Suspending Disbelief: How Writers Ruin Fictional Stories
When it comes to pushing the bounds of reality, how far is too far?
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“The more you can create that magic bubble—that suspension of disbelief—for a while, the better.”
I have always consumed a wide variety of fiction, but my some of my favourite genres are fantasy and historical fiction. I especially love it when these two are mashed together, spilling into the urban fantasy or historical fantasy subgenres.
So, no surprise then that I ended up writing a historical mermaid fantasy series, I suppose…
However, not everyone loves this bending and twisting of the “real world.” While lovers of the genre are willing to suspend disbelief about fantastical elements (as long as the world follows consistent internal rules), there are others that slam a book shut the moment anything “unbelievable” happens. Some are so fixed in reality that they refuse to even read fiction.
“When we pick up a book, we’re entering into a contract with the writer that we will commit our time and money to the story. But if the writer violates that contract by mishandling the story, trust is lost, and the writer may have a difficult time regaining it.”
I’m not here to pass judgement on which is right or wrong. We are all different people, and our tastes are our own, and that’s okay.
(However, if you can’t understand the value in fantasy books for anyone, even if you’ve decided they’re not for you, I encourage you to read my post “Why the World Needs More Christian Fantasy”.)
Chances are, if you’re hanging out here, you don’t mind fiction, so I’m going to assume that on some level, you are willing to suspend disbelief when you read a story. Obviously, so am I. :-)
Today, I want to explore things that make even willing believers throw a book across the room. Where do you draw your line? How wrong does a writer have to be before you’ve had enough?
Here are the top three things that throw a wrench in my enjoyment of a novel—the “unforgiveable sins of writers” that make me say I can’t believe it.
Anachronisms that undermine historical accuracy
Let me be clear: I’m totally fine with intentional anachronisms. I use a few of these myself in my stories, but with clear (at least to me) logic behind them. (E.g., in my Rise of the Grigori series, which is primarily set in 1799, the characters only ever use the word “okay” when not speaking English, as the word didn’t come into usage until around 1839. So it would be anachronistic in English, but when they are already speaking in translation—which they often are—I find it to be a useful inclusion to convey a more modern sensibility to my young adult fantasy readers.)
However, accidental anachronisms—ones the author included, likely out of ignorance and lack of fact-checking—are the proverbial burr under my saddle… sometimes. Actually, they have varying levels of effect on my enjoyment, depending on their role in the story.
For instance, I once read a historical romance wherein the writer used an anachronistic metaphor—an obscure one about a fact that many of her readers wouldn’t know, but which I did, because I’d just finished reading a book about that very topic! It bothered me a bit, but I was still able to enjoy the story for what it was because the writing and story were otherwise fantastic.
If it had been worse—say, if that metaphor had instead become a major plot point, but in all other ways the story implied it had been set in real-world history and the lone anachronism seemingly had no purpose, I would be bothered a lot more. I’d probably still read and enjoy the book, but my enjoyment might be diminished somewhat. (I’m pretty forgiving that way if the writing is good.)
However, if a story never purports to be historically accurate and purposely pulls in anachronistic elements to prove it? I’m all in. I actually enjoy them, if they are done well. (I’m looking at you, Tangled and Shrek.)
“If a story never purports to be historically accurate and purposely pulls in anachronistic elements to prove it? I’m all in.”
That being said, it still annoys me to see steel-boned corsets in Regency films and machine-sewn or synthetic clothing when they don’t belong. (What can I say? I’m a costume nerd.)
I’ve met readers who can’t stand anachronisms, even in alternate histories or historical fantasies. And I’m sure there are people who couldn’t care less about anachronisms at all, especially if the writing makes up for it in other ways. (For instance, the many, many fans of Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code. Okay, those were philosophical and religious misinterpretations, not anachronisms, but still…)
Where are you on the spectrum? Hard-boiled accuracy nut, anything-goes avid reader, or somewhere in between?
When the plot forces the character to behave unnaturally
Sometimes, writers write themselves into corners. They need something to happen in the plot, and they don’t know how to get there. Good writers will figure out a solution that they then go seed into previous parts of the story so they seem justified and believable. Bad writers—or writers of ongoing T. V. shows in a tight corner, apparently—just have a character do something that, to the audience, seems to come out of the blue.
When the show Heroes came out, I got sucked. in. My husband and I went through four seasons (which we even bought on disc!) so fast that our DVD player practically melted. Unfortunately, halfway through Season 3, one of the main characters made a decision that was so contrary to his nature and so poorly justified that, for the rest of the series, I enjoyed the show much, much less—especially his story arc. For the sake of the rest of it, I made the decision to accept the “new Nathan,” but I wasn’t happy about it.
At least this egregious writing error didn’t happen in the last two episodes of the show. (Sorry, Game of Thrones fans.)
What are some of your examples of this issue? Do you get completely turned off when a character acts out of character? Or are you able to forgive the writers and move on?
“That could’ve been solved in Chapter One…”
It drives me crazy when a major plot point revolves around something that should have been solvable in about five minutes in the first three chapters OR which contradicts a rule of the world.
For instance, many of the problems and villains in the show (and, I imagine, the comic books) of The Flash should be solvable in milliseconds due to Barry Allen’s immense speed—and the writers often can’t come up with good enough obstacles to make this not true. Still, Barry somehow manages to let the villains gain ground or hurt people when, based on his previously demonstrated abilities, he should be able to resolve the entire issue in less time than it takes normal humans to blink. It’s like the writers throw up their hands and say, “It’ll have to do. We need to fill forty-two minutes, so he can’t solve this in the first five. That’s boring.” (And they’re right about that.)
“It drives me crazy when a major plot point revolves around something that should have been solvable in about five minutes in the first three chapters OR which contradicts a rule of the world.”
One of my writing colleagues recently posted that his editor had pointed out a plot hole in his draft big enough to drive a truck through—it turns out that a major plot problem in his story revolved around something the characters could have solved with a Google search. Doh! Back to the story board.
I had a similar plot problem in my first draft of The Undine’s Tear—a major plot point revolves around a mystery that seems to contradict the rules of magic in the world. The thing was, I hadn’t realized the problem I had created for myself until I was about halfway through writing the story, and while I came up with a solution and wrote it in from then on (and which actually made the ending more awesome), my beta readers mentioned the problem over and over again. By the time I addressed it in the story, it was too late—the trust was gone.
So I rewrote and fixed it by making it clear from the start that my characters knew this was something that shouldn’t have happened, but did. Because I let the reader know that the writer knows about the apparent contradiction, the reader can continue to read, trusting that I’ll explain it eventually. Which I do.
But what if I hadn’t? *shudder*
What about problems like this that actually make it to print? My sister detests the Harry Potter series (though she’s only read book 4, for some reason) because of the many plot problems and internal inconsistencies in the book. (She now detests it for other reasons, but those have nothing to do with the writing.)
I’ve met people who dislike Divergent because you have to suspend disbelief in so many areas. But obviously, not everyone feels this way or those stories wouldn’t have become the mega-blockbusters they are.
Where do you stand on this one? Do you have some forgiveness when the writer asks you to suspend disbelief over and over again? Or are you out of there at the first sign of trouble and on to watching reruns of Friends?
Since I enjoy both Harry Potter and Divergent, and since I still watched every season of The Flash (despite rolling my eyes at inconsistencies several times per episode), I guess I’m on the more forgiving side of the spectrum. I can honestly say I’ve never thrown a book across the room, and in fact, rarely stop reading one in the middle (unless it’s boring me to tears).
What each of these irritations boils down to is a breach of trust. When we pick up a book, we’re entering into a contract with the writer that we will commit our time and money to the story. But if the writer violates that contract by mishandling the story, whether out of laziness or ignorance, trust is lost, and the writer may have a difficult time regaining it.
This is the kind of thing that keeps “writer me” up at night. Thank goodness that I know that, for every person who is disappointed by how I held up my end of the bargain, there are dozens of others who finish my books completely satisfied. Those folks are my tribe.
Thank you for being part of it.
“I’m a great audience. I cry very easily. I suspend disbelief in two seconds.”
The original version of this post was published in the Books & Inspiration Newsletter on 2019-06-13.
