However much I may want to, it’s quite literally impossible to communicate with fictional characters. As an avid reader, I often find myself experiencing an overwhelming urge to warn a character in a novel about forthcoming danger, or advise on a decision. This desire to communicate with fictional characters, shared by countless readers, accentuate a fascinating aspect of our relation with the fictional literary world. These characters, unaware, unaware of our presence, contribute to the compelling nature of these stories. While it is incredibly tempting to think of how many books could be shortened if we could share a few words with the protagonists, doing so would undermine a fundamental reason for why we read.
The inability to engage with fictional characters generates complex reading experiences of empowerment and simultaneous helplessness. As readers, we possess foresight that could prevent disastrous events within the novel, resolve prolonged conflicts, and preserve the life of beloved characters (I would be a completely different person if I could have salvaged my comfort characters). Perceiving the novel with the superiority of a sovereign onlooker allows us to interpret and predict outcomes that fictional characters cannot.We hold a position outside of the storyline and therefore possess knowledge that is independent of any contextual influences, unlike the individuals we wish we could guide. However, holding power without any means of exercise leaves readers in a state of uselessness. There is quite literally nothing we could do to communicate with these characters. We cannot influence invaluable moments, confer with any individuals, or intervene with the deaths that are necessary to develop the storyline. Stories are designed with predetermined sequences only meant to be received by the readers, never altered. From the very moment we choose to accept the position of a reader we comply with the chains that tie us to the limitations of the real world. Our only connection to a novel transcends no further than the realm of an observer.
Although these characters are completely detached from our influence, there’s a beauty in the connotations of their oblivion. Precisely the reason we wish to communicate with these characters is what allows them to captivate us. The structure of stories are crafted so that readers develop a relationship with its characters. Some characters enable sentimental connection through journeys that we feel need to be finished alongside them, prevailing all the complications they faced. Others, those we will neglect having any connection with, we view only in hope they experience the same pain they inflicted onto us. Regardless of our attachment, these characters thrive because of their inability to transcend beyond strokes of ink.
The individuals themselves are fictional, but the emotions and vulnerability we feel when reading of them is real. Joy, despair, frustration, envy, and everything in between. Our emotional ties to characters vivify what otherwise would just be scanning words on a page. Authors use this subtle connection to develop our need to continue reading. We can’t leave these stories unfinished because in disregarding characters we also disregard the emotions we place in them. Consequently, we end up consuming literature until the moment that characters conclude our need to maintain emotional connection. Sometimes, I can read a horribly written novel but find myself reading until the very last page. The need to achieve a closure with characters I connect with can outweigh even the quality of the text. We need to reach some sort of conclusion with the characters we’ve come to care for, resulting in the completion of a novel.
This need for closure can also be applied to our own lives. We feel the need to tie up loose ends and conclude stories to reach our own internal conclusion. This is why we feel a sense of satisfaction when a fictional resolution is reached, because we are also satisfying our own journey derived from the one of a character. Beneath our emotional connection lies a secondhand progression extracted from our own life and makes the story have another layer of deep meaning. We are able to analyze our own lives by observing a character whose story we can relate to but not experience the same losses. While the readers and a fictional character are two separate individuals, they remain intertwined and connected with each other because of the overlap of their lives. Why do we sometimes feel as though we are experiencing the same story alongside the main character? It's because while there are logistical and physical barriers that prevent us from entering fictional worlds, there are no psychological ones. The psychological connection we feel allows for us to live vicariously through the story’s protagonists.
Just for the purpose of humor, let’s imagine that we could communicate with fictional characters. It's tempting to ponder on all the possible ways to alter and abbreviate story elements that do not please us. Our influence on a book could be incredibly liberating for characters who lived through tragic events. However, reading is not meant to be some sort of interactive, rendering a book useless. I could not tell you the amount of times I wanted to strangle Connell into confessing his feelings for Marianne in Normal People (I could eliminate endless amounts of awkward small talk). We all have the characters who we would do anything to simply have one conversation with. It’s frustrating to read a plotpoint we could have prevented if we could communicate with characters. But reducing the plot elements in a story also compromises the depth and complexity of character development. They’re key factors in the very nature of our beloved characters. Connell’s hesitance allows him to realize how big his love for Marianne is. This internal reflection forces him to contemplate on the significance of Marianne in his life. If I were to interfere, not only would both characters probably despise me, but it would disrupt the flow of their development as a couple.
Abbreviation of a novel is not a simplistic filtering of its content, but out-right deterioration. In reality, we would actually be doing more harm than good. There is a reason that the fictional and real worlds find balance through their separation. They work in symphony only when one experiences the other from afar. We would lose the beauty of engagement and meaningful experience of reading. It would not just be how we could affect the characters and their stories. Our interference would disrupt the entire structure of why those characters exist and why we read of them. When the boundaries between the fictional literary world and reality are blurred, it undermines the fundamental purpose of reading.
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