Sunday I was listening to MPR’s Live Wire Radio and, lacking a transcript of the show, am forced to paraphrase something said: they asked a famous person, some musician I believe, if he had read the primary guest’s latest novel, and he replied “No, I don’t read fiction because in the back of my mind I’m saying ‘No, this is not real!'”
(The reaction of the guest was an enthusiastic non-sequitur, insofar as I could see hear.)
This served to remind me of some totally untrained speculation I’ve indulged in over the years concerning, for lack of a better term, Theory of Story. Not Storytelling, because that glues us to the perspective of, say, the novelist; I’m really speaking to the obverse side of the coin, the reader, the (graceless phrase) movie-goer, the audience – that person, for whom I lack a good generic-equivalent to storyteller, who likes stories in any of its forms, and so I’m left with the somewhat ambivalent phrase Theory of Story.
A theory of story (discarding the capitals which lent an air of self-importance, which I find slightly laughable) should give us a reason for pursuing stories; by having such a theory, those involved in the production of stories, which includes the primary content generator, as well as the support staff and the independent critics, stand a better chance at success by understanding the territory they tread.
Now, I’m sure such a theory already exists; but I didn’t run into it during my college days, being a computer science dude. Nor have I run across it since, except in a book by Lisa Zunshine, Why We Read Fiction, which I bought a few years ago upon hearing that it seemed congruent with my thoughts. Being the scattered sort, I read the first chapter or two, nodded to myself, and then wandered off on some other tangent; I should get back to it. Perhaps she connects it as I do.
But. I do value the occasional insight of the ignorant outsider. Not that they are many, but, to draw an analogy from programming, sometimes a new set of eyes sees the problems the old eyes avoid: bringing a viewpoint NOT steeped in the study of Literature might lend some insights. Or a good laugh, which is worthwhile in and of itself.
So, here I am, a science groupy. Why does most of humanity prefer a good story? I find it compelling to connect it to survival strategies. Survival may not seem an everyday struggle to us, yet it is, because survival is the prerequisite to reproduction, a primitive, fundamental drive. In these days of specialization, it’s not necessary for everyone to reproduce, but in order to specialize and contribute to society, survival is still necessary.
So what does the story bring to the survival game? It brings knowledge, both subtle and vulgar, in many forms, but perhaps at its most basic lesson: how people react have consequences. One of the favorite generic plots of all time is to dump your neighbor Fred (or call him Odysseus if you like) into an impossible situation, watch him struggle with it, perhaps even wriggle out of the handcuffs dangling over the molten lava and get away. We often talk about how you learn from your mistakes in real life, but there are some mistakes which are fatal to make – but if a fictional character makes the mistake, then no one is really hurt. Through these lessons conveyed through stories, we learn, for future reference, how one action leads down one path, while another leads down another – and how one enhances your chances at survival, while the other does not, if only by implication.
From this general observation many explanations can be drawn. For example, the believability of a character becomes important because that correlates with the applicability of the experience and choices. Backstory may be explained as delineating the background of a character in order to explain the choices they are making with which the reader may not agree – or even understand.
I hesitate to plunge along to suggesting that stories are about teaching, although I suppose, in the end, it’s true in some sense. They are not didactic writing; they are, in many ways, exercises in sensuality, as the human animal thinks without necessarily rationality, or logic; and then it uses the entire body in the act of thinking, not just the brain.
So next time you’re reading fiction, consider if you’re learning from the choices of the characters in the story, given their backgrounds, predilections, and other provided evidence.
