Thou Shalt Not Be Preachy

There’s a consensus among Christian writers that the things we write for the world outside the Christian fold should not be ‘preachy’. On the whole, the need is not so urgently felt if the writing is intended for believers, which is, in the American expression, ‘preaching to the choir’. But if what we write is aimed at a mixed audience, the message is: don’t be preachy. So what is ‘preachy’, is it a particular danger for Christians, and is it harmful to your chances of being a successful writer?

Consider the following:

There was a greedy look on Charlie’s face as he told Emily ‘I’m going to pull down my old factory and build a bigger one. I want to make twice the amount of profit that I’m getting at the moment.’ Emily was shocked. ‘You know the gospel tells us to beware of covetousness—in fact covetousness is idolatry,’ she exclaimed, pointing him to Ephesians 5:5.

This is dreadful writing by me. It’s definitely preachy. ‘Preachy’ is defined as ‘showing a tendency to give moral advice in a tedious or self-righteous way’. Through the persona of Emily I’m doing that. Of course, I don’t think any Christian writer would dream of writing like this.

But now consider these:

Example 1: They had a son called Michael and a daughter called Matilda, and the parents looked upon Matilda in particular as nothing more than a scab. A scab is something you put up with until the time comes when you can pick it off and flick it away. Mr and Mrs Wormwood looked forward enormously to the time when they could pick their little daughter off and flick her away, preferably into the next county or even further than that.

Example 2: Mrs Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours.

Example 3: They were very up-to-date and advanced people. They were vegetarians, non-smokers and teetotallers and wore a special kind of underclothes. In their house there was very little furniture and very few clothes on the beds and the windows were always open.

Of course there have to be ‘bad’ characters in a book, or there will be no conflict and no story. But what about the way these writers introduce their bad characters? They appeal to our feelings of superiority. They make use of subtle mockery. The implication is that if people are on the wrong side it’s justifiable to look down on them and make fun of them. That there is no point in trying to understand why they are the way they are, or in feeling sorry for their evil predicament.

Not only is this giving moral advice—or rather, spreading moral propaganda—it is both self-righteous and, after you’ve read enough of it, tedious. In a word, preachy.

I don’t think I need to name these writers are or identify the books; they are too well-known. But can we draw any conclusions?

First, since two of the writers are secular and one is Christian, can we conclude that being preachy is as much a technique of secular writers as it is of Christian ones?

Second, these three are among the most popular, best-selling children’s writers of all time. Not only are they habitually preachy, in the way illustrated here, but they get away with it—indeed, are admired for it. Can we then conclude that being preachy doesn’t necessarily harm your chances of success as a writer, as long as you wrap it up in facetious denigration?