After reading Sanderson’s Alcatraz Smedry books, I discovered that he’s also an author of fantasy novels for grown-ups. (He’s also the guy selected by Robert Jordan’s estate to finish up the Wheel of Time series, but I’ll forgive him for that. He’ll be working from Jordan’s own outline, and apparently he expects the “last book in the series” to fill three volumes. Apparently, Jordan’s disease is contagious.) Anyway, I went out and got some, and I’ve read three of them. I enjoyed them all, but of the three this one, Mistborn, is the best of the bunch. In fact, it’s truly outstanding, the best new fantasy novel I’ve read in ages. I’m not going to tell you much in particular about it; if you like the fantasy genre, you’re going to want a copy.

Instead, I’m going to reflect a bit on Sanderson as a writer, and on the things that seem to make him tick—the themes common among the five books of his that I’ve read (two Alcatraz books and three others).

First, he’s really, really good at coming up with new and interesting magical systems. Each of the books contains a different one, with its own basis, mechanics, and logic, a logic that Sanderson has clearly worked out in detail. And the magical system isn’t just tacked on; it affects the economics and culture of its world, just has high technology affects our own. L.E. Modesitt, Jr., did something similar with his Recluce books, which he’s been milking for all they are worth for years; but by comparison, Sanderson is astoundingly profligate with his ideas.

Second, he’s fascinated with the idea of God-men—men worshipped as Gods, men with God-like power—and with religion in general. (Three grown-up books; three sets of God-men. Interesting.)

Third, there’s a goodness about his books. I don’t mean to say that he’s a Pollyanna; far from it. But he understands the importance of virtue and the nature of moral strength, which is a rare thing in fantasy these days. I’ve spent quite a bit of time pondering that goodness, and the manner in which religion is presented, and wondering whether he might be a Christian, and coming to no definite conclusion. There are a variety of religions in his books, some of them similar to Christianity in some ways, and different in others, and though some seem better than others, the author isn’t obviously rooting for any particular one. And—I’m going to be hopelessly vague, here, as I can’t quite say just what it is that I’m responding to—although the goodness tastes Christian, the flavor is jut a little…. Off? Odd? Unorthodox? (I don’t mean to be insulting.)

And then I finished Mistborn, and looked at the About the Author blurb on the last page. It turns out that he teaches Creative Writing at Brigham Young University. A glance at his Wikipedia page confirmed that he’s a member of the Mormon Church, and suddenly everything snapped into place.

Virtue? Natch. Men becoming gods? Natch. Slightly odd taste? Natch. I won’t argue here whether Mormonism is Christian or not, but there are significant theological differences between Mormonism and Nicene Christian in general (and Roman Catholicism in particular).

That slightly odd taste works both ways, of course. We’ve got four kids, and so Jane’s a member in good standing of our local “Mother of Many Kids” club (an unofficial organization, to be sure, but no less real for all that); and many, perhaps most of the other members of the club are Mormons. And Jane’s often noticed that little moment of hesitation, that short burst of surprise and wariness, when another mother she’s talking to by the school gate realizes that Jane’s not in fact a fellow member of the LDS Church.

I don’t want to leave you with the impression that Sanderson’s books are thinly disguised Mormon tracts; they certainly don’t seem to be. And they are very good. I’m quite pleased to note that Mistborn is the first book in a trilogy, and—wonder of wonders—all three volumes are already in print! (In fact, the second and third are on shelf, within easy reach.)

Highly recommended.