Ever see Field of Dreams? If you're a man who ever played baseball and/or fought with his father, you should. Just be prepared to weep openly. It's all about a guy who goes on a sort of quest at the bidding of a mysterious voice in the corn. (The expression "If you build it, they will come" originates with this movie.) At the very end, and this isn't particularly a spoiler so don't worry, one of the characters enters the realm of the Voice, and that's basically the end of the film. Great, great flick. And we all understand: that which lies beyond the edge of the cornfield can't be captured in fiction.
Likewise, the end of Voyage of the Dawn Treader: Reepicheep finally reaches the borders of Aslan's Country, and the story ends. The children go back to Earth, Lucy and Ed pass the torch to Eustace, and we don't see Reep again till the end of The Last Battle. (Which, if you're reading the books in THE CORRECT ORDER, is four volumes away.) Whatever's in there surpasses the limits of literature. Presumably.
But that's exactly where it gets interesting. I want to see what comes after the end. I want to see the thing that would break the story. I want them to show what can't be shown. What's inside of Barad-Dur? What do the aliens look like in 2001?
Dante did it, of course. Milton did it. The exceptions kind of prove the rule here, though: yeah, you can depict the transcendent, if you're one of history's great geniuses and devote an entire massive epic to the depiction. But most stories that try to show Hell or Heaven don't enlarge the reader's mind; they simply take what should be a beautiful or terrible thing and smoosh it into a petty frame, making God a big old white guy with a beard, making Lucifer a horned red jerk. Don't waste my damn time.
Thing is. Many people feel that the Inferno is the most interesting of the three Spheres visited by Dante, and it's easy to see why. I've been known to write some pretty dark shit myself, and it's largely because the Dark is mysterious and powerful, and more immediately evocative than nice stuff. Yoda called it the quick and easy way for a reason. But here's the point, and the question: How dark is too dark?
Every Catholic's go-to example is Flannery O'Connor. Again, for obvious reasons. But it was a rough century; we don't lack for good Christian writers who lavished their powers on showing us Evil. Charles Williams, Walker Percy, T. S. Eliot, Graham "for God's sake, somebody get this man a puppy" Greene. You could build a case that a (morally, as distinct from artistically) good story can show as much darkness as it likes, as long as it's clear that good is good and bad is bad. As long as you can depict evil without glorifying it.
Tricky. There's absolutely nothing easier than tipping that balance. Give the Devil his due, and don't pretend he's not attractive. Make him too attractive and you're suddenly doing his work. (C.S. Lewis argued that Milton fell into that trap.) But make him a clown with a pitchfork and you're making bad art. God creates, and created Man as a creator: to dismiss the importance of Art is a crucial and perilous mistake. But Salvation comes before all. But there are souls who would never find their way without the guidance of art. But woe to the artist who leads such souls astray. But, also, woe to him who hides his light beneath a bushel or buries his talents in the ground.
Short answer: you're probably screwing it up. But God knows you're trying. Schlep, man. Just keep schlepping.
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