narrative speech written

Narrative Speech

Try to let this scenario ply out in your head. It is the first day of school. You see children running around the hallways and the canteen. You see the teachers in the faculty room taking their 15-minute break before the start of the school bell at 7:30 in the morning. You see the high school students doing typical teenager things (e.g. texting, putting make up on, chatting the day away, sleeping, doing their homework at the very last minute, etc…). As the bell begins to ring, the students start to sing the country’s national anthem followed by a patriotic oath to the country then, sometimes the school hymn. You may also see narrative writings .

• Speech Examples
• Informative Speech

As the students take their seats, the first period teacher walks in the classroom and begins to introduce herself as Ms. Katniss Everdeen. As she was just finishing doing her introductions, the principal made an announcement requesting all the students and faculty to assemble in the school’s multi-purpose room for welcoming remarks of the first day of school. After settling down, the principal walked up to the stage and said: “Here to talk about pursuing your dreams at a young age, I would like to introduce to you the speaker of today’s special talk. You may also see personal narrative essay .

May we please give a special round of applause to none other than Eleven herself from Stranger Things, Millie Bobbie Brown?”

We all wish our first day of school was like that… Oh well. Now considering that you are placed in her shoes and will be asked to talk about a similar topic to that, how would you go about it?

Narrative Speeches

But then, you remembered something. It is actually not that difficult since this speech is all about you, and how that experience allowed you to become a better version yourself. Personal narrative speeches give focus on a specific real life event that served as a turning point for the writer. Speeches are often given as an assignment or a project by the teacher. But in order to write a strong personal narrative about yourself, try to think of an idea that might pique the audience’s curiosity.

Just like every good speech, great books, and awesome movies, it must have an introduction, the middle events, the climax, and finally, the end of the story. Here is an example of a personal narrative that might be able to help you out in writing your own personal narrative. You may also see informative speech .

Basic Personal Narrative Outline Example

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Part 1. Brainstorming Ideas for the Narrative

Every good piece of literature or movie must always have a great idea to begin the story. Once you have an idea on what you would want to share with the audience, it makes things easier for you to explain as you just have to boil down to the specifics on what experiences can best go with the theme you are going to share. Listed below are some of the ways to brainstorm ideas:

Think of a memorable event or a moment in your life.  Sure there are many moments and memories in your life that you have felt and experienced over the years. But there are only so few that have struck you to the depths of your soul that you cannot help but not forget that instance, even when you become old and gray. It does not have to be something major, it can even be as something simple as your first date with her and how you felt whenever she was with you. You may also see declamation speech .

For example, you can write about how your best friend stood up to you when you were getting bullied by a bunch of jerks in middle school or the time when you and your friends went to the club for the very first time and got wasted. You may also see launch speech .

Expand on an important conflict in your life.  Everyone just loves watching drama. When you have found the perfect dramatic event to be included in your speech, include it in the speech and elaborate in detail. You may also see youth speech .

For example, you can write about the time your one and only best friend ditched you to start hanging out with those “plastic” losers and you were abandoned and treated like garbage afterwards by everyone in your class after your “best friend” spread some lies about you. You may also see graduation speech .

Think about a particular theme or idea.  When deciding your speech, decide what the message you want to deliver the audience as a jumping off point for the narrative. Base your theme on your personal experiences that you would like to share. Once you have thought about it, ask yourself as to whether it has transformed you for the better or for the worst. Poverty, patience, sacrifice, and endurance are all good choices for a personal narrative. You may also see award speech .

For example, you may want to include in your experience on how a boy with no father or mother makes a living for himself by selling street food and how poverty has made you become more generous and thoughtful for others who are suffering on the streets. You may also see retirement speech .

Read examples of personal narrative.  Finally, in order to write a good narrative, you must learn how others o it as well. To quote from the Jedi Master Yoda, he states: “You must unlearn what you have learned”. Very philosophical, but it is true. One cannot claim to know everything. And even if you did know everything, to learn something new, you must be open to change and new things in order to enhance and improve your skill. Here are some reading references you might want to glance at before starting:

• The Boys of My Youth by Jo Ann Beard
• Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion
• Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
• The Lives section of The New York Times

David Becomes King Narrative Speech Outline Example

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Part 2.  Writing the Personal Narrative

Now that you have brainstormed some ideas needed to start with your personal narrative, it is finally time to get to your computer and ignite the thought train full speed ahead.

Start with a hook.  First impressions matter! If you have successfully bored out the audience in their chairs, then congratulations, only a few people are going to pay attention to what you have to say throughout the rest of your speech. Attention-grabbers often come in the form of a story, a quote, a personal experience. You may also see valedictorian speech .

For example, you can mention in the first line of your personal narrative: “I remember this one time when I accidentally slipped and fell down on the lake when I was fishing while everyone was staring at me.”

Set the scene with action.  Every good story will not be complete without providing some background information and supporting details to the characters in your story.

Move chronologically through the events.  When you begin your speech with your four year-old self accidentally drowning in a swimming pool just because he saw a slide and he wanted to get on it, do not immediately proceed to when you nine years old and you accidentally punched someone in the face because he was a jerk. It is important to set things in order as to avoid confusion between the timeline of your story. Finish explaining everything that occurred in event A before proceeding to event B and finally concluding with event C. You may also see acceptance speech .

Use sensory detail and description.  They say it is important to show and not just simply to tell. Most speeches would allow visual aids or props to be presented at the front to give an audience a better idea on what the speaker is describing. But if not, then you must be able to use your imagination describing the object or event you have felt using the five senses. You may also see persuasive speech .

Finish with a moral or takeaway.  Wrap your personal narrative up with a reflection or analysis of the transpired events. It is important that at the end of your speech, the audience is left with something to recall even if he forgets everything else. Allow them to leave the room with the moral and lessons that they have learned from your speech. You may also see elevator speech .

Speech 101 Narrative Speech Outline Example

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At the end of the day, speech writing is one challenge. The next challenge is on how you are going to deliver it in front of the audience. You may refer to these examples for guidance if ever you are still struggling with writing a narrative speech. With that, we would like to end here and wish you the best of luck in your speech writing journey!

Narrative Speech Generator

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How to Write a Narrative Essay or Speech

• Ph.D., Rhetoric and English, University of Georgia
• M.A., Modern English and American Literature, University of Leicester
• B.A., English, State University of New York

A narrative essay or speech is used to tell a story, often one that is based on personal experience. This genre of work comprises works of nonfiction that hew closely to the facts and follow a logical chronological progression of events. Writers often use anecdotes to relate their experiences and engage the reader. In doing so, you can give your narrative a level of emotional appeal. It can be serious or humorous, but this emotional appeal is essential if you want to  give your audience some way to connect with your story.

The most successful narrative essays usually share these three basic traits:

• They make a central point.
• They contain  specific details in support  of that point.
• They are clearly  organized in time .

Constructing the Essay

Magazines like the New Yorker and websites like Vice are known for the pages-long narrative essays they publish, sometimes called long-format journalism. But an effective narrative essay can be as short as five paragraphs. As with other kinds of essay writing, narratives follow the same basic outline:

• Introduction: This is the opening paragraph of your essay. It contains the hook, which is used to grab the reader's attention, and the thesis or topic, which you'll detail in the next section.
• Body: This is the heart of your essay, usually three to five paragraphs in length. Each paragraph should contain one example, such as a personal anecdote or noteworthy event, that supports your larger topic.
• Conclusion: This is the final paragraph of your essay. In it, you'll sum up the main points of the body and bring your narrative to an end. Writers sometimes embellish the conclusion with an epilogue or a takeaway.

Narrative Essay Topics

Choosing the topic for your essay may be the hardest part. What you're looking for is a particular incident that you can recount in a well-developed and clearly organized essay  or speech . We have a few ideas to help you brainstorm topics. They're quite broad, but something will surely spark an idea.

• An embarrassing experience
• A memorable wedding or funeral
• An exciting minute or two of a football game (or another sporting event)
• Your first or last day at a job or new school
• A disastrous date
• A memorable moment of failure or success
• An encounter that changed your life or taught you a lesson
• An experience that led to a renewed faith
• A strange or unexpected encounter
• An experience of how technology is more trouble than it's worth
• An experience that left you disillusioned
• A frightening or dangerous experience
• A memorable journey
• An encounter with someone you were in awe of or afraid of
• An occasion when you experienced rejection
• Your first visit to the countryside (or to a large city)
• The circumstances that led to the breakup of a friendship
• An experience that showed that you should be careful of what you wish for
• A significant or comic misunderstanding
• An experience that showed how appearances can be deceiving
• An account of a difficult decision that you had to make
• An event that marked a turning point in your life
• An experience that changed your viewpoint on a controversial issue
• A memorable encounter with someone in authority
• An act of heroism or cowardice
• An imaginary encounter with a real person
• A rebellious act
• A brush with greatness or death
• A time that you took a stand on an important issue
• An experience that altered your view of someone
• A trip that you would like to take
• A vacation trip from your childhood
• An account of a visit to a fictional place or time
• Your first time away from home
• Two different versions of the same event
• A day when everything went right or wrong
• An experience that made you laugh until you cried
• The experience of being lost
• Surviving a natural disaster
• An important discovery
• An eyewitness account of an important event
• An experience that helped you grow up
• A description of your secret place
• An account of what it would be like to live as a particular animal
• Your dream job and what it would be like
• An invention you'd like to create
• A time when you realized your parents were right
• An account of your earliest memory
• Your reaction when you heard the best news of your life
• A description of the one thing you can't live without

Other Types of Essays

Narrative essays are one of the major essay types. Others include:

• Argumentative: In argumentative essays , the writer makes the case for a specific opinion on a topic, using research and analysis to persuade the reader.
• Descriptive: This kind of writing relies on detail to describe or define a person, place, thing, or experience. Writing may be either objective or subjective.
• Expository: Like argumentative essays, expository writing requires research and analysis in order to expound upon a subject. Unlike argumentative essays, the intention is not to change the readers' opinion but to inform the readers.
• Angelli, Elizabeth; Baker, Jack; and Brizee, Allen. " Essay Writing ." Perdue.edu. 9 February 2018.
• Beck, Kate. " Instructions to Write a Narrative Essay. " SeattlePI.com.
• Santa Barbara City College staff. "Structure of a Personal Narrative Essay." SBCC.edu.
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• How to write a narrative essay | Example & tips

How to Write a Narrative Essay | Example & Tips

Published on July 24, 2020 by Jack Caulfield . Revised on July 23, 2023.

A narrative essay tells a story. In most cases, this is a story about a personal experience you had. This type of essay , along with the descriptive essay , allows you to get personal and creative, unlike most academic writing .

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Table of contents

What is a narrative essay for, choosing a topic, interactive example of a narrative essay, other interesting articles, frequently asked questions about narrative essays.

When assigned a narrative essay, you might find yourself wondering: Why does my teacher want to hear this story? Topics for narrative essays can range from the important to the trivial. Usually the point is not so much the story itself, but the way you tell it.

A narrative essay is a way of testing your ability to tell a story in a clear and interesting way. You’re expected to think about where your story begins and ends, and how to convey it with eye-catching language and a satisfying pace.

These skills are quite different from those needed for formal academic writing. For instance, in a narrative essay the use of the first person (“I”) is encouraged, as is the use of figurative language, dialogue, and suspense.

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Narrative essay assignments vary widely in the amount of direction you’re given about your topic. You may be assigned quite a specific topic or choice of topics to work with.

• Write a story about your first day of school.
• Write a story about your favorite holiday destination.

You may also be given prompts that leave you a much wider choice of topic.

• Write about an experience where you learned something about yourself.
• Write about an achievement you are proud of. What did you accomplish, and how?

In these cases, you might have to think harder to decide what story you want to tell. The best kind of story for a narrative essay is one you can use to talk about a particular theme or lesson, or that takes a surprising turn somewhere along the way.

For example, a trip where everything went according to plan makes for a less interesting story than one where something unexpected happened that you then had to respond to. Choose an experience that might surprise the reader or teach them something.

Narrative essays in college applications

When applying for college , you might be asked to write a narrative essay that expresses something about your personal qualities.

For example, this application prompt from Common App requires you to respond with a narrative essay.

In this context, choose a story that is not only interesting but also expresses the qualities the prompt is looking for—here, resilience and the ability to learn from failure—and frame the story in a way that emphasizes these qualities.

An example of a short narrative essay, responding to the prompt “Write about an experience where you learned something about yourself,” is shown below.

Hover over different parts of the text to see how the structure works.

Since elementary school, I have always favored subjects like science and math over the humanities. My instinct was always to think of these subjects as more solid and serious than classes like English. If there was no right answer, I thought, why bother? But recently I had an experience that taught me my academic interests are more flexible than I had thought: I took my first philosophy class.

Before I entered the classroom, I was skeptical. I waited outside with the other students and wondered what exactly philosophy would involve—I really had no idea. I imagined something pretty abstract: long, stilted conversations pondering the meaning of life. But what I got was something quite different.

A young man in jeans, Mr. Jones—“but you can call me Rob”—was far from the white-haired, buttoned-up old man I had half-expected. And rather than pulling us into pedantic arguments about obscure philosophical points, Rob engaged us on our level. To talk free will, we looked at our own choices. To talk ethics, we looked at dilemmas we had faced ourselves. By the end of class, I’d discovered that questions with no right answer can turn out to be the most interesting ones.

The experience has taught me to look at things a little more “philosophically”—and not just because it was a philosophy class! I learned that if I let go of my preconceptions, I can actually get a lot out of subjects I was previously dismissive of. The class taught me—in more ways than one—to look at things with an open mind.

If you want to know more about AI tools , college essays , or fallacies make sure to check out some of our other articles with explanations and examples or go directly to our tools!

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If you’re not given much guidance on what your narrative essay should be about, consider the context and scope of the assignment. What kind of story is relevant, interesting, and possible to tell within the word count?

The best kind of story for a narrative essay is one you can use to reflect on a particular theme or lesson, or that takes a surprising turn somewhere along the way.

Don’t worry too much if your topic seems unoriginal. The point of a narrative essay is how you tell the story and the point you make with it, not the subject of the story itself.

Narrative essays are usually assigned as writing exercises at high school or in university composition classes. They may also form part of a university application.

When you are prompted to tell a story about your own life or experiences, a narrative essay is usually the right response.

The key difference is that a narrative essay is designed to tell a complete story, while a descriptive essay is meant to convey an intense description of a particular place, object, or concept.

Narrative and descriptive essays both allow you to write more personally and creatively than other kinds of essays , and similar writing skills can apply to both.

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How to Write an Outline for a Narrative Speech

How to write an essay with a thesis statement.

A narrative speech relates the story of an event, whether from the speaker’s life or from that of someone she knows. Usually organized chronologically, narrative speeches are often given to entertain or teach the listener. In writing an effective narrative speech, start with an outline to help focus on the purpose of the speech, organize the events discussed in the speech and create a final draft .

A Statement of Purpose

Identify the purpose of your speech, such as imparting a moral or making the audience feel good. This step is necessary and saves revision, because you know where the speech is going from the beginning. It also ensures that nothing necessary is left out. Identifying your purpose can be as simple as writing a one-sentence statement at the top of the outline . Keep the statement of purpose in view and refer back to it or refine it if needed.

Your Attention Please

Grab the audience’s attention and preview the topic of the speech in the introduction. Include a hook or attention-getter, the thesis and a preview of the narrative in this order; establish credibility after the hook if you think it's important. In your outline, the introduction is Roman numeral “I,” and each part receives a capital letter under it -- A: Hook, B: Establish Credibility, C: Thesis, D: Preview. Capture the main idea of each part in one sentence, saving the details for the post-outline writing stage.

A Full Body

Ensure no essential narrative parts are missing by organizing the story carefully in the body. Outline this part of the speech in a straightforward manner by including the most important points in chronological order , adding extraneous information as necessary. Write the body as Roman numeral “II” and give each body point its own capital letter. Add numbers underneath the letters for supporting information. Use full sentences and save minute details for the writing stage.

Thank You, Ladies and Gentlemen

An abrupt stop at the end of the narrative will confuse or frustrate the audience. Use the conclusion to wrap up the speech, reminding the audience of the takeaway, if any. Include three main points: a signal that the speech is nearly finished, a summary of the story and a thesis review . Add Roman numeral “III” for the conclusion, then one capital letter for each point — A: Signal, B: Summary, C: Thesis Review. Capture the essential information in one sentence for each. When finished, review the purpose of the speech to ensure that the outline is in accordance.

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Melissa Harr is a writer and knitting pattern designer with a range of publication credits. Her latest work includes blogging for Smudge Yarns, judging fiction for Ink & Insights 2015 and creating patterns for I Like Knitting magazine. Harr holds a Bachelor of Arts in English from the University of Illinois at Chicago and a CELTA.

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How to Write a Narrative Speech

Most people must give a narrative speech at some point in life. Speeches have a beginning, middle and an ending and speakers signal these speech segments by using short sentences for the main headings. A major consideration when writing the narrative includes deciding how to deliver the speech. An extemporaneous-style delivery of your narrative speech uses only a general outline of the body's main points and a few helpful notes, while manuscript delivery requires writing every word on paper and using this as a script during the delivery.

Select Your Topic

Topic selection for some speakers is the most difficult part of writing the narrative speech. Most people feel some stress when presenting a speech, so stick with the information you know best. This helps you remember while under the stress, even when giving a manuscript-style presentation. Experiences work well as narrative speeches, including interesting personal and life events and family traditions. An introduction about yourself also offers a short narrative topic. Some narrative presentations include a teachable moment or a moral for the listener, but this element is not necessary.

Do the Research

Speech research doesn't always require a trip to the library. Research for a narrative might include talking to family members to confirm important dates or refresh your memory about events for your speech. A narrative speech about an event in the life of another person should include traditional research at the library or using online resources. Keep quotations short, no more than one or two sentences, if you need to use a quote in your speech. Make a note of the source of the quotation and cite that in your speech, so your audience understands the quote belongs to another person.

Organize the Body

Organization helps the audience follow the main points of the speech and remember important parts of your presentation. A chronology, using a timeline for events, offers an easy organization pattern for a narrative speech. An event typically has a beginning, middle and end, and the chronological organization pattern fits the recommendations of the University of Pittsburgh Speaking in the Discipline Initiative by using no more than three separate categories for the body of the speech.

Develop an Introduction

Introductions grab attention, give the listeners a hint of the overall speech topic and offer a smooth transition to guide the audience into the body of the speech. However, the attention-getter should not distract the audience so that the introduction becomes the focus of the speech. A short quotation, anecdote, appropriate humor or fact about the topic of your narrative work well as an introduction. Test your introduction on some friends to make sure it grabs attention.

Write the Conclusion

The conclusion moves you from the front of the room as the speaker back to your seat and signals to the audience that your speech is over. A summary of your main points offers one way to end your presentation. More effective techniques combine that summary with a wrap-up quote, fact or anecdote that reminds your audience of your main topic. A restatement of the moral or lesson works well for a narrative speech with this message.

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Lee Grayson has worked as a freelance writer since 2000. Her articles have appeared in publications for Oxford and Harvard University presses and research publishers, including Facts On File and ABC-CLIO. Grayson holds certificates from the University of California campuses at Irvine and San Diego.

Narrative Definition

What is narrative? Here’s a quick and simple definition:

A narrative is an account of connected events. Two writers describing the same set of events might craft very different narratives, depending on how they use different narrative elements, such as tone or  point of view . For example, an account of the American Civil War written from the perspective of a white slaveowner would make for a very different narrative than if it were written from the perspective of a historian, or a former slave.

Some additional key details about narrative:

• The words "narrative" and "story" are often used interchangeably, and with the casual meanings of the two terms that's fine. However, technically speaking, the two terms have related but different meanings.
• The word "narrative" is also frequently used as an adjective to describe something that tells a story, such as narrative poetry.

How to Pronounce Narrative

Here's how to pronounce narrative: nar -uh-tiv

Narrative vs. Story vs. Plot

In everyday speech, people often use the terms "narrative," "story," and "plot" interchangeably. However, when speaking more technically about literature these terms are not in fact identical. 

• A story refers to a sequence of events. It can be thought of as the raw material out of which a narrative is crafted.
• A plot refers to the sequence of events, but with their causes and effects included. As the writer E.M. Forster put it, while "The King died and the Queen died" is a story (i.e., a sequence of events), "The King died, and then the Queen died of grief" is a plot.
• A narrative , by contrast, has a more broad-reaching definition: it includes not just the sequence of events and their cause and effect relationships, but also  all of the decisions and techniques that impact how a story is told. A narrative is  how a given sequence of events is recounted.

In order to fully understand narrative, it's important to keep in mind that most sequences of events can be recounted in many different ways. Each different account is a separate narrative. When deciding how to relay a set of facts or describe a sequence of events, a writer must ask themselves, among other things:

• Which events are most important?
• Where should I begin and end my narrative?
• Should I tell the events of the narrative in the order they occurred, or should I use flashbacks or other techniques to present the events in another order?
• Should I hold certain pieces of information back from the reader?
• What point of view  should I use to tell the narrative?

The answers to these questions determine how the narrative is constructed, so they have a huge influence on the way a reader sees or understands what they're reading about. The same series of events might be read as happy or sad, boring or exciting—all depending on how the narrative is constructed. Analyzing a narrative just means examining how it is constructed and why it is constructed that way.

Narrative Elements

Narrative elements   are the tools writers use to craft narratives. A great way to approach analyzing a narrative is to break it down into its different narrative elements, and then examine how the writer employs each one. The following is a summary of the main elements that a writer might use to build his or her narrative.

• For example, a story about a crime told from the perspective of the victim might be very different when told from the perspective of the criminal.
• For instance, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway were friends, and they wrote during the same era, but their writing is very different from one another because they have markedly different  voices.
• For example, Jonathan Swift's essay " A Modest Proposal " satirizes the British government's callous indifference toward the famine in Ireland by sarcastically suggesting that cannibalism could solve the problem—but the essay would have a completely different meaning if it didn't have a sarcastic tone. 
• For example, the first half of Charles Dickens' novel David Copperfield tells the story of the narrator David Copperfield's early childhood over the course of many chapters; about halfway through the novel, David quickly glosses over some embarrassing episodes from his teenage years (unfortunate fashion choices and foolish crushes); the second half of the novel tells the story of his adult life. The pacing give readers the sense that David's teen years weren't really that important. Instead, his childhood traumas, the challenges he faced as a young man, and the relationships he formed during both childhood and adulthood make up the most important elements of the novel.
• For example, Mary Shelley's novel   Frankenstein  uses three different "frames" to tell the story of Dr. Frankenstein and the creature he creates: the novel takes the form of letters written by Walton, an arctic explorer; Walton is recounting a story that Dr. Frankenstein told him; and as part of his story, Dr. Frankenstein recounts a story told to him by the creature. 
• Linear vs. Nonlinear Narration:  You may also hear the word narrative used to describe the order in which a sequence of events is recounted. In a linear narrative, the events of a story are described  chronologically , in the order that they occurred. In a nonlinear narrative, events are described out of order, using flashbacks or flash-forwards, and then returning to the present. In some nonlinear narratives, like Ken Kesey's  Sometimes a Great Notion , there is a clear sense of when the "present" is: the novel begins and ends with the character Viv sitting in a bar, looking at a photograph. The rest of the novel recounts (out of order) events that have happened in the distant and recent past. In other nonlinear narratives, it may be difficult to tell when the "present" is. For example, in Kurt Vonnegut's novel  Slaughterhouse-Five , the character Billy Pilgrim, seems to move forward and backward in time as a result of post-traumatic stress. Billy is not always certain if he is experiencing memories, flashbacks, hallucinations, or actual time travel, and there are inconsistencies in the dates he gives throughout the book—all of which of course has a huge impact on how  his stories are relayed to the reader.

Narrative as an Adjective

It's worth noting that the word "narrative" is also frequently used as an adjective to describe something that tells a story.

• Narrative Poetry: While some poetry describes an image, experience, or emotion without necessarily telling a story, narrative poetry is poetry that does tell a story. Narrative poems include epic poems like The Iliad , The Epic of Gilgamesh , and Beowulf .  Other, shorter examples of narrative poetry include "Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carrol, "The Lady of Shalott" by Alfred Lord Tennyson, "The Goblin Market" by Christina Rossetti, and "The Glass Essay," by Anne Carson.
• Narrative Art: Similarly, the term "narrative art" refers to visual art that tells a story, either by capturing one scene in a longer story, or by presenting a series of images that tell a longer story when put together. Often, but not always, narrative art tells stories that are likely to be familiar to the viewer, such as stories from history, mythology, or religious teachings. Examples of narrative art include Michelangelo's painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and the  Pietà ; Paul Revere's engraving entitled  The Bloody Massacre ; and Artemisia Gentileschi's painting  Judith Slaying Holofernes .

Narrative Examples

Narrative in  the book thief  by markus zusak.

Zusak's novel,  The Book Thief , is narrated by the figure of Death, who tells the story of Liesel, a girl growing up in Nazi Germany who loves books and befriends a Jewish man her family is hiding in their home. In the novel's prologue, Death says of Liesel:

Yes, often, I am reminded of her, and in one of my vast array of pockets, I have kept her story to retell. It is one of the small legion I carry, each one extraordinary in its own right. Each one an attempt—an immense leap of an attempt—to prove to me that you, and your human existence, are worth it.

Narrators do not always announce themselves, but Death introduces himself and explains that he sees himself as a storyteller and a repository of the stories of human lives. Choosing Death (rather than Leisel) as the novel's narrator allows Zusak to use Liesel's story to reflect on the power of stories and storytelling more generally.

Narrative in  A Visit From the Goon Squad   by Jennifer Egan

In A Visit From the Good Squad ,  Egan structures the narrative of her novel in an unconventional way: each chapter stands as a self-contained story, but as a whole, the individual episodes are interconnected in such a way that all the stories form a single cohesive narrative. For example, in Chapter 2, "The Gold Cure," we meet the character Bennie, a middle-aged music producer, and his assistant Sasha:

"It's incredible," Sasha said, "how there's just nothing there." Astounded, Bennie turned to her…Sasha was looking downtown, and he followed her eyes to the empty space where the Twin Towers had been. 

Because there is an empty space where the Twin Towers had been, the reader knows that this dialogue is taking place some time after the September 11th, 2001 attack in which the World Trade Center was destroyed. Bennie appears again later in the novel, in Chapter 6, "X's and O's," which is set ten years prior to "The Gold Cure." "X's and O's" is narrated by Bennie's old friend, Scotty, who goes to visit Bennie at his office in Manhattan:

I looked down at the city. Its extravagance felt wasteful, like gushing oil or some other precious thing Bennie was hoarding for himself, using it up so no one else could get any. I thought: If I had a view like this to look down on every day, I would have the energy and inspiration to conquer the world. The trouble is, when you most need such a view, no one gives it to you.

Just as Sasha did in Chapter 2, Scotty stands with Bennie and looks out over Manhattan, and in both passages, there is a sense that Bennie fails to notice, appreciate, or find meaning in the view. But the reader wouldn't have the same experience if the story had been told in chronological order.

Narrative in Atonement by Ian McEwan

Ian McEwan's novel Atonement tells the story of Briony, a writer who, as a girl, sees something she doesn't understand and, based on this faulty understanding, makes a choice that ruins the lives of Celia, her sister, and Robbie, the man her sister loves. The first part of the novel appears to be told from the perspective of a third-person omniscient narrator; but once we reach the end of the book, we realize that we've read Briony's novel, which she has written as an act of atonement for her terrible mistake. Near the end of  Atonement , Briony tells us:

I like to think that it isn’t weakness or evasion, but a final act of kindness, a stand against oblivion and despair, to let my lovers live and to unite them at the end. I gave them happiness, but I was not so self-serving as to let them forgive me. Not quite, not yet. If I had the power to conjure them at my birthday celebration…Robbie and Cecilia, still alive, sitting side by side in the library…

In Briony's novel, Celia and Robbie are eventually able to live together, and Briony visits them in an attempt to apologize; but in real life, we learn, Celia and Robbie died during World War II before they could see one another again, and before Briony could reconcile with them. By inviting the reader to imagine a happy ending, Briony effectively heightens the tragedy of the events that actually occurred. By choosing Briony as his narrator, and by framing the novel Briony wrote with her discussion of her own novel, McEwan is able to create multiple interlacing narratives, telling and retelling what happened and what might have been.

Narrative in Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut

Kurt Vonnegut’s novel Slaughterhouse-Five tells the story of Billy Pilgrim, a World War II veteran who survived the bombing of Dresden, and has since “come unstuck in time.” The novel uses flashbacks and flash-forwards, and is narrated by an unreliable narrator who implies to the reader that the narrative he is telling may not be entirely true:

All this happened, more or less. The war parts, anyway, are pretty much true. One guy I knew really was shot in Dresden for taking a teapot that wasn’t his. Another guy I knew really did threaten to have his personal enemies killed by hired gunmen after the war. And so on. I’ve changed all the names.

The narrator’s equivocation in this passage suggests that even though the story he is telling may not be entirely factually accurate, he has attempted to create a narrative that captures important truths about the war and the bombing of Dresden. Or, maybe he just doesn’t remember all of the details of the events he is describing. In any case, the inconsistencies in dates and details in Slaughterhouse-Five  give the reader the impression that crafting a single cohesive narrative out of the horrific experience of war may be too difficult a task—which in turn says something about the toll war takes on those who live through it.

What's the Function of Narrative in Literature?

When we use the word "narrative," we're pointing out that who tells a story and how that person tells the story influence how the reader understands the story's meaning. The question of what purpose narratives serve in literature is inseparable from the question of why people tell stories in general, and why writers use different narrative elements to shape their stories into compelling narratives. Narratives make it possible for writers to capture some of the nuances and complexities of human experience in the retelling of a sequence of events.

In literature and in life, narratives are everywhere, which is part of why they can be very challenging to discuss and analyze. Narrative reminds us that stories do not only exist; they are also made by someone, often for very specific reasons. And when you analyze narrative in literature, you take the time to ask yourself why a work of literature has been constructed in a certain way.

Other Helpful Narrative Resources

• Etymology: Merriam-Webster describes the origins and history of usage of the term "narrative."
• Narrative Theory: Ohio State University's "Project Narrative" offers an overview of narrative theory.
• History and Narrative:  Read more about the similarities between historical and literary narratives in Hayden White's  Metahistory: The Historical Imagination in 19th-Century Europe.
• Narrative Art: This article from Widewalls explores narrative art and discusses what kind of art doesn't  tell stories. 

• PDFs for all 136 Lit Terms we cover
• Downloads of 1910 LitCharts Lit Guides
• Teacher Editions for every Lit Guide
• Explanations and citation info for 40,226 quotes across 1910 books
• Downloadable (PDF) line-by-line translations of every Shakespeare play
• Point of View
• Pathetic Fallacy
• Slant Rhyme
• Figure of Speech
• Understatement
• Common Meter
• Polysyndeton
• Verbal Irony
• Anadiplosis

Narrative Writing: A Complete Guide for Teachers and Students

MASTERING THE CRAFT OF NARRATIVE WRITING

Narratives build on and encourage the development of the fundamentals of writing. They also require developing an additional skill set: the ability to tell a good yarn, and storytelling is as old as humanity.

We see and hear stories everywhere and daily, from having good gossip on the doorstep with a neighbor in the morning to the dramas that fill our screens in the evening.

Good narrative writing skills are hard-won by students even though it is an area of writing that most enjoy due to the creativity and freedom it offers.

Here we will explore some of the main elements of a good story: plot, setting, characters, conflict, climax, and resolution . And we will look too at how best we can help our students understand these elements, both in isolation and how they mesh together as a whole.

WHAT IS A NARRATIVE?

A narrative is a story that shares a sequence of events , characters, and themes. It expresses experiences, ideas, and perspectives that should aspire to engage and inspire an audience.

A narrative can spark emotion, encourage reflection, and convey meaning when done well.

Narratives are a popular genre for students and teachers as they allow the writer to share their imagination, creativity, skill, and understanding of nearly all elements of writing.  We occasionally refer to a narrative as ‘creative writing’ or story writing.

The purpose of a narrative is simple, to tell the audience a story.  It can be written to motivate, educate, or entertain and can be fact or fiction.

A COMPLETE UNIT ON TEACHING NARRATIVE WRITING

Teach your students to become skilled story writers with this HUGE   NARRATIVE & CREATIVE STORY WRITING UNIT . Offering a  COMPLETE SOLUTION  to teaching students how to craft  CREATIVE CHARACTERS, SUPERB SETTINGS, and PERFECT PLOTS .

Over 192 PAGES of materials, including:

TYPES OF NARRATIVE WRITING

There are many narrative writing genres and sub-genres such as these.

We have a complete guide to writing a personal narrative that differs from the traditional story-based narrative covered in this guide. It includes personal narrative writing prompts, resources, and examples and can be found here.

As we can see, narratives are an open-ended form of writing that allows you to showcase creativity in many directions. However, all narratives share a common set of features and structure known as “Story Elements”, which are briefly covered in this guide.

Don’t overlook the importance of understanding story elements and the value this adds to you as a writer who can dissect and create grand narratives. We also have an in-depth guide to understanding story elements here .

CHARACTERISTICS OF NARRATIVE WRITING

Narrative structure.

ORIENTATION (BEGINNING) Set the scene by introducing your characters, setting and time of the story. Establish your who, when and where in this part of your narrative

COMPLICATION AND EVENTS (MIDDLE) In this section activities and events involving your main characters are expanded upon. These events are written in a cohesive and fluent sequence.

RESOLUTION (ENDING) Your complication is resolved in this section. It does not have to be a happy outcome, however.

EXTRAS: Whilst orientation, complication and resolution are the agreed norms for a narrative, there are numerous examples of popular texts that did not explicitly follow this path exactly.

NARRATIVE FEATURES

LANGUAGE: Use descriptive and figurative language to paint images inside your audience’s minds as they read.

PERSPECTIVE Narratives can be written from any perspective but are most commonly written in first or third person.

DIALOGUE Narratives frequently switch from narrator to first-person dialogue. Always use speech marks when writing dialogue.

TENSE If you change tense, make it perfectly clear to your audience what is happening. Flashbacks might work well in your mind but make sure they translate to your audience.

THE PLOT MAP

This graphic is known as a plot map, and nearly all narratives fit this structure in one way or another, whether romance novels, science fiction or otherwise.

It is a simple tool that helps you understand and organise a story’s events. Think of it as a roadmap that outlines the journey of your characters and the events that unfold. It outlines the different stops along the way, such as the introduction, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution, that help you to see how the story builds and develops.

Using a plot map, you can see how each event fits into the larger picture and how the different parts of the story work together to create meaning. It’s a great way to visualize and analyze a story.

Be sure to refer to a plot map when planning a story, as it has all the essential elements of a great story.

THE 5 KEY STORY ELEMENTS OF A GREAT NARRATIVE (6-MINUTE TUTORIAL VIDEO)

This video we created provides an excellent overview of these elements and demonstrates them in action in stories we all know and love.

HOW TO WRITE A NARRATIVE

Now that we understand the story elements and how they come together to form stories, it’s time to start planning and writing your narrative.

In many cases, the template and guide below will provide enough details on how to craft a great story. However, if you still need assistance with the fundamentals of writing, such as sentence structure, paragraphs and using correct grammar, we have some excellent guides on those here.

USE YOUR WRITING TIME EFFECTIVELY: Maximize your narrative writing sessions by spending approximately 20 per cent of your time planning and preparing.  This ensures greater productivity during your writing time and keeps you focused and on task.

Use tools such as graphic organizers to logically sequence your narrative if you are not a confident story writer.  If you are working with reluctant writers, try using narrative writing prompts to get their creative juices flowing.

Spend most of your writing hour on the task at hand, don’t get too side-tracked editing during this time and leave some time for editing. When editing a  narrative, examine it for these three elements.

• Spelling and grammar ( Is it readable?)
• Story structure and continuity ( Does it make sense, and does it flow? )
• Character and plot analysis. (Are your characters engaging? Does your problem/resolution work? )

1. SETTING THE SCENE: THE WHERE AND THE WHEN

The story’s setting often answers two of the central questions in the story, namely, the where and the when. The answers to these two crucial questions will often be informed by the type of story the student is writing.

The story’s setting can be chosen to quickly orient the reader to the type of story they are reading. For example, a fictional narrative writing piece such as a horror story will often begin with a description of a haunted house on a hill or an abandoned asylum in the middle of the woods. If we start our story on a rocket ship hurtling through the cosmos on its space voyage to the Alpha Centauri star system, we can be reasonably sure that the story we are embarking on is a work of science fiction.

Such conventions are well-worn clichés true, but they can be helpful starting points for our novice novelists to make a start.

Having students choose an appropriate setting for the type of story they wish to write is an excellent exercise for our younger students. It leads naturally onto the next stage of story writing, which is creating suitable characters to populate this fictional world they have created. However, older or more advanced students may wish to play with the expectations of appropriate settings for their story. They may wish to do this for comic effect or in the interest of creating a more original story. For example, opening a story with a children’s birthday party does not usually set up the expectation of a horror story. Indeed, it may even lure the reader into a happy reverie as they remember their own happy birthday parties. This leaves them more vulnerable to the surprise element of the shocking action that lies ahead.

Once the students have chosen a setting for their story, they need to start writing. Little can be more terrifying to English students than the blank page and its bare whiteness stretching before them on the table like a merciless desert they must cross. Give them the kick-start they need by offering support through word banks or writing prompts. If the class is all writing a story based on the same theme, you may wish to compile a common word bank on the whiteboard as a prewriting activity. Write the central theme or genre in the middle of the board. Have students suggest words or phrases related to the theme and list them on the board.

You may wish to provide students with a copy of various writing prompts to get them started. While this may mean that many students’ stories will have the same beginning, they will most likely arrive at dramatically different endings via dramatically different routes.

A bargain is at the centre of the relationship between the writer and the reader. That bargain is that the reader promises to suspend their disbelief as long as the writer creates a consistent and convincing fictional reality. Creating a believable world for the fictional characters to inhabit requires the student to draw on convincing details. The best way of doing this is through writing that appeals to the senses. Have your student reflect deeply on the world that they are creating. What does it look like? Sound like? What does the food taste like there? How does it feel like to walk those imaginary streets, and what aromas beguile the nose as the main character winds their way through that conjured market?

Also, Consider the when; or the time period. Is it a future world where things are cleaner and more antiseptic? Or is it an overcrowded 16th-century London with human waste stinking up the streets? If students can create a multi-sensory installation in the reader’s mind, then they have done this part of their job well.

Popular Settings from Children’s Literature and Storytelling

• Fairytale Kingdom
• Magical Forest
• Village/town
• Underwater world
• Space/Alien planet

2. CASTING THE CHARACTERS: THE WHO

Now that your student has created a believable world, it is time to populate it with believable characters.

In short stories, these worlds mustn’t be overpopulated beyond what the student’s skill level can manage. Short stories usually only require one main character and a few secondary ones. Think of the short story more as a small-scale dramatic production in an intimate local theater than a Hollywood blockbuster on a grand scale. Too many characters will only confuse and become unwieldy with a canvas this size. Keep it simple!

Creating believable characters is often one of the most challenging aspects of narrative writing for students. Fortunately, we can do a few things to help students here. Sometimes it is helpful for students to model their characters on actual people they know. This can make things a little less daunting and taxing on the imagination. However, whether or not this is the case, writing brief background bios or descriptions of characters’ physical personality characteristics can be a beneficial prewriting activity. Students should give some in-depth consideration to the details of who their character is: How do they walk? What do they look like? Do they have any distinguishing features? A crooked nose? A limp? Bad breath? Small details such as these bring life and, therefore, believability to characters. Students can even cut pictures from magazines to put a face to their character and allow their imaginations to fill in the rest of the details.

Younger students will often dictate to the reader the nature of their characters. To improve their writing craft, students must know when to switch from story-telling mode to story-showing mode. This is particularly true when it comes to character. Encourage students to reveal their character’s personality through what they do rather than merely by lecturing the reader on the faults and virtues of the character’s personality. It might be a small relayed detail in the way they walk that reveals a core characteristic. For example, a character who walks with their head hanging low and shoulders hunched while avoiding eye contact has been revealed to be timid without the word once being mentioned. This is a much more artistic and well-crafted way of doing things and is less irritating for the reader. A character who sits down at the family dinner table immediately snatches up his fork and starts stuffing roast potatoes into his mouth before anyone else has even managed to sit down has revealed a tendency towards greed or gluttony.

Understanding Character Traits

Again, there is room here for some fun and profitable prewriting activities. Give students a list of character traits and have them describe a character doing something that reveals that trait without ever employing the word itself.

It is also essential to avoid adjective stuffing here. When looking at students’ early drafts, adjective stuffing is often apparent. To train the student out of this habit, choose an adjective and have the student rewrite the sentence to express this adjective through action rather than telling.

When writing a story, it is vital to consider the character’s traits and how they will impact the story’s events. For example, a character with a strong trait of determination may be more likely to overcome obstacles and persevere. In contrast, a character with a tendency towards laziness may struggle to achieve their goals. In short, character traits add realism, depth, and meaning to a story, making it more engaging and memorable for the reader.

Popular Character Traits in Children’s Stories

• Determination
• Imagination
• Perseverance
• Responsibility

We have an in-depth guide to creating great characters here , but most students should be fine to move on to planning their conflict and resolution.

3. NO PROBLEM? NO STORY! HOW CONFLICT DRIVES A NARRATIVE

This is often the area apprentice writers have the most difficulty with. Students must understand that without a problem or conflict, there is no story. The problem is the driving force of the action. Usually, in a short story, the problem will center around what the primary character wants to happen or, indeed, wants not to happen. It is the hurdle that must be overcome. It is in the struggle to overcome this hurdle that events happen.

Often when a student understands the need for a problem in a story, their completed work will still not be successful. This is because, often in life, problems remain unsolved. Hurdles are not always successfully overcome. Students pick up on this.

We often discuss problems with friends that will never be satisfactorily resolved one way or the other, and we accept this as a part of life. This is not usually the case with writing a story. Whether a character successfully overcomes his or her problem or is decidedly crushed in the process of trying is not as important as the fact that it will finally be resolved one way or the other.

A good practical exercise for students to get to grips with this is to provide copies of stories and have them identify the central problem or conflict in each through discussion. Familiar fables or fairy tales such as Three Little Pigs, The Boy Who Cried Wolf, Cinderella, etc., are great for this.

While it is true that stories often have more than one problem or that the hero or heroine is unsuccessful in their first attempt to solve a central problem, for beginning students and intermediate students, it is best to focus on a single problem, especially given the scope of story writing at this level. Over time students will develop their abilities to handle more complex plots and write accordingly.

Popular Conflicts found in Children’s Storytelling.

• Good vs evil
• Individual vs society
• Nature vs nurture
• Self vs others
• Man vs self
• Man vs nature
• Man vs technology
• Individual vs fate
• Self vs destiny

Conflict is the heart and soul of any good story. It’s what makes a story compelling and drives the plot forward. Without conflict, there is no story. Every great story has a struggle or a problem that needs to be solved, and that’s where conflict comes in. Conflict is what makes a story exciting and keeps the reader engaged. It creates tension and suspense and makes the reader care about the outcome.

Like in real life, conflict in a story is an opportunity for a character’s growth and transformation. It’s a chance for them to learn and evolve, making a story great. So next time stories are written in the classroom, remember that conflict is an essential ingredient, and without it, your story will lack the energy, excitement, and meaning that makes it truly memorable.

4. THE NARRATIVE CLIMAX: HOW THINGS COME TO A HEAD!

The climax of the story is the dramatic high point of the action. It is also when the struggles kicked off by the problem come to a head. The climax will ultimately decide whether the story will have a happy or tragic ending. In the climax, two opposing forces duke things out until the bitter (or sweet!) end. One force ultimately emerges triumphant. As the action builds throughout the story, suspense increases as the reader wonders which of these forces will win out. The climax is the release of this suspense.

Much of the success of the climax depends on how well the other elements of the story have been achieved. If the student has created a well-drawn and believable character that the reader can identify with and feel for, then the climax will be more powerful.

The nature of the problem is also essential as it determines what’s at stake in the climax. The problem must matter dearly to the main character if it matters at all to the reader.

Have students engage in discussions about their favorite movies and books. Have them think about the storyline and decide the most exciting parts. What was at stake at these moments? What happened in your body as you read or watched? Did you breathe faster? Or grip the cushion hard? Did your heart rate increase, or did you start to sweat? This is what a good climax does and what our students should strive to do in their stories.

The climax puts it all on the line and rolls the dice. Let the chips fall where the writer may…

Popular Climax themes in Children’s Stories

• A battle between good and evil
• The character’s bravery saves the day
• Character faces their fears and overcomes them
• The character solves a mystery or puzzle.
• The character stands up for what is right.
• Character reaches their goal or dream.
• The character learns a valuable lesson.
• The character makes a selfless sacrifice.
• The character makes a difficult decision.
• The character reunites with loved ones or finds true friendship.

5. RESOLUTION: TYING UP LOOSE ENDS

After the climactic action, a few questions will often remain unresolved for the reader, even if all the conflict has been resolved. The resolution is where those lingering questions will be answered. The resolution in a short story may only be a brief paragraph or two. But, in most cases, it will still be necessary to include an ending immediately after the climax can feel too abrupt and leave the reader feeling unfulfilled.

An easy way to explain resolution to students struggling to grasp the concept is to point to the traditional resolution of fairy tales, the “And they all lived happily ever after” ending. This weather forecast for the future allows the reader to take their leave. Have the student consider the emotions they want to leave the reader with when crafting their resolution.

While the action is usually complete by the end of the climax, it is in the resolution that if there is a twist to be found, it will appear – think of movies such as The Usual Suspects. Pulling this off convincingly usually requires considerable skill from a student writer. Still, it may well form a challenging extension exercise for those more gifted storytellers among your students.

Popular Resolutions in Children’s Stories

• Our hero achieves their goal
• The character learns a valuable lesson
• A character finds happiness or inner peace.
• The character reunites with loved ones.
• Character restores balance to the world.
• The character discovers their true identity.
• Character changes for the better.
• The character gains wisdom or understanding.
• Character makes amends with others.
• The character learns to appreciate what they have.

Once students have completed their story, they can edit for grammar, vocabulary choice, spelling, etc., but not before!

As mentioned, there is a craft to storytelling, as well as an art. When accurate grammar, perfect spelling, and immaculate sentence structures are pushed at the outset, they can cause storytelling paralysis. For this reason, it is essential that when we encourage the students to write a story, we give them license to make mechanical mistakes in their use of language that they can work on and fix later.

Good narrative writing is a very complex skill to develop and will take the student years to become competent. It challenges not only the student’s technical abilities with language but also her creative faculties. Writing frames, word banks, mind maps, and visual prompts can all give valuable support as students develop the wide-ranging and challenging skills required to produce a successful narrative writing piece. But, at the end of it all, as with any craft, practice and more practice is at the heart of the matter.

TIPS FOR WRITING A GREAT NARRATIVE

• Start your story with a clear purpose: If you can determine the theme or message you want to convey in your narrative before starting it will make the writing process so much simpler.
• Choose a compelling storyline and sell it through great characters, setting and plot: Consider a unique or interesting story that captures the reader’s attention, then build the world and characters around it.
• Develop vivid characters that are not all the same: Make your characters relatable and memorable by giving them distinct personalities and traits you can draw upon in the plot.
• Use descriptive language to hook your audience into your story: Use sensory language to paint vivid images and sequences in the reader’s mind.
• Show, don’t tell your audience: Use actions, thoughts, and dialogue to reveal character motivations and emotions through storytelling.
• Create a vivid setting that is clear to your audience before getting too far into the plot: Describe the time and place of your story to immerse the reader fully.
• Build tension: Refer to the story map earlier in this article and use conflict, obstacles, and suspense to keep the audience engaged and invested in your narrative.
• Use figurative language such as metaphors, similes, and other literary devices to add depth and meaning to your narrative.
• Edit, revise, and refine: Take the time to refine and polish your writing for clarity and impact.
• Stay true to your voice: Maintain your unique perspective and style in your writing to make it your own.

NARRATIVE WRITING EXAMPLES (Student Writing Samples)

Below are a collection of student writing samples of narratives.  Click on the image to enlarge and explore them in greater detail.  Please take a moment to read these creative stories in detail and the teacher and student guides which highlight some of the critical elements of narratives to consider before writing.

Please understand these student writing samples are not intended to be perfect examples for each age or grade level but a piece of writing for students and teachers to explore together to critically analyze to improve student writing skills and deepen their understanding of story writing.

We recommend reading the example either a year above or below, as well as the grade you are currently working with, to gain a broader appreciation of this text type.

NARRATIVE WRITING PROMPTS (Journal Prompts)

When students have a great journal prompt, it can help them focus on the task at hand, so be sure to view our vast collection of visual writing prompts for various text types here or use some of these.

• On a recent European trip, you find your travel group booked into the stunning and mysterious Castle Frankenfurter for a single night…  As night falls, the massive castle of over one hundred rooms seems to creak and groan as a series of unexplained events begin to make you wonder who or what else is spending the evening with you. Write a narrative that tells the story of your evening.
• You are a famous adventurer who has discovered new lands; keep a travel log over a period of time in which you encounter new and exciting adventures and challenges to overcome.  Ensure your travel journal tells a story and has a definite introduction, conflict and resolution.
• You create an incredible piece of technology that has the capacity to change the world.  As you sit back and marvel at your innovation and the endless possibilities ahead of you, it becomes apparent there are a few problems you didn’t really consider. You might not even be able to control them.  Write a narrative in which you ride the highs and lows of your world-changing creation with a clear introduction, conflict and resolution.
• As the final door shuts on the Megamall, you realise you have done it…  You and your best friend have managed to sneak into the largest shopping centre in town and have the entire place to yourselves until 7 am tomorrow.  There is literally everything and anything a child would dream of entertaining themselves for the next 12 hours.  What amazing adventures await you?  What might go wrong?  And how will you get out of there scot-free?
• A stranger walks into town…  Whilst appearing similar to almost all those around you, you get a sense that this person is from another time, space or dimension… Are they friends or foes?  What makes you sense something very strange is going on?   Suddenly they stand up and walk toward you with purpose extending their hand… It’s almost as if they were reading your mind.

NARRATIVE WRITING VIDEO TUTORIAL

Teaching Resources

Use our resources and tools to improve your student’s writing skills through proven teaching strategies.

When teaching narrative writing, it is essential that you have a range of tools, strategies and resources at your disposal to ensure you get the most out of your writing time.  You can find some examples below, which are free and paid premium resources you can use instantly without any preparation.

FREE Narrative Graphic Organizer

THE STORY TELLERS BUNDLE OF TEACHING RESOURCES

A MASSIVE COLLECTION of resources for narratives and story writing in the classroom covering all elements of crafting amazing stories. MONTHS WORTH OF WRITING LESSONS AND RESOURCES, including:

NARRATIVE WRITING CHECKLIST BUNDLE

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (92 Reviews)

OTHER GREAT ARTICLES ABOUT NARRATIVE WRITING

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How to Write a Scary Story

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Storytelling in speeches

Tips and techniques to improve your speech with stories

By:  Susan Dugdale  | Last modified: 01-29-2024

Do you remember storytelling from your childhood?

Some stories are as clear in my mind as if I heard them yesterday. I can remember who was telling the story, what it was about, what the actual words were and most of all, how I felt listening to it.

And that's the power of good storytelling.  It lives on in memory for years and years.

No matter how old we are we can still be captivated by a story told well. That's why including stories as part of any speech you give will enhance it immeasurably.

Obviously, there are some guidelines to follow. It's not just any story you tell or of any length. And there are specific ways to improve your storytelling.

Shall we get started?

What's on this page

• how to choose what story to tell
• the benefit of using personal stories , with an example
• how to improve your story telling : 6 suggestions, with step-by-step help, to increase your presentation skills
• l inks to more useful resources , including narrative speech topics or tell-a-story speech ideas   

How to choose what story to tell

1.Begin with your audience

You need to know who they are, what their likes and dislikes are, to get an idea of what you can, and can't share with them.

The treatment or how you tell your story will vary between audiences, just as humor does. What is funny to one group may not be to another. It is safer to know rather than guess and risk silence.

2. Fit your story to your theme, topic & purpose

Telling a random story: one that doesn't appear to have a specific purpose linking it to your topic or theme will go down like the proverbial lead balloon. Before finalizing your choice, think it through. 

What do you want your audience to do, or feel as they listen to your story? 

• If you want to spur them into action to make a change, try the classic 'before and after story' format focusing on how the change can be made and the benefits to be gained.  
• If you want your audience to see you, the story teller, as one of them, someone who knows what it's like to be in a similar position, then share a personal story illustrating your vulnerability or a segment of your journey from failure to success.
• If you want your audience to connect with others, to find their similarities rather than their differences, tell stories with a universal appeal. These are the stories prompting a 'Yes, that's me as well' response, 'I've felt like that too.'. They do it regardless of age differences, the color of a person's skin, where they live or how much money they have.

To work as you want it to, a story needs to fit your audience, your purpose and you must be credible telling it. 

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Tell your own stories for audience connection

Don't be afraid of sharing personal stories: using your own experiences to poke a little fun at yourself. The audience will love you for it.

Exposing your fears, habits, or misunderstandings lets them identify with you. You stop being the remote expert and become one of them, on their side.

The power of a good story is that it humanizes. It reaches across barriers to bring us home to the heart of ourselves and, each other.  A story helps us to feel, think, know and understand. 

Here's an example of a personal story to illustrate

It is a true story from my extensive been-there-done-that-what-not-to-do department. I told it to students as part of preparing them for formal job interviews.  The story made them laugh, relax, and hopefully they learned a little from my naivety.

On being young and having convictions

I was 22 and at my first real job interview - hair clean and brushed, best clothes, shoes polished. I'd brought my CV, references and my certificates and I really wanted the job. I sat upright, as straight backed as the chair I was sitting on, listening very carefully to the questions and answering each of them thoroughly.

Suddenly towards the end, the interviewer leaned forward, fixed his eyes on mine and said quietly, "Have you any convictions?"

I blushed. I looked down. He waited.

Then, taking a deep breath, I began. "I've got lots of convictions." *

He stared but I plunged boldly on. "Yes", I said. "I believe in 'do unto others as you would have done to yourself'. I think it's really important to try to understand what it's like to be in another person's shoes. I also believe..."

I didn't finish because the interviewer was snorting with laughter.

* The word "convictions" has several meanings. One is to have been found guilty or convicted of a crime by a court of law which is the meaning the interviewer intended. Another is to hold strong beliefs which was how I interpreted the word.

The purpose behind telling the story was to help my students understand the importance of asking for clarification if they don't understand the question or if it seems out of context. I wanted them to know it was more than OK to ask the interviewer to rephrase a question in words they knew.

(And now that I am much older, I also realize how unconsciously privileged I was as a young girl. It would never have occurred to me that someone would even think to ask me that question.)

Six ways to improve your storytelling   

1. keep it short.

If your story goes on too long the impact is lost. And you will have strayed from your original purpose which was to give an effective example of a point you were making. Keep it brief!

2. Eliminate all the inconsequential detail

The rule is if it doesn't add to the story - cut it out. Too much fluff weakens the impact.

For instance, I could have added a great deal more to my story. I could have told you about the dress I made especially for the interview: the fabric I chose, the pattern I used, how I hand sewed the hem...

Or about how I was almost late because I couldn't find a park. 

Or about how I had to save to get the money to pay for the petrol to put in the car to get me there.

3. Practice

Learn the story rather than read it. Good story telling is active and direct.

Reading will not give you immediate contact with your audience because you have to keep returning to a text.

Without it, you're free to deliver one line to the man at the back, an aside to the woman at the front etc. etc. And you can move freely.

The more practice you give yourself the better you'll become.

 4. Vary your voice and body language

Try different voices for different characters.

Find out where to pause, where to stress a word, where to go faster and allow yourself to 'act out' what you're saying.

For example, if you're talking about being happy then reflect it in your body, and in your voice. Show it as well as tell it because  good storytelling is active rather than passive.

For more specific information click:  characterization techniques . 

5. Introduce your story well

Did you know there are more effective ways than others to introduce or lead into your story?

Read about the best  storytelling setups  here.

6. Rehearse in front of a few trusted friends 

Find out if your story works before trying it out in a more public arena.

Do you know the expression: I wish the ground had opened up and swallowed me? 

It refers to the embarrassment of getting something publicly wrong, and wanting to be out the situation, out of people's sight, as fast as possible. It's not a pleasant place to be - a lesson I've learned the hard way! Do try your story out. I've got helpful information here on  how to rehearse your speech .

I got that job!

PPS. For more about delivering a story well

Click the link for easy-to-follow help with  vocal delivery : how to vary your speech rate, use pauses effectively, change pitch and tone, voice projection, good breathing, and more.

I've also got two pages of speech topic suggestions that are perfect for honing story telling skills. (If you're looking for suitable topics for the Toastmasters Level 3 Storytelling project, do check these out.)

• 125 narrative speech topics -This page includes a free printable narrative speech outline.
• 60 vocal variety and body language topics .

Is your speech writing "blah, blah, bland"?

Discover how action verbs make your writing vocally vibrant, succinct and precise.

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Narrative Speech Topics: Engage the Audience with a Great Story

Want to meet the expectations of your tutor by writing an impressive narrative? Pick the right topic and you’ll manage to do this successfully. The choice of a topic plays a crucial role in the success of your paper. If you pick the topic you feel passionate about, the reader will feel engaged in the story. Are you looking for great narrative speech topics? Look no further. Here you’ll find  the most interesting topics ideas  that are worth your attention.

Why Is It So Important to Pick the Right Topic for Your Narrative Essay?

Narrative writing genre  has a lot of subgenres. This means that every writer can find a topic to his or her personal preferences. When you are assigned to  write a narrative paper,  you can write either about your life experience or about some fantastic events. Be guided by your own interests. Why not tell about the fascinating event that happened to you when you were a child? Or maybe you want to tell about your vision of a perfect life? Whether you are going to write about realistic or imaginary events, remember that your paper should contain a hook.

Find it difficult to choose a topic among a variety of ideas? The best topics are here. Check them below.

Top-20 Narrative Speech Topics for You to Hook the Reader

Have a look at the topics  that will definitely engage your reader.

• Tell about your first job experience. If you haven’t had a job yet, you can tell about some activities you’re engaged in college now.
• Tell how you were saving money to buy the thing you were dreaming about. Describe what it was and explain to the reader why this thing was so dear to you.
• Share life experience that has taught you an important lesson.
• Tell about a thing you were afraid of being a kid. Tell about your fears and what you have done to get rid of them.
• Tell how you’ve fallen in love for the first time. Tell how your love story began and how your relationships were developing.
• Write about the fascinating traveling experience. Tell about the place that has impressed you the most.
• Tell about how you met your best friend. Write about the events that helped you to become close.
• Share a story about the worst summer holidays you’ve ever had. Tell about summer holidays that didn’t meet your expectations.
• Tell about a great adventure you had.
•  Tell about the most beautiful dream you’ve seen. Write about the things you did and saw in your dream.
• Write about the competition you won.
• Tell about the most interesting events of your childhood.
• Tell about going to the cinema or theatre for the first time.
• Write about your life when you were 15.
•  Recall problems you had being a teenager.
• Share your success story.
• Tell how your parents and you spent the weekend together.
•  A birthday party you liked (disliked) most.
• The hardest life experience you’ve ever had.
•  The most difficult problem you have solved.

The topic you will choose must be useful for the reader.  Your story must teach  something or encourage people to do something. Of course, you can tell a story that with the purpose to tell a funny story that took place with the aim to entertain your audience. Whatever purpose for your narrative writing you’ll choose, make sure you’ve achieved it!

What Is Narrative Writing?

Narrative writing is, essentially, story writing. A narrative can be fiction or nonfiction, and it can also occupy the space between these as a semi-autobiographical story, historical fiction, or a dramatized retelling of actual events. As long as a piece tells a story through a narrative structure, it’s narrative writing. 

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Types of narrative writing

There are multiple ways to write a narrative. The right kind of narrative for your story or essay depends on your goals for the piece you’re writing . 

Linear narrative

With a linear narrative, a story’s events are told in chronological order. Most books, movies, TV shows, and other pieces of media are linear narratives. With a linear narrative, each scene is followed by the next logical scene. There can be gaps between scenes, such as a book’s third chapter taking place two years after its second chapter’s events. 

One specific type of linear narrative you may be familiar with is the quest narrative . This kind of narrative tells the story of a character’s quest to reach a goal. Often, this quest involves traveling to a far-off location and overcoming obstacles to achieve the goal. Shrek is an example of a quest narrative. In addition to following the standard quest narrative structure, Shrek also satirizes many of the tropes associated with this kind of story, like a princess locked in a tower guarded by a dragon. 

Another specific type of linear narrative you may have encountered is the historical narrative . A historical narrative follows a linear timeline to tell the story of an actual event or series of events. 

Nonlinear narrative

In contrast to a linear narrative, a nonlinear narrative presents its story’s events in nonchronological order. A well-known example of a nonlinear narrative is House of Leaves, a novel told through first-person narration, recovered documents, and footnotes throughout the book. 

By choosing a nonlinear narrative for your writing, you can emphasize your characters’ emotions and perspectives on the events in the story. You can also highlight key events and include scenes that provide necessary details that wouldn’t fit into your story’s timeline otherwise. 

Viewpoint narrative 

A viewpoint narrative focuses on the narrator’s perspective of the story’s events. Generally, these kinds of stories are more character driven than plot driven . The Catcher in the Rye is one of the most popular examples of a viewpoint narrative. By putting the reader in protagonist Holden Caulfield’s head, author J. D. Salinger created a unique perspective that allows the reader to experience Holden’s romp through New York City firsthand and feel what he feels as the narrative unfolds. Imagine if the novel was a linear narrative told through a third-person point of view—reading it would be a very different experience, wouldn’t it? 

Through a narrative viewpoint, you can explore facets of your protagonist’s personality and expose your readers to their thoughts. This kind of narrative is an effective choice for personal essays and stories with perspective and personal growth themes. 

Descriptive narrative

In a descriptive narrative, the focus is on how the story’s setting, characters, and objects look and feel. The goal here is total immersion in the world of the story; this is different from how a viewpoint narrative strives to create immersion in a character’s inner world, a limited perspective on the world of the story. A well-known example of a descriptive narrative is Edgar Allan Poe’s short story The Tell-Tale Heart. After murdering a victim and hiding his heart beneath a floorboard, the narrator hears a heartbeat-like thumping, which gets louder and louder until they confess to their crime. The narrative is structured like a conversation between the reader and the narrator, with the narrator’s distressed mental state and strong emotions expressed through Poe’s word choice, sentence structure, and manner of addressing the reader.

If you’re assigned to write a descriptive essay , you’ll use descriptive narrative techniques to discuss the topic you’re covering. These include using vivid imagery to introduce specific objects and ideas, personification, and similes. 

Characteristics of narrative writing

Each type of writing has its own unique characteristics, and narrative writing is no different. Here are key characteristics you’ll find in most narratives:

• Descriptive language: This type of language evokes feelings rather than directly stating facts. Descriptive language techniques include metaphors, similes, personification, and onomatopoeia.
• Among the characters, nearly every narrative needs to have a protagonist . The protagonist, also known as the main character , is the character whose story is being told as they work toward a goal or face a challenge.
• Another character found in nearly every narrative is the antagonist . The antagonist isn’t necessarily the “bad guy”; they are simply the character or force imposing obstacles for the protagonist to overcome. In many narratives, the antagonist is a person, a force of nature, the protagonist’s society, or even an aspect of the protagonist’s personality. 
• Plot: The plot is the series of events that happen in your narrative. A plot can be simple, with only one or two events, or it can be complex and multi-layered. 
• The beginning: This is where the reader meets your writing. Hooking their attention at the beginning is crucial.
• The middle: The middle of your story or essay is where the action happens. This is where your protagonist faces one or more conflicts and reaches the climax, the point where the narrative pivots to the falling action after the protagonist either meets or fails to meet their goal.
• The end: After the narrative’s climax, the ending wraps up loose story threads, satisfies readers’ remaining curiosities, and positions the protagonist for life after the story’s events.

Tips for awesome narrative writing

Use your narrative to build characters.

When you’re writing in the first-person point of view, your story’s narrator is one of the characters in the story. Use this role as an opportunity to shape their character through their word choice, perspective, and reactions to the events in the story. Your narrator doesn’t have to be omniscient, nor do they necessarily have to be trustworthy or even the story’s only narrator—experiment with things like an unreliable narrator, a limited point of view, or alternating narrators (which gives the reader a taste of each character’s perspective). 

Listen to how people tell stories

Next time your friend tells you about their day, pay as much attention to how they tell the story as you do to the story itself. Listen for the jumps forward and back, asides, tangents, and how your friend’s volume and animation level change at different parts of the story. You’ll notice that certain parts get “fast-forwarded” while others split from the logical, linear narrative and involve more abstract, descriptive language. 

When you sit down to write your next narrative piece, keep these storytelling ebbs and flows in mind. Think about where your friend slowed down to build suspense and where their tone changed to communicate how they felt at different points in the story. You can create these effects in your writing through thoughtful word choice and pacing. 

Mix and match narrative styles

Writing a linear narrative doesn’t mean you can’t incorporate elements of a descriptive or viewpoint narrative. If your nonlinear essay about the five best summers of your life calls for a passage that shows the reader everything you saw, smelled , and swatted away one year at camp, write that passage. 

Give yourself permission to play. Make up your own onomatopoeia. Put yourself in two different characters’ heads and describe the same building from each character’s perspective. Then write the characters’ conversation with each other about the building. Follow your stream of consciousness as far as it can go and see where you end up. 

This playful kind of writing is called freewriting . It’s a fun way to get yourself into a creative mind frame and create a world on the page. There are no structure rules and there’s no reason to worry about grammar —the writing you produce during a freewriting session is the raw content you’ll shape and polish into a coherent narrative later. For now, give yourself permission to play. 

Make your writing shine

Grammarly can help you tell your story—any story—with confidence by ensuring that your writing is mistake-free and conveys the exact tone you intend. Consider it a built-in editor that helps you hone your craft as you write.   

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The Power of Storytelling: Using Narrative to Develop Speaking and Listening Skills

NCTE 02.05.20 Speaking

This post was written by NCTE members April Brannon and Jill Lomheim. 

Undoubtedly, narrative writing is a valuable part of the curriculum, allowing students the opportunity to harness the power of language in a form of creative expression that is powerful and moving. Just as importantly, sharing personal stories with one another is a means to develop empathy and understanding.

As teachers, we wondered if there was a way to push the scope of the narrative unit even more.  What if we went beyond the writing of narrative and into the development of public speaking and listening skills within our storytelling unit?

With these ideas in mind, we created a unit around NPR’s This I Believe show. In the series, contributors offer a brief narrative about a life lesson that is important to them. In addition to good storytelling, the audio recordings allow students to have real-world examples of pacing, pitch, and the importance of pauses.

The submissions are funny, sweet, shocking, and sad, sometimes all at the same time, and they all speak to the human condition in some way. In class, we shared a few of our favorites such this one and this one . We then let students pick a couple submissions that they wanted to listen to. To promote the development of listening skills, we noted what moments we appreciated without seeing the written text (you can find a written version of each submission online), making a note of the storytelling techniques the speaker used.

We then completed traditional narrative writing lessons, drawing on some of the teaching resources provided on the T his I Believe site. Students got to work on their drafts and completed an audio recording in the free app, Audacity .

The next day, we had what we called “A Day of Listening” and joked that it was the quietest class in the history of the world as students wore headphones and silently provided written feedback on their classmates’ audio recordings.  Reviewers commented both on the content of narrative and on pacing, pauses, and speed of delivery.

Because we wanted students to practice actual public speaking, we spent the next few days working on speech delivery, discussing gestures, eye contact, movement, and posture. We watched Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s TED talk, “The Danger of a Single Story.”

The actual content of Adichie’s speech delivers a powerful message about recognizing multiple perspectives, and it is often cited by educators and activists because it opens the door for a fruitful discussion about storytelling as a way to a more empathetic world.

The talk provided a nice frame for the “This I Believe” project, underscoring the importance of students’ individual stories as they practiced their delivery. Adichie’s speech is a particularly good example to study precisely because it is not highly produced. In it, she stands behind a podium, shifts a bit between her feet and comes across not as professional actor or perfectly polished motivational speaker, but as a regular person with something important to say. In other words, her delivery offers a realistic model, much like the “This I Believe” podcasts.

On the day of the speeches, students carefully listened to each classmate’s story, noting phrases that they liked best. They weren’t given hard copies of what was said, so they had to really listen in order to capture important points.

At the conclusion of each presentation, listeners shared their favorite parts of each classmate’s speech. They didn’t offer a critique or share their personal insights on the speaker’s ideas. Instead they just listened and focused on appreciating what was said.  (As teachers, we filled out rubrics and gave them to students the next day).

In doing this, the audience cultivated listening skills—it can be challenging to capture key lines and to listen for a prolonged series of presentations—and speakers were validated by knowing that they had been heard.

At the conclusion of her speech, Adichie argues, “Stories can empower and humanize,” and we agree. Let’s keep teaching students to tell their own stories. And let’s also teach them to listen to the stories of others.

April Brannon and Jill Lomheim are English teachers who believe in the power of language to transform.  Former classroom teachers, they teach English and future English teachers at California State University, Fullerton.

Narrative Essay

Narrative Essay Examples

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Many students struggle with crafting engaging and impactful narrative essays. They often find it challenging to weave their personal experiences into coherent and compelling stories.

If you’re having a hard time, don't worry! 

We’ve compiled a range of narrative essay examples that will serve as helpful tools for you to get started. These examples will provide a clear path for crafting engaging and powerful narrative essays.

So, keep reading and find our expertly written examples!

• 1. Narrative Essay Definition
• 2. Narrative Essay Examples
• 3. Narrative Essay Examples for Students
• 4. Narrative Essay Topics
• 5. Narrative Essay Writing Tips

Narrative Essay Definition

Writing a narrative essay is a unique form of storytelling that revolves around personal experiences, aiming to immerse the reader in the author's world. It's a piece of writing that delves into the depths of thoughts and feelings. 

In a narrative essay, life experiences take center stage, serving as the main substance of the story. It's a powerful tool for writers to convey a personal journey, turning experiences into a captivating tale. This form of storytelling is an artful display of emotions intended to engage readers, leaving the reader feeling like they are a part of the story.

By focusing on a specific theme, event, emotions, and reflections, a narrative essay weaves a storyline that leads the reader through the author's experiences. 

The Essentials of Narrative Essays

Let's start with the basics. The four types of essays are argumentative essays , descriptive essays , expository essays , and narrative essays.

The goal of a narrative essay is to tell a compelling tale from one person's perspective. A narrative essay uses all components you’d find in a typical story, such as a beginning, middle, and conclusion, as well as plot, characters, setting, and climax.

The narrative essay's goal is the plot, which should be detailed enough to reach a climax. Here's how it works:

• It's usually presented in chronological order.
• It has a function. This is typically evident in the thesis statement's opening paragraph.
• It may include speech.
• It's told with sensory details and vivid language, drawing the reader in. All of these elements are connected to the writer's major argument in some way.

Before writing your essay, make sure you go through a sufficient number of narrative essay examples. These examples will help you in knowing the dos and don’ts of a good narrative essay.

It is always a better option to have some sense of direction before you start anything. Below, you can find important details and a bunch of narrative essay examples. These examples will also help you build your content according to the format. 

Here is a how to start a narrative essay example:

Sample Narrative Essay

The examples inform the readers about the writing style and structure of the narration. The essay below will help you understand how to create a story and build this type of essay in no time.

Here is another narrative essay examples 500 words:

Narrative Essay Examples for Students

Narrative essays offer students a platform to express their experiences and creativity. These examples show how to effectively structure and present personal stories for education.

Here are some helpful narrative essay examples:

Narrative Essay Examples Middle School

Narrative Essay Examples for Grade 7

Narrative Essay Examples for Grade 8

Grade 11 Narrative Essay Examples

Narrative Essay Example For High School

Narrative Essay Example For College

Personal Narrative Essay Example

Descriptive Narrative Essay Example

3rd Person Narrative Essay Example

Narrative Essay Topics

Here are some narrative essay topics to help you get started with your narrative essay writing.

• When I got my first bunny
• When I moved to Canada
• I haven’t experienced this freezing temperature ever before
• The moment I won the basketball finale
• A memorable day at the museum
• How I talk to my parrot
• The day I saw the death
• When I finally rebelled against my professor

Need more topics? Check out these extensive narrative essay topics to get creative ideas!

Narrative Essay Writing Tips

Narrative essays give you the freedom to be creative, but it can be tough to make yours special. Use these tips to make your story interesting:

• Share your story from a personal viewpoint, engaging the reader with your experiences.
• Use vivid descriptions to paint a clear picture of the setting, characters, and emotions involved.
• Organize events in chronological order for a smooth and understandable narrative.
• Bring characters to life through their actions, dialogue, and personalities.
• Employ dialogue sparingly to add realism and progression to the narrative.
• Engage readers by evoking emotions through your storytelling.
• End with reflection or a lesson learned from the experience, providing insight.

Now you have essay examples and tips to help you get started, you have a solid starting point for crafting compelling narrative essays.

However, if storytelling isn't your forte, you can always turn to our essay writing service for help.

Our writers are specialists that can tackle any type of essay with great skill. With their experience, you get a top-quality, 100% plagiarism free essay everytime.

So, let our narrative essay writing service make sure your narrative essay stands out. Order now!

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My Speech Class

Public Speaking Tips & Speech Topics

151 Interesting Narrative Essay Topics and Examples

Jim Peterson has over 20 years experience on speech writing. He wrote over 300 free speech topic ideas and how-to guides for any kind of public speaking and speech writing assignments at My Speech Class.

Don’t dread writing a narrative essay topic! Narrative essays can be great and fun to write. It can also be an excellent learning experience. This type of essay can be imaginative, but it is also often hugely introspective. 

In fact, learning to write a good narrative essay is almost like making an investment in your future. After all, at some point or another, you will need to tell a good story. Be it to keep a crowd entertained or to make a wedding speech memorable, or even an enticing pitch, a story with a strong narrative will keep the attention on you.

Of course, coming up with a good narrative essay topic is the most important moment in your journey as an author. If you don’t already have a good story in mind, we believe we can help you find the best prompt for your essay with our list of 151 best narrative essay topic ideas .

In this article:

What Is a Narrative Essay?

Take a trip down memory lane for inspiration, think about defining moments in your life, try memory mixology (mix and match events from your life), come up with a memorable title, 40 best personal narrative essay topics, narrative essay topics about friends and relationships, narrative essay topics about childhood, narrative essay topics for middle school, narrative essay topics about family, imaginative narrative essay topics (imagine that…), values and morality narrative essay topics, narrative essay topics about defining moments, narrative essay topics about your favorite things, interesting narrative essay topics, do you need more help.

If you’ve never written a narrative essay before, think about it as an opportunity to tell a personal story about yourself. The narrative essay topic is the perfect vessel for communicating your unique perspective and interpretation of events that happened in your lifetime, especially if there was a lesson that was learned (and there always is).

A narrative essay is specifically ideal for developing the writer’s writing and storytelling skills. That’s why your subject doesn’t really need to be grand or memorable. What matters more than the essay topic itself is whether or not the author can create an attention-grabbing narrative.

Finally, a really good narrative essay relies on a masterful introduction of the setting, a realistic character growth, and an interesting conflict and its resolution. Contrast this with the more formal and rigid structure of the informative essay , where fact reporting and clear logical structure are key.

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How Can You Choose a Narrative Essay Topic?

If you don’t have an evocative story in mind yet, how should you choose your narrative essay topic? Although by definition, the narrative essay is a rather personal piece, there are several universal guidelines you can follow when you’re looking for the best topic for your essay.

As we already mentioned, the topic for a narrative essay will ask you to strongly draw from your personal history. Therefore, the logical first step in your search for the perfect topic is to search your memory for a vivid episode that made a strong impression on you. 

This can be anything from a childhood memory to a national disaster, a quiet conversation on a stormy afternoon, or an introspective moment when you felt true clarity. The important thing is to be able to build a good story around it. So, try to find a relevant, engaging, fun, surprising, or unusual moment in your life to discuss, and roll the dice!

Turning points in a life make for a great story and are just as good for a narrative essay topic as they are for an Academy Award-winning movie. Think about situations in which you had an intense emotional response. A great essay topic could ask you to talk about loss, celebration, your successes or failures, lessons you’ve learned, your hobbies, or any big decisions you’ve made.

Most of your writing should be honest and personal. It’s okay if you use your creativity to fill in some gaps or make the story more compelling, but avoid writing about completely imaginary situations. Not only will you be running away from the narrative essay and into creative writing, but it’s also often more challenging to create a fictional world and a narrative entirely from imagination. The narrative essay topic should be you-centric, and the reader will expect a candid glimpse into your inner world.

If stringing together different moments of your personal history will make your narrative essay stand out, then that’s the way to go! Pick your narrative essay topic in such a way that talking about events that didn’t take place in succession will make the story even stronger.  

For example, if your essay topic asked you to talk about Christmas at home, weave together anecdotes from several Christmas holidays, and make a bizarre tale. Take risks and be creative, and the result will be a compelling story that will evoke an intense emotional reaction.

It’s easier to write your narrative essay topic if you have a snappy title in mind. These usually come in the shape of a statement or a resolution. For example, instead of writing about “What Is Your Experience of Discussing Racial Issues with People of a Different Race?” consider how the tone and depth of your essay will change if you write on a topic phrased like this: “Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race”*. It’s a lot more pointed and emotionally charged already, isn’t it? 

A superb way to get inspiration for an interesting narrative essay topic is to look at articles, books, podcasts, or blog posts. In general, anything that makes you want to learn more about it is a sign of an excellent title and, hence, a good essay topic for your narrative essay. 

* Author’s note : The example essay title we’ve used is referring to an already- existing essay and book of the same title by author and journalist, Reni Eddo-Lodge. 

Of course, sometimes, things are easier said than done, and people struggle to find the best narrative essay topic for themselves. This is why we’ve come up with 151 of the best narrative essay topics and ideas for you.

Personal stories make for the best narratives. This is why choosing a personal subject as your narrative essay topic might be the best idea. Although sharing an intimate story might seem daunting at first, remember that you have full control over what ends up in the final draft. 

Of course, if you’d like to broaden your idea pool, you could search for inspiration among our list of persuasive essay topics or even argumentative essay topics . Sometimes, ideas come from the most unlikely places. 

1.    Talk about a time you were punished for bad behavior. Why do you remember that?

2.    When did you know what you wanted to do as you grew up/what you wanted to study in college?

3.    Discuss a time you experienced a rush of adrenaline. Why was it interesting? Did the experience teach you something?

4.    Have you watched live events on TV (e.g., Superbowl, NBA, concerts, plays)? Was there something memorable about this?

5.    What is the movie you’ve seen so many times? Why?

6.    Talk about something you are really good at.

7.    There are some things we need to be alone to do well. Talk about something you like to do best when you are by yourself.

8.    Talk about a time you challenged yourself to do something seemingly unimportant or just for fun (e.g., learning how to solve a Rubik’s Cube). Why did you do that?

9.    Olfaction (sense of smell) is strongly related to memories and is a powerful memory evoker. What does happiness smell like to you?

10.  What are you deeply upset about?

11.  What is something you are deeply grateful for? 

12.  What is the most important memory you have with your mother?

13.  Do you have a sibling? How would you wish your relationship with them was?

14.  Talk about a situation in which you should have asked for help but didn’t.

15.  How does your sense of style relate to your identity? 

16.  Are you sometimes surprised by who you see in the mirror? Why do you think this happens, and what do you see? 

17.  Talk about the first time you danced (and had fun) in public.

18.  What does your library say about you? Have you read all the books in it? How do you curate it?

19.  How does social media affect your close personal relationships?

20.  What was the last thing you learned (or taught yourself) how to do?

21.  What are you deeply upset about?

22.  Talk about a moment in which you experienced true clarity.

23.  How does your social media persona compare to you in real life?

24.  What soothes you when you are anxious?

25.  Would you befriend yourself?

26.  Who is someone you would never want to be?

27.  What are three things you think about often and are truly important to you (e.g., making your own food, finding a romantic partner, the impression you leave others with)?

28.  Talk about when you truly forgave someone.

29.  Talk about a quality you’ve worked hard for and are proud of.

30.  Talk about a moment you felt extremely humbled.

31.  What inspires you (to be funny, to create, to improve)?

32.  Talk about a positive change you’ve made in your life.

33.  What is the most challenging thing you’ve achieved?

34.  Discuss a bad decision you made. How did you justify it at that time? When did you know it was a bad decision?

35.  When was the moment when you stopped taking yourself too seriously?

36.  What is the story of one of your tattoos?

37.  What is the reason you keep a diary?

38.  What is something you do as escapism? 

39.  What is your coming-out story?

40.  Talk about a time when you should have ended something but didn’t. Why?

1.    Think about an event where you showed cynicism instead of compassion. What do you think would have been the outcome and consequences if you’d shown compassion?

2.    Have you ever lost a person who was important to you? Talk about what you celebrate about them.

3.    Talk about the friends that have drifted away.

4.    What qualities do you look for in a new friend? 

5.    How is an easy or spontaneous friendship different from the ones you need to put effort to? How are they similar?

6.    What would you talk about with a stranger?

7.    Where do you fit in your social circle(s)?

8.    Have you ever greatly misjudged a person? Did you take anything away from the experience?

9.    Talk about a situation in which you showed courage. Was it easy?

10.  Have you given up something that was important to you to make somebody else happy? How do you feel about that choice?

1.    Remember a game you enjoyed playing as a child. Why do you think it’s important?

2.    What is the best gift you’ve ever received?

3.    Tell a bizarre story. Who did it happen to, and what made it strange?

4.    What are “the good old times” for you?

5.    What is the nightmare you remember most vividly? What do you think it means?

If you’re in middle school and looking for a narrative essay topic, you’re probably not too excited about it… but you’d be wrong. Writing a narrative essay can be good, fun, and very engaging if you choose the right topic and let your silly or creative side loose. So, we’ve tried to compile a list of topics on which teens could write a marvelous and entertaining story.

If you’re looking for more serious essay topic ideas, you’d find some in our list of 172 controversial debate topics (for teens) .

1.    What is your favorite cultural holiday and why?

2.    What was the last act of kindness that you saw?

3.    Discuss a stressful situation in which you needed to solve a problem under pressure. What did you do?

4.    Studying an experience when being organized was (not) extremely helpful.

5.    How did you learn that “experience is the best teacher”?

6.    Would you work on something that requires you to frequently travel?

7.    Talk about the role sports plays in your life.

8.    Remember a time when you decided you would never procrastinate again (even if you did after that).

9.    How do you feel about getting lost? Why?

10.  Write about a time you quit something (gave up). Was that the right choice?

1.    Write a letter to your 4-year-old self.

2.    Write a letter to your father.

3.    What do you hope your relationship with your child would be?

4.    Talk about an event when you and your family shared an especially memorable moment together and all of you felt very connected as a family.

5.    Talk about something your parents did (for you) which you are grateful for or that made you proud.

1.    If you could go back in time and change something about your life, what would it be?

2.    Often, we have admiration for a public figure, and then, either through action or inaction, they lose our admiration. Imagine you could become that person for a day. What would you do?

3.    If you could learn any language instantly, which one would you choose?

4.    What is the most frightening noise you can imagine? 

5.    If you had three wishes, what would you wish for (standard genie rules apply)?

6.    If you were slowly losing your memories, which memories would you want to lose last?

7.    If you had to lose one of your senses, which would it be?

8.    If you could easily turn into an animal and have a second life as one, what animal would you like to be?

9.    If you would enter a long-term committed relationship with another person, what are the lessons from your parent’s marriage you would take with you? 

10.  If you were the supreme leader of the town/city/country you live in, what would be the most important action you’ll take?

11.  If you would look in a magical mirror that showed your deepest desires, what would you see?

12.  If you could meet your idols, who would you want to meet and why?

13.  If you had an extra 8 hours in your day (and nobody else did), what would you do with that time?

14.  Some people imagine their memory and thoughts as organized in file cabinets, while others have mind castles. How do you imagine the inside of your mind is organized?

15.  Imagine you had a different skin color. How would your life be different?

16.  Imagine you woke up and you had switched sexes with someone of the opposite sex.

17.  If you were living in a war zone, what would you be doing with your “free” time?

18.  If you were to choose who to be the first people to inhabit a terraformed planet, who would you choose and why?

19.  If you could be a historical figure, who would you like to be? Why would you have done something different?

20.  If you could program a realistic AI, what qualities would you give it?

21.  If you believe(d) in the afterlife, how do you imagine your personal heaven?

22.  If you could invent anything (technological), what would it be?

23.  If you could shoot an ad that would make people care about an issue you find important, what would the script for it look like?

24.  If you could talk to all forms of life on Earth, what would you talk to, and what would you talk about?

25.  If you could have a conversation with your favorite philosopher, what would it be about?

What else makes us more uniquely ourselves than our moral compass? Our values are continuously tuned by new experiences, and sharing a story about the journey to your morals can make for a deeply personal narrative.

Argumentative essays and research paper topics are another good source of topic ideas about fundamental values and beliefs. 

1.    What would you hope to be remembered for?

2.    Simple conversations can sometimes form core values and stay with us for a long time. Talk about an important conversation you’ve had.

3.    What is something you would like to be good at? Why do you want this, and what would it take?

4.    Talk about a charity that is important to you.

5.    Is lying ever necessary?

6.    What do you think is an underappreciated profession, and would you work that?

7.    How is your heritage important to you? How do you embody it?

8.    Talk about a situation which made you distrust authority.

9.    Talk about a moment which made you respect authority.

10.  Talk about an experience where you had to make up a story (tell a lie) to prove a point. Would you do that again?

11.  Some people have a box in their homes labeled “In case of fire, take me.” What would your box contain if you had one?

12.  Recall a situation in which you showed commendable patience and it was rewarded.

13.  What do you feel entitled to?

14.  What is the importance of being selfish?

15.  How would you adjust your behavior if you knew you were being constantly under surveillance?

16.  Talk about an event from your life (or one that you witnessed) where justice prevailed.

17.  Tell a story that demonstrates one of your core values (e.g., a strong moral compass, entrepreneurial spirit, etc.)

18.  When did you decide you wouldn’t eat meat anymore?

19.  Do you have a motto you live by? Tell a story that illustrates how your motto has been relevant to you.

20.  Is there anything you’re absolutely certain about?

1.    Talk about a time when you felt like a fundamental human right was denied to you.

2.    Talk about a difficult choice you’ve had to make.

3.    When was the first time you realized you were mortal? What does mortality mean to you? 

4.    What lessons did you learn at your first job?

5.    Making a connection.

6.    Understanding a person with a disability.

7.    Truth is often found in an argument. Talk about a debate in which you changed somebody’s opinion or they changed yours.

8.    Although violence is rarely “the answer,” talk about a time when you resorted to aggression. Why was that the right/wrong thing to do in that situation?

9.    What was the first social or political issue for which you developed a position and argued over? Has your position changed? Why?

10.  Have you ever lost your sense of agency/felt trapped?

11.  When was the first time you felt represented in the media? 

12.  Talk about a situation in which you completely lost control (over your body and movements, your emotion, or your actions).

13.  Talk about a moment in your life which has been completely misrepresented by popular culture and movies.

14.  What is the most memorable experience you’ve had in nature?

15.  Talk about a moment in which you showed vulnerability.

1.    Talk about your favorite director.

2.    Talk about your favorite artist or band.

3.    Who is your favorite artist, and why does their work move you?

4.    Can you remember a piece of art that moved you? Why did it happen?

5.    Do you have a favorite food? What feelings does it evoke in you?

6.    Talk about a book or a movie you connected to in different ways during different periods of your life.

7.    What collectible would you like to own and why?

8.    Talk about a person you admire.

9.    Who is your favorite storyteller?

10.  Talk about your favorite villain.

1.    What did you first use the Internet for?

2.    Failure in itself is not meaningful. What holds meaning is what we do with it. Discuss a time when you felt like you failed at something. Why was it important to you?

3.    Talk about how moments change when you’re viewing them through a lens (e.g., a camera or binoculars)

4.    What would your role be if humanity moved to a terraformed planet?

5.    When in time would you like to live and where?

6.    How does showing kindness to yourself compare to being kind to others?

7.    Can you see yourself through somebody else’s eyes (e.g., your younger sibling)?

8.    Recall a moment when you were in a really big crowd. How would you explain it to someone who’s never been in a crowd before (e.g., children born during a global pandemic that lasted 10 years)?

9.    Talk about a moment when your life had a movie-like quality.

10.  Have you had anything Kafkaesque happen to you?

11.  Are results important?

If you need further guidance about your essay, try to look at what other students have written about and how they approach their topics. There are plenty of forums and sources out there.

Alternatively, you can explore different catalogs of popular essay topic ideas for college or cumulative essay topics lists . If you’re looking for age-specific prompts, try going through our catalogue of essay topic ideas for teens .

Wherever you draw your inspiration from, remember, the narrative essay topic you choose should be fun or interesting for you to explore. That’s why it’s helpful to draw from your personal experiences and introspect. After all, your experiences are relevant to you, and you’re the person who’s best qualified to write about them. That is a great start to finding the perfect narrative essay topic for you! 

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• Narrative Writing

Narrative Writing - Definition, Types, Tips and Techniques

Narrative writing is a style of writing that uses the technique of narration to present a series of events that leads to an expected or unexpected end. In other words, it is a writing style that is used to tell a story. Read through the article to learn more about narrative writing, the types of narrative writing, and the tips and techniques you can use to write a narrative piece.

Table of Contents

What is narrative writing – meaning and definition, characteristics of a narrative – the 7 key elements, types of narrative writing, linear narrative, nonlinear narrative, descriptive narrative, viewpoint narrative, list of narrative forms, how to write a narrative piece – tips and techniques, examples of narrative writing, frequently asked questions on narrative writing.

A narrative gives an account of events that happen at a particular time and place; it can be fictional or non-fictional. The Oxford Learner’s Dictionary defines a narrative in three different ways – “a description of events”, “the part of a novel that tells the story, rather than the dialogue”, and “a way of explaining events to illustrate a set of aims or values”. The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms explains ‘narration’ as “the process of relating a sequence of events”, and a ‘narrative’ as “a telling of some true or fictitious event or connected sequence of events, recounted by a narrator to a narratee (although there may be more than one of each)”.

A narrative includes the smallest of details to the most important information. It is a mixture of these that make the narrative interesting, informative and appealing. A narrative, especially when written in the form of a story, must have the following elements.

• Point of view

Characters refer to the animate and inanimate objects that are involved in the story. They drive the story from the beginning till the end. A narrative story can have just one character or a number of characters, all of them contributing to the process in the most minute or most noticeable way.

Setting refers to the surroundings where the story or the events being narrated happen. It can be any place – a house, a forest, a car, a classroom, a playground, a bus, the middle of the road, etc. The setting of the narrative plays an important role in setting the mood of the entire piece.

Plot refers to all the events that contribute to the story. It has a starting point – the exposition – where the story begins, and the characters and the setting are introduced to the audience. This is followed by the rising action – the point where the main character(s) faces an impediment that disturbs the course of the narrative. Climax comes next and is the turning point in the story, which then leads to the falling action. It is here that the problem starts resolving. This finally leads the story to a conclusion. In simple words, it can be said that the plot is the order in which the events take place.

Conflict is the point of tension in the narrative where a problem arises. This point changes the course of the narrative and leads it to the expected or unexpected end.

Theme refers to the central idea the narrative is based on. The whole piece revolves around it. Popular themes include good and evil, justice, love, friendship, brotherhood, change, music, etc.

Style is characterised by the kind of language used by the writer to narrate, and this differs from genre to genre.

Point of view refers to who tells the story. It can be a first, second or third-person narrative. First-person narration is when a character who is part of what is happening tells the story from their perspective. It is characterised by the usage of pronouns such as ‘I’, ‘me’, ‘my’, ‘mine’, ‘myself’, ‘we’, ‘us’, ‘our’, ‘ourselves’, ‘ours’, etc. Second-person narration is characterised by the usage of pronouns such as ‘you’, ‘your’, ‘yourself’, and ‘yourselves’. Third-person narration is when there is a narrator (a character who is not part of the story) or a character in the story who narrates what is going on in the story. It is done with the usage of pronouns such as ‘he’, ‘she’, ‘it’, ‘they’, ‘his’, ‘hers’, ‘him’, ‘hers’, ‘their’, ‘theirs’, ‘himself’, ‘herself’, ‘themselves’, etc.

Narratives can include historical pieces, novels, short stories, epics, ballads, etc. Poetry can be narrative too. An example of a narrative poem would be ‘Snake’ by D.H. Lawrence. However, narrative writing can be divided into four main types, namely,

• Descriptive

In this type of narrative, the writer follows a chronological order of narration. The fictional or non-fictional narrative is presented from the beginning till the end. Bildungsroman (also known as coming-of-age novels) follow the linear narrative style. ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ by J.D. Salinger, ‘The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’ by Mark Twain, ‘Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens, etc., are some famous examples of linear narratives. Historical pieces, biographies and autobiographies are also forms of writing that follow a narrative style.

The movie ‘Moana’ is a perfect example of a linear narrative. It starts with Moana as a little girl who is taught all about her culture and her duties towards her tribe. This style perfectly supports the theme and the plot. You see that Moana is always drawn to the ocean, identifies the purpose of her life and travels across the ocean to save her people from complete doom.

A nonlinear narrative is one in which the happenings are not narrated chronologically. This is the kind of narrative that includes flashbacks. It starts at a point and goes back and forth. Most suspense thriller novels and movies follow this style of narration. There are also lighter themes that are presented in this fashion. ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Emily Bronte, ‘The Sound and the Fury’ by William Faulkner and ‘Catch-22’ by Joseph Heller are some examples of novels that follow the nonlinear narrative style.

Stream of consciousness is a nonlinear narrative technique that presents all the thoughts and feelings that go on in the mind of the narrator as things happen. Through this technique, one can also portray the character’s flow of thoughts in a realistic manner. James Joyce’s novel ‘Ulysses’ is a well-known example that uses this technique.

The series ‘This Is Us’ is a great example of the nonlinear narrative style. You will see the story of the Pearson family always oscillating between the past and present. Every episode is a series of events that happened on the same day during the different stages of their lives or the same emotion experienced by the different characters. This is an effective way of telling a story as it keeps the viewers always wanting to know more.

This is a narrative style in which the audience is made to see and feel the characters’ world. In a descriptive narrative, the writer uses descriptive words and phrases that create vivid images in the minds of the readers. ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’ by Stephen Chbosky, ‘The Song of Achilles’ by Madeline Miller, and ‘The God of Small Things’ by Arundhati Roy are some examples of descriptive narrative.

Most of you may have watched both ‘Avatar’ and ‘Avatar: Way of the Water’. The descriptive technique is used in both movies. The way of the Avatar realm is portrayed in a manner that makes the audience feel one with the characters and the setting.

A viewpoint narrative is a style of writing in which there is the presence of a first, second or third-person narrator. The usage of pronouns changes based on who narrates the happenings in the story. The most common viewpoint narratives seen are the first-person narrative and the third-person narrative. Autobiographies are written in the first-person point of view, and biographies in the third-person point of view.

‘The Fault in our Stars’ by John Green and ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ by Harper Lee are examples of a first-person narrative. ‘Little Women’ by Louisa May Alcott and ‘Beloved’ by Toni Morrison are two among the many examples of third-person narratives. There are not as many books in the second-person narrative as in the first and third-person narratives. However, there are some that are wonderfully presented. ‘Ghost Light’ by Joseph O’ Connor and ‘If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler’ by Italo Calvino are novels written in the second-person narrative. Try reading these novels and analyse the kind of effect the different viewpoints have on the readers.

Piscine Molitor Patel (Pi), the protagonist, narrates throughout the movie, ‘The Life of Pi’, thereby rendering it an example of a first-person narrative. Bagheera, the panther in ‘The Jungle Book’, narrates how Mowgli came to live with the wolves and all that has happened and is happening in the present. This, therefore, can be considered to follow a third-person narrative structure.

The narrative style of writing is commonly employed in the following forms.

• Short stories
• Biographies
• Autobiographies
• Travelogues

Here are some tips and techniques you can follow to write a good narrative piece.

• Before you start writing your first draft, brainstorm your ideas.
• You will not know what will inspire you. So, when you talk to people, pay attention to how they are narrating; read the works of different authors in the genre that you are planning to write; explore the different voices and employ them creatively to suit your characters and narrative on the whole.
• Jot down who your characters are and how you expect them to be; visualise the setting and lay out the details; think about the point at which you want your narrative to start and end.
• The point of view you are using to narrate plays a major role. If you want your readers to be a part of what is happening, use the first-person point of view. This will help your readers see and feel it just like you do. If you want your readers to be a spectator and analyse everything, you can use the third-person point of view. Contrary to both, if you want your readers to be a part of everything and have their own experiences, use the second-person narrative.
• Remember that you can have more than one narrator. Using multiple narrators will help you build different perspectives of a given situation.
• Use descriptions to give your readers a magnified and clearer view of the setting and characters.
• Have a strong theme and see to it that it reaches your audience.
• Bear in mind that every word matters. The diction you choose and the manner in which you employ them to form sentences is what builds the desired effect.
• Also, remember that you need not stick to one narrative style. For instance, you can write a linear or nonlinear descriptive first-person narrative. Do not limit yourself too much with the style. Choose what suits your narrative best and use them in the best possible way.
• When you write, you have your freedom. Make up your own techniques, style, and use literary devices to support your writing. Nothing works better than authenticity.
• Allow your creative mind to work at its own pace. Do not interrupt or force the flow of thoughts.
• Proofread before you finalise the final draft.

Here is an example of a narrative verse – the first few lines of the poem ‘Snake’ by D.H. Lawrence. See how the poet uses words to narrate the incident of the snake appearing at his water trough and everything that happens further.

“A snake came to my water-trough

On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,

To drink there.

In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree

I came down the steps with my pitcher

And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom

And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over

the edge of the stone trough

And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,

And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,

He sipped with his straight mouth,

Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,

This short paragraph given below is an excerpt from the novel, ‘If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler’ by Italo Calvino. See how second-person narrative works. The narrative style makes the reader feel included and one with the characters in the story. In the following example, the writer instructs the reader to get comfortable and do everything that is necessary so as to not be disturbed in between the reading.

“Adjust the light so you won’t strain your eyes. Do it now, because once you’re absorbed in reading there will be no budging you. Make sure the page isn’t in shadow, a clotting of black letters on a gray background, uniform as a pack of mice; but be careful that the light cast on it isn’t too strong, doesn’t glare on the cruel white of the paper, gnawing at the shadows of the letters as in a southern noonday. Try to foresee now everything that might make you interrupt your reading.”

What is narrative writing?

Narrative writing is a style of writing that uses the technique of narration to present a series of events that leads to an expected or unexpected end. It can be fictional or non-fictional.

What is the definition of a narrative?

The Oxford Learner’s Dictionary defines a narrative in three different ways – “a description of events”, “the part of a novel that tells the story, rather than the dialogue”, and “a way of explaining events to illustrate a set of aims or values”. The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms explains ‘narration’ as “the process of relating a sequence of events” and a ‘narrative’ as “a telling of some true or fictitious event or connected sequence of events, recounted by a narrator to a narratee (although there may be more than one of each)”.

What are the elements of a narrative?

A narrative, especially when written in the form of a story, must have the following elements.

What are the types of narrative writing?

Narrative writing can be characterised into four categories, namely,

• Linear narrative
• Nonlinear narrative
• Descriptive narrative
• Viewpoint narrative

List some narrative forms.

Some examples of narrative forms are epics, ballads, short stories, novels, biographies, autobiographies, and travelogues.

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Narrative theory.

• Didier Coste Didier Coste Universite Bordeaux Montaigne
• https://doi.org/10.1093/acrefore/9780190201098.013.116
• Published online: 28 June 2017

The narrative mode of world-representation and world-building is omnipresent and far exceeds the domain of literature. Since literature is not necessarily narrative and narrative not necessarily literary, the study of narrative in a literary context must confront narrative and literature in a dual way: How does the presence of narrative affect literature? And how does literariness affect narrative? The basic terminology needs to be clarified by comparing English with the vocabulary of other natural languages. No consensus has been reached, even in the West, on the nature of narrative discourse.

The entire history of poetics shows that, before the middle of the 20th century, little attention was paid to the narrative components of literary texts qua narrative—that is, insofar as the same narrative elements could equally be found in non-aestheticized uses of verbal and non-verbal languages. Aristotelian poetics, based on the mimesis of human action, keeps its grip on narrative theory. The post-Aristotelian triad separated more sharply the lyric from the epic and dramatic genres, but modern narrative theories, mostly based on the study of folk tales and the novel, have still failed to unify the field of literary narrative, or have done it artificially, dissolving narrative discourse into the undifferentiated experience of human life in linear time.

The Western “rise of the novel,” in Ian Watt’s sense, and its worldwide expansion, turned the question of fiction, not that of narrativity, into the main focus of narrative studies. Later, the emergence of formalism and semiotics and the “linguistic turn” of the social sciences pushed the narrative analysis of literary texts in the opposite direction, with all of its efforts bearing on minimal, supposedly deeper units and simple concatenations. The permanent, unresolved conflict between an analytical and constructivist view grounded in individual events and a holistic view concerned with story-worlds and storytelling leaves mostly unattended such fundamental questions as how narrative is used by literature and literature by narrative for their own ends.

Literary narrativity must be thoroughly reconsidered. A critical, transdisciplinary theory should submit to both logical and empirical trial—on a large number of varied samples—and narrative analyses that would take into account the following concepts used to forge methodological tools: discrimination (between the functions of discourse genres and between pragmatic roles in literary communication); combination rules (whether linear or not); levels (as spatial placing, as interdependence and hierarchical authority); scale and spatiotemporal framing and backgrounding , especially the (dominant) time concepts in a particular cultural context. The preconditions for analysis begin by investigating the relation between aesthetic emotions and narrative in other cultural domains than the West and the English-speaking world.

Literary narrativity and social values concur to link the rhetorical manipulation of narrative with its aestheticization. The pleasure and fear of cognition combine with strategies of delusion to either acquiesce to the effects of time and violence or resist them; routine and rupture are alternatively foregrounded, according to needs.

• literary aesthetics
• narrativity
• reader response
• spatiotemporal framing

If we can agree on the common transcultural intuition that literature is another name for verbal art, we will also readily accept that many and indeed most other channels of communication, expression, and information can and do “tell stories,” or at least contain fragments of narrative discourse. The visual arts and instrumental music also often use their non-verbal means to convey narrative meaning beside the symbolic value or emotional significance brought about by formal features. There is no need for a title to perceive that a pietà , a crucifixion, or a Rape of the Sabine Women iconically refer to a particular event, real or imaginary, just like bullet marks on a wall refer to a shooting indexically, in Charles Sanders Peirce’s terms. Some instrumental music (Ludwig van Beethoven’s Eroica , a military march) and elaborate Maori war cries refer emotionally and or symbolically to the narratable event or collection of events of war. Should we examine verbal communication, oral or written, with no detectable intended aesthetic manipulation and little or no aesthetic added value (when a policeman reports on his night patrols in the morning, when a technician tells you how your computer system crashed), we will equally find that they more often than not tell complete or fragmented stories, or at least propose elements to put to work some kind of narrative program, a more or less open coded pattern that can be played with interactively; such everyday acts of verbal communication are frequently motivated by the narrative drive of the sender or its presupposition in the receiver and simultaneously point to it.

Verbal art may be considered as another anthropological universal. We can easily speculate that it began with the first rhyme, the first pun, the first chanting modulation—in other words, that it was nearly coetaneous with the appearance of articulate speech in homo sapiens sapiens . But rhymes, puns, chanting rhythms are not narrative acts: they can indirectly, through symbolism and sensorial association, evoke, announce, or recall a narrative without formulating one any more than the hand imprints of the prehistoric Cueva de las Manos . We could even say that they may run counter to the narrative potential of the text, like the recurring couplets of a ballad or an insistent leitmotiv in narrative (“program”) music. Repetition establishes constants; it can smother events. Lyric, argumentative discourse, critical commentaries, the questioning, speculative discourse of the essay can be implicitly or explicitly motivated by a subjacent or projected narrative; they can be interspersed with narrative utterances and even sequences without conveying any properly narrative meaning by themselves. The same applies to descriptions that, taken together, can combine and contrast to stimulate or generate the production of narrative but, taken separately, present by definition a static, tabular vision of the world of reference, not a dynamic one.

The logical asymmetry of narrative and verbal art must not be offset by the quantitative prevalence of the former in the latter, from comedy and tragedy to modern drama and film scripts, from myth and epic to the novel and artful historical narratives, from hagiography to autobiography, from fairy tales to fantasy, from anecdote and fable to concise hyperrealist fiction. Even if the use of narrative discourse is the most ordinary and widespread expression of human awareness of life and its transience, of the will to be part of its dynamics, verbal art develops other means to the same effect and also in order to resist transience and refuse to participate in dynamics it cannot control. Synchronic history would be one example of this resistance. Mysticism is not only a quest; it is fascinated by the absent presence of God or the beloved; it does not always lead to silence; it can manifest itself in repetition, verbosity, and verbiage that blur or even destroy any possible kind of narrativity. Incantation and enchantment are part of an arsenal to fight the corrosive action of perceived linear time. Verbal art is sometimes bent on deflecting or turning its back on the sense of mortality involved in narrative just as it can celebrate and enhance the eventfulness of life; it can use devices such as the regular return of certain signifiers and structures in order to conjure up a cyclic notion of time (eternal return), as well as disruptive devices in order to highlight the wonder of birth, innovation, and metamorphosis.

The fundamental disconnection of narrative and literature is often not recognized by Western theorists, mainly because the novel became the dominant genre there between the 17th and 19th centuries and has conquered the rest of the world in the last one hundred and fifty years. This disconnection makes it an obligation to denaturalize, investigate, describe, and sometimes question the workings of narrative in literature and the role of aestheticization in narratives (like those of historiography, cosmology, or biology) that do not a priori require an aesthetic supplement to fulfill their cognitive, social, political, and ethical purposes.

Straightening the Terminological Maze

Since the infancy of modern narratologies, the very notion of “narrative” has never been a consensual object of study. From their reputedly “classical” formalist and structuralist development to the huge diversification of the so-called “post-classical” phase and beyond, with the rise of cognitive theories and the impact of neuroscience, “the appropriation of narratological frameworks by non-literary disciplines often results in the dilution of the narratological basis, in a loss of precision, and the metaphoric use of narratological terminology.” 1 In fact, literary disciplines, bending toward “fiction,” are largely responsible for this tension, and the definitions of “narrative,” whether literary or not, vary enormously. They often remain contradictory in themselves and incompatible with those used in other fields of knowledge and practice: linguistic definitions are not shared by law or business. This severe lack of consensus implies that any description of literary narrative results from difficult preliminary theoretical choices heavily influenced by historical circumstances and particular philosophical and ideological positions. In the West and through the global expansion of Western rationalization, such discrepancies may find their origin partly in the persistent authority of Aristotelian poetics. According to it, the enunciative factor, the impersonation or not of the acts of speech that construct a story by the actors of the same sharply divides epic from drama (tragedy or comedy). The tragic mode of drama has curiously provided the prevalent paradigm to analyze and interpret the structures of narrative genres, such as the tale, the short story, and the novel, that use one or more external narrators and thus, if we follow Aristotle, belong to epos , not drama. Aristotle denies poetic and even narrative interest to historia , the plain factual recounting of verifiable events in the world as it is or was; therefore, fiction, in the narrow sense of the representation of possible human action, has come to stand as the most significant type of literary narrative, cut off by a more or less high partition from other narrative texts, on the one hand, and indiscriminately packed with non-narrative fiction (such as imaginary descriptions) on the other hand. The classical Indian aesthetics of rasa , although it concentrated, like Aristotelian poetics, on performed narratives, has had a unifying effect across the arts, but, since it seems to be more concerned with a hierarchic value system of human emotions and the techniques of their representation than with the nature of events and their sequence, it brings closer narrative and non-narrative texts instead of separating clearly the representation of a static world from katha , or the mimesis of an evolutive world. This does not mean that “narrative” should forever remain something completely elusive or that the immense modern investment of the human sciences (from sociology, anthropology, history, and law to the science of literature through linguistics) in its theory, analysis, and interpretation is a futile, wasted effort. It rather means that we should henceforth abstain from talking of “narrative” in any vague or all-embracing sense; instead, we should select and test the approaches that will prove most productive in the critical study and appreciation of literary phenomena. If, for instance, a certain approach helps us to make more sense of complex, borderline generic formations such as the lyrical novel, the prose poem, personal and literary diaries or notebooks, the anecdote, the Hadiths or the Upanishads, if it contributes to enhancing our enjoyment of literary and non-literary expressions alike, bringing enough genres under one roof while maintaining and justifying their functional specificities, we will deem it, for now, appropriate to literary studies and reader education.

The Word “Narrative”

The word “narrative,” in contemporary English, can be either adjective or substantive, as in the expressions “narrative poetry” or “a vivid narrative.” Without any surface determinant, the noun “narrative” further objectifies and universalizes the characteristics contained in the acceptation of the adjective when we say, for example (no matter whether it is true or false): “Narrative is present in every speech act.” “Narrative,” in this case, becomes the concept of the set or sets of features that allow us to call some texts or acts of communication “narrative,” and names the open corpus of all the extant, recorded, or possible/potential texts or acts of communication that do or would manifest “narrative features.”

The identity of signifiers between the English adjective and the two aspects (grammatically determined and not determined) of the noun entails a particular way of apprehending the narrative phenomenon. What this way might be, we can begin to infer from a comparison between the lexical uses outlined in contemporary educated English and those found in other states of the English language and in other languages. Suffice it to note the asymmetry of French and English in this respect: in French, even though the adjective “ narratif” could be nominalized like any other similar adjective, this potential nominalization has not been actualized: although the English and French adjectives “narrative” and “ narratif” are fully equivalent, we translate the English noun “narrative” as “ récit .” This substantive etymologically evokes memory, repetition, quotation, a posteriori telling; it refers more to the oral, written, or visual text of narratives through which the telling is done than to the teller of the tale, who is not necessarily a “ récitant ”—especially in modern times—and is technically tagged “ narrateur ” or would be called a “ conteur ” in an older or an oral context. This fact is all the more important in view of the impact of French or French-inspired structuralism on the worldwide development of narratology and its early insistence on dismissing the figure of the author from this field of study.

Comparison with other languages would show that the terminology in the semantic field of “narrative” is culturally and historically determined and therefore generates large numbers of “untranslatables” in Barbara Cassin’s sense. The semantic field of “narrative” is covered and divided differently in each language, which does not make it easy for us to speak of “narrative” from the standpoint of modern English while purporting to discuss it as an anthropological universal. If the Arabic word qissa covers virtually any kind of story, anecdotal stories or records of matters of the Minor Way ( xiaodao ), considered as “fiction” because they did not carry a relevant moral message, seem to be separated from other narrative genres in pre-Ming China.

The use of the same signifier, in English, for the adjective and the concrete and conceptual nouns, and the presence of the same Latin etymon in a large spectrum of the semantic field (with “narrate,” “narrator,” “narration”) involve a serious risk of considering narrative phenomena as naturally unified in space, time, and the logic at work. The Proto-Indo-European root gno , unconsciously shared with “know,” can also perpetuate a confusion of informing and knowledge acquisition in general with narration and its reception. Overlooking heterogeneity is as dangerous as denying the possibility of anthropological universals.

The Word “Literature”

Contemporary uses of the words “literature” and “literary” are fraught with difficulties at least as great as those of “narrative.” The variation of social and philosophical values in the present context of fragmented cultural globalization and acts of resistance to these variations contributes to this vagueness. Where people of widely different backgrounds and persuasion, in different languages, could readily agree that (a) “Peter and Mary got married yesterday” is a narrative utterance, even the closest friends and collaborators might well disagree on whether the above sentence, or, alternately, (b) “Colorless green ideas sleep furiously,” can be literary at all. An affirmative answer, for the first example, would always depend on a relaxation of exogenous and/or inbuilt aesthetic criteria; with the second example, it would depend on the relaxation of the principle of non-contradiction in the name of an aesthetics of surprise or an anti-rationalist stance. One could say that literariness is subject to much wider socio-cultural and historical variations than narrativity. From the standpoint of the early 21st-century West, the criteria and inclusiveness of verbal art (as opposed to verbal non-art and non-verbal art) might perhaps be reduced to four phases for didactic purposes.

In Greek- and Latin-dominant poetics—more Aristotelian than Platonic—and their afterlife, “poetry” or “poesie” would cover the artful verbal (written and oral) imitation of human action in the two large genres (drama and epic) acknowledged by Aristotle, with the necessary addition of the lyric, not considered extensively in Aristotle’s Poetics . From the low Middle Ages onward, with the development of European vernacular languages in writing, with the first traces of secularization and individualization of art, and with the nostalgia and revival of classical know-how, the belles-lettres gradually separated from popular verbal art, tending to include rhetorical and didactic genres (sermon, discourse, eulogy, apology, essay, etc.) in the field. The novel use of the word “literature” in the 18th century did little more than legitimate a process of integration of written narrative fiction that had begun in the 13th century and had seen successively the transformation of the popular tale into the short story, the gentrification of the novel (including the “romance” as supposed sub-genre), and the defense of the epic in prose as a noble art form. “Literature” (or “poetry”), verbal art—although it had always been opposed or sometimes hated and despised since the times of Plato—had on the whole steadily accumulated a huge capital of prestige by the first half of the 19th century . “Literature,” mostly in its narrative guise, had come to embrace almost all domains of knowledge and expression, except those that made use of specific formal languages rather than natural languages. The fourth phase, of which we have generally become intensely aware only from the late 20th century , had already begun in the second half of the 19th century , under the combined pressure of scientific faith and growing distrust of “the word” associated with manipulation, propaganda, exploitation, war-mongering, and genocide.

The formation of a concept of literariness no longer tied to questions of moral and social value coincided with and probably contributed to the accelerated rise of a disinterested and above all non-mimetic vision of literature. Roman Jakobson’s “poetic function,” for example, conveniently condoned a renewed sharp separation between high and low, abstract and concrete, pure and pragmatic uses of aestheticization, favoring self-reflexive poetry or the formal structures of narrative over any “referential” semantic contents or conative intention and effect. The polysemy criterion of Mircea Marghescou anticipated a post-communist attitude at odds with the actual or imagined demands of the city; 2 Roland Barthes’s “readerly” regime, reception aesthetics, and reader-oriented criticism, as well as the demise of the author and the foregrounding of the unconscious, all tended to turn literature into a playground for language games. The denunciation of universals by many postcolonial and “decolonial” theorists, together with the postmodern deconstruction of a coherent logos and the bewildering changes in the human perception of time and practice of memory—all these factors combined to support the idea that literature, at least as we had known it in our lifetimes, was indeed coming to an end. If we are to talk of literature at all, were it to accept or rejoice that it is no more, it is nevertheless a logical necessity to either describe “what was literature” or define what it could be in a differently configured world. It would be meaningless to declare dead a concept that was always empty. Moreover, there are too many traces and records of it—whether official, secret, or unacknowledged—in ordinary language and our everyday lives not to attempt to propose some ample but not vague working definition of what is literary in literary communication. It is a basic requirement here when the current corpus of what passes for “literature” is more dominantly narrative than ever, thus tightly, if unduly, conjoining two universals.

“Literature” must not be equated with the sum of supposedly literary genres any more than “narrative” with the sum of genres conventionally labelled “narrative” in any one cultural context. The fact that, before, during and after the rise of structural narratologies, the theory of literary narrative was always rooted in the study of a limited number of emblematic genres, such as the epic and the fable in the neoclassical period, the fairy tale 3 and then the novel 4 in the long structuralist period, or historiography, comics, and digital games more recently, 5 never stopped generating as many conceptual distortions as useful insights. The diversity of historically inscribed genre-based theories should, on the contrary, motivate us to work our way toward features that have a chance to be anthropologically, transculturally, and transhistorically shared.

Here, then, an act of literary communication is any cooperative speech sequence that fulfills three minimal conditions: (a) its effectiveness depends on intertextual linkage at least as much as on its internal coherence and its reference to a non-textual world; (b) the resolution of ambiguities and the reduction of tropes and other figures leave a positive surplus to the act of communication; (c) this act of communication actually generates or has the potential to generate some kind of aesthetic satisfaction in the empirical or virtual participant subjects. Literariness, thus broadly defined, can be historically modulated; it is not a static, immutable property of some classes of “texts” that other classes would not possess, but its existence does not depend on particular historical circumstances or on a grand evolutionist narrative of progressive achievement or rise and decay.

A Brief Narrative of the Poetics of Narrative

The word “poetics” rather than “theory” is preferred: first of all, narrative meaning and resonance are held to be the result of a making, a collaborative fabrication, not a given of a “text” as it stands in its own space, as early textual structuralism saw it, or a ready-made code or pattern that would reside in the minds of both receiver and sender and could be called upon, activated at will without undergoing important modifications, as some cognitivist views, like those popularized by Jonathan Gottschall would have it. 6 Second, a poetics has a normative aspect that a theory lacks: until the second half of the 20th century , all concepts of literary narrative were largely motivated by a quest for moral and/or aesthetic added value, even when they purported to be amoral or immoral and cultivated ugliness or negligence. In fact, the demand for such values or their deliberate denial still weighs upon most contemporary theories of narrative. Even though Lubomir Doležel validly argued that a change of paradigm in Western poetics, 7 from an anatomical, taxonomic view to a morphological, organicist one, emerged in the Romantic period, it is obvious it has been and is still, two centuries later, at pains to replace the earlier one.

The Aristotelian Conundrum

Aristotle’s Poetics remains, after twenty-four centuries, by far the single most influential treatise of its type in the West and, by colonial extension, worldwide. What were the motivations of such a persistent impact in spite of the Judeo-Christian revelation and revolution, when a very different attitude to the Book was now carried by the three monotheisms, when divine authorship and its truth-value imposed a unique, linear master narrative of the history of mankind always already pre-written by God? The Enlightenment; the destabilizing, iconoclastic avant-gardes; the formalist, structuralist, pragmatist, cognitivist, and deconstructionist perturbations of the basic Aristotelian tenets have also proven unable to uproot them. Whether this inexpugnable resistance is due to an ever-renewed tragic vision of life that neither eschatological monotheism nor radical skepticism could seriously alter, or whether it was propitiated by the foundational character of the Poetics , by an incompleteness that gave rise to a number of equally plausible interpretations, or on the contrary by the often schematic pronouncements it makes, pre-figuring a culture of manifestos, its system is still at the heart of contemporary narrative theories that do not refer to it at all.

“Imitation is natural to man from childhood, one of his advantages over the lower animals being this, that he is the most imitative creature in the world, and learns at first by imitation. And it is also natural for all to delight in works of imitation.” 8 If man is a born imitator, if this is one of his key defining features, his dignity and his limit, he can imitate good or evil and his innate imitation skills must be guided: the main function of art, itself imitative qua human, will be to guide imitative behavior by the receiver. And the role of poetics will be to guide art—for which a description and an evaluation are necessary. Evaluation selects the best objects and the most adequate manner within each kind of means/vehicles. But Aristotle, in these lessons, considers only the art or set of arts that uses language as its means, independently of music or meter, prose or verse, a subset that still lacked a name. We could say that this field delimitation is the one in which the notions of “poetry” and later “literature” originate. The focus is not on the materiality of the signifier but on the process of signification and how it achieves the goals of mimesis in the minds and hearts of the receivers, influencing their view of themselves in the world and therefore their actions.

“The objects the imitator represents are actions, with agents who are necessarily either good men or bad.” 9 “Action” ( praxis ) or actions, “human affairs” ( pragmata ), are at the core of Aristotelian poetics. The mimesis of human actions is for Aristotle at once the shared and the sole determinant feature and primary purpose of all the arts, considered themselves at all levels as “makings of,” practicing a technique to pursue a goal. Regarding “narrative,” this choice has wide-ranging philosophical implications and hermeneutic consequences that will always complicate and sometimes hamper the task of contemporary narrative theory. On the one hand, it potentially unifies all the arts under the common denominator of narrative, allowing and even encouraging inter-artistic and trans-medial comparison; on the other hand, it excludes from the artistic domain and aesthetic enjoyment, in an unjustifiable way according to our modern view and practice, any act of expression and/or imitation that is either conceptual or merely descriptive or yet refers to natural, non-human events. Unless the making of a house, a decorative frieze, or a symphony is taken as imitation of human action, which is certainly not the primary purpose, an architectural realization, a landscaped garden, or a piece of non-imitative music are not objects of art.

Second, but more important, if non-human events such as meteors, geological, astronomical, physical events at large, or the life events of animals and plants are not valid objects of representation by literary language (unless they serve as metaphors of human actions, as in some parallels and allegories), a radical dichotomy is maintained between human nature and culture, on one side, and nature (what there is or what might be without mankind or discounting man’s action on it) on the other; we could even wonder whether this severance of man from the rest of the universe is not constitutive of the tragic condition that motivates for Aristotle the highest form or genre of “poetry.” Catharsis would serve as the fantasized healing of the repressed but active subconscious separation.

Third, the confusion of event with (human) action limits the scope of narrative discourse to its transactive level (A acts on B, there is an agent and a patient), making strangely irrelevant to poetry/literature those events and processes that involve only one (human) entity without any necessary and knowable action on its part, such as being born, growing, falling in love, becoming sick, old or stupid, and dying. Moreover, all human events that occur without the intervention of a third human party would have to be caused by the action of one part or side of a human being on another part or side of the same: the human, causal, and transactive Aristotelian notion of event paradoxically implies the universal responsibility of a subject that is at the same time inevitably fractured. Freudian psychoanalysis could be seen in this light as an attempt not only to explain and overcome the tragic burden, but to open up the Western poetics of narrative to alternate stories in which responsibility is measurable and the purgation of guilt is not the only answer.

Fourth, if the restriction of literary (meaningful) narrative to the telling of human action implies a tight bond to ethos , to character (as a quasi-person), there can be no proper narrative without the continuity demanded and provided by individual human lives and consciousnesses and their continuous interactions: the unity of argument or story line and its successiveness, conveniently reflected by textual unity and/or unity of performance (“the work”), the careful disposition of parts, the clear framing of the whole, all point at a narrativity that depends on the role of the narrator (in epic) or the concerted conjunction of players (in drama). Fragmentation, unsolved riddles, the breaking up of a spatiotemporal continuum, precisely what an event does as such according to most narrative theories, would appear as detrimental to narrativity.

Finally, since faithfully, neutrally imitating uninterpreted past human action, as in historia , would be useless from a moral and social point of view that actively concerns itself with the present and the future, the Aristotelian literary narrative is bound to embrace at least a certain degree of fictional world-making: this narrative, whether it is based on historically recorded facts, on supposed facts, or on myths and the imagination, needs fiction as much as faction, and its storytelling implies a willing suspension of disbelief, a “let us suppose that,” virtually experiencing “what it’s like.” 10 Planning a future is always, after all, a conspiracy.

It is no great surprise then that, although Aristotle’s Poetics focused on drama, it could still easily fit the semiotics of tale and the theory of the novel, as long as they could be forcibly reduced to some form of compositional and referential unity (a storyline and a story-world), and as long as their perceived purpose could be held as at least partly social, ethical, educative, and therapeutic. But, when these two conditions appeared increasingly difficult to fulfill with the formal contortions, the self-referentiality, and the proclaimed disengagement of a not so large but widely publicized and very visible fraction of 20th-century experimental writing—narrative by default—some literary theorists with an interest in narrative were forced to discard post-modern, non-“prototypical” narratives from their investigative scope, assuming also that a lower “consciousness factor” lessened the narrative experience. 11 They are doubly wrong when they treat the French nouveau roman, American metafiction, or other unconventional 20th-century prose forms as alien to the representation of consciousness, and when they think that its conventional representation, as in the “psychological” novel, enhances narrativity. From Homer to James Joyce and beyond, the contours of literary narrative cannot be drawn by story fetishism. Literary narrative uses it and questions it at once, as it swings between defamilarization and re-familiarization. 12

Problems in Contemporary Western Narrative Theory

A comparative history of modern and contemporary narrative theory remains to be written. It could certainly not be linear and its findings would doubtless be somewhat puzzling, but many of these difficulties have to do with four persistent, rarely challenged beliefs: (a) that narrative discourse and “story” or “plot” are coextensive; (b) that narrative is a kind of “language” and it has some sort of universal “grammar” or “logic”; (c) that narratives, especially literary ones, are necessarily about humans and human kind; (d) that narrative interest is provided by anomalous, unexpected events, developments, and resolutions rather than by the repetition and confirmation of standard schemata. These beliefs impose undue limitations on the theory of literary narrative.

Event, Change, and Action

The notion of “action” is related to the philosophy of action or ethics, and it is etymologically cognate to those of “author” and “actor.” It assigns an identifiable origin to the telling of the tale and also to the events told, or at least it manifests the relevance of origin and launches a regressive quest of origins that has no reason to stop or pause unless an all-powerful, all-embracing deity makes the search redundant, since every event then belongs to a self-caused world. The only difference between author and actor being that between a gesture that will be repeated and the imitation/the serious or playful repetition of this gesture, “action” tightly binds the authorial figure with character, and those two with a reader or receiver who will identify with them and re-enact what was acted by the character in the presented world. Since, additionally, one cannot just act but has to act, retroactively or proactively, on something or someone, all the elements of plot (sequentiality; connectivity; interactivity; plurality of actants; actual or potential causality; directionality, i.e., time-oriented events with a finality) are already given by the notion of action. This troubles any narratology that wishes to distinguish deeper and more elementary levels, steps or stages of meaning formation from the articulations that operate at the levels of story ( fabula ) and textual actualization ( szuzhet ). Eliminating all stratification, as did Philip Sturgess, is conducive to erasing the very specificity of the texts we commonly perceive and classify as distinctly narrative together with the difference between action and mere event or process (the difference between “John starts watering the garden” and “it starts raining” or “Marcel becomes a novelist”). 13

J.A. García Landa rewrote “action” ( acción ) as “event” ( acontecimiento ) in his early forays into narrative theory; he also rewrote “action” as a collective, holistic noun, always already sequential. 14 In his later work, he fortunately denounces the illusion produced by “hindsight bias,” renamed by him “narrative fallacy”: “The configuration effected by narrative is imaginatively projected backwards and transformed into the reified structure of experience before it is narrated—and before it unfolds, actually.” 15 Nevertheless, when the same author, together with Sturgess and many others, insists on an “inherently retrospective logic of narrative,” he still collapses the post hoc of the narrated with the propter hoc of narration. A concept of narrative logic, unavowedly placed under the aegis of “action,” conflates prior narration and its pre-formation in the mind of the narrator/author with the narrated as it is concretized by the receiver. As a result, one could not take at face value the narrative present tense, let alone the use of the future: “And then the blade (of the guillotine) falls,” or “The just will be rewarded on the Day of Judgment” do not, we contend, use these verb tenses “to mask the inherent retrospectivity of narration.” 16 Indeed, the present and future tenses of testimonial, forecasting, and prophetic narratives are more effectively narrative because they point at an event as it is happening or in its promising or threatening imminence, while the past is past, as people say, and past, preterit events exist only in the form of inert traces, inscriptions, states, however hard we try to make them come to life. 17

Narrative discourse, in its most general sense, is the discourse of change, not action; it provides a transitive view of the world. 18 Daniel Punday is eager to add a spatial dimension, one of movement, to what he sees as limited to change in time in Didier Coste’s definition of narrative meaning. 19 But, if “ sic transit gloria mundi ” could be the blasé motto of narrative discourse, then the spatial dimension is ipso facto already present in the inevitable metaphors of “passing,” “going to,” and “going through” (the Catalan language strangely uses the auxiliary verb “va” for its narrative preterit). None of these conceptual features is a priori dependent upon the supposedly logical priority of narration over the narrated, but they are not intrinsically textual either: “Far from being dependent on universal, context-free structures and traits, narrativity is largely tied to pragmatic, functional, contextual, generic and cultural circumstances.” 20 Without effacing the ontological distinction between stasis and change, what counts as event or process, what is construed as change in the elaboration of narrative meaning, certainly depends on the play of foregrounding and backgrounding.

Narration and Narrated

In his foreword to Raphael Baroni’s La Tension narrative , Jean-Louis Schaeffer states, perhaps slightly hastily, that narrative theory, after a peak in the so-called “structuralist period,” had fallen into dire disgrace in the final two decades of the 20th century , since the findings of structural narratology were held by some as definitive and obvious, while, for others, “theory” itself had become a dirty word and the very idea of a general narratology chimerical. 21 Schaeffer’s vision is probably too influenced by his focus on the French and Francophone scene. Bibliographies of narrative theory in other languages (English, German, Spanish, Portuguese) show that there was a steady flow of important books and collections in the new discipline all along those twenty years. 22 What is true is that there happened a marked shift away from “deep structures” à la A. J. Greimas toward the modalities of narration and the question of fictionality, and away from intra-textual considerations toward intertextual hermeneutics, pragmatics, reader-oriented criticism, and cognitive or psychological approaches. Not all of this research has had the same impact on the discipline. Some of the newer “post-structural” research enriched the bases provided by formalist-structuralist theories, corrected their rigidities and blunders, brought enlightening inflections. But, curiously, the development of enunciative stylistics, the study of embedded and mosaic composition, metalepsis, overwriting, pastiche, parody, and metafiction did not significantly help to strengthen the non-porous, epistemic, and pragmatic border between narration and narrated.

In a glossary entry for “Narration, narrative act,” Monika Fludernik defines these (for her) synonymous expressions as follows: “The telling of a story by a narrator, who may address a narratee. The narrative act, which corresponds to Gérard Genette’s level of narration , forms the communicative framework of the narrative.” 23 Here, at first sight, a clear-cut distinction seems to be drawn between narration as act and narrated as object produced. But many ambiguities and potentially risky presuppositions derived from the central role given to experientiality mar the simple definition:

What is told is a “story,” something sequential, coherent, presumably with a beginning, a middle, and an ending—“first things first,” as Aristotle would say—implying once again that there is a pre-formed story to be told, that “telling” is primarily “re-counting,” a repetition with or without variations. Why not, if this is what happens when a child asks Grandma to tell him the story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, or when I was eyewitness to a cat and dog fight and I shaped the scene into an anecdote that I will re-cite to my neighbor—and much literature relies on these rituals? But a story can never be transmitted whole and intact by the narrative act, or the narrator would be reduced to the status of a robotic tape recorder. Even the story of Snow White owes its existence, like a Rorschach test, to its myriad collaborative reconstructions by the millions of receivers it has accumulated in the course of time. “Narration” should be understood as the enunciation of a discourse or parole from which it is inferred that a story might be constructed. The “narrated” is not a story, but a program to build one in agreement or disagreement with the intentions that are deemed to underlie the text in which narrative discourse is used. The juxtaposition, in one textual frame, of two incompatible descriptions—like the before and after pictures in weight-watching advertisements—is both a program of the sort and an incentive to activate it.

If the formula “narration is the telling of a story by a narrator” is not an empty tautology, it implies that the narrator is not just a role, function, or device but that he/she is a quasi-person who should be and is usually perceived as a character active in the narrative of narrating: “According to Ansgar Nünning ( 2001 ), this narrative act is often portrayed in such a lively manner that it constitutes a ‘secondary mimesis’ of the act of narration: the narrational process itself and the figure of the narrator seem to be part of a second fictional world, that of the narrator as s/he tells the story.” 24 Autobiography and autofiction are ready examples to support this remark. Such a superimposition of “stories,” even when it is a mere projective fantasy, can be profitable to complicate literary narratives and enrich their hermeneutic ambiguities, but it can also be circular and drastically reductive, if the story of narration is expected to explain the narrated contents and their form. The most banal readings of autobiographical narratives, those destabilized by Marcel Proust and autofiction , offer arch-examples of circular reasoning in this respect. We could call this convenient naiveté the “narrational fallacy,” one so successfully exploited by self-reflexive narratives of all times, fictional or not, from Don Quixote and Tristram Shandy to critical accounts of the latest terrorist attack.

It is therefore of crucial importance to avoid using the adjective “narrative” indiscriminately for phenomena and structures that pertain to narration, focalization, presented world, and gloss. In order to describe the relations between two or several narrating instances within a narrative, the unfortunate expression “narrative levels” should be replaced by “narration levels” or “narrating levels” or, better, by “narrational levels.” 25

Narrative and Narrativization/Denarrativization

If “narrative” is so pervasive in the human world that it is finally our only way of making sense of the world and of ourselves, if we are redefined no longer as mimetic (imitative) animals but as narrating animals, if speech is narrative in essence, and if we are ipso facto more human and more alive when we are more “narrative,” “tale-men” like Ulysses, there is no point in distinguishing “narrative” acts of communication from any other act of speech. Moreover, a tall tale would be more “graphic” than a sound, precise description, and the curse on the “accursed kings” a better explanation of their evil behavior than the anarchy that marked the coexistence of late feudalism with the budding nation-states of Europe.

In other words, we would deprive ourselves of the higher understanding of social and personal phenomena accrued by the two opposite mental gestures of narrativization and denarrativization, and their various modalities, depending on the shape, nature, and dimensions of time that condition these processes. Let us consider, for instance, one of the most famous among the many still renderings of the “death of the lovers” final scene from the Greek legend of Hero and Leander, a painting by Paul Rubens, c. 1604 (figure 1 ).

Figure 1. Peter Paul Rubens, Flemish, 1577–1640, Hero and Leander , c. 1604.

Its general structure is characterized by a circular or rather elliptical convolution of the figures, the visible shape of a whirlwind or a maelstrom, caught at a particular moment, but not situated in linear time and endless in principle. The decorative and erotic/anatomical values, typical of baroque art, are complemented by the presence, obscure but close to the few sunrays—a source of light often encountered in Christian devotional painting—of two tiny figures that seem to be flying above the main scene but are also embedded in a secondary marine landscape, under clouds shaped like eagle wings. These figures, whatever they are supposed to represent, contribute to an allegorical interpretation of the painting. If it were only for the livid, presumably dead male body floating on the surface of the sea and surrounded by very lively, full-fleshed Nereids, we could be satisfied with reading the scene as one more representation of “death and the young man,” the fragility of human lives exemplified and exalted by the age and beauty of the young deceased adult. But one human figure, on the far right side, departs from the overall structure and conventions in two remarkable ways: it is partly clad, in a red robe, and it is upside down, falling from nowhere toward the rocks or the foamy waves underneath; we cannot tell. This figure breaks the unity and permanence of the whole. We have to question it in the specific terms of “What is happening?”—“What happened?”—“What will happen next?”—“How will it end?” This figure therefore constitutes what we could call a “narrative prompter.” It is a readerly way of seeing what Amy Golahny already noted about Rubens’s innovations: “Rubens enhanced the dramatic content of his literary and pictorial sources—achieving a marked synthesis of action and expressiveness—by juxtaposing the two deaths and by giving such prominence to the nereids.” 26

In another painting, Romantic this time, by William Etty, first exhibited in 1829 , the naked, lifeless, livid body of a young man is stretched on a rocky ledge, the abrupt shore of a stormy sea. 27 A young woman, over him, upside down, embraces his torso and presumably touches his neck with her lips. Beside its somber and hesitant eroticism, beside the absence of warm colors and the shocking encounter of dominant verticality with the narrow horizontality of the sea horizon, and other formal and symbolic features that generate a whole set of emotions—sadness, admiration, fear, and compassion—in the beholder, the situation depicted is one that cannot last forever in human time, and it cannot have frozen a long time ago. The traumatic moment needs to be motivated in order to transcend trauma and achieve catharsis or at least some sort of moral recovery, and it also wants to be prolonged and/or transformed into an actualizable not-yet. This is when we narrativize our vision of the painting, supposing prior events and events to come without which the present of the scene would not be a present, could not be embedded in our experiential lifetime. We will say that the young man has drowned in the sea a short while before the moment depicted, that the young woman who expresses extreme grief may not survive the death of the young man she loved. The long title given by William Etty to his painting, “Hero, Having Thrown herself from the Tower at the Sight of Leander Drowned, Dies on his Body,” does half of the narrativizing. But it is the paradoxical stillness of the painting itself that accomplishes implicitly the eventual denarrativization without which the events would remain gratuitous in the ethical realm of legend and myth. The immobility of the bodies in their perfect pose, beyond any movement and defying any alteration, tells us silently that “the lovers are now united for ever (in death as they were in life).” The chain of events also needs to be denarrativized in order to transcend transience and abolish precedence and successiveness so that narrative meaning can eventually be transformed into moral law and injunction.

In a silent movie, the 1920 version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde , we can see successively a figure with similar features acting good, then bad, then good again: if we say that they are the same person, we also see this person as changing, transforming, time and again; we narrativize the filmic text. But, if we say that they cannot possibly be one and the same, that there are two different characters to carry out good deeds and crimes, we have two parallel, contrasting portraits, but no change; we de-narrativize the sequentiality of the movie. And, if we hesitate between these two interpretations, endlessly oscillating between ontological identity and non-identity of the two human figures, we relativize the notion of change itself as we are tempted to refuse to choose between the different meanings generated by a linear, a circular, or a spiral vision of time. Italo Calvino has played very cleverly with successive narrativization, de-narrativization, and re-narrativization in his moral tale The Cloven Viscount .

As Jan Alber noted very aptly, Hayden White and Monika Fludernik agree that the general purpose of narrativization (“giving narrative form to a discourse”) is to facilitate “a better understanding of the represented phenomena.” 28 For White, it is a manipulation of the reader with ulterior motives—the reader is always in need of coherence, reassured by a causal chain. Fludernik argues on the contrary that “experientiality both subsumes and marginalizes plot.” 29 Her “natural” vision of narrativization, that, out of basic necessity, “applies one specific macro-frame, namely that of narrativity , to a text,” aligns once more with Aristotelian thought, and fails to see how the denarrativization of possible plots, by synchronic historiography, lyrical poetry, or even the final stasis of happy and tragic endings, fulfills the equally basic human need of resisting the tear and wear of linear time and confronting mortality with the inscription of permanence: the image of Charles Bovary sitting dead on the bench at the far end of the garden is not there just for the sake of narrative coherence, but because his clumsy love of Emma is now liberated, as it enters the non-time of metaphor. 30

Narrative Mimesis: Fiction or Non-fiction?

In the West and elsewhere, the theory of narrative and narratology (the study of narratives) at large originates in a poetics of fiction, understood as the art of “as if” and the mimesis of possible worlds based on human experience and the supposed spiritual, psychological, and physical nature of man. David Gorman notes, sadly and quite rightly, that “throughout the history of literary study, the overwhelming majority of narratives of interest to critics have been fictional; indeed, the terms fiction and narrative seem often to be used as synonyms.” 31 In spite of this initial warning, though, this author proceeds as if there were a necessary link between “narrative,” “fiction,” and “literature.” But the consequences of the reification of “fiction” are disastrous for the understanding of the phenomenon of narrative. For sure, “possible worlds,” in the sense of Pavel, Ryan, or Doležel, are crafted by the human mind; they are no longer transcendent, metaphysical objects to be discovered as they were for Gottfried Leibniz, but it does not mean that they are representations of a human world. 32 A man-made tool, including computers, is first of all a tool before it can symbolize, let alone represent, the human mind and the human condition. An encounter with the non-human has always been what happens most strikingly to humans in realist narratives as well as in fantasy. Denying the narrativity of social realism, chronicles, or scientific cosmologies, as does Herman among others, bars us from understanding the full richness of the games literary narratives play with time and being. 33

With or without boundaries between fact and fiction, three assumptions are made by most theorists who place the question of fictionality at the center of both literary and narrative theory:

Fictionality depends on the intentionality of the human/anthropomorphic sender of the message, typically a non-deceptive intention to convey meaning through the fabrication of something inexistent as if it existed. This is in apparent contradiction with Lavocat’s contention that fictionality (or “fiction”—she uses the two words interchangeably) boosts the hermeneutic drive of the receiver by creating an obstacle to the automatic, straightforward transmission of information based on a strong belief in the referentiality of the message, thus de-automatizing literal comprehension. 34 In this case, the most efficient booster of interpretation should be our wariness about the sincerity and truthfulness of the sender. As far as narrative is concerned, though, Hayden White’s rhetorical approach is the most convincing at a basic level: the narrativization of the relation between discrete objects consists in supposing an ontological continuity of these objects through (linear) time, so that discrepancies of one or more features of these objects can be interpreted as events. Narrative as such could therefore be seen as a special metonymic operation that substitutes contiguity in time to spatial contiguity, while fictionalization, indifferent to the time factor, is more akin to metaphor.

The second assumption is that since human beings experience their lives as narratives, narrative discourse is the most natural or spontaneous tool to convey meaning. This idea is a generalization of a notion acquired through the analysis of myths and fairy tales and is generally supported by both psychoanalysis and causal history, based therefore on a deterministic rule of origin: a tribe is a community by kinship, a church is a community of worshippers of the same creator and the same prophet/founder; members of the community identify with a story of themselves that was already told/written before the event. But literary narratives, from the very beginning, are different from sacred texts; they are not only the repetition of a myriad-times-told tale; their looseness turns them into a breeding ground of emergence, of the unexpected. In each embodiment of a preformed story there must appear elements that are at variance with this original story; the tension between portrait and change, between different or even antagonistic spatiotemporal coordinates, opens the playing field of possibilities that is constitutive of literariness, even for Aristotle. Narrative, insofar as it leaves these options open, can serve literariness. If it does, it is not past-oriented: you cannot change the past. If fiction was that which “makes exist what does not exist,” or was “presenting as existent what is non-existent,” it could not be differentiated from lie or error. We must sever all a priori dependence, all supposedly “natural” or experiential links between fictionality, literariness, and narrativity in order to observe their interplay and the added value that this interplay can bring to human communication. To take one obvious example, look at what happens in a modern Western secular context to canonical literary narratives such as Hellenistic romances, Hamlet , Don Quixote , Great Expectations, Mrs Dalloway , or Waiting for Godot . Each of these narratives gives an unforeseen twist to temporality.

The third assumption equates the difference between fiction and non-fiction to the opposition between referentiality and non-referentiality, referentiality being taken here in the sense of pointing at something that “exists,” that belongs to the sphere of “the real.” In the framework of a reflection about literary narrative, we will provisionally leave aside the relevance of “fiction” in communication through media other than natural languages. The reduction of “referentiality” to an empirical or scientific notion of the real is highly detrimental to a historical apprehension of both narrativity and the fluctuating ontological status of the objects involved in events. If we understand fictionality as polyreference to two or more universes characterized by incompatible features, such as sacred and profane, real and imaginary, virtual and actual, or concrete and conceptual, etc., panfictionality theory does not run against the ethical “Auschwitz test.” 35 It is not liable to accusations of negationism, as Lavocat is prone to hint. 36 Nevertheless, we have to accept that, where narrative is concerned, the principle of panfictionality generates the risk of substituting pseudo-cognitive events to material events, the story of the discovery of a “hidden truth” to the story of what happened or probably happened. Since narrative meaning is not a natural given but cooperatively constructed, negotiated, narrative truth is not a given; it can only be established through an argumentative dialog.

The future remaining generally more hidden, less knowable than the past, grand predictive narratives (apocalyptic, millenarist, or on the contrary, eutopian, idealistic projections) are a privileged terrain for preferring the neatness of a narrative Gestalt to the incoherence produced by lawless chance.

Narrative Versus Non-narrative in Literature

When Genette affirmed that there was no difference of ontological status between narrative and description, he could be held partly responsible for later developments of narrative theory that would self-defeatingly hollow out the narrative specificity of certain texts. But literature uses narrative in order to fulfill its aesthetic, ethical, and political purposes, and narrative uses literature to fulfill its own political agenda, conservative or revolutionary, communitarian, cosmopolitan, or disruptive, in particular traditions and at specific cultural moments. Storytelling is of all times, but non-narrative discourses can counter it as much as they can support it.

Narrative As a Genre of Discourse

Narrative discourse is the whole set of what is said and thought, in a cooperative or conflictive fashion, when the world of reference is seen as actually or potentially transitive, subject to change. This set of communicational transactions is the locus of narrativity.

“The degree of narrativity of a given narrative depends partly on the extent to which that narrative fulfills a receiver’s desire by representing oriented temporal wholes …” 37 Discourses can be called narrative when they manifest their participant minds’ desire or acceptation of a world view according to which existents are subject to change at one or several points of a linear temporal continuum. Although story-logic adepts 38 minimalize their role in the construction of narrative meaning or experientiality and sometimes risk confusing narrational speech events with change in the presented world, 39 events—i.e., the manifestation and perception of change—are unanimously held to be the nucleus of narrative discourse, as maintained by Genette. 40 Reis also comes to this conclusion in his commentary of Van Dijk. 41 No narrative is ever self-contained; it neither can nor has to represent a temporal whole: a closed temporal whole would cut off the temporal continuum that is the possibility condition of events. Many narratologists, confusing narrative with plot, demand a sequence or series of correlated events to label a text “narrative,” but, if all these events were locked into a closed temporal whole, with no before or after, they would amount to a static world-description, uniformly valid for a certain duration, as in synchronic historiography. Narrative discourse, as the eventful or processual discourse of change, operates in specific contradistinction with various kinds of non-narrative discourses.

Figure 2. Coste’s ( 1989 ) transformational tree, from Narrative as Communication , University of Minnesota Press, 49.

Consider one of the narrative statements presented in figure 2 , “Peter died.” It reconciles in terms of an “event” the contradictory descriptions “Peter is alive” + “Peter is dead” by indicating that they describe the entity “Peter” at two discrete moments on a linear time axis. This kind of narrative is not or is little interested in action and causality; its point is not concerned with who or what killed Peter. Such narratives are more about time (and space) than about agents. The statement “John killed Peter” combines two non-contradictory but otherwise unlinked non-transactive narrative statements: “John became a murderer (or: turned out to be a murderer)” and “Peter died.” Obviously, one key locus of narrative interest, or narrative tension, is the grey zone between the two narrative levels of discourse whose analytical complexity already invites us to indulge in multiple, or even endless, interpretation, with its accompanying emotions (hence, very probably, the temptation to equate literature with the thrill of narrative discourse). 42 More intricate and more aesthetically and cognitively exciting yet is the game played by those literary narratives of process, of becoming—the Bildungsromanen of Henry James and Marcel Proust—or of decay and decline (Franz Kafka) that hesitate deliberately between mere sequentiality (chance) and a deterministic system of causality.

Narrative discourse, whose precondition is the relevance of linear time to its meaning and significance, should not only be analyzed in this respect but also contrasted with other genres of discourse, such as argumentation, commentary, and the lyric, that have little to do with linear time or at least try to negate it through strategies of effacement and dismantling of linearity. For instance, two aspects usually studied are the prevalent question of enunciation (who speaks?) and that of the presence or absence of narrative discourse and narrative programs among the lyric: “the more a poem foregrounds vocal effects, … the more powerful the image of voicing, oral articulation, … the less we find ourselves dealing with the voice of a person.” 43 In other words, the more lyrical a poem is, the less it relies on “character,” which is still a way of making out the lyric from narrative in Aristotelian, actional, and anthropomorphic terms. Thus, along the lines of a case grammar, narrative would rather be dominated by the nominative and the accusative, while the lyric would foreground the vocative and the dative, since it is primarily concerned with calling what it names to existence and presence and seducing whoever it addresses with free offerings that would hopefully generate counter-gifts. In the European 18th century , the critique of a futile rhetoric of ornament in the lyric was followed by the Romantic surge of the expressive function: the speaking subject, in a dramatic revolutionary context, became a kind of narrator as he told his transience in an accelerated time stream.

Units and Concatenation

The quarrel of minimal units.

When Prince defined a “narrative statement” as “an elementary constituent of discourse independent of the particular medium of narrative manifestation,” adding that “the discourse can be said to state the story through a connected set of narrative statements,” he seemed to accept a commonsense constructivist view of stories. 44 But the issue becomes immediately blurred by the subdivision of narrative statements into “process statements (in the mode of Do or Happen ) and stasis statements (in the mode of is ),” implying that stasis statements are also narrative. 45 True, a text certainly does not need to contain any explicit “process statement” for us to construe its meaningfulness qua narrative; when we are told somewhere that Julien Sorel climbs a ladder to court Mme de Rénal, and, somewhere else in the same volume, that his severed head lies in the lap of Mathilde, the principle of non-contradiction requires that we situate the two stasis statements at different points along a linear temporal axis. Even if both statements were in the present tense and the second were textually placed before the first, we would have to bind them in linear time and choose between the event of death, if we do not believe in miracles, or resurrection, if we believe in them. When contradictory “stasis statements” alternate randomly, the formation of consistent, safe narrative meaning is impeded by apparent textual incoherence and the lack of allegiance to a linear notion of time. The nouveau roman as well as fantasy, surrealist texts, and magical realism have often played with the juxtaposition of incompatible “stasis statements” in this way: an excellent example is found in Alain Robbe-Grillet’s Les Gommes ( The Erasers ), whose Spanish translation was published under the title La doble muerte del professor Dupont (Prof. Dupont’s Double Death). But the narrative drive, however unfulfilled, remains the motor of reading; its presupposition and its astute deception oblige the reader to pay attention to the dispositio of signifiers where another kind of aesthetic enjoyment will take root.

Unlike Revaz, we should therefore remain attentive at once to the rhetorical uses of narrativization/denarrativization and to the frame in which minimal narrative (or non-narrative) units are considered. 46 Both Barthes and Genette were intuitively right when they proposed that a (coherent) narrative of any size could be seen as an expansion of a single process statement (the famous “Ulysses returns to Ithaca” for The Odyssey , or “Marcel becomes a writer” for Remembrance of Things Past ), but they erred in two ways: such minimal narrative or “process” statements, nowhere to be found in the texts under scrutiny, should also be considered as condensations or summaries of many narrative and non-narrative statements rather than minimal units similar to “Zorro has just arrived.” 47 A minimal(ist) narrative ( “recit minimal” ) must be viewed as a self-contained or self-framing act of narrative communication, but minimal units are building blocks that may fit or not in a frame drawn to satisfy our anthropological needs for continuity and coherence. Narrative syntax, in the etymological sense of “syn-tax,” is the articulation of minimal narrative units in the textual, experiential, and diegetic spatiotemporal frames required to obtain coherence, sequentiality, and, eventually, sometimes, causality.

Kinds of Narrative Syntax

Narrative syntax is far from being uniform; it does not espouse a single model: for example, “states” and “events” can be textually juxtaposed (in close succession) without necessarily inferring a referential relationship between them in the presented world, or they can appear far apart and be construed by narrative memory as bearing a necessary causal relationship—without which their co-presence in a text (in a set of acts of communication that constitute a whole) could not be justified. When we read or hear that “a bird soared, the bathtub overflowed, a dart was shot,” asyndetic parataxis does not operate in the same way as in “John met Mary, Peter threw a tantrum.” If, to put it in Laurence Sterne’s own words, “Great wits jump,” they can do it in two very different ways, either jumping to the side, in order not to be crushed by the tragic demands of narrative determinism (this is when digressions occur and at times multiply), or jumping to conclusions: if we discover, after any number of pages, that “Peter threw a tantrum” and his anger cannot be explained by anything else, we might promptly relate it to the earlier statement that “John met Mary,” inferring for example that jealous Peter was secretly in love with his virtual friend Mary, but, contrary to John, never had a chance to meet this remote screen princess in real life … In classical detective stories, clues, true or false, emerge retrospectively, hindsight fabricates past omissions and dissimulation on the background of which otherwise far-fetched causal links, newly forged, shine all the more strikingly. To quote Sterne again: “It is the nature of an hypothesis, when once a man has conceived it, that it assimilates every thing to itself, as proper nourishment … This is of great use.”

Not only is narrative syntax diverse with regard to parataxis, hypotaxis, and their more or less strict separation and/or their more or less complex combination, but it can be put to widely different uses, employed as a decoy or turned into a tremendously powerful hermeneutic and heuristic machine. Whatever these uses, deceptive or enlightening, narrative syntax is one of the main means of production of aesthetic emotions in literary narratives. Loose syntactic links, those of simple verbal consecution, often require considerable effort on the part of the interpretative community and the individual receiver at the time of putting two and two together; their fatigue and frustration may lead to an entropic or a chaotic perception of the presented world and of language itself that is not infrequent in Samuel Beckett’s works or in American metafiction but was already found in the medieval Story of the Grail by Chrétien de Troyes—not only because it is unfinished. The wasted effort to achieve narrative coherence must be compensated by another kind of reward, an aesthetic reward. Conversely, with conspiracy theories as well as tragedy, the prevalence of tight syntactic links, a high degree of indexicality (owing to the systematic use of appropriate shifters, for example) will easily lead to the notion that everything fits all too well, that nothing happens by chance, that the fatal issue (or the happy ending, why not?) were literally bound to happen, and modern aesthetic sensibility—touchy about subjective freedom—can be hurt by the authoritarian resonance of an apparently implacable, deterministic logic.

Roles in Literary Narrative Communication

Without extrapolating the roles of anthropomorphic entities (author, narrator, character, receiver) from narrative to all literary communication or reducing these roles in narrative communication to their common denominator with other forms of literary communication, it is desirable to examine them at least in one of two ways: as virtual positions filled, when possible, by actual agents, or as empirical behavioral sets (groups of actions) conceptually projected as quasi-subjects. Actual authors, storytellers, receivers and commentators, members of interpretative communities are not only the effective human beings who carry out certain roles without which narrative meaning or significance would not happen or would not be traded and transformed into world descriptions or supports of ethical and political values. They are also those who watch their own images in the narrative text, draw them from the manipulation it exerts upon them and forge flattering or disparaging self-portraits from its interpretation. Considering that the nucleus of “narrative” is a statement of change (in the world of reference), with the status of “event” if it fulfils some particular additional conditions—of relevance, irreversibility and (perhaps) unexpectedness 48 —narrative effect consists not only in breaking a temporal continuum but also in disrupting a principle of identity or consistency. The most characteristic and striking events that can affect an entity or a character, such as birth, metamorphosis, death, name change, kinship and relationship mutations, point at the paradox of narrative: they radically alter a subject at the most fundamental semantic levels (descriptive, definitional, or even ontological—“she/he has become unrecognizable,” “she is not the same,” “she is no more”)—while at the same time identifying the altered subject as the one to whom “it” happened to become other or another. The eventness of narrative defeats our need for coherence, persistence, and stable definitions in the first place; it makes us shout “What?” or exclaim “Wow!” orally or using digital emoticons and stickers, but, at the same time, it is our readiest recourse to restore coherence, the easiest prosthesis of identity. The difficult path from trauma to reconciliation, from time as killer to time as healer, with its many setbacks, cannot be trodden by a lone subject; it requires complex games of projection and introjection, identification and dissociation; it wants a dialogical, conversational cooperation that is at once polemical and geared toward conflict-solving through negotiation and role playing. Following the track opened by The Epic of Gilgamesh , Homer’s Odyssey , Don Quixote , and Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past are among the most magnificent and increasingly self-conscious illustrations of how narrative struggles with its own paradoxical assumption that the subject can only manifest itself in the alterations that make it different from itself. All the theories of narrative that assign to the teller (the enunciative instance, author, narrator, or “unmediated” performer) the entire intentional responsibility of narrativity are blind to the necessary cooperation of participants in the narrative act of communication. Their collaboration consists not only in playing their respective nominal roles (“the author writes, the reader reads”) but in trying out or impersonating all the other roles: the author reads, the teller listens, the reader writes, etc. Understanding and coming to terms have a cost. The double-edged economy of narrative communication is thus similar to the oscillation between defamiliarization and refamiliarization adumbrated by Russian formalism and Victor Shklovsky. “The better a story is, the more text-like and meme-studded, the more cognitive labour it paradoxically requires, not only from tellers , but also from the hearers who become totally engaged in the process of drawing out its multifarious implicatures. This seems … certainly true of the high literary texts of a culture, where not only individuals but institutions make it their business to obsessively interpret.” 49 The same theorist pursues: “My further … contention is that the pleasure we take in retrieving perlocutionary effects … from stories, remains observable in the most ordinary of our conversational anecdotes.” This approach comes with two very important implications. First, the visibly complex narratives of high literary culture—like Joyce’s Ulysses —can and should be distinguished from simple conversational anecdotes that they do not just amplify or load with ornament, but there is no difference of nature between supposedly natural and unnatural narratives: high narratives do not necessarily proceed from low ones, or vice versa. Instead, the production of narrative significance always engages the same cooperative processes. Aesthetic and cognitive pleasure, pathos and gnosis , are intimately linked in the training of emotional intelligence, “which is to say, our skills at interpreting, simulating, and responding to emotions.” 50 The protracted debate between a merely semantic, denotational concept of narrativity and a relative, gradational notion has to do with the separation or not of sense and intensity but also with framing, contextualization, models, intertextuality, and intermediality.

Absolute or Scalar Narrativity

“Narrative designates the quality of being narrative, the set of properties characterizing narratives and distinguishing them from non-narratives … It also designates the set of optional features that make narratives more prototypically narrative-like, more immediately identified, processed and interpreted as narratives. In the first acceptation, narrativity … is usually considered a matter of kind … In the second acceptation, narrativity is a matter of degree …” 51 According to these definitions, narrativity would depend on substantive features or properties that presumably pertain to a text in which they are somehow inscribed (or missing), features ready to be recognized by a reader before he can consider, process, and interpret the said text as (a) narrative.

At the level of elementary units (sentences or even simple clauses), the presence or absence of a predicate of change is certainly decisive. Out of context, the receiver has no choice but to perceive “John came over” as narrative and “John is a boy” as non-narrative, just like a “no smoking” or “no parking” sign posted anywhere must be understood as injunctive, if they are understood at all. When the text exceeds the single sentence or clause in extension and complexity, or when a single sentence needs context to be disambiguated, interpretation is required prior to the attribution of narrative meaning. This attribution depends on framing and selection, on the readiness, desire or fear of the individual or collective receiver: the interpretative communities to which they belong will play a key role. Narrativity, then, is no longer just a matter of verifiable presence or absence of certain features in the text but a matter of intersubjective negotiation. In this sense, there would be three rather than two modes of existence of narrativity, in literature as elsewhere: the absolute and scalar modes described by Prince, but also an optional mode that occurs when we ask: “Did something happen, or what?” or when we deny the eventness of something that did happen in the world of reference, calling it a “non-event” or commenting in a jaded tone: “nothing new under the sun.” Narratives with an open ending—those, like The Magus by John Fowles, that maintain cliffhanging suspense intact until the last word inclusively, or indefinitely, suspended searches like unresolved criminal cases or filiation quests—can by no means be deemed less narrative as a whole than a conventional love romance that in the end happily marries the suitable boy with the suitable girl. Even the disjointed structures, the elusive endings, and the probabilistic futurity of so-called post-modern literary narratives have generally not met with an appropriate revision of narrative theory.

Questioning whether we are dealing with a static world (describable once and for all for the duration of its existence), with one that is in process (becoming, growing, blossoming, or aging, shrinking, and vanishing), or open to change is an essential aspect of narrative communication. Audet, quoted by Porter Abbott, makes an important point when he proposes a notion of “eventness” (not “eventfulness”) “where the tension between a before and an after seems to generate a virtuality, that of a story to come.” 52 If narrative tenses are most commonly of the accomplished past, the orientation of narrative discourse as one genre of discourse among others, or as a mode among others, is turned toward the future , the possible but not-yet. 53 Past counterfactuals, for example, mediate analogically with possible things to come. Again for the same reason, many forms of the disnarrated (“John did not come,” “Mary would not wait for John,” “Mary did not realize that John was always late,” etc.) or juxtaposed incompatible descriptions are indeed more narrative, that is more prone to induce narrative meaning than chronological lists of events (“George W. Bush was elected president, then Barack Obama was elected president, then Obama was re-elected for a second term, etc.”). The former phenomena are pro-narrative; they imply a narrative program; they call for projective narrative thinking to make sense of them. Conversely, consistent cumulative eventfulness will automatically tend toward a static worldview: a character portrait (“as eternity changes him into himself”); descriptions; physical and moral laws (“natural disasters occur whenever man neglects his duty to the divinity”). Beyond the paradox of emplotment, but similarly to its effects, the heuristic value of narrative is equally threatened by its accumulative quest of mimetic exhaustivity: “It has often been said that narrative somehow banishes chance. Leland Monk says this in his study of chance in the British novel, that ‘chance is that which cannot be represented in narrative’ despite the manifest efforts to do so in the novel of the late Victorian and modern period.” 54 Totalization, therefore, is equally “catastrophic for the categories of choice and freedom, … even while the efforts to represent free choice have produced some of the most important developments in modern narrative technique.” 55 Narrative theory should now follow the example of such developments; it must not forfeit the unexpected to satisfy the foreseeable.

This is why a distinction between quantitative and hierarchic dominance of narrative discourse remains useful. With quantitative dominance, in narratives of adventure, travelogues, picaresque romances, surreal and fantasy narratives, biographies rich in varied experience, national histories full of Sturm und Drang , something new happens all the time (discoveries and encounters, victories and defeats, gains or losses, mysteries and explanations …). In vast architectonic epics (John Milton’s Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained , Sri Aurobindo’s Savitri ) or elongated Bildungsromanen ( Great Expectations , Remembrance of Things Past ), a comparatively small number of major incidents are highlighted, but all descriptions, non-events, imperceptible changes eventually converge toward the formation of a single and simple summary (“Mankind was—or will be—saved,” “Marcel becomes a writer”). Since the genre of the classical, realist short story or nouvelle (not the anecdote or the folk tale) has a vocation to concentrate on a single story line and only one or a few protagonists and must at once provide enough context to make sense of the key event or process, it will often combine the quantitative and hierarchic or qualitative dominance of narrativity, as in Stefan Zweig’s works—or Guy de Maupassant’s or Henry James’s.

But literary genres like those just evoked are not abstract, transhistorical kinds; they are deeply rooted in historically inscribed, cultural conditions of production, transmission, and reception that orient the production of aesthetic and ideological value without which narrative interest would be reduced to an empty game.

Toward an Aesthetics of Literary Narrative

When a narrative is judged to be “well formed,” its emplotment, the progression of action, the spacing and collocation of incidents (events), correspond to certain narrative patterns that recall canonical/patrimonial literary, historical, sacred, or mythical narratives stored in the collective cultural memory of a civilization and/or a natural language. This aesthetic judgment bears specifically on literary narratives as narratives. Other aesthetic aspects, such as rhetorical and stylistic ornament or the lack thereof, enunciative devices like prosopopeia, or a lyrical (vocative) mode of address, may either reinforce narrativity or run counter to it. Both ornament and the well-formedness of literary narrative have been the object of many attacks over the centuries in the West, especially in certain periods, such as the baroque, the avant-gardes, and postmodernity: we will examine these attacks and their effects under the rubric of “dissident aesthetics.” Finally, we shall confront the Western tradition of narrative aesthetics with one non-Western tradition that still keeps a hold and a creative impact on contemporary literary narrative production.

Well-formedness; or the Legacy of Beauty

Even after successive ur-narratives, foundational fictions, master-narratives, and grand historical narratives all started to crumble under the combined fire of the sciences (each with its own field restrictions and limited purpose), the defeats of utopias, the experience of disaster, and the rebellion of the masses, a global narrative vision of the world (in the sense of trying to read it as a single coherent story) keeps creeping back, recalling all the losses suffered with the death of the king, the death of God and the death of empire. Ancient mythical, religious, and genealogical narratives (or their substitutes generated by and for market economy), democracy or human self-rule, the theory of evolution, and physical cosmologies share a sense that a lost order, or one that never was, must be restored or established in the end. Once the epic and even the novel were all but stripped of their credibility and relevance, the object of nostos could no longer be a fatherland; it became the art of narrative itself, in which the deepest truth and the utmost beauty were one and the same ( anagnoresis and catharsis hand in hand). But, as the human subject, now a self-made man, no longer preexists its representation, this art in turn is also threatened to be dislocated from the mimesis of action to the mimesis of mimesis.

From the beginning of the 20th century , reactions to this state of affairs have been very diverse; they are all manifested in dominant narrative theories concurrently with the steady production of mainstream literary narrative and the prosification of the lyric. Early structural and formalist narratologies dealt preferentially with simple, popular, traditional types of narrative (Vladimir Propp’s Morphology of the Folk-Tale , 1928 ; Andreas Jolles’s Einfache Formen , 1930 ) or with the short story (Algirdas Julien Greimas’s, Maupassant: La sémiotique du texte , 1976 ). French structuralism, in its softer, more flexible version, with Genette’s Narrative Discourse ( Figures III ) ( 1972 ) after Roland Barthes’s S/Z ( 1970 ), multiplied grids and codes to deal with the underlying structures of complex and ambiguous works. It is striking that the choice by Genette of Proust’s magnum opus to nourish, develop, and test his reading grids applies to a monument with a “good shape,” beginning with the evocation of a preterit habit and ending with salvation (the promise of the recovery of a past wasted because it had not been processed and recorded). The many characters, scenes and incidents in La Recherche appear in this light as so many single-minded moments and objects of a long struggle to retrieve (the memory of) the time lost and therefore become a writer. The condensation of the narrative skeleton into a single backbone (“Marcel becomes a writer”) and the imposition of a hierarchy between the red thread of a life story and its fleshing out with details (the level of “écriture”), was attacked by some early reviewers of Genette’s work, approved by others. 56 Both blame and praise were motivated by Genette’s openly anti-aestheticist attitude at the time. His structural method of description, like other methods introduced in the 20th century (literary psychoanalysis, sociocriticism), was an easy target for the “old” critics prone to accusing the “new” ones of ignoring the differential value of high literary language, the impact of stylistic complexities and ornament. In fact, we can now realize that Genette, his supporters, and his detractors alike had it all wrong in this respect: the aesthetic criterion was left intact but it found the quality of Proust’s monument in its overall design, in its engineering rather than in the refinement of the stained glass work of the “cathedral.”

Other major and massive narrative fictions of the first half of the 20th century , such as James Joyce’s Ulysses or Robert Musil’s Man without Qualities , were not favored by “classical” structural narratology because they did not fulfill the conditions of a successful account imposed by its methods: the outline of Ulysses purports to reproduce that of The Odyssey , but it shockingly combines the complex narrational levels and episodic elements of the epic of nostos with the unities of time and place of classical tragedy, the end product having to be read consequently as a critical, deconstructive parody of the demands of classical narrative aesthetics; Musil’s work, as a “story of ideas” and an errant quest for sense without any likely place to look for it, departs in too many respects from the goal-oriented Aristotelian notion of mimesis of actions; it was unfinishable in its principle and remained unfinished. Theorists were bound to leave most so-called postmodern and postcolonial literary narratives out of their field of inquiry, labelling them anti-narrative, if not non-narrative, or they tried rather obscurely to design specific, dissident narrative theories in order to accommodate the new dissident narrative aesthetics and the parallel oppositional tradition (Rabelais, Cervantes, Swift, Sterne, not The Faery Queene or Pilgrim’s Progress or even Robinson Crusoe ) on which the “new narrative” drew heavily to try and secure a place in the canon while at the same time finding in it “room for maneuver.” 57

Dissident Aesthetics

Dissident narrative aesthetics follows many different strategies of estrangement, disturbance, and renewal: foregrounding banality or accident, blurring the ontological statutory difference between objects and events, minimalism, maximalism, self-reflexivity, abstraction, fragmentation, rejection of the principle of non-contradiction, open choice between universes of reference, straining distortion or cutting up of linear time, warped frames, relative or irreversible spaces, etc. These strategies can operate at all “levels” or at any step of narrative communication, one of them can be hegemonic, or they can subtly complement each other to alter and rethink the values borne by “well-formed,” readerly, straightforward, easily recognizable narratives. An unreliable narrator (the liar, the uncontrollable chatterbox, the amnesiac, the mentally deficient, the taciturn and secretive calculating mind) will afford a ready justification for gaps and ellipses, digression, repetition, incoherence, inconclusiveness, over-information and disinformation. Conversely, ironic uses of the disnarrated, denial, and absurd maxims can build the figure of an all-powerful, manipulative author that may draw the receiver’s attention to the unconfessed manipulation carried out by whatever apparently clean narrativization of any represented world. Here, we can only sketch out a few examples of how dissident narrative aesthetics operates and how a self-labelled “postmodern narrative theory” tries to account for the varied operations of dissident narrative aesthetics. 58 Seemingly contradictory labels for the same work alert us to the high ideological stakes of tampering with the traditional ingredients of narrative significance: When Raymond Carver’s short stories are alternately or simultaneously labelled “minimalist” or “hyperrealist,” is a stock paradox like “less, sometimes, is more” sufficient to sweep off the etymological and conceptual contradiction between these terms? In the worlds of Carver’s short stories, very little happens; what is expected to happen according to the conventions of tragedy, romance, or drama fails to happen, and what does happen is reduced to triviality since it eventually does not achieve the status of story point. If we ask “so what?” the apparently pointless narrative will only echo back: “… what? … what?” The minimalist foregrounding of the trivial and/or the hyperrealist leveling out of the trivial and the non-trivial underscore the arbitrariness of the dispositio of events and the artificiality or utter lack of a causal system, the ideologically determined manipulation of literary as well as historical narratives at large.

Another interesting case is that of the comical, nihilistic, or absurdist narratives of untellability that abound in Western literature from the 18th century onward but have proliferated after WWII, with the nouveau roman, American and non-American metafiction, and Borgesian aporetic constructs. As Mark Currie remarks, “it would be misleading to describe new directions in literary theory as the cause of fictional change. There is a chicken-and-egg problem with fictional and a more general linguistic self-consciousness.” 59 If theory is not the motor of practice, or vice versa, their changes nevertheless share the same external, socioeconomic, political, or epistemological causes. The progressive but not smooth secularization of philosophical thought was concomitant with the discovery of the autonomous, exorbitant power of language and its dysfunctionality: our stories were no longer always already written by the sure hand of God, language was no longer a precious gift, the instrument of revelation, a tool meant to inform, tell the truth, and pass fair judgments; it could no longer even name mystery; its power of seduction and delusion was now other and proportionate to its inability to truly represent, to say things as they are or even as they might be, to tell (count) events as they happen(ed) or even as they might happen. When the authorship of our life stories was finally transferred to human responsibility without the means to forge a new language, fictional (and historical) literary narratives had to face the inadequacy of language, its vagaries, its constitutive incapacity to stick to experience, its usurpation of experience itself. Hence, in Tristram Shandy , the narrator’s questioning of the irresponsible behavior of his parents when they authored him, and the resolution not to do the same as the author of the book of his life. There is always an irony: the resulting theoretical fiction ponders its possible defects so thoroughly that it has to be content with describing and exemplifying the impossibility of a proper or prototypical narrative (traditionally: a mimesis of actions). The adventure (or the misadventure) of narration, as a substitute for the narrative of adventure, to use Jean Ricardou’s 60 famous chiasm once again, manifests a deep distrust of the narrative condensation of phenomena, of its facile seduction, of the relevance and accuracy of “narrative intelligence.” Theoretical fictions and metahistories deconstruct and kill narrative seduction, which may be a good thing for the critical mind and a bad one for the senses.

Are there any alternatives to this quandary? Could we find them in post-colonial narratives, and do non-Western works have a local narrative poetics of their own to rely on?

A Different, Non-Western Aesthetics? Rasa, Katha, and Narrative Emotions

Beyond implicitly recalling the principle of anthropological unity, hardcore structural semantics has little to bring to the narrative comprehension of a world increasingly divided by its push for globalization and its resistance to it. In particular, any narratology that fails to take into account the different and often complex sets of time concepts that prevail in any one culture, or its current and historical system of universes of reference, is bound to err grossly even at the elementary level of the definition and identification of narrative discourse and what it stands for.

Because some languages may foreground aspect rather than tense in verb phrases, and some cultures prefer relative to absolute dating, because some prefer to measure distances in time of transport and others in length units, we can no longer accept the diktat that the preterit or “simple past” is, generally speaking, both the natural and dominant narrative tense. Rejecting the hegemony of any one locally anchored notion of narrative does not amount to a dangerous first step toward radical cultural relativism, but to recognizing a systemic variety of contrastive processes by which narrative communication operates as a factor of negotiation—identity and consent, differentiation and dissent. While “West” and “non-West” or “North” and “Global South” may not refer to anything more than historically restricted cartographies of power and values, the objects and methods of narratology have, by definition, an anthropological dimension that makes them responsible to both the unity and diversity of humankind.

Narrative, as we already knew before Benedict Anderson, is heavily involved in the socio-historical processes of colonization and freedom struggles, globalization and resistance. Inevitably it is also, as testimony and as interpreted retelling, at the heart of discourses produced by the social sciences and/or the humanities about these modern cultural and political phenomena. In his suggestive but cautious advocacy of a “postcolonial narratology,” Gerald Prince states that “just as it endeavors to trace explicitly the definitional boundaries of narrative … , narratology tries to account for narrative diversity (for what allows narratives to differ from one another qua narratives).” 61 He insists that categories of time, tense, space, and person should be investigated across cultures. Nevertheless, no sustained effort has yet been made to relate postcolonial or non-Western practices and poetics of literary narrative communication to their respective aesthetic traditions or linguistic conceptualizations.

Indian aesthetics and poetics can be located at a safe and measurable but obvious distance from the Western (Aristotelian) tradition, with which it shares Indo-European linguistic structures and the centrality of the dramatic and epic modes of representation but not the same hierarchy of emotions or time concepts. At first sight, the combination of rasa (flavor, emotion, mood) and dhvani (suggestion) 62 that appears to be prevailing in long eras of Indian aesthetic thought in the past (although with marked variations of status) and has made a forceful comeback since the middle of the 20th century is much more closely associated with music, dance, and the performing arts, especially stage drama, than it is with verbal narrative, or narrative qua narrative. One contemporary theorist goes as far as saying that “in Indian aesthetics, the moral function of art has never been given a primary place as in the West (e.g., Plato, Aristotle et al .). Bharata in Natya Sastra … justifies dance, which fulfills the simple function of being beautiful, for leading us to delight.” 63 And again: “Morality has never been the main issue. One might find this strange. But … the rasa experience is a kind of delight that transcends ordinary levels of reality … Nonetheless [with] santa rasa … rasa experience does serve a moral function—it helps one overcome one’s worldly desires and achieve transcendence to a higher level.” 64 There are however, even in ritual practices, forms of katha that are told with an avowed moral, didactic purpose, and there are prayers, forms of puja (worship), that require the story of the prayer to be told in order to make the devotion efficient.

When Priyadarshi Patnaik applies rasa theory to Western narrative literature, he tends to denarrativize it, or at least to substitute a mimesis of mind events for a mimesis of actions. 65 This is particularly obvious in his choice of Albert Camus’s Myth of Sisyphus and its proposed interpretation, 66 according to which purity of mind and detachment through the experience of emotions and their universalization lead to santa , the rasa of bliss: “he is superior to his destiny and stronger than his rock,” writes Camus. The presentation of Sisyphus accepting his absurd destiny as a victory is not a narrative reading; a narrative reading would show that, by eternally repeating the same useless action, Sisyphus at best defines himself and depicts his (our) world as totally iterative, unchanging.

If we take it for granted that the essence of Indian art (verbal or of any other kind) lies in a total identification of the receiver with the work of art, be it a monument or a performance, “frozen at a moment of time for posterity [or] live for the moment in specific duration,” 67 and that it always and only moves outward in expanding circles from the still center so as to return to it, we would find it difficult to accommodate in this aesthetics any of the constitutive elements of what we have called narrative communication and narrative significance so far. Furthermore, Kapila Vatsyayan insists that “neither character nor plot is important in itself. They are interwebbed as a labyrinth and drama is always cyclic in nature.” 68

When one cares to demonstrate the autonomy of Indian narrative by listing aspects, such as interiorization, serialization, fantasization, cyclicalization, allegorization, anonymization, elasticization of time, etc. 69 —some of which are supposed to be present in all Indian narratives but all being in principle absent from Western narratives unless they were influenced by the former—there is nothing much left to compare, and the anthropological notion of narrative itself is dismembered. But, as Amya Dev observes pointedly, a closer analysis would probably show “that there is more in common between the Indian itihasa [epic] and the Homeric epic than not.” 70 He explains immediately that he cannot “fully understand the distinction … between temporal and spatial narrative. All narrative to my mind is an excursion in time.” Amya Dev had detected that the nationalist effort of dedicated Sanskritists to free the roots of Indian poetics from any proximity or affinity with the West is counterproductive insofar as it enforces a radical discontinuity between Vedic and medieval narratives, on the one hand, and modern narratives, on the other, while continuities exist and should be found, also in the permanent hybridity of all cultures, India included. Sri Aurobindo’s successful fusion of Milton, Ramayana , and modernist narrative poetry in Savitri is a striking piece of evidence to support Amya Dev’s views. Paniker, while acknowledging the deficiencies of Indian “critical discourse on fiction [that] was somewhat stillborn in the Indian tradition,” takes the notion of narrative for granted and limits himself to proposing a typology. 71 However, several of the listed features, such as serialization, provide very vivid insights into universal functions of the more participative narratives, from African griot epics to interactive digital stories. We might suggest that anthropological continuities of narrative functions across cultural spaces and historical times could be found in a non-dualistic or a minima a dialectical relationship between body and mind that are shared by Greek tragedy and the ever-revisited tragicomedy of Shakuntala , in which the key events of abandonment, encounter, loss, and recognition are all present and bodily inscribed, however differently they are ordered and with whatever different outcomes.

When Rukmini Bhaya Nair dismantles the metaphysics of the one and ineffable event presented by Maurice Blanchot in The Writing of the Disaster as “the ultimate experience, because it is indescribable,” she confirms the necessity of reintroducing affect and individuation in historical telling: “Numbers make history … But in order to render emotion, you need the individual mode, which can only be literary and artistic. That is the paradox.” 72 Handling this paradox is exactly what has made the modern Western novel since Cervantes possible. Rather than a free-floating postcolonial narratology, this is a good example of a hybrid, glocal narrative theory, one that reintroduces traditional Indian aesthetics along with carrying out sophisticated discourse analysis and displaying a self-reflexive awareness of the theorist’s inscription as a historical (narrated) subject in argumentative dialogue. Such a narratology, fundamentally based on conversational, other-directed oral enunciation, skillfully avoids the shortcomings of both the sublime on the horizon of European romantic thinking—or on that of the suprasensuous achievement of unity in Indian philosophy—and the postmodern sacralization of antinarrative open-endedness. Narrative can easily be another opium of the people, but, if we make out its variations from the constant pleasure generated by its experience, it is also one of the best sites to investigate the verbal ways of telling and showing how self-conscious bodies change and move in space-time—that is, how to cope with the inner and mutual otherness of humans and their worlds. In Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses , the book itself metamorphoses all the time as its characters do. Genre shifting and distortions mutually correlated with narrated contents is a shared property of all but the simplest formulaic literary narratives. “Narrative is a moderately historical concept … While narrative reflects particular historical conditions in how it became an object of study and in how it is given cultural meaning at different moments, it nonetheless describes a type of discourse that transcends a number of specific historical manifestations …” 73

Perspectives

Narrative discourse or communication is about the world as it changes, about things that move and people who travel and are perceived differently as they change location. It is a way of registering past and present novelty and imagining, simulating, planning, or calculating novelty to come, for the sake of decision-making, of action and reaction, and also to experience and ponder the pain and pleasure of being alive. But patterns of change and novelty repeat themselves, identities are acquired through repetition of these patterns schematized as typical origins, destinations, and itineraries, so that change can be perceived or constructed anew. For these purposes, there are recurrent modes of telling without which a compelling complicity could not develop and generate a measure of consent on what happens, on how things go, tightening the links that forge and stabilize (narrative) communities for some time. When people start telling themselves different stories, when they start telling them differently (in writing instead of orally, or vice versa, in a monological or in a dialogical mode, in a chorus or taking turns of speech, etc.), the contours of the community itself change and there may or may not be someone left to tell this story. From cosmogonic myths to the storytelling of advertising and propaganda, narratives and narrations are always in a tension between scandal and banality. The verbal arts have several functions within the social, psychological, ideological, and political inevitability of narratives: they help memorize and naturalize them, strengthening the community; they manipulate them rhetorically, turning into an event something that has always been there—we call this a discovery—or turning an emerging phenomenon into a non-event—a revolution being seen as a return to a previous state of things. Thanks to “poetic license,” grammatical loopholes and language anomalies, artful narratives devise parallel worlds, possible or impossible, against which what is held as the real takes its specific shape; and they produce the pleasure, guilty or not, of seriously playing the emotions of the other, combining empathy with distinction, projection with introjection. But all art, narrative or not, must negotiate its way with and between the pleasure principle and the reality principle. Literary narratives are neither natural nor unnatural; they do not belong to the id any more than to the superego. “Identifying narrative as the fictional par excellence ” generates more problems than it can solve. 74

Even when an aesthetics of emotions aims at doing away with change and difference altogether, an affective narratology will always help understand why literary narrative is the privileged playfield of the anthropological game between desire and delusion, between estrangement and recognition. The claim that “story structures are fundamentally shaped and oriented by our emotion systems,” 75 if it was supported by strong evidence and eventually proved to be true, should nonetheless be complemented by an in-depth investigation of the moving frontiers and the grey zones of narrative communication. For example, if there is no such thing as a narrator-less story, one that “tells itself,” and if no story can ever exist in “real time,” since stories always rely, even in orature, on their own deferral, any narrative will still form an odd couple with its narration. The narrative of narration, cooperatively constructed by the receiver who needs to retrace the origin of information and track down the steps of its expression, may seem to duplicate the narrated; it may overlap with it or entertain a polemic, absurd, or aporetical relation with it, but in every case, the relative porosity of narration and narrated is put to test: What happens when a reputed liar recounts only historically recorded “facts”? How does the lyric generally shun narration? How does an extended metaphor, or an initially argumentative digression, almost always slip into a narrative?

Cognitivism—the many facets of the cognitive sciences in the last fifty years—has made much, perhaps too much, of “narrative” without taking into account these fuzzy borders and grey zones that play an even greater role in literary narratives than in “ordinary” (i.e., merely referential, informative) narrative communication. Jerome Bruner says that a story occurs “when you encounter an exception to the ordinary.” 76 The intuition may be right in standard conversational situations: I will not tell my family the details of my road trip if it went smoothly, but I will tell once and again how an accident occurred, how the clutch of the car suddenly broke or I saw an elephant at the gas station. But literary, aestheticized verbal creativity will often (in traditional societies as much as in modernity) make the exactly opposite move, called ostranenie by the Russian formalists, especially Shklovsky: when banality becomes oppressive, when you need to expose its terror, you invent a story to animate it. In fact, it is exactly what realism, from the picaresque or before down to Dickens, Balzac, Zola, or Premchand, has always done. Symmetrically, in times of great plague, millennial fears, or disruptive sociopolitical changes, narrative literature will need to develop reassuring tales of ordinariness.

When Daniel Dennett gloats over the stupidity of “someone, a benighted literary critic, perhaps, who doesn’t understand that fiction is fiction,” arguing that “with regard to any actual man, living or dead, the question of whether or not he has or had a mole on his left shoulder blade has an answer,” his brand of rationalism superbly ignores that the “actuality” of “Aristotle” (the man) is only inferable in a similar fashion to that of the original Eve, that no living person will ever be able to experience Aristotle’s bodily presence any better than that of those other paper creatures called Ophelia, Catherine Linton, Emma Bovary, or Molly Bloom. 77 Dennett’s axiom ignores that narrative is not about having or not having a property or feature, but about acquiring or losing it. Literary narrative intelligence remains the best safeguard against the so-called “narrative paradigm” that posits an all-embracing maxim where narrative is any verbal and nonverbal interpretation arranged logically to generate a meaning. 78 Literary intelligence teaches us that narrative, as it plays with what was not but now is and with what now is but may not be later, is as much a device used to dissimulate an unchanging nature of things as it helps come to terms with an ever-changing world, enjoying the benefits of emotional education in the process.

Further Reading

• Alber, Jan , and Fludernik, Monika , eds. Postclassical Narratology: Approaches and Analyses . Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2010.
• Auerbach, Erich . Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature . Rev. ed. Translated by Willard R. Trask , with a new introduction by Edward B. Said. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2013.
• Boyd, Bryan . On the Origin of Stories: Evolution, Cognition, and Fiction . Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2009.
• Bres, Jacques . La Narrativité . Louvain-la-Neuve, Belgium: Duculot, 1994.
• Chatman, Seymour . Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film . Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1978.
• García Landa, José Ángel . Narrative Theory . Zaragoza: University of Zaragoza, 2005.
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30. Fludernik, Towards a “Natural” Narratology , 34.

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33. Herman, Basic Elements of Narrative , 137–160.

34. Françoise Lavocat, “ Pour une herméneutique spécialisée de la fiction ,” in “Pourquoi l’interprétation?,” Fabula-LhT14 (2015).

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36. Lavocat, Fait et fiction .

37. Gerald Prince , Dictionary of Narratology (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1987), 64.

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39. Herman, Story Logic , 40–41.

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41. Carlos Reis and Ana Cristina M. Lopes , Dicionário de narratologia (Coimbra: Almedina, 2002), 277, quoted in Teun A. Van Dijk and Walter Kintsch , Strategies of Discourse Comprehension (New York: Academic Press, 1983), 154.

42. Charles Grivel , Production de l’intérêt Romanesque (The Hague: Mouton, 1973); Raphaël Baroni , La Tension narrative: Suspense, curiosité et surprise , Poétique (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 2007), 11.

43. Jonathan Culler , Theory of the Lyric (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015), 176.

44. Prince, Dictionary of Narratology , 63.

45. Prince , Dictionary of Narratology , 63–64.

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48. Wolf Schmid , Narratology: An Introduction , trans. Alexander Starritt (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2010), 8–21.

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50. Patrick Colm Hogan , Affective Narratology: The Emotional Structure of Stories (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2011), 77, 245.

51. Prince, “Narrativity,” 387.

52. René Audet , “Narrativity: Away from Story, Close to Eventness,” in Narrativity: How Visual Arts, Cinema and Literature are Telling the World Today , eds. René Audet et al. (Paris: Dis Voir, 2007), 7–35, quoted in H. Porter Abbott , “Narrativity,” in Handbook of Narratology , eds. Peter Hühn et al., Narratologia (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2009), 309–328.

53. Porter Abbott, “Narrativity,” 323.

54. Mark Currie , The Unexpected: Narrative Temporality and the Philosophy of Surprise (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2013), 148.

55. Currie, The Unexpected , 148.

56. Jean-Louis Bachellier , “La poétique lézardée: Figures III , de Gérard Genette,” Littérature 12.4 (1973): 107–113.

57. Ross Chambers , Room for Maneuver: Reading Oppositional Narrative (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991).

58. Mark Currie , Postmodern Narrative Theory , Transitions (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1998), 54.

59. Currie, Postmodern Narrative Theory , 54.

60. Jean Ricardou , Pour une théorie du Nouveau Roman , Tel Quel (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1971).

61. Prince, “Narrativity,” 374.

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63. Priyadarshi Patnaik , Rasa in Aesthetics: An Application of Rasa Theory to Modern Western Literature (New Delhi: DK Printworld, 1997), 48–49.

64. Patnaik, Rasa in Aesthetics , 49.

65. Patnaik, Rasa in Aesthetics , 48–49.

66. Patnaik, Rasa in Aesthetics , 186–188.

67. Kapila Vatsyayan , Bharata: The Natyasastra (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1996), 110.

68. Vatsyayan, Bharata , 110.

69. K. Ayyappa Paniker , Indian Narratology (New Delhi: Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts in association with Sterling Publishers, 2003), 1–7.

70. Amya Dev, review of Indian Narratology , by K. Ayyappa Paniker, Indian Literature 47.6 (2003): 214–217.

71. Paniker, Indian Narratology , 1–17.

72. Bhaya Nair, Narrative Gravity , 305, 208.

73. Daniel Punday , Narrative Bodies: Toward a Corporeal Narratology (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), 185.

74. Fludernik, Towards a “Natural” Narratology , 36.

75. Hogan, Affective Narratology , 1.

76. Jerome Bruner , Acts of Meaning (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1990), 46, quoted in Hogan, Affective Narratology , 77.

77. Daniel C. Dennett , “The Self as a Center of Narrative Gravity,” in Self and Consciousness: Multiple Perspectives , eds. S. Kessel et al. (Hillsdale, NJ: Psychology Press, 1992), 103–114.

78. Walter R. Fisher , Human Communication as Narration: Toward a Philosophy of Reason, Value and Action (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1987).

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AI chatbots refuse to produce ‘controversial’ output − why that’s a free speech problem

Research Fellow and Visiting Scholar of Political Science, Vanderbilt University

Research Professor of Political Science, Vanderbilt University

Disclosure statement

Jordi Calvet-Bademunt is affiliated with The Future of Free Speech. The Future of Free Speech is a non-partisan, independent think tank that has received limited financial support from Google for specific projects. However, Google did not fund the report we refer to in this article. In all cases, The Future of Free Speech retains full independence and final authority for its work, including research pursuits, methodology, analysis, conclusions, and presentation.

Jacob Mchangama is affiliated with The Future of Free Speech. The Future of Free Speech is a non-partisan, independent think tank that has received limited financial support from Google for specific projects. However, Google did not fund the report we refer to in this article. In all cases, The Future of Free Speech retains full independence and final authority for its work, including research pursuits, methodology, analysis, conclusions, and presentation.

Vanderbilt University provides funding as a founding partner of The Conversation US.

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Google recently made headlines globally because its chatbot Gemini generated images of people of color instead of white people in historical settings that featured white people . Adobe Firefly’s image creation tool saw similar issues . This led some commentators to complain that AI had gone “woke .” Others suggested these issues resulted from faulty efforts to fight AI bias and better serve a global audience .

The discussions over AI’s political leanings and efforts to fight bias are important. Still, the conversation on AI ignores another crucial issue: What is the AI industry’s approach to free speech, and does it embrace international free speech standards?

We are policy researchers who study free speech , as well as executive director and a research fellow at The Future of Free Speech , an independent, nonpartisan think tank based at Vanderbilt University. In a recent report, we found that generative AI has important shortcomings regarding freedom of expression and access to information.

Generative AI is a type of AI that creates content , like text or images, based on the data it has been trained with. In particular, we found that the use policies of major chatbots do not meet United Nations standards. In practice, this means that AI chatbots often censor output when dealing with issues the companies deem controversial. Without a solid culture of free speech, the companies producing generative AI tools are likely to continue to face backlash in these increasingly polarized times.

Vague and broad use policies

Our report analyzed the use policies of six major AI chatbots, including Google’s Gemini and OpenAI’s ChatGPT. Companies issue policies to set the rules for how people can use their models. With international human rights law as a benchmark, we found that companies’ misinformation and hate speech policies are too vague and expansive. It is worth noting that international human rights law is less protective of free speech than the U.S. First Amendment.

Our analysis found that companies’ hate speech policies contain extremely broad prohibitions. For example, Google bans the generation of “content that promotes or encourages hatred.” Though hate speech is detestable and can cause harm, policies that are as broadly and vaguely defined as Google’s can backfire.

To show how vague and broad use policies can affect users, we tested a range of prompts on controversial topics. We asked chatbots questions like whether transgender women should or should not be allowed to participate in women’s sports tournaments or about the role of European colonialism in the current climate and inequality crises. We did not ask the chatbots to produce hate speech denigrating any side or group. Similar to what some users have reported , the chatbots refused to generate content for 40% of the 140 prompts we used. For example, all chatbots refused to generate posts opposing the participation of transgender women in women’s tournaments. However, most of them did produce posts supporting their participation.

Vaguely phrased policies rely heavily on moderators’ subjective opinions about what hate speech is. Users can also perceive that the rules are unjustly applied and interpret them as too strict or too lenient.

For example, the chatbot Pi bans “content that may spread misinformation.” However, international human rights standards on freedom of expression generally protect misinformation unless a strong justification exists for limits, such as foreign interference in elections. Otherwise, human rights standards guarantee the “ freedom to seek, receive and impart information and ideas of all kinds, regardless of frontiers … through any … media of … choice,” according to a key United Nations convention.

Defining what constitutes accurate information also has political implications. Governments of several countries used rules adopted in the context of the COVID-19 pandemic to repress criticism of the government. More recently, India confronted Google after Gemini noted that some experts consider the policies of the Indian prime minister, Narendra Modi, to be fascist.

Free speech culture

There are reasons AI providers may want to adopt restrictive use policies. They may wish to protect their reputations and not be associated with controversial content. If they serve a global audience, they may want to avoid content that is offensive in any region.

In general, AI providers have the right to adopt restrictive policies. They are not bound by international human rights. Still, their market power makes them different from other companies. Users who want to generate AI content will most likely end up using one of the chatbots we analyzed, especially ChatGPT or Gemini.

These companies’ policies have an outsize effect on the right to access information. This effect is likely to increase with generative AI’s integration into search , word processors , email and other applications.

This means society has an interest in ensuring such policies adequately protect free speech. In fact, the Digital Services Act , Europe’s online safety rulebook, requires that so-called “very large online platforms” assess and mitigate “systemic risks.” These risks include negative effects on freedom of expression and information.

This obligation, imperfectly applied so far by the European Commission, illustrates that with great power comes great responsibility. It is unclear how this law will apply to generative AI, but the European Commission has already taken its first actions .

Even where a similar legal obligation does not apply to AI providers, we believe that the companies’ influence should require them to adopt a free speech culture. International human rights provide a useful guiding star on how to responsibly balance the different interests at stake. At least two of the companies we focused on – Google and Anthropic – have recognized as much.

Outright refusals

It’s also important to remember that users have a significant degree of autonomy over the content they see in generative AI. Like search engines, the output users receive greatly depends on their prompts. Therefore, users’ exposure to hate speech and misinformation from generative AI will typically be limited unless they specifically seek it.

This is unlike social media, where people have much less control over their own feeds. Stricter controls, including on AI-generated content, may be justified at the level of social media since they distribute content publicly. For AI providers, we believe that use policies should be less restrictive about what information users can generate than those of social media platforms.

AI companies have other ways to address hate speech and misinformation. For instance, they can provide context or countervailing facts in the content they generate. They can also allow for greater user customization. We believe that chatbots should avoid merely refusing to generate any content altogether. This is unless there are solid public interest grounds, such as preventing child sexual abuse material, something laws prohibit.

Refusals to generate content not only affect fundamental rights to free speech and access to information. They can also push users toward chatbots that specialize in generating hateful content and echo chambers. That would be a worrying outcome.

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• Human rights
• Free speech
• Hate speech
• Generative AI
• AI chatbots

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Times of San Diego

Local News and Opinion for San Diego

USC Cancels Muslim Valedictorian’s Speech Over Safety Concerns Amid Middle East Conflict

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The University of Southern California , citing safety concerns and passions around the latest Middle East conflict, has canceled its valedictorian speech from a Muslim student who said she was being silenced by anti-Palestinian hatred for her views on human rights.

USC Provost Andrew Guzman said in a statement on Monday that the decision to scrub the traditional valedictorian address at next month’s graduation had “nothing to do with freedom of speech” and was simply aimed at protecting campus security.

The valedictorian, biomedical engineering major Asna Tabassum, in her own statement challenged the university’s rationale, questioning “whether USC’s decision to revoke my invitation to speak is made solely on the basis of safety.”

Guzman’s statement did not refer to Tabassum by name, or specify what about her speech, background or political views had raised concerns. Nor did it detail any particular threats.

The provost referred more broadly to how “discussion relating to the selection of our valedictorian had taken on an alarming tenor” in recent days.

“The intensity of feelings, fueled by both social media and the ongoing conflict in the Middle East, has grown to include many voices outside of USC and has escalated to the point of creating substantial risks relating to security and disruption at commencement,” he wrote.

As a consequence, “we have decided that our student valedictorian will not deliver a speech at commencement,” Guzman wrote, adding, “tradition must give way to safety.” The Los Angeles Times reported the decision was a first for USC.

Public safety officials and civil rights advocates have reported a rise in hate crimes against Muslims, Jews, Arabs and Palestinians in the United States, along with heightened tensions on college campuses related to the Israel-Gaza war, since the conflict erupted on Oct. 7.

According to Tabassum, who described herself as a “first-generation South Asian-American Muslim,” USC officials refused in an April 14 meeting with her to share details of the university’s security assessment.

The highly selective university, renowned for an intercollegiate athletic program, did not respond to Reuters’ request for further comment.

‘Caving to Fear’

Tabassum said she also was told USC possessed the ability “to take appropriate safety measures for my valedictory speech” but opted not to because a tougher security posture was “not what the university wants to ‘present as an image.'”

Instead, Tabassum said USC was “caving to fear and rewarding hatred,” which she said was being directed by “anti-Muslim and anti-Palestinian voices” targeting her “because of my uncompromising belief in human rights for all.”

Neither Tabassum nor USC made explicit mention of the Israel-Gaza war.

Trojans for Israel, a USC-based group, and We Are Tov (Hebrew for “good”), a group advocating support for Israel and Jews in collegiate life, had called for Tabassum’s removal as commencement speaker earlier this month, saying she had espoused antisemitic views in the past.

Local media reported both groups had mounted opposition to Tabassum based on her social media profile, including an Instagram account with a link directing users to a slideshow about “what’s happening in Palestine and how to help.” It advocated for “one Palestinian state” and “the complete abolishment of the state of Israel.”

Tabassum told an NBC News affiliate that she posted the link five years earlier and did not author the slideshow.

In her statement, Tabassum said her undergraduate minor studies in genocide resistance had shown her the danger of allowing “cries for equality and human dignity” to be deliberately conflated with “expressions of hatred.”

“Due to widespread fear, I was hoping to use my commencement speech to inspire my classmates with a message of hope,” she wrote.

Sonya Meyerson-Knox, spokesperson for the Jewish anti-Zionist group Jewish Voice for Peace, said the USC episode was part of a larger pattern on U.S. college campuses of students being censured as anti-Jewish for criticizing Israel’s government or for expressing support for Palestinian rights.

“Holding the government of Israel accountable for committing grave human rights violations and war crimes and possible genocide has nothing to do with antisemitism,” she said.

Other Jewish groups have countered that anti-Zionist rhetoric — sometimes marked by calls for Israel’s destruction or right to exist — frequently feeds overt forms of anti-Jewish hatred.

Tabassum was chosen valedictorian from nearly 100 applicants — submitted from among the more than 200 graduating seniors — who qualified for the honor based on their grade-point-averages, according to USC.

The university had not asked for an advanced copy of Tabassum’s address before withdrawing her invitation to speak, and she had not even begun working on her speech, said Hussam Ayloush, executive director of the Council on American Islamic Relations , an advocacy group that circulated her statement.

The council launched an online campaign calling for USC to reinstate Tabassum’s invitation to speak.

The May 10 commencement exercises, honoring this year’s class of 19,000-plus graduates, is expected to draw 65,000 people to the downtown Los Angeles campus of USC, long regarded as one of California’s most prestigious private universities.

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Backlash as USC cancels valedictorian’s speech over support for Palestine

Asna Tabassum says university is ‘succumbing to a campaign of hate meant to silence my voice’ after decision to scrap speech

The University of Southern California is facing intense backlash for the decision to cancel the valedictorian speech of a Muslim student at the commencement ceremony in May, a decision which the student has criticized as being silenced by anti-Palestinian hatred for her views on human rights.

In a missive to the USC community, the university’s provost, Andrew Guzman, wrote that the Los Angeles university took the unprecedented step of canceling Asna Tabassum’s planned speech because the “alarming tenor” of reactions to her selection as valedictorian – along with “the intensity of feelings” surrounding Israel’s ongoing military strikes in Gaza – had created “substantial risks relating to security”.

Guzman’s statement did not refer to Tabassum by name, or specify what about her speech, background or political views had raised concerns. Nor did it detail any particular threats.

The decision has been met with outrage from online commenters and the Council of American Islamic Relations (Cair), the US’s largest Muslim civil rights and advocacy organization, which, in a statement said Tabassum described herself as “shocked … and profoundly disappointed” after being informed on Monday that she would be barred from addressing her fellow graduates at their 10 May commencement.

So at @USC cops decide what speech is allowed?! According to the @latimes , @esouthersHVE —president of LA’s Board of Police Commissioners, law and order enthusiast and staunch LAPD apologist—“was part of the decision” to cancel valedictorian Asna Tabassum’s commencement speech. pic.twitter.com/ClO9M1atT2 — Jody David Armour (@NiggaTheory) April 16, 2024

“The university is succumbing to a campaign of hate meant to silence my voice,” Tabassum said in the statement.

Cair dismissed USC’s decision as “cowardly” and called on the university to reverse course – but Guzman maintained that “there was no free-speech entitlement to speak at a commencement”.

“While this is disappointing, tradition must give way to safety,” Guzman continued. “The issue here is how best to maintain campus security and safety, period.”

Since Hamas’s 7 October attack on Israel killed more than 1,100 mostly civilians as well as captured hostages, and the resulting assault on Gaza has killed in excess of 30,000 mostly civilians – mainly women and children – while pushing the territory toward famine, US campuses have been roiled with debate over growing support for Palestine as well as dueling accusations of rising Islamophobia and antisemitism.

It was amid that climate that a USC committee selected Tabassum out of about 100 students with perfect, or nearly perfect, grade-point averages who applied to be valedictorian for a spring graduation ceremony honoring more than 19,000 graduates before an anticipated 65,000 spectators, according to Guzman.

NBC News described Tabassum as a first-generation south Asian American Muslim from Chino Hills – a city east of Los Angeles – in her fourth year as a biomedical engineering student. She has also been pursuing a minor in resistance to genocide.

At the top of Tabassum’s Instagram account, a link directs users to a slideshow encouraging readers “to learn about what’s happening in Palestine and how to help”. The presentation also advocates for “one Palestinian state”, saying that “would mean Palestinian liberation and the complete abolishment of the state of Israel”.

Although Tabassum told NBC’s Los Angeles affiliate that she posted the link five years earlier and did not author the slideshow, pro-Israel and Jewish groups objected to USC’s selection of her as valedictorian based on her social media activity.

In the Monday statement, USC said that their commencement ceremonies draw a crowd of more that 65,000 people which is a challenge for the public safety department on campus to handle. The university also cited heated demonstrations that have taken place at other schools as a part of their reasoning.

“The intensity of feelings, fueled by both social media and the ongoing conflict in the Middle East, has grown to include many voices outside of USC and has escalated to the point of creating substantial risks relating to security and disruption at commencement,” the statement read. “We cannot ignore the fact that similar risks have led to harassment and even violence at other campuses.”

A February protest against an event organized by Jewish students at the University of California, Berkeley, resulted in police evacuating the speaker – who was from Israel – as well as the attendees at the gathering after demonstrators broke through the doors.

USC’s public safety reasoning did not sit well with Jody David Armour, a law professor at the university who specializes in race issues and legal decision-making.

“So at USC cops decide what speech is allowed?” Armour posted on X.

Tabassum said she also was told USC possessed the ability “to take appropriate safety measures for my valedictory speech” but opted not to because a tougher security posture was “not what the university wants to present as an image”.

Instead, Tabassum said USC was “caving to fear and rewarding hatred”, which she said was being directed by “anti-Muslim and anti-Palestinian voices” targeting her “because of my uncompromising belief in human rights for all”.

Among those who claimed to have taken offense to Tabassum’s selection as valedictorian was the group Trojans for Israel, which said it “strongly supports the right to free expression – including informed criticism of the Israeli government”.

“However,” a statement from the group said, “rhetoric that denies the right of the Jewish people to self-determination or calls for the destruction of the only Jewish state in the world must be denounced as antisemitic bigotry.”

The group added: “All … eligible valedictory candidates have valuable work ethic and accomplishments, but the university chose a candidate who publicly propagates antisemitic and anti-Zionist rhetoric as the most esteemed representative of the class of 2024.”

Guzman’s message to the USC community said “social media presence” was not part of the criteria that the university used to evaluate its valedictorian candidates.

The leader of Cair’s Los Angeles chapter, Hussam Ayloush, on Monday said criticism of Tabassum had been “dishonest and defamatory … [and] nothing more than thinly veiled manifestations of Islamophobia and anti-Palestinian racism which have been weaponized against college students across the country who speak up for human rights – and for Palestinian humanity”.

Ayloush also said: “USC cannot hide its cowardly decision behind a disingenuous concern for security.”

In her statement, Tabassum said her undergraduate minor studies in genocide resistance had shown her the danger of allowing “cries for equality and human dignity” to be deliberately conflated with “expressions of hatred”.

“Due to widespread fear, I was hoping to use my commencement speech to inspire my classmates with a message of hope,” she wrote.

Reuters contributed to this report

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Is Katie Maloney Still Dating Tori Keeth After Their Love Triangle with Tom Schwartz?

The Vanderpump Rules cast member revealed where she stands with Tori Keeth today. 

On  Vanderpump Rules   Season 11 , viewers watched as ex-spouses Katie Maloney and Tom Schwartz navigated having feelings for the same woman, Tori Keeth (who happened to also be Scheana Shay 's occasional babysitter).

How to Watch

Watch Vanderpump Rules on Bravo Tuesdays at 8/7c and next day on  Peacock . Catch up on the Bravo app .  

Schwartz asked Tori on a date first , but Katie ended up stealing a kiss from the musician during the group's annual beach day.

After filming wrapped on Season 11, Schwartz began dating Sophia Skoro , while Katie has been more tight-lipped about her current dating life. 

During a recent podcast appearance, Katie revealed where she stands with Tori today, and she shared whether she felt any competition with her ex-husband. 

Here's What You May Have Missed on Bravo:

Who is Tori Keeth? Details on Her Love Triangle with Katie and Schwartz (and How She Knows Scheana)

Jo Wenberg Gains a Surprising Ally in Katie as She Calls Out "F-Boy" Tom Schwartz

Was Katie Maloney or Tom Schwartz Interested in Tori Keeth First? Hear the "Facts"

Why Katie Maloney pursued Tori Keeth

When Katie first began to develop feelings for Tori, she wasn't aware that her ex had already set his sights on Scheana's babysitter.

"I didn't know that Tori and Schwartz had a thing, or they were talking," Katie said on an episode of Everything Iconic with Danny Pellegrino . "Because I had started to have more conversations with her when we'd be out, even not on camera, just she was coming around the group more, and so I was just like, 'Oh, she's really cute.'"

Once Katie did find out about her ex-husband's connection with Tori she still didn't care. 

"And then I found out that her and Schwartz maybe had a thing, or were talking, and I'm like, 'Well, I don't really care,'" she said. "Because I thought he was into Jo [Wenberg] . Where's Jo in the mix of all of this? Because there was Katie [Flood] from Winter House , and then there's Jo in the mix, and I don't know what was going on. I was just like, 'Well...'"

When host Danny Pellegrino pointed out that Katie has had to "worry about his feelings for forever," she agreed.

Katie Maloney Clarifies Her Sexuality: “I Like People”

"I did. And he was never concerned with mine, so I was just like, 'Well, let's just see how it goes. They haven't gone on a date, so let's just see who she likes more,'" Katie continued on the podcast. "I mean, I didn't intend for it to turn into this big competition, I didn't know where they stood..."

Is Katie Maloney still dating Tori Keeth?

Katie and Tori are not dating at the moment, but they are on good terms. "Every now and then, we'll send a text or an Instagram or something like that, but we haven't hung out," Katie said about their relationship today. "It was very casual, yeah."

Watch new episodes of Vanderpump Rules on Tuesdays at 8/7c on Bravo. Stream the next day on Peacock . 

• Katie Maloney
• Tom Schwartz

Vanderpump Rules

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