Category Archives: Humor

The Genuinely Humorous Comic Novel

It’s really hard.

No, it’s really really hard.

Writing with humor. It’s just hard. Trust me on this.

Physical humor, that’s relatively easy. Live humor, before a supportive audience, that’s kind of easy, too.

As for live TV, Letterman, Leno, O’Brien, Kimmel and the rest have lots of writers. Dozens of writers. Even so, Letterman and Leno haven’t been very funny in … oh … say a decade or so.

A weekly or bi-weekly humor column (a la Erma Bombeck or Dave Barry), that’s pretty easy, although the writers eventually burn out. Heck, even a bi-monthly religious humor and satire magazine (say, for instance, choosing one at random here, like the late, lamented Wittenburg Door) wasn’t ulcer-inducingly difficult to produce. We had our moments.

Even doing a weekly comedy show (be it Carol Burnett or Saturday Night Live) is reasonably easy, if you’ve got a talented cast and great writers (and keep them).

 

Humor in movies, at least when the writing and acting is good, that’s somewhat easy. Of course, for every Annie Hall, A Fish Called Wanda, Some Like It Hot, or Local Hero, there are lots of really really unfunny movies. We’ve all seen ‘em, alas.

But I venture to say that writing books that are honest-to-goodness, slap-your-pappy, laugh-out-loud funny, now that’s hard.

It’s hard for a lot of reasons. You don’t have the continuity humor of a great comic strip (like Bloom County or Calvin and Hobbes or Doonsbury), you don’t have the physical humor or facial expressions (think Charlie Chaplin or Richard Pryor), you don’t have the explosive, unexpected humor of improve (think Jonathan Winters or Robin Williams). You sure don’t have the timing, the dramatic pauses, the roar of the crowd (think Chris Rock or Ellen DeGeneres). You only have the printed page.

In fact, you just can’t write jokes. Jokes are only funny once. And God forbid you should write puns …

No, writing funny books … or at least chronicling the funny things and actions of otherwise sane characters that you care about while you’re advancing the plot, it’s about as difficult as it gets in the writing biz.

I think that writing funny nonfiction books, be they a collection of essays or actual narratives, is relatively easier. I’ve read very, very funny books by Mike Yaconelli (even in the midst of some very serious messages), Joe Bob Briggs (John Bloom), Woody Allen, Robert Flynn, Ann Lamott (again, while making heart-breakingly vulnerable observations), Lynda Stephenson, and others.

All that to say, I have read some genuinely comic novels. And no, I’m not making a distinction between comic novel and humorous novel.

To me, the true test of a novel blessed with great, insightful, unpredictable humor is this: Am I willing to read it again? The novels below, in no particular order, I am willing – eager, even – to read again someday (and some I have read more than once):

 

Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy O’Toole

Catch 22 by Joseph Heller

Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

Parts of just about anything by Charles Dickens

The Gun Seller by Hugh Laurie

The Liar by Stephen Fry

Parts of several fantasy novels by Fritz Leiber

High Fidelity by Nick Hornby

Bellweather by Connie Willis

Just about anything by P.G. Wodehouse

MASH by Richard Hooker

Quicksilver and Confusion by Neal Stephenson

Any of the Flashman novels by George MacDonald Fraser

Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson

Just about anything by Mark Twain

Parts of several Kurt Vonnegut novels

The Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman

Sacre Bleu by Christopher Moore

Parts of several “novels” by Douglas Adams

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

Yiddish Policemen’s Union by Michael Chabon

I’m sure I’ll think of more such novels tomorrow. And no, I do not unreservedly recommend them all. Humor is such a personal thing. There are some things that I think are funny that probably nobody else would think is funny. There is stuff that’s so funny to you that you laughed so hard that milk came up through your nose while you read it … but I would only be mildly amused by the same passage. That’s OK. A lot of humor is derived from experience. If we don’t share those experiences, we probably don’t find the same things funny. So if you ask me to recommend one of the above books, I’ll have to consider what I know about you … and what you’ve considered funny to this point in your life.

Still, I’m always looking for more absolutely great, expansive, uproarious, hilarious, joyous, goofy, transcendently funny novels.

Know any? I’d love to hear about ‘em from you.

 

 

 

 

 

If This is Not a Place …

I recently gave the keynote at the East Texas Christian University Christian Writers Conference. It was good to be among good people amid the blooming azaleas and dogwood trees and to smell the pines again. My talk was titled “The Redemptive Power of Humor.” It was based, in part, on my recent book by the same name and I really wanted urge all of these Christian writers to use more humor — or at least accept more humor — in their writing and lives.

My thesis: “11 a.m. on Sunday mornings used to be the most segregated hour in America. It still is. But it is also the most dour hour.”

The talk went great. I used lots of funny Power Point slides, played “Bulbous Bouffant,” played the spoons (!), and told a story or three.

When I came to the section on writing with humor, I emphasized that the essential element of humor in real life and in writing is surprise. (That’s why we should always preface a joke with, “Stop me if you’ve heard this one before …”. Without the surprise, a joke ain’t a joke anymore.) When I got to this moment, I showed the slide of the t-shirt depicted above.

Dead silence.

So, instead of quickly moving on like any intelligent person, I said, “Isn’t that wonderful? Isn’t that intriguing? I’d certainly check out a church that advertised itself that way. In fact, how many of you would check out a church like that?”

About 200 people in attendance. Three raised their hands. One of them was my wonderfully supportive wife Mary. More silence.

Dude.

Why does that slide, “We suck …” bother people so much? Or at least bother many religious people so much?

I’ve thought about that (lack of) response, that Power Point, a lot lately.

I think the response is tied into the reason why there’s NOT more laughter in churches these days. (But not the African American church, BTW. Every black church that Mary and I have attended rings with laughter before, during and after church.) 

It seems to me that, for many of us, church is place where we wear masks. Smiley masks. Everything’s good, everything’s great. Thanks for asking. But too often, it’s not a place where we unburden our hurts and pains and sorrows to people who genuinely love us and want what’s best for us.

I love my Sunday School class at 7th & James (Not-so-Baptist-that-you’d-know-it) Church. I’ve confessed and cried and prayed with the folks there for years. I know what’s said in that little classroom stays in that little classroom. But as much as I love 7th, I don’t think I could be as vulnerable and open with the entire church … even during times of desperate need. I just … couldn’t.

Through the years, people at other churches have told me much the same thing.

But Church SHOULD be a place like that … all the time, right?

I don’t have any answers. But I have a song, one written by the brilliant Ken Medema that helps sometimes:

If This Is Not A Place

Words & Music by Ken Medema
Brier Patch Music
2324 Canal SW, Grandville, MI 49418

www.kenmedema.com
If this is not a place where tears are understood,
where can I go to cry?
If this is not a place where my spirit can take wing,
where can I go to fly?

I don’t need another place for trying to impress you
with just how good and virtuous I am.
I don’t need another place for always being on top of things,
ev’rybody knows that it’s a sham.
I don’t need another place for always wearing smiles,
even when it’s not the way I feel.
I don’t need another place to mouth the same old platitudes,
‘Cause you and I both know that it’s not real.

If this is not a place where my questions can be asked
where can I go to seek?
If this is not a place where my heart cries can be heard
where can I go to speak?

I don’t need another place for trying to impress you
with just how good and virtuous I am.
I don’t need another place for always being on top of things,
ev’rybody knows that it’s a sham.
I don’t need another place for always wearing smiles,
even when it’s not the way I feel.
I don’t need another place to mouth the same old platitudes,
‘Cause you and I both know that it’s not real.

If this is not a place where my spirit can take wing,
where can I go to fly?