One of the reasons I struggle with fiction is because while some of the underlying motivations in a fiction story might be true…the other, more fantastical parts, often take me out of the story.
There are so many awesome, 100% true, stories out there waiting to be told. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction as they say.
What I’ve found is that IF a fictional world feels credible and resonant, it can become an optical instrument that lets me see something (often about myself) from a new angle. The depth, for me at least, typically comes from the interiority and interactions of characters, which good fiction renders so well. But of course, that same kind of insight or resonance can come from “true true” stories too.
Thank you for reading, Henry! I think there's something to this. Some fiction does feel more like escape than revelation. And yet I wonder if even the most fantastical stories might be teaching us something real, even if subconsciously. The hero's journey, the struggle between good and evil, the cost of ambition—these truths show up in everything from literary realism to epic fantasy. Though I'm sure there are exceptions! And you're right that true stories have their own irreplaceable power.
What an awesome collaboration! I'm surprised by how often I think back to fictional stories when looking at parallels in my own life. The Alchemist is one I think about and reference often. Even though the setting and ideas are all made up and different than my own environment, I see myself in many parts of the character's journey. Really enjoyed this!
Thank you so much, Michelle and thank you for your help shaping this piece! I love the example of The Alchemist. It's such a perfect illustration of what we're exploring here. The setting couldn't be further from most of our lives, and yet something in Santiago's journey feels deeply familiar. That's the magic of fiction—it doesn't need to mirror our circumstances to mirror something true in us.
Fabulous collaboration! That you two come at this from different angles but meet and write where they intersect is so interesting and ripe with possibilities.
I love this exploration. For me, I use whatever helps me access deeper parts of my psyche and spirit to grasp the truth of me, of all of us, which is soul-level love.
We get there through experiencing differences—contrasts—and deciding which is truest. Fiction, non-fiction imo doesn’t much matter. What it points to within ourselves matters. Physicality itself is a type of fiction in that it’s temporary. It ends. The love beneath—the divine soul-level essence which we are that exists beyond the physical— is the real story imo.
What a stunning reflection Kathy. I will write parts of this down in my journal.
This reminds me of Proust’s Fugitive that I’m currently reading. He keeps returning to all things “fugitive”: memory, imagination, feelings, etc. He even says that what we at times clearly recognize in literature is, well, fugative.
He also believed though that there is something deep and genuine in that persists beneath the social masks, habits, and fugitive states of mind. A pattern, a sensitivity and individual way of being in the world (hidden but retrievable!).
I guess that’s what much of this is about. A search :)
Thank you, Kathy. I love how you put this: "Fiction, non-fiction doesn't much matter. What it points to within ourselves matters." That feels like the heart of what we were exploring. The genre or form is just the vehicle; the destination is self-recognition, or as you beautifully name it, soul-level truth. And there's something compelling in your framing of physicality itself as a kind of fiction. It makes me think about how stories, like bodies, are temporary containers for something that outlasts them.
Just another note by the way to observe how seamless reading this was. Your two voices are so resonant and in tune it felt like reading one person. I hope you both do more of these.
Yes, we definitely had fun doing it and naturally gravitated toward similar themes. Really glad to hear you found it seamless. As Brigitte mentioned, we’ve already started brainstorming future topics ◡̈
I was just asking myself this the other day! I wrote a story and it was definitely a fictional character but so much of the somatic experience was mine. To write about an experience, to embody it, to become it. I see parts and pieces of my history that light my way through the story. Sometimes it feels like an inside joke or a secret in a way. Thank you for such a beautiful essay! This was really entertaining and shed light on some curiosities I’ve been pondering!
Andrea, thank you so much for reading and for taking the time to share this. What you describe about writing fiction feels very familiar to me too. A character can be fictional, but the experience of it is still happening in your own body. Parts of yourself find their way into the story and quietly help shape it.
I especially loved your line about it feeling like an inside joke or a secret. That captures something real about the process. I sometimes imagine this might be similar to what great actors experience too—stepping into a character while still drawing from something deeply personal.
Thank you again for such a thoughtful reflection. I’m really glad the essay connected with some of the questions you’ve been thinking about.
The acting metaphor is perfect, Rachel. I actually explained my process of writing a persona poem to a friend recently and she said... "Wait, you just method acted a poem". I had never considered that before but it is truly apt! Brigitte, absolutely, the story may be fiction but the physical sensations are always real, and readers can feel that truth their own bodies too. Such a fascinating exploration!
I love this: “I see parts and pieces of my history that light my way through the story.” I don’t write fiction, yet I can imagine how this must work.
How fascinating to think that while creating fictional worlds, you are also leaving (hidden) biographical clues for your readers, clues they can take in and use to recognize something about themselves too! Thank you so much for sharing this, Andrea.
This was amazingly rich, thoughtful and beautifully written, thank you! Fiction is very real to me as a writer and reader. This was fascinating; “When we read, we don’t just process words. We build a living simulation.”
Thank you! Such a fascinating topic indeed, and I love to hear that some of the ideas from this essay resonated with you as a fiction writer, Amy. I hope we can talk about this topic more in the future.
Thank you so much, Amy. This finding absolutely fascinates me too. The idea that our brains are building a living simulation as we read, activating the same circuits we use in real life, changes how I think about what happens when we lose ourselves in a story. It may also explain why readers of fiction consistently score higher on tests of empathy. We're not just imagining other lives. We're rehearsing them.
I do believe that fiction, like poetry, can be true, and I think I wanted someone to write an article like this, so thank you both for this wonderful contribution! This really touched me, and the only thing on which I perhaps beg to differ is when you say that "fiction can't save us." Can non-fiction save us? The news certainly won't, nor the warnings on cigarette packages and wine bottles. Why are we so anchored in differentiating between fiction and non-fiction, or prose and poetry, when all are heavily crafted via our own imaginations? Whether we're reading fiction, memoir, self-help, the news or the Bible, we're creating our own reality and making meaning and connections, based on our joys, traumas, heartbreaks and existential questions. Fiction is just as likely to save us as anything else, and great fiction, the kind that sticks around as classics for centuries, maybe even moreso, since they shed light on the great mystery of being human.
Emily, thank you so much for this. And thank you for the comment that sparked this whole essay in the first place. When you said our work demonstrates how “fiction is true,” it gave Brigitte and me language for something we’d both been circling. This piece belongs to you too ◡̈
And this is such a fair question to raise. I completely agree with your point that fiction is no less valuable than any other form. I think what Brigitte was pointing to was slightly different, although I’m sure she can chime in if I am wrong! The intent wasn’t that fiction can’t save us while non-fiction can. It was more that nothing external saves us directly. It’s ultimately us who save ourselves. But fiction can create a mirror clear enough for us to see the truth we need to see in order to do so. In that sense, fiction is one of our most powerful tools. In many ways, I think fiction and poetry do this better than almost anything else, save perhaps safe, close relationships. They offer us that middle distance where we can finally look.
Your point about all forms being “heavily crafted via our own imaginations” is so well taken. We are always making meaning, always constructing reality from what we encounter. The fiction/non-fiction divide may matter far less than whether something helps us see ourselves more clearly.
I really appreciate your sparking of this essay and your reading and thoughtful comment!
I occasionally chastise myself for reading “fake stories,” when there is so much (alleged) “truth” out there in the world, in the form of nonfiction. Still, my thinking is this: Why not enjoy a good story? But after reading your essay, I understand how exposing oneself to well-crafted fiction, stories with depth and humanity, can really add meaning to a person’s life.
I’m at the library as I’m writing this. On my way out, I think I’m going to pick up a novel. Reading fiction will never be the same again. Thank you.
By the way: Your explanation of why you both are now collaborating (since you “circle a lot of the same questions from different angles—one grounded more in philosophy and art, the other in psychology and neuroscience—but both through literature”) … that *alone* makes me hope you keep collaborating!
Oh Larry — as Rachel already said you‘re making our day! If we moved your perspective even slightly on reading fiction ("reading fiction will never be the same again“), this writing project was worth it ;)
And maybe we should all write about libraries as the sanctuaries they still are!!
Larry, this comment made my day. I’ve heard so many people express guilt about reading fiction when they could be reading something “practical” like self-help or history or business books. But the best fiction teaches us too, just through a different door. I love that you were at the library while writing this and walked out with a novel. That’s the best possible response to our essay.
And thank you for the encouragement to keep collaborating. Brigitte and I had so much fun writing this together. I have a feeling it won’t be our last ◡̈
Truth be told, I occasionally ask the fellow who runs the local book club to include some nonfiction into the mix. Well, as of today ... I think I'll stop bugging him.
Shifting gears: I saw that you made a reference to EFT in an earlier comment somewhere. Is this the same as "emotional freedom technique" (aka "tappig"), or something else?
Funny, I didn’t know there was another EFT! No, the one I meant is emotionally-focused therapy. It’s a therapy model based on attachment science that was created by Dr. Sue Johnson. She was one of the first people to apply the childhood idea of attachment to adults and create interventions around it. If you get a chance, listen to any of the podcast interviews she’s done. Not only was she brilliant, but also a firecracker ◡̈
The timing of this essay was almost startling in its perfection. I’m in the middle of rewriting a novel and realizing how much I’d drifted toward invention out of a belief that “interesting” meant more plot, more action. Around the same time, I finished reading Crow Lake, a novel that has stayed with me for days—I keep picking it up again, even a week after finishing it. The cumulative effect of interiority over the course of the novel is powerful.
This essay hit on so many things I’ve been circling: that truth in fiction often lives closer to attention, recognition, and psychological honesty than to events themselves. This essay was so well crafted and simply beautiful.
The Cixous quote in particular felt like permission I didn’t know I needed. I could hang it above my desk.
“All writing that is strong, alive, is autobiographical.
Elizabeth, thank you so much for this. The idea for this essay came to Brigitte and me in a way that felt serendipitous, so I love hearing that it arrived at the right moment for you as well.
I haven't read Crow Lake, but the way you describe it makes me want to pick it up immediately. A novel that stays with you for days, that you keep returning to even after finishing. That's high praise.
And yes, that Cixous quote. Brigitte found it, and it stopped me too. The idea that truth and invention aren't opposites but companions feels freeing to me too.
Best of luck with your novel. As someone who has gone through a novel rewrite myself (and possibly still has more ahead) I can say that writing a novel is not for the faint of heart ◡̈ Wishing you all the best with it.
How delightful to read this. What is better than being made aware that a piece of writing was received at the right time! ✨
What a great observation you make here: "truth in fiction often lives closer to attention, recognition, and psychological honesty than to events themselves."
I also looked up the novel you mentioned, as I too feel drawn to the mystery and insight that come from layered interiority :)
Wow, I love how you both explore fiction as 'true' from an emotional, psychological and physical point of view. This quote - Everything Proust wrote has passed through what reality whispered to him - for me says it all. You two, as well, have written from a reality that has whispered to you - your mind, soul and body - and your explanation of it all is simply beautiful. Thank you!
Thank you, Dana. I'm so glad this resonated with you. And I love that you landed on the Proust quote. I love that image of reality whispering to us. I think that's what the best writing does: it listens for those whispers and tries to put them into words others can hear.
…shrugging as to what truth even is anymore, wondering if it ever was, and honest as abe lincoln am deeply unsure…a memory has to be fiction, right?…and the truest truths are so personal, so even the act of sharing, no matter how perfect, loses truth in the interpretation…this doesn’t excuse those who wield falsity as truth, but at least the “truthtellers” are trying to be true…i’d say fiction isn’t truth, but i’d also posit that truth isn’t truly true either, and that both are art or interpretation or something else entirely…
Love this riff! And you’re right of course: much of what “we are”, what reality is etc is filtered, interpreted, forever morphing. But I’d say there’s still a core pattern within us that is stable and repeated in new forms, often revealing itself to us (or recognized by us) sideways and in fragments…through resonance with art, literature, and in relation with other people/the world.
Really interesting perspective. You're touching on something that genuinely fascinates me: the unreliability of memory. Neuroscience shows that each time we retrieve a memory, we change it just a little. We're not pulling a file from a cabinet; we're reconstructing it each time, and something shifts in the retelling. So in that sense, yes, memory itself is a kind of fiction we tell ourselves about ourselves.
And yet, I keep coming back to the trying. The attempt to tell the truth, whether that's a soul truth or the color blue, feels meaningfully different from shrugging it off entirely. Maybe truth isn't a destination but a direction. And the ones who keep orienting toward it, even knowing they'll never arrive, are doing something that matters.
I think “what is truth?” can only really be answered at soul level. We’re in the world but not of it. That’s a true statement. Soul level essence shared with Source is love. True. Though hard to prove. We’re here to experience our soul’s essence in space -time physicality.
Whatever happens here insofar as it reveals the nature and power of love reveals truth. Details, like bodies, fluctuate and die and don’t much matter. The love that fuels details and bodies matters.
Nicely said, Kathy. I have my own version of a Writer's Uncertainty Principle, which relates to writing, both non-fiction and fiction. We write in hopes of capturing truth, but the moment it is read, it can no longer fully represent that truth—because both the world and the reader have already changed. As soon as we believe "Ah ha! Now I understand you!" - we've already changed. And that is the beauty of writing. It is a dance towards full expression.
How a person defines truth is one of the most fascinating topics I can think of. Whatever it may be, I hope it brings them deep peace, alignment, vibrancy, joy, gratitude, aliveness. Whatever connects them with their soul and everyone else’s. Assuming they want any or all of these things.
…i’d be lying if i didn’t say the pursuit of the truth is meaningful, but also that it is more true as pursual than possibility, though not sure why it matters to know that beyond humility…
..yeah i mean truth is closer to truth the more one attempts it, even in fantasty/fiction, but also me reading hemingway may give me my/his truth, an interpretation of our/universal truth, but the real fantasy would be interpreting that as more true than my ass on a barstool or a boat, performing the old drunk fisherman and the sea what I did there…i don’t want to be a cynic or an existentialist but feel at the truest thing i saw all last year was the color blue, and as we both know that is an infinite option…
What a fabulous collaboration. It seems to me that the distinction between fiction and non-fiction is not as central as another dynamic you address here, which is the capacity for stories to reflect and illuminate the inner life of the reader. Real stories can fail at this where fiction succeeds, and some fiction fails the test where real stories succeed. The craft of writing is the skill of mirror polishing, so that others can see themselves clearly in the fictional or biographical words. "To thine own self be true" can only be practiced if we know the interior landscape of that self within. Great writing helps us to observe it, and then hopefully remain true to it. The gift of stories crafted for human introspection is that they allow us to contemplate an even more important question than, "Is fiction real?" which would be . . . "Is my life a fiction?"
Thank you for this, Rick. What a rich reflection. You’ve put your finger on something important: the fiction/non-fiction distinction matters less than whether a story can illuminate the reader’s inner life. A well-crafted biography can do this; a poorly-crafted novel can fail at it entirely. To me, the power of fiction lies in its ability to deliver truth in a way we are capable of metabolizing. I love the image of writing as mirror polishing. The craft lies in making the surface clear enough that readers can see themselves.
And your closing question is one I’ll be sitting with: “Is my life a fiction?” In some sense, perhaps it is. We are all narrating ourselves into being, revising the story as we go. Maybe the goal is to become better authors of our own lives, more honest editors of the stories we tell ourselves. Thank you for giving me something new to think about.
"The power of fiction lies in its ability to deliver truth in a way we are capable of metabolizing." That's the whole thing right there. Right on the nose.
I needed to read this. No really. I did. I've been struggling with starting a novel (my first one) because I saw how it was deeply autobiographical and I've been resisting so much that I haven't managed to get the first words out. I type, erase and repeat. But maybe I need to let it go, maybe that's how I write a good enough story that someone sees themselves in it.
I completely relate to what you’re describing. In my experience, it’s almost impossible to keep ourselves out of what we write, even when we try. And more often than not, it’s the parts that feel the most personal or specific that end up being the most recognizable to someone else.
I have to remind myself of this constantly too. That letting it be a little closer to the bone isn’t a liability, it’s often the thing that gives the story its life.
I’m really glad the essay met you at the right moment. And I hope you keep going ◡̈
Oh what a wonderful article, what a brilliant collaboration! I absolutely love the premise. And this--"This is how fiction slips past the ego’s sentries. In the safety of a story, we can rehearse being wrong. We inhabit another’s life from the inside, learning from their missteps before we’ve had time to raise our defenses." I can't imagine a better way of describing how story works to transport us, transform us, and ultimately transfigure us. Stories are the portal into all the darkness, and all the light, all the cruelty and all the grace--just everything that makes humans human. I really can't rhapsodize enough about this article.
Kate, thank you for such a generous response. It truly means a lot, especially coming from a writer of your caliber.
The question of why fiction can move us so deeply is one I find endlessly fascinating. Your description of stories transporting and transforming, holding both the darkness and the grace of being human, captures exactly what keeps drawing me back to this question. There’s something powerful about the way inhabiting another life, even briefly, can open us to truths we might resist if they were presented to us directly.
I’m really grateful you took the time to share this.
Kathryn, I’m still reveling in this stellar comment, thank you so much!
The verbs you use here (transport, transform, transfigure) beautifully capture how being truly seen requires the willingness to revise one’s self-story, and fiction provides the space to read and imagine ourselves differently.
Sorry it took me so long to post on this. I thought about this one a lot since this was published. Fascinating concept, truth in fiction.
There’s a term in carpentry, “true”, which is when a wall or structure is level, plumb (straight up and down), and square (perfect right angles). When I think of fiction being true, I think of it more in these terms than the opposite of false.
When a character, story, setting, theme, everything lines up, there’s a perfection to that and when you read it, there’s nothing to change. There’s an awe in that when it’s achieved, even if it’s only in a line or paragraph. There’s a magic in that, and for me, feels more “true” than a factual, worldly story that may be accurate based on the perceptive of the writer.
Appreciate you both. Hope you collab more on these types of concepts.
Matt, I love this way of thinking about truth. The carpentry idea of something being “true” really clicked for me. That sense that a story can be deeply true even when it isn’t literally factual, because everything is aligned in a way that resonates and holds together.
Your description helps me see more clearly the difference between factual accuracy and truth. Sometimes a story can be perfectly accurate and still feel somehow off, while a piece of fiction can land with this unmistakable rightness that you recognize almost physically.
Thank you for such a thoughtful comment. It really stayed with me.
Thank you so much, Matt. I like how you describe how such "truth" can be found even just in fragments (which one can then collect, carry and return to).
You also said how this perception of truth may change over time: "I just don't think the truth I'm experiencing now is anything I would've been capable of seeing before." Which is also why re-reads can sometimes be so worthwhile.
One of the reasons I struggle with fiction is because while some of the underlying motivations in a fiction story might be true…the other, more fantastical parts, often take me out of the story.
There are so many awesome, 100% true, stories out there waiting to be told. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction as they say.
Anyway, enjoyed this!
What I’ve found is that IF a fictional world feels credible and resonant, it can become an optical instrument that lets me see something (often about myself) from a new angle. The depth, for me at least, typically comes from the interiority and interactions of characters, which good fiction renders so well. But of course, that same kind of insight or resonance can come from “true true” stories too.
Thank you so much, Henny!
Oh this is so true for me too! Well said ◡̈
Thank you for reading, Henry! I think there's something to this. Some fiction does feel more like escape than revelation. And yet I wonder if even the most fantastical stories might be teaching us something real, even if subconsciously. The hero's journey, the struggle between good and evil, the cost of ambition—these truths show up in everything from literary realism to epic fantasy. Though I'm sure there are exceptions! And you're right that true stories have their own irreplaceable power.
What an awesome collaboration! I'm surprised by how often I think back to fictional stories when looking at parallels in my own life. The Alchemist is one I think about and reference often. Even though the setting and ideas are all made up and different than my own environment, I see myself in many parts of the character's journey. Really enjoyed this!
Thank you so much, Michelle and thank you for your help shaping this piece! I love the example of The Alchemist. It's such a perfect illustration of what we're exploring here. The setting couldn't be further from most of our lives, and yet something in Santiago's journey feels deeply familiar. That's the magic of fiction—it doesn't need to mirror our circumstances to mirror something true in us.
Fabulous collaboration! That you two come at this from different angles but meet and write where they intersect is so interesting and ripe with possibilities.
I love this exploration. For me, I use whatever helps me access deeper parts of my psyche and spirit to grasp the truth of me, of all of us, which is soul-level love.
We get there through experiencing differences—contrasts—and deciding which is truest. Fiction, non-fiction imo doesn’t much matter. What it points to within ourselves matters. Physicality itself is a type of fiction in that it’s temporary. It ends. The love beneath—the divine soul-level essence which we are that exists beyond the physical— is the real story imo.
What a stunning reflection Kathy. I will write parts of this down in my journal.
This reminds me of Proust’s Fugitive that I’m currently reading. He keeps returning to all things “fugitive”: memory, imagination, feelings, etc. He even says that what we at times clearly recognize in literature is, well, fugative.
He also believed though that there is something deep and genuine in that persists beneath the social masks, habits, and fugitive states of mind. A pattern, a sensitivity and individual way of being in the world (hidden but retrievable!).
I guess that’s what much of this is about. A search :)
Thank you, Kathy. I love how you put this: "Fiction, non-fiction doesn't much matter. What it points to within ourselves matters." That feels like the heart of what we were exploring. The genre or form is just the vehicle; the destination is self-recognition, or as you beautifully name it, soul-level truth. And there's something compelling in your framing of physicality itself as a kind of fiction. It makes me think about how stories, like bodies, are temporary containers for something that outlasts them.
Just another note by the way to observe how seamless reading this was. Your two voices are so resonant and in tune it felt like reading one person. I hope you both do more of these.
Yes, we definitely had fun doing it and naturally gravitated toward similar themes. Really glad to hear you found it seamless. As Brigitte mentioned, we’ve already started brainstorming future topics ◡̈
We already caught ourselves exploring more collab ideas! 😮 Thank you for all of this helpful feedback, Rick.
Love this! I think autobiographical stories can make this impact as well…maybe even more so.
Thank you Bob! And I agree, I love some autobiographical stories so much too. Diaries as well.
Totally agree, Bob! A human story, well told, has tremendous impact. Thanks for taking the time to read ◡̈
I was just asking myself this the other day! I wrote a story and it was definitely a fictional character but so much of the somatic experience was mine. To write about an experience, to embody it, to become it. I see parts and pieces of my history that light my way through the story. Sometimes it feels like an inside joke or a secret in a way. Thank you for such a beautiful essay! This was really entertaining and shed light on some curiosities I’ve been pondering!
Andrea, thank you so much for reading and for taking the time to share this. What you describe about writing fiction feels very familiar to me too. A character can be fictional, but the experience of it is still happening in your own body. Parts of yourself find their way into the story and quietly help shape it.
I especially loved your line about it feeling like an inside joke or a secret. That captures something real about the process. I sometimes imagine this might be similar to what great actors experience too—stepping into a character while still drawing from something deeply personal.
Thank you again for such a thoughtful reflection. I’m really glad the essay connected with some of the questions you’ve been thinking about.
The acting metaphor is perfect, Rachel. I actually explained my process of writing a persona poem to a friend recently and she said... "Wait, you just method acted a poem". I had never considered that before but it is truly apt! Brigitte, absolutely, the story may be fiction but the physical sensations are always real, and readers can feel that truth their own bodies too. Such a fascinating exploration!
"Method acted a poem"—I love that ◡̈
I love this: “I see parts and pieces of my history that light my way through the story.” I don’t write fiction, yet I can imagine how this must work.
How fascinating to think that while creating fictional worlds, you are also leaving (hidden) biographical clues for your readers, clues they can take in and use to recognize something about themselves too! Thank you so much for sharing this, Andrea.
This was amazingly rich, thoughtful and beautifully written, thank you! Fiction is very real to me as a writer and reader. This was fascinating; “When we read, we don’t just process words. We build a living simulation.”
Thank you! Such a fascinating topic indeed, and I love to hear that some of the ideas from this essay resonated with you as a fiction writer, Amy. I hope we can talk about this topic more in the future.
Thank you so much, Amy. This finding absolutely fascinates me too. The idea that our brains are building a living simulation as we read, activating the same circuits we use in real life, changes how I think about what happens when we lose ourselves in a story. It may also explain why readers of fiction consistently score higher on tests of empathy. We're not just imagining other lives. We're rehearsing them.
I do believe that fiction, like poetry, can be true, and I think I wanted someone to write an article like this, so thank you both for this wonderful contribution! This really touched me, and the only thing on which I perhaps beg to differ is when you say that "fiction can't save us." Can non-fiction save us? The news certainly won't, nor the warnings on cigarette packages and wine bottles. Why are we so anchored in differentiating between fiction and non-fiction, or prose and poetry, when all are heavily crafted via our own imaginations? Whether we're reading fiction, memoir, self-help, the news or the Bible, we're creating our own reality and making meaning and connections, based on our joys, traumas, heartbreaks and existential questions. Fiction is just as likely to save us as anything else, and great fiction, the kind that sticks around as classics for centuries, maybe even moreso, since they shed light on the great mystery of being human.
Emily, thank you so much for this. And thank you for the comment that sparked this whole essay in the first place. When you said our work demonstrates how “fiction is true,” it gave Brigitte and me language for something we’d both been circling. This piece belongs to you too ◡̈
And this is such a fair question to raise. I completely agree with your point that fiction is no less valuable than any other form. I think what Brigitte was pointing to was slightly different, although I’m sure she can chime in if I am wrong! The intent wasn’t that fiction can’t save us while non-fiction can. It was more that nothing external saves us directly. It’s ultimately us who save ourselves. But fiction can create a mirror clear enough for us to see the truth we need to see in order to do so. In that sense, fiction is one of our most powerful tools. In many ways, I think fiction and poetry do this better than almost anything else, save perhaps safe, close relationships. They offer us that middle distance where we can finally look.
Your point about all forms being “heavily crafted via our own imaginations” is so well taken. We are always making meaning, always constructing reality from what we encounter. The fiction/non-fiction divide may matter far less than whether something helps us see ourselves more clearly.
I really appreciate your sparking of this essay and your reading and thoughtful comment!
I occasionally chastise myself for reading “fake stories,” when there is so much (alleged) “truth” out there in the world, in the form of nonfiction. Still, my thinking is this: Why not enjoy a good story? But after reading your essay, I understand how exposing oneself to well-crafted fiction, stories with depth and humanity, can really add meaning to a person’s life.
I’m at the library as I’m writing this. On my way out, I think I’m going to pick up a novel. Reading fiction will never be the same again. Thank you.
By the way: Your explanation of why you both are now collaborating (since you “circle a lot of the same questions from different angles—one grounded more in philosophy and art, the other in psychology and neuroscience—but both through literature”) … that *alone* makes me hope you keep collaborating!
Oh Larry — as Rachel already said you‘re making our day! If we moved your perspective even slightly on reading fiction ("reading fiction will never be the same again“), this writing project was worth it ;)
And maybe we should all write about libraries as the sanctuaries they still are!!
It's a really wonderful collaboration, Brigitte. As I noted earlier, I hope you two produce more gems like this one!
Larry, this comment made my day. I’ve heard so many people express guilt about reading fiction when they could be reading something “practical” like self-help or history or business books. But the best fiction teaches us too, just through a different door. I love that you were at the library while writing this and walked out with a novel. That’s the best possible response to our essay.
And thank you for the encouragement to keep collaborating. Brigitte and I had so much fun writing this together. I have a feeling it won’t be our last ◡̈
Glad you'll continue to collaborate with her!
Truth be told, I occasionally ask the fellow who runs the local book club to include some nonfiction into the mix. Well, as of today ... I think I'll stop bugging him.
Shifting gears: I saw that you made a reference to EFT in an earlier comment somewhere. Is this the same as "emotional freedom technique" (aka "tappig"), or something else?
Funny, I didn’t know there was another EFT! No, the one I meant is emotionally-focused therapy. It’s a therapy model based on attachment science that was created by Dr. Sue Johnson. She was one of the first people to apply the childhood idea of attachment to adults and create interventions around it. If you get a chance, listen to any of the podcast interviews she’s done. Not only was she brilliant, but also a firecracker ◡̈
The timing of this essay was almost startling in its perfection. I’m in the middle of rewriting a novel and realizing how much I’d drifted toward invention out of a belief that “interesting” meant more plot, more action. Around the same time, I finished reading Crow Lake, a novel that has stayed with me for days—I keep picking it up again, even a week after finishing it. The cumulative effect of interiority over the course of the novel is powerful.
This essay hit on so many things I’ve been circling: that truth in fiction often lives closer to attention, recognition, and psychological honesty than to events themselves. This essay was so well crafted and simply beautiful.
The Cixous quote in particular felt like permission I didn’t know I needed. I could hang it above my desk.
“All writing that is strong, alive, is autobiographical.
At the same time, everything is invented.”
—Hélène Cixous
Thank you for writing this.
Elizabeth, thank you so much for this. The idea for this essay came to Brigitte and me in a way that felt serendipitous, so I love hearing that it arrived at the right moment for you as well.
I haven't read Crow Lake, but the way you describe it makes me want to pick it up immediately. A novel that stays with you for days, that you keep returning to even after finishing. That's high praise.
And yes, that Cixous quote. Brigitte found it, and it stopped me too. The idea that truth and invention aren't opposites but companions feels freeing to me too.
Best of luck with your novel. As someone who has gone through a novel rewrite myself (and possibly still has more ahead) I can say that writing a novel is not for the faint of heart ◡̈ Wishing you all the best with it.
How delightful to read this. What is better than being made aware that a piece of writing was received at the right time! ✨
What a great observation you make here: "truth in fiction often lives closer to attention, recognition, and psychological honesty than to events themselves."
I also looked up the novel you mentioned, as I too feel drawn to the mystery and insight that come from layered interiority :)
Thank you, Elizabeth.
Wow, I love how you both explore fiction as 'true' from an emotional, psychological and physical point of view. This quote - Everything Proust wrote has passed through what reality whispered to him - for me says it all. You two, as well, have written from a reality that has whispered to you - your mind, soul and body - and your explanation of it all is simply beautiful. Thank you!
Dana—thank you so much! So happy you liked it 💕
Thank you, Dana. I'm so glad this resonated with you. And I love that you landed on the Proust quote. I love that image of reality whispering to us. I think that's what the best writing does: it listens for those whispers and tries to put them into words others can hear.
…shrugging as to what truth even is anymore, wondering if it ever was, and honest as abe lincoln am deeply unsure…a memory has to be fiction, right?…and the truest truths are so personal, so even the act of sharing, no matter how perfect, loses truth in the interpretation…this doesn’t excuse those who wield falsity as truth, but at least the “truthtellers” are trying to be true…i’d say fiction isn’t truth, but i’d also posit that truth isn’t truly true either, and that both are art or interpretation or something else entirely…
Love this riff! And you’re right of course: much of what “we are”, what reality is etc is filtered, interpreted, forever morphing. But I’d say there’s still a core pattern within us that is stable and repeated in new forms, often revealing itself to us (or recognized by us) sideways and in fragments…through resonance with art, literature, and in relation with other people/the world.
Really interesting perspective. You're touching on something that genuinely fascinates me: the unreliability of memory. Neuroscience shows that each time we retrieve a memory, we change it just a little. We're not pulling a file from a cabinet; we're reconstructing it each time, and something shifts in the retelling. So in that sense, yes, memory itself is a kind of fiction we tell ourselves about ourselves.
And yet, I keep coming back to the trying. The attempt to tell the truth, whether that's a soul truth or the color blue, feels meaningfully different from shrugging it off entirely. Maybe truth isn't a destination but a direction. And the ones who keep orienting toward it, even knowing they'll never arrive, are doing something that matters.
I think “what is truth?” can only really be answered at soul level. We’re in the world but not of it. That’s a true statement. Soul level essence shared with Source is love. True. Though hard to prove. We’re here to experience our soul’s essence in space -time physicality.
Whatever happens here insofar as it reveals the nature and power of love reveals truth. Details, like bodies, fluctuate and die and don’t much matter. The love that fuels details and bodies matters.
Nicely said, Kathy. I have my own version of a Writer's Uncertainty Principle, which relates to writing, both non-fiction and fiction. We write in hopes of capturing truth, but the moment it is read, it can no longer fully represent that truth—because both the world and the reader have already changed. As soon as we believe "Ah ha! Now I understand you!" - we've already changed. And that is the beauty of writing. It is a dance towards full expression.
How a person defines truth is one of the most fascinating topics I can think of. Whatever it may be, I hope it brings them deep peace, alignment, vibrancy, joy, gratitude, aliveness. Whatever connects them with their soul and everyone else’s. Assuming they want any or all of these things.
…hard to prove truth, now that does feel like life…
…i’d be lying if i didn’t say the pursuit of the truth is meaningful, but also that it is more true as pursual than possibility, though not sure why it matters to know that beyond humility…
..yeah i mean truth is closer to truth the more one attempts it, even in fantasty/fiction, but also me reading hemingway may give me my/his truth, an interpretation of our/universal truth, but the real fantasy would be interpreting that as more true than my ass on a barstool or a boat, performing the old drunk fisherman and the sea what I did there…i don’t want to be a cynic or an existentialist but feel at the truest thing i saw all last year was the color blue, and as we both know that is an infinite option…
What a fabulous collaboration. It seems to me that the distinction between fiction and non-fiction is not as central as another dynamic you address here, which is the capacity for stories to reflect and illuminate the inner life of the reader. Real stories can fail at this where fiction succeeds, and some fiction fails the test where real stories succeed. The craft of writing is the skill of mirror polishing, so that others can see themselves clearly in the fictional or biographical words. "To thine own self be true" can only be practiced if we know the interior landscape of that self within. Great writing helps us to observe it, and then hopefully remain true to it. The gift of stories crafted for human introspection is that they allow us to contemplate an even more important question than, "Is fiction real?" which would be . . . "Is my life a fiction?"
Thank you for this, Rick. What a rich reflection. You’ve put your finger on something important: the fiction/non-fiction distinction matters less than whether a story can illuminate the reader’s inner life. A well-crafted biography can do this; a poorly-crafted novel can fail at it entirely. To me, the power of fiction lies in its ability to deliver truth in a way we are capable of metabolizing. I love the image of writing as mirror polishing. The craft lies in making the surface clear enough that readers can see themselves.
And your closing question is one I’ll be sitting with: “Is my life a fiction?” In some sense, perhaps it is. We are all narrating ourselves into being, revising the story as we go. Maybe the goal is to become better authors of our own lives, more honest editors of the stories we tell ourselves. Thank you for giving me something new to think about.
"The power of fiction lies in its ability to deliver truth in a way we are capable of metabolizing." That's the whole thing right there. Right on the nose.
I love this back and forth and continued distilling (and polishing of our shiny dime(s) ;))!
I needed to read this. No really. I did. I've been struggling with starting a novel (my first one) because I saw how it was deeply autobiographical and I've been resisting so much that I haven't managed to get the first words out. I type, erase and repeat. But maybe I need to let it go, maybe that's how I write a good enough story that someone sees themselves in it.
Dear Schola, thank you so much and good luck with writing the story (or stories) only you can write!
Thank you for sharing this so honestly.
I completely relate to what you’re describing. In my experience, it’s almost impossible to keep ourselves out of what we write, even when we try. And more often than not, it’s the parts that feel the most personal or specific that end up being the most recognizable to someone else.
I have to remind myself of this constantly too. That letting it be a little closer to the bone isn’t a liability, it’s often the thing that gives the story its life.
I’m really glad the essay met you at the right moment. And I hope you keep going ◡̈
Oh what a wonderful article, what a brilliant collaboration! I absolutely love the premise. And this--"This is how fiction slips past the ego’s sentries. In the safety of a story, we can rehearse being wrong. We inhabit another’s life from the inside, learning from their missteps before we’ve had time to raise our defenses." I can't imagine a better way of describing how story works to transport us, transform us, and ultimately transfigure us. Stories are the portal into all the darkness, and all the light, all the cruelty and all the grace--just everything that makes humans human. I really can't rhapsodize enough about this article.
Kate, thank you for such a generous response. It truly means a lot, especially coming from a writer of your caliber.
The question of why fiction can move us so deeply is one I find endlessly fascinating. Your description of stories transporting and transforming, holding both the darkness and the grace of being human, captures exactly what keeps drawing me back to this question. There’s something powerful about the way inhabiting another life, even briefly, can open us to truths we might resist if they were presented to us directly.
I’m really grateful you took the time to share this.
Kathryn, I’m still reveling in this stellar comment, thank you so much!
The verbs you use here (transport, transform, transfigure) beautifully capture how being truly seen requires the willingness to revise one’s self-story, and fiction provides the space to read and imagine ourselves differently.
Sorry it took me so long to post on this. I thought about this one a lot since this was published. Fascinating concept, truth in fiction.
There’s a term in carpentry, “true”, which is when a wall or structure is level, plumb (straight up and down), and square (perfect right angles). When I think of fiction being true, I think of it more in these terms than the opposite of false.
When a character, story, setting, theme, everything lines up, there’s a perfection to that and when you read it, there’s nothing to change. There’s an awe in that when it’s achieved, even if it’s only in a line or paragraph. There’s a magic in that, and for me, feels more “true” than a factual, worldly story that may be accurate based on the perceptive of the writer.
Appreciate you both. Hope you collab more on these types of concepts.
Matt, I love this way of thinking about truth. The carpentry idea of something being “true” really clicked for me. That sense that a story can be deeply true even when it isn’t literally factual, because everything is aligned in a way that resonates and holds together.
Your description helps me see more clearly the difference between factual accuracy and truth. Sometimes a story can be perfectly accurate and still feel somehow off, while a piece of fiction can land with this unmistakable rightness that you recognize almost physically.
Thank you for such a thoughtful comment. It really stayed with me.
Thank you so much, Matt. I like how you describe how such "truth" can be found even just in fragments (which one can then collect, carry and return to).
You also said how this perception of truth may change over time: "I just don't think the truth I'm experiencing now is anything I would've been capable of seeing before." Which is also why re-reads can sometimes be so worthwhile.