or Jesus. And perhaps your authors never intended to. And yet I couldn’t deny that these books deeply impacted me for good. Those three books marked the turning point. I still read mostly crossover and Christian fiction. But I also still experiment with general fiction. I defined what I will read and what I won’t, and I became okay with those definitions changing. I read about topics that I once feared. And sometimes, I stood my ground and kept it at a solid no. I finally had those conversations with myself. I only wish I had them earlier. Best of all, I found stories about those hard topics. I engaged with these big questions and conversations in a safe environment. I formed my own thoughts, considered viewpoints besides mine, and strengthened the choices I made. I made my peace with the general market. You can’t replace Christian worldview stories. And it requires caution and research to identify the titles that will benefit me. But I learned that sometimes a story can honor God whether or not it says His Name. Sometimes an author with no religious affiliation can write a story, and that story can glorify God when I read it and think about the ideas it presents. I still prioritize Christian worldview stories. But the general market helped me see beyond my own world. And once I could see, I could view it through my Christian beliefs. I even found Christian authors who wrote stories for God--general market stories. Who knew they could co-exist? I wish I could have helped my younger self reach out for those stories. While these stories came exactly when I needed them as an adult, I wish my younger self could have set out with more confidence and answer those questions instead of living in confusion for years. I wish I had the confidence to voice those questions and share them with other people. I wish I hadn’t been scared of you for so long. But I’m not scared anymore. I firmly believe that I need both general market and Christian fiction. This month, I discussed making my peace with the general market. Next month, I’ll discuss how I made my peace with Christian books. Until then, what’s a general market book that surprised you? Share your adventures in the comments below!
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