Good Fiction

The list of books I’ve read in my life is extensive. The list of books I count as my favorites is smaller, yet still extensive. But a thought came to me yesterday (while speaking with a friend, actually). The list of books that made me cry is much shorter. And perhaps is a more accurate judge of the elusive title of “good fiction”. Closer, at least, I think.

Now, I don’t intend this to be confused with “well-written” or “with good plot” or anything like that. True, much of what comes under “good fiction” probably does have those characteristics. But then, many books do. The thought that struck me, though, is this… “Good fiction” is that which made an impact on you. Fiction is our way of communicating truth in a more creative way. A book I recently read mentioned the difference between being “truth” and being “truthful”. Nonfiction, historical accounts, those are “truth”. Fiction is, or at least should be, “truthful”—a message of truth in a body that may not be true. Good fiction is that which contains fundamental messages of truth—the ones that remind us of life, death, and what matters in between. Good fiction is that which contains such powerful examples of what’s important to everyone that it touches you deeply. In my case, anything that touches me deeply is very likely to make me cry. The books I’ve read that have small, wrinkled, circular deformations (in other words, tearmarks) on their pages bear some of what I think are the most important themes in human life, history, and mind. Isn’t that what good fiction is? It should teach us, remind us through our wonder and excitement that what holds in the world it describes also holds for us here. Good fiction is that which makes us better, more understanding, kinder people—closer to our own truths—through stories.

You know, stories have always held power. The title of this blog itself is “Truth, Myth, Legend”—commemorating how legend surrounds a seed of truth, and how that seed transforms into a legend. Every culture has its own stories. Since ages ago stories have been used to teach the young their principles. And they still teach older people, in different forms, a constant reminder; they use different images, but many of the messages are still the same. It reminds me of what I just read in Dan Brown’s new book The Lost Symbol, how the ancients knew what people are rediscovering today. The view through the eyes of children, what seems long ago, is often more pure and right than that is seen later in life; things happen, those views get twisted, doubts surface. Stories remain as guideposts from the people that rediscovered it themselves to bring you back on the path, to help you rediscover what you’ve known all along.

And that brings me back to the main subject of this entry. They’re still stories, yes, still fiction, still created by the imagination (or perhaps, as I may discuss in a later entry, recorded by an eye that sees farther than the mind can believe); but they have truth, and power. And good fiction is that which has both the right truth, and the right power. It’s that which reminds you of things forgotten so forcibly that it brings tears to your eyes—tears of pain, tears of remembrance, tears of memory, tears of joy. Good fiction holds at least some of the keys to our search for innate peace.