Joy, Scott Pilgrim and Understanding Your Own Narrative

Over the past several years I have written countless blurbs and essays on pop culture. Currently I am trying to stray away from that, as I am slowly realizing that obsessing over pop culture detracts from establishing Christian culture. If you are simply a vacuum sucking up the Cheerios on the floor, it will be very hard for you to turn that into a work of fine art.

However comma, I’ve decided that I want to revisit my dear friend Scott Pilgrim. The other night I was in one of my pensive moods and decided to cobble together a list of 10 books (not including the Bible) that I consider to be the most important to me; books that have shaped my worldview in some significant way or another, books that I believe to be the best things I have ever read. The list was going along very nicely at first, but then I suddenly realized that I had listed Bryan Lee O’Malley’s nerd comic with the likes of Shakespeare, C.S. Lewis and Plato. What on earth? But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

My inclusion of Scott Pilgrim among my 10 favorite works of literature goes far beyond my love of the visual nature of the comic book medium. Yes the art is lovely; yes it is charmingly funny in an annoying little brother sort of way. But none of those things make it quote, unquote “great literature.” An excellent story is the mark of great literature. Nothing more, and nothing less.
Earlier that evening, I had gone to my weekly Bible study and we were just starting a new study on James. I realize that when many people think about the book of James, they think about the whole justification by works controversy and all that comes with it. I don’t think that’s a fair assessment of James, but that is a conversation for another time. One of the OTHER main themes of James, however, is joy. Overwhelming, pervasive joy.

Our Bible study leader challenged us to come up with a working definition of joy, and we all proceeded to toss words and ideas around. One of the things we had to deal with of course was James 1:2-3: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.”

Suddenly, it dawned on me. One of the big problems we have in the church is that pastors, elders and fellow Christians will offer you platitudes and moralisms and tell you to “count it all joy, friend!” when you tell them about some tough situation you are going through. This is just wrong, and has never sat well with me.

While their exhortations to joy are all well and good… NEEDED even, they are going about it the wrong way. When I go up to someone and tell them I am having a rough time at work or school, or that I just got out of a really messy relationship, or that my best friend died, the WRONG response is for the person I am talking to give me a crap-eating grin and say: “Consider it joy, Josiah!” That will most likely result in a punch in the face.

What did they do wrong? It wasn’t them telling me to be joyful, it was them telling me to be joyful divorced from everything else. Them problem is that they said only “joy” and not “joy in context.” Because that is what I realized joy is: it is properly understanding the narrative and story that you are in. Of course, for an atheist, properly understanding the story you are in results in a rather different virtue… namely despair.

But if you understand that this moment, this pain that you are in now is part of the larger story that is meant to build you up into a well rounded and mature character, how can you not count it joy? Take Les Miserables for example: Jean Valjean goes through a lot of crap over the course of that narrative… and I mean a LOT. He’s thrown in prison, slogs through a sewer, falls off a ship, sins against others, is sinned against himself… but this is all for his glory. All of that pain and suffering becomes heroism and glory in the context of the story, which itself leads up to him showing the greatest mercy to his arch nemesis and then giving away his daughter to a deserving husband. The story is glorious, and would in NO way be the same if the pain and trials were not there as well. The story ITSELF becomes glorious and a joy.

So what on earth does all of this have to do with Scott Pilgrim? EVERYTHING. Throughout the story of Scott Pilgrim, Scott is going around beating up “bad guys” in vicious fights to the death, stars swirl, lights dance and stat points pop up in the air beside characters. It’s ridiculous and over the top in the way a mash up of Singing in the Rain and Street Fighter might me. But once you get to the sixth book, you realize that there was a method to O’Malley’s madness.

Halfway through book six, Scott goes up against his alterego: the “Nega Scott!” It’s ridiculous like most of the rest of the series, but half way through this physically personified fight between Scott and his evil nature, his old flame and pretty much only friend, Kim Pine yells at him:

“You can’t keep living like this, Scott! If you keep forgetting the mistakes you’ve made, you’re just going to keep making them!”

Suddenly, the two versions of Scott stop, melt into one… and then Scott collapses on the ground and sobs: “I remember everything.” From there the entire tone of the series changes. Scott realizes that he had become a sort of villain, using his delusions of grandeur and heroism to justify himself treating his friends like crap and jumping from one relationship to another. He realizes that he had painted himself as the protagonist of the story when he was in fact no such thing. Then, after that realization, he humbles himself, admits his failings… and then he really CAN be the protagonist.

There are many things that are trite and/or uncalled for in the Scott Pilgrim series… but the overarching narrative is not one of them. There is nothing trite about admitting you behaved like a imbecile, there is nothing trite about apologizing to your friends… there is nothing trite about giving up your eros and striving for agape.

Fall Sets Up Shop

So the uncomfortably warm season we all call "Indian Summer" has set to flight at last, and fall proper is now upon us. The rain the past few days helped greatly. Waking up to the pitter-patter of drops on the sidewalk 12 feet below you is always a pleasant way to wake up... except that it rarely helps the getting out of bed portion of the morning, which usually follows waking up.

Some of the more extravagant and vain leaves changed colors early, sometime in early September, but most are still clinging to immortality and refusing to lose their grip on the oaks that line the very crooked streets of Moscow, Idaho. I don't blame them. If my life span were only in the single digits, I'd cling to my last few moments of life a little longer too.

The buses buzz around the small granary town like over-fat bumblebee drones hovering around a bee hive, ferrying people from the outer edges of town into the small, yet quaint downtown.

The downtown is harsh to small businesses though. It's a great spot for hippies and hipsters to chill, grab a cup of coffee, smoke some weed and show off how culturally relevant they are.

Pitter-patter. The rain soaks the rabidly thirsty ground. Pitter-patter. Feet in the puddles.

Even the people that sell weed are having a hard time. The corner shop at 6th and Main just shut down. Its preferred facade was pretending that it was a flower/gift shop. The odd hours gave it away though. I always knew they sold a lot more than your average roses and daisies. But hard times fall on the druggie and the sober alike. Mikey's gyros are more addictive anyway. A hippie can do without drugs as long as he can get his fix of organic Greek food.

There are a lot of twenty-somethings wandering around downtown in robes. If it weren't for the midwest/northwest American feel of the town, you might guess that you were wandering around the set of the latest Harry Potter movie. But it's just the NSA students. No, not National Security Agency, but New Saint Andrews... a name that was not so subtly plagiarized from a college across the pond with the same name.

It would take a lot to explain where New Saint Andrews College came from, where it's going and why it's still around. Suffice to say that they run on the quarter system, having four terms of eight weeks each every year. Hence, now is final exams.

The leaves dry up on the ground as the sun comes out. The warmth, however, doesn't come back. I feel like I'm stepping on Lay's chips every foot I put forward. Now I'm craving salt.

Three exams down, three to go.