This is the second book of Green’s series The Blending, which I
panned
back in November. So why did I read the second book if I disliked the
first? I have three answers. First, Jane liked it rather better than I
did, and wanted to read the second book. Second, the premise is somewhat
interesting; I’m curious to see how it plays out. Third, I didn’t read
this book–rather, I got through a hundred pages or so and decided I
didn’t want to read any further thanks to a case of acute moral
indigestion.

It’s dangerous, of course, to guess a novelist’s views from their work;
one is all too likely to take some sentiment vehemently expressed by some
character or other as a statement of the author’s beliefs, only to be
proved ludicrously wrong. Nevertheless an author’s worldview generally
does show up in their writing–and Green’s world view, as I see it
reflected here, is one that I find particularly pernicious, as well as all too
prevalent. It is, quite simply, the belief that spiritual growth equals
mental health, that religion equals therapy.

An examination of Green’s characters is illuminating. The “good”
characters are open, thoughtful, and friendly (with each other, anyway).
They are mostly emotionally damaged in some way: one is claustrophobic;
one fears sexual intimacy because of a prior marriage to a cruel husband;
one has little understanding of people because his domineering mother attempted to
fixate him on her; another has a heart of gold but is unreasonably
jealous (that is to say, he believes in traditional monogamy!). But
because they are “good” they are all trying to overcome this damage and
grow into full emotional balance. And–this is where the book becomes
particularly wearing–those passages which don’t advance the plot are
dedicated to the characters administering therapy to each other. It’s
not called that, but that’s what it is.

The “bad” characters are also mostly emotionally
damaged, but unlike the “good” characters have no desire to grow into
health. Instead, they glory in their infirmity, which generally
manifests as some kind of sexual perversion. They are sadists (genuine
sadists who really enjoy causing pain to non-consensual partners), or
masochists, or indulge in unloving promiscuity, that is, promiscuity for
pleasure only, with people you don’t care about. It’s clear that in
Green’s world, promiscuity with people you love isn’t a problem–as I
noted above, a hangup about this is the obstacle one of the “good”
characters has to overcome.

Tellingly, the only major characters I’ve noted who are not emotionally
damaged, that is, who are “well”, are adepts of Spirit. In Green’s
world, every person is aligned to a greater or lesser degree with one of
the five elements: Air, Earth, Fire, Water, and Spirit. Adepts of Spirit
are able to read very clearly the emotions of others, even those
the others might wish to keep hidden, and if strong enough can manipulate
the emotions of others as well. Supposedly, strong adepts of Spirit have
to be emotionally stable, because otherwise the emotions of others would
destroy them.

One of the two “healthy” characters, Jovvi, is not only an adept of Spirit
but a prostitute by trade who has grown rich in her profession by
manipulating the emotions of her customers with her magic talent. She
never manipulates the emotions of the other “good” characters, of course,
except for their own good.

And there we have the pinnacle of Green’s moral pyramid: emotional
stability, along with the ability to manipulate the emotions of others
“for their own good.” It’s a world in which the only saints are
therapists.

It’s a world view that’s becoming increasingly popular these days; as I’ve
written elsewhere
it’s a world view that has nearly consumed the Episcopal Church, of which
I’m a member. And it’s a lie. Most people are not emotionally damaged
and in need of therapy. Spiritual growth is not the movement from a
position of emotional injury to one of emotional stability (though it may
involve that). Spiritual growth is a movement from being centered on
one’s self to being centered on God, a process which can involve
considerable discomfort, and which has little to do with being a
well-adjusted member of society.

The ironic thing is, I could probably tolerate Green’s world view if
she’d just leave out all of the therapeutic conversations and sexual healing
(by the good guys) and weird sexual power games (by the bad guys–one of
whom is purely disgusted when he finds out that a woman he knows is a
dominatrix. In his view, the man ought to be holding the
whip)–if, as I say, should discard all of that and just get on with the
damn story.

But where the first book was told from five good, ever more healthy
viewpoints, this book adds five additional mostly sick and twisted
viewpoints. And there are three more books to follow before we get the
payoff. Frankly, I decided that I couldn’t stomach it and put the book
away.

Please note–I’m not rejecting therapy altogether. It fills a need, and sometimes it’s lifesaving. But it’s a really bad way for most people to approach spiritual growth.