I’m ashamed to say there was a time when I didn’t see the point of reading fiction. Frankly, I thought it was a waste of time. What was there to gain in reading made-up tales and stories, and what did those stories have to teach us about the real world? I rationalised my position by comparing the time spent reading fiction to time spent doing other things I considered more productive. Why waste time reading about things that never happened when I could spend that time learning about the past in academic history books? Why bother reading about a fictional character in a contemporary novel when I could read essays, magazines and newspapers to learn more about the present? Why get lost in a futuristic Sci-Fi world when I could learn about cutting-edge scientific and technological advancements by reading big idea books?
I’m pleased to report that I jettisoned this line of thinking a long time ago. I’ve happily devoured fictional works of all sorts for years now, but I still cringe a little when I remember my previous beliefs, and it pains me to think about all the works of fiction I missed out on because of said beliefs. Still, we can’t change the past, and even if we could, we need not always try. The chasm between my previous beliefs and my current ones offers a contrast that enables me to appreciate the journey that has led me to where I am. But I digress, back to stories.
My wife and I saw The Kite Runner in the theatre yesterday, and I was reminded of the power of a great story. The Kite Runner play is based on a book of the same title, written by Khaled Hosseini. When I first read the novel a few years ago, I came away from it with a plethora of emotions. I was touched by the protagonist’s journey to actualisation and self-discovery, shocked by a plot-thickening revelation that came about two-thirds into the novel, and intrigued by the world of kites, including the process of crafting the kites, the techniques involved in flying them, and the skills required to compete in kite flying tournaments. All these were new to me.
But perhaps my biggest takeaway from the novel, and germane to this essay, was my introduction to what life was like in Afghanistan in the 70s and 80s, because that’s where (and when) a huge chunk of the story is set. This is another thing I’m ashamed to admit, that there’s something between a blind spot and a gaping hole where my knowledge of Middle Eastern history should be, and I know very little about the historical struggles of the natives of that part of the world. In the years since I first read The Kite Runner, I’ve learned more about Afghanistan and Middle Eastern history. I’ve read both fictional and historical accounts in books, I’ve watched documentaries, and I’ve continually engaged with this history through other forms of media. I’ve barely scratched the surface, but now I know a thing or two about the unfortunate role Afghanistan unwittingly played during the Cold War between the Soviets and the Americans, how the war left the inhabitants worse off, and how these events sowed the seed for much of the political unrest and bloodshed that rippled through the region for decades, the effects of which are still felt to this day. I have no doubt that there’s so much more to learn, and that there are some opinions I’ve formed that I need to reevaluate, but sitting in the theatre yesterday, I realised I had a newfound appreciation for, and understanding of some aspects of the storyline that flew over my head when I first read the novel.
And this is just my experience. There's no telling what experiences other people came away with from the book or the play. Everyone who engages with a book, play, or movie, brings something that they and only they can bring to it. When you read a book or watch a movie, you internalise the story and interpret it using your unique life experience. This is why two people can watch the same movie and come away with totally different interpretations of the ending or conclusions on the moral of the story. You don’t have to look too far to see it in action. You only need to spend a few minutes in the comments section of your social media platform of choice. I saw this first-hand a few years ago when I stumbled on a discussion of the 2021 movie, Don’t Look Up. The satirical movie, replete with political commentary, features a certain character who comes across as a caricature of a high-ranking American politician. When I watched the movie, I was certain the character was based on a former American president (who also happens to be a current presidential candidate). It was clear as day to everyone, or so I thought. I realised that other people came away with different interpretations of the character’s actions and mannerisms when I found the aforementioned comments section discussion of the movie on social media. While there were those who shared my view of the character, other contributors to the heated discussion were convinced the character was based on one or more high-ranking members of the current administration, who happened to live on the other side of the political spectrum. This was a startling realisation, the idea that we can all watch the same movie and see completely different real-life people in a fictional (albeit satirical) character. What are the odds that a movie character can simultaneously be based on Donald Trump and Kamala Harris or Nancy Pelosi? Perhaps the odds are not zero. It is possible that these individuals have common traits that can be easily accentuated in a satirical piece, they’re all politicians after all. However, I’d argue it’s more likely that the keyboard warriors engaged in the heated debate all had their interpretations of the character’s origins coloured by their varying political outlooks. The same goes for me too. It is possible I saw what I wanted to see in the character, and my subconscious drew parallels between that character and a real-world individual with traits I considered similar.
And this is what I find so remarkable about a story, the idea that there’s almost always something in it for everyone. I started this essay by admitting my shame in thinking the only way to learn about history was to read history books. Maybe I shouldn’t be ashamed of what I used to believe, but instead, I should be proud that I’ve grown out of it, because I like to think I know better now. Now I know that while history books may shed light on the facts of historical matters (at least from the author’s vantage point and world outlook), a fictional story set in a historical period may do more to crystalise our understanding of those events and provide much-needed nuance and colour that help us fill in the blanks where the facts fall flat. Everyone, by virtue of their life experiences, brings something different to each story they consume and also takes something different away from it. Stories are how we make sense of the world. Stories are how we retell tales of our past, reframe our present reality, and speculate about our future. Storytelling, and the ability to understand stories, as Yuval Noah Harari posits, is our superpower.
P.S.: My debut non-fiction book, Art Is The Way, and my middle-grade novella, A Hollade Christmas, are out everywhere now. You can get them in all good bookstores and from all major online vendors.