About The Summoner

When it comes to SF and Fantasy, “suspension of belief”—what the reader is willing to believe in order to navigate the story—gets stretched pretty far as a matter of genre.

Vampires? No problem.

Magic? Perfectly normal.

Potions to cure mortal wounds? Pick them up by the case at your Ye Olde Roleplaying WalMarte.

A diety who actually interacts with a character? C’mon—that kinda thing just doesn’t happen!

I have a theory on why folks who will accept telepathic magical horses and arcane rings of power may feel credibility stretch a bit when it comes to the involvement of a deity.

After all, most of us haven’t been personally disappointed by magic.

On the other hand, most folks—at one time or another—have tried praying. And often, it doesn’t seem to work. Someone we love dies. A problem doesn’t get any better. An illness isn’t cured. We wonder if anyone is listening.

The actual definition, according to Dictonary.com, of a deus ex machine is

“1. (In ancient Greek and Roman drama) a god introduced into a play to resolve the entanglements of the plot. 2. Any artificial or improbable device resolving the difficulties of a plot.” In Greek drama, playwrights would create such a tangled mess that a god would be lowered down in a box (hence the meaning of the phrase) to personally sort things out.

Now notice that the mere appearance of a deity or the intervention of a deity does not make something a deus ex machine. Only if the action of the deity resolves the plot instead of action by the characters is it a “god in the box” situation.

In The Summoner, the people of the Winter Kingdoms believe that the Lady—in all of Her aspects—sometimes appears to people and intervenes. (Note, according to CBS News, 82 percent of Americans believe in some form of God, and almost 60 percent pray daily.) Now I have to ask—if it’s completely unbelievable for a deity to intervene, what are people praying for? So despite the evidence that divine intervention is more iffy than good cell phone reception in a tunnel, vast numbers of people of all faiths around the world keep asking to be the exception to the rule.

The Lady, in the aspect of the Childe, heals Tris during the initial flight from Shekerishet. As healings go, it’s a lot less remarkable than many of the healings Carina does later in the book. Gabriel gets a message from the Dark Lady in a dream. Kiara has a vision of Chenne on the battle field. And Tris gets a “give one for the Gipper” motivational message from Chenne in Staden’s chapel. Compared to faster-than-light travel, time bending, interdimensional portals and other staples of the genre, I’m not finding any of this ranking high on Zephod Beeblebrox’s improbability drive.

Now maybe it’s because I live in the American South, where piety hangs like Spanish moss and religiosity is as smothering as summer heat, but I suspect that no matter where you are, you could swing a cat and hit 10 people who believe that sometimes miracles happen and prayers get answered. How do the odds compare with winning the lottery? Depends on who you ask.

I’ve been asked a question about that healing. Someone wondered whether the Lady promised to make Tris unkillable. Read that part again in the book. What She says is, “Die not until I call for you. Your time is not yet come.” So don’t die today—die later. When? You’ll know. Not exactly a promise of invincibility. In fact, as most end-of-the-world prophets, Y2K hysterics, Armageddon fanatics and purple Kool-aid visionaries have discovered, it’s hard to accurately predict a deity’s timing.

Interestingly enough, history seems to show that people who believe they have had a vision of God tend to have higher-than-average odds of dying young and gruesomely. In Christian tradition, I’m thinking about 11 of the 12 apostles, Joan of Arc and John the Baptizer, for starters. It’s almost enough of a correlation to make your insurance rates go up. So neither Tris nor his companions take the Lady’s words as any kind of bulletproof shield—nor should they. Gods seem to have no problem finding replacements for their “chosen weapon” when the weapon gets whacked.

There’s fantasy precedent here as well. The goddess-like Galadriel in Lord of the Rings often appears to Frodo in visions, but that doesn’t guarantee safety. Vanyel, in Mercedes Lackey’s Magic’s Price, sees the Shadow Lover, and still returns to an uncertain and dangerous fate. Shadow, in American Gods, doesn’t feel invincible even though he’s hanging out with an entire pantheon. Even being a son or daughter of a god in Greek mythology didn’t guarantee a long and happy life.

What is the point of a belief system if the deity never, ever intervenes? (Some folks may conclude, “absolutely none”--and they’re entitled to that viewpoint.) However, the vast majority of folks on earth in the good ol’ real world seem to disagree—at least in theory—and why would humans in an alternative setting be radically different in that one regard?

As with most things, a lot comes down to perspective. People of faith—any faith—will see a glimmer of the divine in almost any circumstance. Skeptics don’t. There’s a place for both in the real world. But it seems odd to me that when it comes to fantasy, the potential for divine intervention seems to be the one belief that some folks can’t suspend.

Gail Z. Martin