Story
Wars
May 13, 2003
By The Plaid Adder
What
do the pathetic tale of an unpublished novelist and the 2004
presidential election have in common? More than you would
think. The Democratic hopefuls and yours truly are up against
the same formidable enemy: the American public's taste in
stories. If the Democratic Party wants to unseat Bush in 2004,
it will not be enough to have a better candidate, a better
platform, better debate performances and a better grasp of
reality. What will make the difference is whether the Democrats
can come up with a story that will sell better than the one
the American public is currently buying. And it will be difficult;
but it can be done.
When not using my finely honed bullshit-destruction skills
to tear some new fabrication of the Bush team into tiny tiny
bits, I write fiction set in an alternate universe which is
a lot more fun than this one. Lately I have been trying to
sell some of these novels, and it has not been pretty. Like
the news media, the publishing industry suffers from consolidation
of ownership; there are currently about seven different houses
to which you can sell a fantasy novel, and they are all owned
by about three parent corporations. Normally when I get rejection
letters I just sigh and then file them away. But the last
one I got gave me pause.
It was from an editor looking to start up a line in paranormal
romance. As rejections go, it was very nice. But I was surprised
by one of the objections. Apparently, my novel is not a romance
because the couple gets together before the book begins. In
other words, from a romance novel point of view, all the interesting
stuff has already happened.
The standard formula for romance is pretty simple: two people
become attracted, reveal that to each other, negotiate the
various obstacles in their path, and finally come together
with joyous abandon and brain-melting sex. After that, either
the story ends, or a brief honeymoon period quickly deteriorates
as the relationship becomes troubled and the couple finally
breaks up. There are very few models for a story about a couple
that stays in love and stays together over a long period of
time. People seem to have a hard time making that interesting.
The fact that my ideas about what's interesting in a romance
don't match the market's is not news to me and in the grand
scheme of things it's pretty insignificant. What bothers me
more is thinking about the impact these mass-produced stories
have on the way we all think and feel - not just about romance,
but about the world in general. There are all kinds of crackpot
theories that explain the divorce rate in America; mine is
that because of the stories we are sold, people don't have
a realistic idea about what a lifetime relationship involves.
The romance formula teaches that once you find the right person,
and finally get together with him/her, everything else just
falls into place and you live happily ever after. It tells
you nothing about the fact that no matter how much you and
your partner love each other, there will inevitably be problems,
and that the difference between a relationship that lasts
and one that doesn't is made not just by who you choose, but
by how you deal with the crises that will - not may, will
- sometimes make one or both of you unhappy with or in the
relationship.
Stories matter; they're how we explain the world to ourselves.
My partner the labor lawyer has told me often that in a jury
trial, the most important thing to do is to shape the facts
into a plausible story. If you can sell the jury on your story,
then as the trial unfolds the jury will either disregard the
elements that don't fit, or reinterpret them so that they
support your narrative. On the other hand, if they decide
the other side has a more plausible story, you're screwed
no matter how much of the evidence may support you. That's
what those "opening statements" are for - to provide
the jury with a narrative framework into which the jurors
can fit all the bits and pieces that are coming at them. The
strength of the story determines their perception of the facts
- and then their verdict makes their perception reality.
Media coverage of this administration has proved that this
principle applies outside the courtroom. Thanks to corporate
control over the airwaves, the major media networks have all
been able to construct and support the same story about the
war in Iraq: we the heroes, animated by altruistic motives,
free the suffering Iraqi people from a brutal dictator and
achieve through the bravery and self-sacrifice of our troops
a quick, decisive, and relatively painless victory. This story
has been told with great attention to symbolism, and both
the administration and its media lackeys have become very
skilled at providing compelling illustrations. The most blatant
recent example is George W. giving his "end of combat
operations" speech on the deck of the Abraham Lincoln
underneath a banner reading "Mission Accomplished."
Every element of that performance was sending the same message:
CLOSURE. The story's over; we won the battle, the hero has
triumphed, the brave men and women who fought are coming home
to their families, the evil empire has been defeated, and
all the liberated people are celebrating. It had everything
but Princess Leia presenting them with that Sharper Image
light globe and a horde of Ewoks gamboling about a celebratory
bonfire.
Only the thing is that, like the romance formula, the story
the media is telling us about war is a lie, and it is a lie
not just because of what it excludes but where it ends. Like
the romance formula, this war story has striven to exclude
anything messy, ugly, or perverse that might interfere with
the audience's fantasization - chiefly civilian death and
suffering and American greed, ignorance, and arrogance. But
in both cases the biggest lie is the ending. In a relationship,
really, finding the person is the easy part; the real story
starts after the commitment. And in this war story,
the 'victory' was the easy part; the real story is the occupation.
Our media, however, will not be selling us that story; it
doesn't fit the formula to which the American public is now
addicted. They will instead do what the romance publishers
do: discard this story now that it's 'done' and go shopping
for the next one. Who will the hero be attracted to this time?
Will it be Iran, with her huge reserves of oil and her untamed,
rebellious spirit? Or will it be Syria, the overlooked kid
sister who suddenly blossoms into a sultry and hotheaded temptress?
Or have they got something really new and different up their
sleeves this time, a surprise twist that we'll never guess
until the last page?
Meanwhile, the fantasy generated by the media will migrate
ever farther from the sordid reality. But if the story is
strong enough, reality will never have a chance. Any time
a fragment of reality breaks through, it will simply be incorporated
into the story.
So if we want to win, we have to attack the story. We have
to make their story weaker and ours stronger. Unfortunately,
the left has always had trouble doing this. Republican
ideology lends itself to compelling stories because of its
focus on individual responsibility. We have all been raised
to expect our stories to focus on specific characters rather
than oppressed masses or social forces - and while Americans
seem to have an unlimited appetite for stories of sex, violence,
and intrigue, a story about economics is almost guaranteed
to put people to sleep. And, of course, it's much easier to
write good stories when you're ready and willing to lie.
But it can be done. The important thing to remember is that
we have to attack their story using story logic, not
the logic of the debating floor. We attack their story not
by proving that the facts do not support it, but by proving
that the story itself does not hang together. And we can attack
their story on a number of fronts, including:
Characterization. Their story increasingly depends
on Bush as the hero. If we can prove that Bush-as-hero is
really a cardboard character, or that his characterization
is inconsistent and self-subverting, that's a big blow to
the story. The carrier landing, for instance, gives us an
opening by allowing us to point out that Bush's character
as hero is inconsistent with his character as shirker and
deserter. Jon Stewart on the Daily Show did us all a favor
by forcing his audience to compare Bush's character as moderate
governor of Texas with his wildly inconsistent character as
extremist lunatic president. We need to make more of that
happen.
Closure. Again, the power of the Republican story
is its ability to deliver simple and definite resolutions
to complicated problems. The story of the Iraq war is that
we defeated the Big Bad Dictator and freed his grateful people,
the end. We need to remind people, any way we can, that this
"resolution" left a whole lot of loose ends flapping
in the wind.
Continuity. Chekhov once said that if you introduce
a gun in Act I, it had better go off in Act III. Well, they
introduced their idea of the 'smoking gun' in Act I. So far,
nothing's gone off. In fact, the story has been changed so
often that to believe it's coherent requires a form of amnesia
which allows us to forget what happened in Acts I, II, III,
and IV in order to swallow what happens in Act V. Many of
our fellow-Americans, alas, suffer from this amnesia; but
it is not necessarily a permanent condition. If we can keep
reminding people of how many plot lines have been started
up and then abandoned, they will eventually come to feel about
the Bush administration the way many disgruntled X-Philes
felt about the last two seasons.
Identification. People like stories where they can
identify and sympathize with the protagonist. If we can hammer
it home that Bush is not something the average American
can identify with, or that any right-thinking human should
sympathize with, then we're in business.
While we go to town on their story, we have to come up with
one of our own - one which is equally compelling and far more
coherent, and which fits neatly with a popular formula. Why
not go to the westerns for our inspiration?
A town full of honest and decent people trying to make a
living in a harsh environment is terrorized by a group of
heavily armed thugs allied with the local magnates who own
the town as well as the corrupt or ineffective local law enforcement.
As the citizens go about their business in quiet despair,
a lone gunman comes riding up the dusty road to town. He's
a stranger, and the citizens distrust him; but they realize
that whatever his peculiarities, he has no fear of the gang
that has been making them miserable. The stranger stands up
to the gang; the gang decides he must be destroyed, and they
arrange a final showdown at which he will be outmanned and
outgunned. But the local citizens, one by one, find their
spines and come to his defense. In the end, with the help
of his ragtag band, the stranger sends the gang of thugs and
robber barons galloping for the hills, as the citizens celebrate
with whoops and hollers against the backdrop of a setting
sun.
Cheesy? You bet. But cheese sells. We have the story already
out there waiting for us. All we have to do is cast the stranger
- and figure out how to get the thing produced.
The Plaid Adder's demented ravings have been delighting an
equally demented online audience since 1996. More of the same
can be found at her website, http://www.plaidder.com
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