This piece makes a startling claim: Mormon literature isn't just arriving; it has already breached the gates of the global literary canon, yet its own community remains too ashamed to read it with intensity. Wayfare argues that while authors like Steven Peck are finally being recognized by elite publishers alongside giants like Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the internal infrastructure for serious criticism is dangerously thin. It's a paradox worth 15 minutes: a tradition producing bestsellers and philosophical masterpieces is simultaneously suffering from a collective "intellectual inferiority" that threatens to undo its own progress.
The Canon Breaks Through
The article anchors its optimism in a specific, high-stakes moment: the inclusion of Steven Peck's A Short Stay in Hell in Penguin UK's Vintage Classics series. Wayfare reports, "That wasn't just another book contract; the inclusion was a way for Vintage to signal that this is a book which belongs in the literary canon." This is significant because it moves beyond niche religious publishing into the realm of universal human inquiry. The piece describes Peck's protagonist, Soren Johanssen, trapped in a library containing every possible combination of characters—a concept rooted in the Borel–Cantelli lemma and Borges' Library of Babel—where he must find his true life story amidst infinite nonsense.
The commentary notes that this narrative device does more than entertain; it forces a confrontation with raw probability. "In practice, Soren and the other people condemned to the library spend years searching through nonsense books before finding a single coherent phrase," Wayfare observes. The result is a visceral shift in perspective for the reader. By engaging with these immense numbers, the novel reawakens an appreciation for the specific, ordered miracle of our reality against the backdrop of chaos. This aligns with a theological shift away from creatio ex nihilo (creation out of nothing), suggesting instead that God worked through tumultuous, evolutionary processes to carve order from potentiality.
"The oppressive scale of the untrimmed possibilities that make up the library in the story serves as an implicit apologia for the tumultuous evolutionary processes God appears to have used in creation."
This framing is powerful because it bridges the gap between hard science and spiritual heritage without forcing a synthesis. It treats the literature not as dogma, but as a "speculative riff" on deep cultural questions. However, one might argue that focusing so heavily on Peck's philosophical density risks alienating readers who connect with the tradition through more accessible pop-culture phenomena like Twilight or Mistborn.
The Pop Culture Paradox
Wayfare acknowledges that while Peck represents high literary merit, the broader influence of Latter-day Saint authors is already massive. The piece points out a statistical anomaly: "Two of the twenty bestselling writers of the twenty-first century are Latter-day Saints." This is fifty times more representation than their 0.2% share of the global population would suggest. The article suggests that Stephenie Meyer and Brandon Sanderson succeeded by tapping into specific cultural streams—Meyer treating romantic love with the stakes of Eden, and Sanderson exploring themes of apostasy and scattered truth in a unified cosmos.
Yet, the commentary pivots sharply to critique how these successes are received internally. "We haven't defined our own literary canon enough yet to deconstruct it," Wayfare argues. The problem isn't a lack of output; it's a lack of engagement. While there is a robust grassroots network of writing groups and small presses, the community often lacks the "Shakespearean intensity" required to elevate these works into enduring classics. Critics might note that demanding such intense academic scrutiny on niche religious literature could be elitist, potentially narrowing the audience rather than expanding it. But the piece maintains that without this internal rigor, external stereotypes will persist.
"We are still quite willing to believe in our own intellectual inferiority."
This admission is the article's most uncomfortable truth. It suggests that the barrier to entry for Mormon literature isn't just outside prejudice, but an internalized shame. The text recounts how faculty at Brigham Young University once advised writers to downplay their religious interests and how students dismissed award-winning stories as "sentimental and didactic" simply because of their cultural origin. This self-disdain creates a vacuum that outsiders fill with caricatures.
Lengthening the Stride
The final section moves from diagnosis to prescription, calling for institutional courage. Wayfare notes that while organizations like The Association for Mormon Letters are doing vital work, academic institutions have lagged behind. "If Latter-day Saints want the kind of acclaim that comes out of academic circles, we need to invest in academic discourse," the editors contend. The piece calls on university English departments to actively support faculty who study these texts and to move past historical discouragement of the field.
The argument draws a parallel to other religious traditions that successfully integrated their specific experiences into the broader human conversation. "In 1900, there were only about 230,000 Latter-day Saints," Wayfare reminds readers, noting that comparing current output to much larger groups like Catholics or Jews is unfair. Instead, the community should look to peers of similar age and size who have produced rich creative work. The goal isn't necessarily to produce a "Milton" in the traditional sense, but to cultivate an audience capable of reading with depth.
"It's the audience that makes a writer great by reading with intensity."
This is a crucial distinction: greatness is not just about writing well; it is about being read well. The piece suggests that until the community stops apologizing for its own imagination and starts treating its literature as worthy of serious deconstruction, the "Miltons and Shakespeares" predicted in 1888 will remain out of reach.
Bottom Line
Wayfare's most compelling argument is that the external dismissal of Mormon literature is a mirror of internal neglect; the community cannot demand respect from the world until it offers itself to its own scholars and readers with seriousness. The piece's greatest vulnerability lies in its assumption that academic rigor is the only path to cultural longevity, potentially undervaluing the organic, popular success authors like Sanderson have already achieved. However, the call to "lengthen our stride" by building a robust critical infrastructure is an urgent and necessary step for any tradition hoping to move beyond stereotypes into the mainstream of human thought.