Modern Fiction Has a Narcissism Problem

Story isn't meant to be a mirror for endless preening.

Pay attention to the commercial fiction industry for five minutes and you’ll notice something disturbing: a hyper-fixation on what we’ve come to call representation (but what could more accurately be called narcissism)—the idea that stories and the people who inhabit them, specifically protagonists, must reflect the target reader in a way that confirms and validates all of his or her biases, worldviews, and experiences (regardless of any basis in reality). And there is, of course, a specific sort of reader one is supposed to cater to under the current orthodoxy, and that reader belongs to something we call the “modern audience.”

What characterizes this “modern audience,” you ask? The “modern audience” is comprised of people who have been told, practically from infancy, that they are special, perfect unicorns who need no improvement, lack no virtue, and because of this, are unforgivably oppressed by “The System”; people whose hobbies include (and possibly are limited to) trying on different Selves, personas, and aesthetics as they attempt to climb the ladder of woke social status; people who prefer to have everything they consume delivered to them in reflective boxes with their faces on the packaging. They are sensitive creatures, who, when they encounter something in the world that fails to meet this criteria, cry for the jeweled hands of power to rectify the egregious sin of representing something other than them, or at the very least, not representing them in a satisfactory or “correct” manner.

This is a great problem for fiction, as the purpose of fiction—of story—was never to act as a mirror for self-adulating, endlessly preening narcissists. In fact, if story reflects anything meaningful about the Self, it is often our flaws. Many times, the deepest, most poignant stories are the ones that cause us to examine ourselves for those faults, those holes in our perspective where, perhaps, we need to be challenged to uncover the truth—which, contrary to the sensibilities of the “modern audience,” is not something that can be bent to our will.

But what about relatable characters? Shouldn’t characters—especially protagonists—be “relatable”? Not necessarily. Most normal people (people who are not a part of the “modern audience,” which I would reckon to be most people) don’t wish to spend their reading time naval gazing, slurping up cheap validation, and staring soulfully into the eyes of their own reflection; rather, they’re fascinated by stories about interesting people. These people don’t need to “represent” them, as they aren’t shallow and insecure. And, despite certain differences, most ordinary readers will find most characters “relatable,” on a certain fundamental, human level, provided they behave in a recognizably true and human way. This is called empathy, and it’s one of the great powers of fiction.

Obsessing over politically correct matters of “representation,” does a terrible disservice to the craft of storytelling. It is peddled by and caters to narcissists, and not only does it strip away empathy (as all forms of self-obsession are wont to do), but it also forbids honesty, as it demands that its subjects be shown only in a certain (and always very favorable and flattering) light, which we know to be untrue of any actual human being. In fact, this removes the very potential for any true “relatability” within these stories at all. We’re all made up of the good, the bad, and the ugly, so let’s not pretend otherwise.

It's time we quit using story to pander to people who can get what they’re looking for from a handful of likes and “yasss queens” on their Instagram selfie, and start telling real, interesting, meaningful stories that don’t shove people through the filter of the “modern audience’s” sensibilities. Really, it’s all so tiresome.