We have only one story. All novels, all poetry, are built on the neverending contest in ourselves of good and evil. And it occurs to me that evil must constantly respawn, while good, while virtue, is immortal. Vice has always a new fresh young face, while virtue is venerable as nothing else in the world is. — Steinbeck, East of Eden
I believe that there is one story in the world, and only one, that has frightened and inspired us …. Humans are caught — in their lives, in their thoughts, in their hungers and ambitions, in their avarice and cruelty, and in their kindness and generosity too — in a net of good and evil. I think this is the only story we have and that it occurs on all levels of feeling and intelligence. Virtue and vice were warp and woof of our first consciousness, and they will be the fabric of our last, and this despite any changes we may impose on field and river and mountain, on economy and manners. There is no other story. A man, after he has brushed off the dust and chips of his life, will have left only the hard, clean questions: Was it good or was it evil? Have I done well — or ill? — Steinbeck, still East of Eden
I’ve never read East of Eden, by the way. Here’s a review. Here’s another. Oh, look, the ebook is $0.99 at Amazon. FINE, TWIST MY ARM.
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Here it is: there’s only one story. There, I said it and I can’t very well take it back. There is only one story. Ever. One. It’s always been going on and it’s everywhere around us and every story you’ve ever read or heard or watched is part of it. –– Thomas C. Foster, How to Read Literature Like a Professor
Honestly, I’m not at all sure I want to read literature like a professor. The description at Amazon is:
While books can be enjoyed for their basic stories, there are often deeper literary meanings beneath the surface. How to Read Literature Like a Professor helps us to discover those hidden truths by looking at literature with the practiced analytical eye—and the literary codes—of a college professor. What does it mean when a protagonist is traveling along a dusty road? When he hands a drink to his companion? When he’s drenched in a sudden rain shower? Thomas C. Foster provides answers to these questions as he explores every aspect of fiction, from major themes to literary models, narrative devices, and form. Offering a broad overview of literature—a world where a road leads to a quest, a shared meal may signify a communion, and rain, whether cleansing or destructive, is never just a shower—he shows us how to make our reading experience more intellectually satisfying and fun.
The world, and curricula, have changed. This third edition has been thoroughly revised to reflect those changes, and features new chapters, a new preface and epilogue, as well as fresh teaching points Foster has developed over the past decade. Foster updates the books he discusses to include more diverse, inclusive, and modern works, such as Angie Thomas’s The Hate U Give; Emily St. John Mandel’s Station Eleven; Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere; Elizabeth Acevedo’s The Poet X; Helen Oyeyemi’s Mr. Fox and Boy, Snow, Bird; Sandra Cisneros’s The House on Mango Street; Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God; Maggie O’Farrell’s Hamnet; Madeline Miller’s Circe; Pat Barker’s The Silence of the Girls; and Tahereh Mafi’s A Very Large Expanse of Sea.
I’ve heard of several of those, though I’ve only read Station Eleven and Neverwhere. Interesting choices — possibly good choices — but I always want to say, You know what, sometimes the road is just dusty because it’s the author remembers she’s already established that this is a dry climate. Sometimes it’s raining because the author remembered offhandedly that the weather isn’t always bright and sunny, so today it’s raining Sometimes one character hands another a cup of ale because movement tags are more graceful than always using ‘he said’.
A lot of details do establish mood and tone, I wouldn’t argue otherwise, but it’s just silly to think everything has a deeper meaning or that there are generally hidden truths in someone handing somebody else a cup of water, and that’s why I’m rather suspicious of this whole concept of reading like a lit professor.
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“There are thirty-two ways to write a story and I’ve used every one, but there is only one plot – things are not as they seem.”
This is attributed to someone named Jim Thompson, but with no indication I can find regarding who Jim Thompson is or where or when he said or wrote this. I mean, “That I can find in 30 seconds of googling around.” I’m sure it’s possible to track down this person and this quote, but I’m not gonig to bother, I’m just going to point to this post, where I saw the quote.
The quote above by Jim Thompson kicks off a detailed survey of modern storytelling in books and movies. David Bordwell, Professor Emeritus of Film Studies at the University of Wisconsin–Madison, seemingly has seen a thousand movies and still found time to read a couple thousand books. Perplexing Plots takes a roughly chronological approach at the beginning to describe the field of interest Bordwell wants to concentrate on: plot.
Perplexing Plots is this book. From the description:
In Perplexing Plots, David Bordwell reveals how crime fiction, plays, and films made unconventional narrative mainstream. He shows that since the nineteenth century, detective stories and suspense thrillers have allowed ambitious storytellers to experiment with narrative. Tales of crime and mystery became a training ground where audiences learned to appreciate artifice. These genres demand a sophisticated awareness of storytelling conventions: they play games with narrative form and toy with audience expectations. Bordwell examines how writers and directors have pushed, pulled, and collaborated with their audiences to change popular storytelling.
This sounds like a fun book.
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“There are only two plots in all of literature: 1) A person goes on a journey. 2) A stranger comes to town.”
Here’s a post that discusses the possible origin of the above quote. There are many interesting variations, which have been attributed to John Gardner, among others.
The QI website has a separate article about the following related saying: There are only four stories: The siege of the city, the return home, the quest, and the sacrifice of a god.
The … sacrifice of a god? Is one of only four possible stories? Actually, I don’t get “siege of a city” here either. Or, for that matter, “the return home.” From the linked article:
In 1972 Jorge Luis Borges published a collection titled “El Oro de los Tigres” (“The Gold of the Tigers”). Most of the pieces were poems, but one piece was an essay titled “Los Cuatro Ciclos” (“The Four Cycles”) which described four fundamental stories that have been told and retold throughout the history of humankind. …
Click through to read the whole thing, but the post isn’t about the four plots; it’s about the quote. I think it might be fun to create a Venn diagram with the “only two stories” and “only four stories” circles and try assigning actual books to the diagram and see what happens. Maybe I’ll try that and just see how it goes.
Fun topic! I thought the popular idea was only 7 plots – which is a lot more than the ones cited here… but this was gleaned from such scholarly sources as L.M. Montgomery’s Emily (I believe a kindly priest refers to these) and Jasper Fforde’s Thursday Next series.
Re: reading – 1) personally I have no interest in doing literary analysis in my leisure reading – I see there’s a trend in certain audiences to annotate and the like, which is great if that increases their enjoyment, but for myself, I prefer to just be immersed in the story and if I notice certain things, that’s fine, but I’m certainly not going to go looking for them.
2) Tolkien talks in his letters about readers assigning meanings – mostly he finds them alright, as long as they don’t go making them allegorical :D He says basically that most of the time, he as the author did not have any specific intention for these things while writing them (certainly not in the first draft, though perhaps sometimes in the revision process)… he would marinate in the ideas until it seemed to him that “this was how it happened” and he would write it down…
Yes, a lot of allegorical or other supposedly meaningful elements aren’t there. I had a teacher who was sure Frodo was a Christ figure, and even when I was a kid, I was pretty sure she was reading more into it than was there. If you want to talk about Christ allegories in fantasy, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is right there; have your students read that instead.
And then there’s the one atrributed to Heinlein: Three plots, Boy meets girl, the little tailor, and… what was that third..? The man who learned better.
Somewhere else I ran across Man Against Nature, and Man Caught in a Trap.
The Steinbeck may be broad enough to encompass all tales if we looked at them broadly enough, but .. I think they’re all wrong, and don’t see seige of a city or sacrifice of a god as at all common, unless you redefine both city and god into meaninglessness.
How many patterns of story can we come up with? I’ve listed five above.
The Steinbeck that was assigned reading for my student years was Grapes of Wrath, which was the rare assignment that was actually not bad. But it didn’t leave me seeking out more Steinbeck, either.
The reading as a professor sort of talk always reminds me of the anecdote about Poul Anderson’s young daughter asking her Dad for help with the English assignment: I know he wrote it for money, but what do I tell the teacher? Or the Donaldson (? I think) encounter with a reader who a detailed symbolic analysis or why certain forces were where when. He said, wtte: No, I put them there because it was the strategically sound move.
Thinking about it all, I bet that’s where the idea that writing is Art and should be done for passion, causes, etc., not, shudder, comes from; those English assignments.
On LotR, I found an interesting analysis about how Tolkien worked implicit meaning of God’s hand at work into the book, which started at the begining and went through in narrative order, looking at the narrative and the word choices he used. Which seems a lot more likely to pick things out that are actually there than reading as a professor would. I know there are things writers put in without realizing, or only realize while reading a draft over, and decide to punch it up (or not) in the revision, but it seems highly unlikely that most are putting in conscious symbolism of the sort described in the quote above.
Whenever this topic (reading literature analytically) comes up, I always think of TS Eliot’s The Waste Land. Now that is a piece you can’t read without an analysis. Which is also why I will never read it again.
I have this book called ‘The Seven Basic Plots’, which breaks plots down into ‘overcoming the monster’, ‘rags to riches’, ‘the quest’, ‘voyage and return’, ‘comedy’, ‘tragedy’, and ‘rebirth’. As I recall (it’s been many years since I read it), the book then went on to talk about how some archetypal plots can be inverted.
The problem with the book was that it started off promisingly, but failed to actually answer the subheading question of “Why we tell stories’. It gave several interesting hypotheses, but none of them felt really right to me.
I still find story types interesting, but I don’t agree that there’s only one, or two, or seven types of stories. I think there are as many stories as there need to be in order for humans to make sense of the world around them.
The real rule for symbolic meanings in fiction is that the story will tell you what they mean. A rain shower can indicate grief, cleansing, new growth, and many more things.
I bought the East of Eden ebook. It sounds interesting. I was having a conversation on BlueSky last week where Steinbeck came up, which is not something that would normally be true for me. I read and really liked Travels With Charley when I was 12ish. The next Steinbeck I reached for was The Red Pony. (I liked horse books!). Fortunately, my mom suggested I wait on that one, though I did read it eventually. But I don’t think I ever read any others.
I was assigned Of Mice and Men in high school. I don’t remember anything about it except that I didn’t like it. Let me look at a plot summary online. Oh, look, this book was specifically designed to upset me: The next day, Lennie accidentally kills his puppy while stroking it. Curley’s wife enters the barn and tries to speak to him, admitting that she is lonely. Her dreams of becoming a movie star have been crushed. She finds out about Lennie’s love of soft things and offers to let him stroke her hair, but when she feels his strength, she panics and begins to scream. Lennie becomes frightened and unintentionally breaks her neck. He runs away. Then it gets worse. One awful thing after another. Ugh.
I probably wasn’t ready to read East of Eden either, but I definitely wouldn’t have voluntarily touched anything by Steinbeck after that, thus once again raising the question, What are literature teachers THINKING? Why do they believe horribly tragic stories will draw students TOWARD classics?
Or it’s just raining. Seriously. Sometimes rain is just rain, even though you may possibly be able to say, “And this scene is a transition from A to B.” Yes, it’s a transition, but anything could have been included in the transition scene. The rain isn’t special. I have never yet put rain into a story in order to indicate grief, cleansing, new growth, a veil between past and future, or anything else. The protagonist’s reaction to the rain may be meaningful, but the rain is just rain.
EC, I can’t see “comedy” or “tragedy” as plots. You can write “A stranger comes to town” either as comedy or tragedy (or neither). Ditto for all the other plots.
@ Rachel,
I’m not at all sure I believe that either, that’s just what the book claims are plots.