After a bit of an absence, I return to my blog wondering about . . . fiction. (Surprise!) Fiction in general.
Why do I like fiction? More specifically, why do I like fiction more than nonfiction?
Truly, I do. I’ve tried to appreciate nonfiction, and as I’ve grown as a person and a reader and writer, I have grown to like some nonfiction, like creative nonfiction and biographies. But overall, fiction gets me much more excited than nonfiction. I look at a book about a fictional pioneer girl traveling West in the 1840s with her family, and I think, “Ooh, sounds good.” And I look at a book about pioneers traveling West in the 1840s, and I think, “Oh yeah, probably is informative,” but I dread having to read it. (Usually I don’t ever end up reading it.)
I’m not trying to bash nonfiction; much of it is good, and many people like nonfiction more than fiction. But I’m not one of those people. And maybe, if you’re reading this blog, you’re not either.
So what is it about fiction? Why do I care so much about worlds that are—let’s face it—not real? Isn’t it smarter to focus on the real world?
Nonfiction Is, Well . . . Dry
I interned at a newspaper this summer. I learned a ton, and to my great surprise found I really enjoy reporting. I do.
Nearly every day this summer, I read at least one newspaper article. And honestly, I found most of those articles interesting.
But there’s something—well—dry about newspapers. I read them to become a better reporter, but not for fun. Maybe it’s because I get most of my news from TV. I do read the paper every so often now, however, and I appreciate different reporters’ perspectives.
But if I’m going to sit down and read something, I want to enjoy it. Somehow I enjoy watching the news on TV—and debating it—but reading it in a paper is not so fun. Likewise, I find many nonfiction books rather dry. Not all of them, of course, as I will show below. But generally, nonfiction comes off, at least to me, as static. A bit dull.
When I read I want to have fun.
And Fiction Is, Well . . . Fun
Part of what makes fiction so enjoyable, for me, is that it is personal. It brings worlds to life by focusing on the life of one individual (or maybe a few).
I’m not a big sci-fi or fantasy person, but I can see how, if you like those worlds, those stories are very enjoyable. I’m much more of a fan of realistic fiction. Some might ask, “Why do you like that stuff so much? Don’t you have enough real life as it is?”
Yes, I do have enough—of my life. The joy of realistic fiction, for me, is getting to live as somebody else, in that somebody else’s world. Even if their world is in the 21st-century United States, even if it’s in my home state, it’s still their world, not mine, and so it is inherently different from mine.
I suppose I like fiction because it expands my views and mind, but in a very fun way. I’m not bored when I read fiction (unless of course the book is The House of the Seven Gables–Hawthorne fans, don’t shoot!); at least not in the way I may be bored reading nonfiction.
Choosing to Dwell In Dreamland—A Mental Health Concern?
But what about that fictional aspect? A nonfiction piece might put me in the perspective of one person, just as fiction does. Why do I enjoy being a fictional character more?
First of all, there are a few nonfiction books that I’ve devoured exactly because of this reason (and because, usually, I’m interested in the subject at hand). For example, Rosemary: The Hidden Kennedy Daughter, by Kate Clifford Larson, is very good. So is Jack and Lem by David Pitts. The latter focused very much on one person; while the former did not as much, it did focus on one family. Thus, both books were very personal—very narrow in scope, somewhat like a novel. My enjoyment of them was also helped by the fact that I am very interested in the Kennedy family.
But overall, nonfiction books just don’t hook me as much as fictional ones. And I love history. Again, why the love for fictional characters? Do I have some sort of mental imbalance, that I prefer learning about and living the life of a made-up person to that of a real one?
I don’t think mental imbalance has much to do with the issue.
The only reason I can think of is that novelists tend to write from their characters’ perspectives in much more creative ways than nonfiction authors. Nonfiction authors often write in a detached, reporting, historian-like style. This is ideal when transferring information, but not quite so ideal for getting the reader truly into a person’s mind.
Fictional writers tend to dwell on their characters’ motivations, thoughts, and internal conflict to a much greater extent. Of course authors sometimes do let their third-person narrators go off on rants—and in this way one could possibly argue first-person novels are even more fun than third-person novels (which I believe, but that’s only one reader’s opinion). Yet even third-person novels are often much “closer” to their characters, in a personal way, than nonfiction books.
Maybe showing versus telling has something to do with it.
Think of Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine compared to, say, a book on middle-class life in the early 20th century. The scene of Douglas trying to convince his father to buy him new shoes, as compared to, say, “When he saw those shoes in the store window that day, the young Douglas knew he had to have them, but try as he might he couldn’t answer his father’s question as to just why he need them. So he went home empty-handed . . .”
Maybe that claim about novels being “closer” to their characters is unwarranted. But that’s the only reason I can think of for why, ultimately, fiction draws me in more than nonfiction.
Dialogue also has something to do with it—nonfiction often can’t include the details fiction can, because the writer doesn’t know for sure what a person said. In fiction, the author knows exactly what the person said.
Fiction personalizes. That’s about the gist of it.
What do you think?
CloserThanBrothers 