consider the narrator
Consider the Narrator.
The Narrator is defined as “an omnipresent voice which recounts the events of a novel or poem, to form a story.” The Narrator is, if you like, the storyteller, relating everything to the reader. Commonly, though not always, they also take the form of a participant in the story. All done and designed so that you, dear reader, trust the Narrator implicitly. And why wouldn't you? They're the voice of the story for you, the perspective you view from.
This use of narration as a literary device has existed as long as humanity has told stories. How else are you to record a story and show future generations of the coronation? To warn them against getting involved in a land war in Asia?
Consider now as well the Unreliable Narrator. A less common form of narration. One designed to engender the trust of the reader, while feeding false information all the while. Because of the way we all (yes, including you) are conditioned as readers, it's something we unconsciously take in and accept. The Narrator is still established as the primary trustworthy voice, which is then torn away from the reader unexpectedly.
This Unreliable narration is somewhat of a new idea, emerging in contemporary schools of writing primarily. Some of the earliest recorded uses are by Roman scholars: the great poet Apostrephes, in particular, is credited with the earliest piece, in which the story being told is shown to be “all just a dream.”
When asked, he had this to say on the matter:
“It's something that came to me in a stroke of genius. 'Twas a shame there were no apple trees around me, but like many before me, I leapt and yelled 'Eureka!' My piece had an ending, and one that would shock my readers. It's still my masterpiece to this very day.”
It's one of his few recorded statements, and the only made on the matter of this play. It's very telling of his particular attitude: He was just as excited to share a new literary mode as we are to analyse it now, regardless of the reaction.
The sign of a truly great unreliable Narrator is the same as a well-designed mystery novel. The reader feels no surprise when the killer is revealed at the end of the book: Agatha Christie simply put so much thought into how everything clicked together, that in the end, of course, it was Moriarty. So you, as the reader, look back and realise the clues were there staring you in the face all along. Failing to accomplish though achieves much the same effect as failing in the mystery genre: Rancour from your readers.
One of the most popular and well-known uses of the 'Unreliable Narrator' was in the award-winning book series “The Gray Templar Chronicles,” where it was revealed at the end of the fifth book that the hero and protagonist, who has been campaigning for the good of the realm the entire time, was the series' ultimate overall villain.
This had an interesting and noteworthy effect on the popularity of the series. The sixth book, as we speak, is in a state of production limbo, with a manuscript supposedly being shopped around to various publishers, who all decline the piece in fear of the backlash. All publishers contacted refused to comment, on either the use of narration in the series or the production of the newest novel.
It is my contention that the ideas surrounding Ben Kafemane's (pictured above) novel and the discussion generated are more interesting than the implementation of the device itself. Manekafe, as of this writing, has been unavailable for comment on the issue but is on record as discussing it several times in interviews. “I never intended for it to have the impact that it did,” he says, “I only wanted to tell my story. I never expected it to be as popular as it is, but I don't intend to kowtow now to change my story for the masses.”
It's an interesting, if unrelated, issue. The focal point here is that he 'never intended' to impact his readers in this way, especially considering the subsequent effect on the readership of his series. The Grey Templars was a series that always did well, but in an “enough to get by” sort of way. After the controversy regarding the recent book, however, the readership has skyrocketed.
But isn't this just more people to be pulled in and feel the betrayal from Kefamane? More people to rise to the bait? Perhaps, though, they want to. The same way a naive neighbour will excuse criminal behaviour or Holmes will excuse Watson's genius; the reader will self-ratify all they see until forced otherwise. The wrong name may be a typing error, the discordant timeline due to faulty memory. More so, the reader wants this effect. So Menakafe, writing this piece, understands this at an explicit craft level: he shapes the world perfectly and draws the reader in, only to shatter the illusion and reveal the true villainous nature of the protagonist all along.
The effect this had on the fan community was almost explosive in nature. It sundered them into two rival factions: some who hated the idea and felt it a betrayal to the series, and the other, who thought it a work of literary genius.
It's a particularly interesting cross-section to examine, almost explicitly unique to the medium. Books rarely reach such a broad audience as this has, placing it amongst peers such as Game of Thrones, and Harry Potter.
One particularly dedicated fan went on record shortly after the release of the book, saying this: “It's unbelievable someone would put all this time and effort in just to ruin it in a few paragraphs. In only a few sentences! It's like he wrote it just to please all those haters saying it was too childish. I'll NEVER pick up another of his books as long as I live. He wasted my time, as well as his own.”
It's a level of vitriol difficult to generate, whether it's intentional or not. It's difficult to tell if Kafemane really meant for any of that to happen, or had it all planned out from the start. It's a quality almost unique to books to generate this level of scorn and to generate it this volatile and lasting. TV and film can produce the same, but it dissipates far more quickly. It's a curious factor that literature creates this, but it lasts. But if one small thing, one mechanic of writing, can turn an entire series from renown to reviled, why does it continue to see use? What's the purpose of it at all?
Of course, the real purpose is that it can be a good thing. The ability to take nothing but words and make people feel something; whether it's anger, joy, or sorrow is an incredible thing. Literary mechanics such as these can be smaller 'shortcuts' towards that goal. The point of the 'Unreliable' Narrator is that the reader will, of course, feel inevitably betrayed, even though they couldn't have done anything differently.
It's up to the reader to take that step back, look at what they're reading, and think: Is this something I'm actually annoyed about? Or is this something I love, upon taking a step back to examine the piece and my reactions to it as a whole? This step back is one that eludes most people when faced with this kind of literary device. But I contend it's this very step, this meta-analysis of yourself as a reader alongside the piece, that makes for the most fascinating writing and reading.
Will Kafemane's series, however, is only perhaps the grandest and most recent example of the device. It's perhaps most prevalent in shorter style fiction. This seems, at first sight, to be a little unbelievable, but it is, in fact, the perfect ground for the style. In the same way that horror thrives in this format, the unreliable Narrator finds a home.
It's far easier for the trope to thrive here specifically because of the reduced word count: an author will have a far easier time meticulously crafting a piece with moments to look back and reflect on when there's less to contradict it.
Consider, for instance, how simply a setting can be framed in a short piece, while still being evocative. “We were at home when it happened. It's not a fancy home. We have no pets, no furniture we've ferried from place to place, but we had sentiment here. Things we loved.”
This piece, for instance, is particularly short. But it tells us a lot about the characters. Which in itself is telling! The self-referential 'we' gives us two characters, which we trust from the opening line. What is it in a story that keeps us believing immediately? We're presented with no other option but to trust the storyteller while knowing nothing about them. Someone off the street could come just as easily and begin attempting to tell you your own story, and you would disbelieve them. But telling their own makes us want to believe.
In some ways, this variant is almost ubiquitous. Take off the shelf any single work, for instance, and find a passage resembling the following: “He had hair as pale as the moon and a storm behind his dark eyes. I felt myself staring into them, looking, looking, like I could drown if he didn't pull me back out.”
This all remains something utterly obtuse to the reader. Everything is laid out and told to us, and belief follows. What are the rest of the features of this love interest? How are we supposed to know he has a body, even, and isn't just a Japanese Nukekubi, a demon that appears as a floating head? To this matter, we have no way to even confirm if his hair is, was, or ever will be that colour.
Perhaps even the character's perspectives skew their ideas. Our protagonist here, whoever they may be, clearly adores the character in question. But to an outsider looking in, without the same lens, would he appear the same? Or would he perhaps be seen as just another teenager with bleach-blonde hair and contact lenses?
Perhaps the most evident and telling part of an unreliable Narrator is that the audience is in some way complicit. The reader can come across and dismiss internal inconsistencies with a piece to ratify their own understanding of it: a name, for instance, such as the one donated so graciously by Ben Kafemane for this piece. For as reluctant as he has been to speak about his own unreliable narrators, he was very willing to be a part of this treatise on the trope in general. Much the way he did with his series, it's possible to craft a piece with explicit clues that readers deny over and over until they are faced with something irrefutable.
Of course, Unreliable narration isn't always grand, like Manekafe's. It isn't always minor. At its heart is the idea of establishing a trustworthy voice and playing on the expectations of the reader. Sometimes it's something as simple as a focal point character misremembering an event or location. Sometimes it's even as simple as an essay discussing narration, asking you to consider this Narrator.