Humans love storytelling. The problem is that they do not know what a story really is. Humans tell stories all the time, but they do not realize how vital storytelling is for understanding the world, which can be unwelcoming, full of haphazard events with no explanations. They do not realize that stories are not limited to personal anecdotes. Stories can elucidate reality in its purest impersonal esoteric form. J. David Velleman and E.M. Forster both believe that they know what a story really is but, as I will explain, Forster has a firmer grasp on the capabilities of story. I will use Forster’s definition of story along with real-life examples to reinforce my original concept of storytelling which accounts for how humans perceive and personalize the haphazard nature of reality through a purely imaginative narrative lens. In the process, I will critique Noël Carroll and Aristotle, who share conceptions of causality and closure which are misinformed as they do not capture how true narratives, as I will define them, possess neither.
Definitions:
J. David Velleman defines a story as a sequence of events that is “intelligible, thus conveying not just information but also understanding” (Velleman 1). E.M. Forster thinks that a story makes an interpreter ask, “and then?” while a plot makes an interpreter ask “why?” (Velleman 2). Velleman criticizes this by repurposing Forster's “story” as a “tale” (Velleman 4). While I agree with his premise that a standard narrative cannot and should not simply list events, Velleman's argument is false because a “tale” does not simply list events. It seems that he has forgotten about the existence of fairy tales which can tell intricate stories about their protagonists. He proceeds to add that stories “have a plot and may therefore have whatever explanatory force is peculiar to narrative” (Velleman 4). Later he clarifies that this force is what he calls the emotional cadence. It does not concern him whether this explanatory force is “best described as explanatory” (Velleman 5). This is illogical, and confusing. His idea of emotional cadence, as I understand it, is that force behind any sequence of events absurd or realistic, causally connected or disjointed, which provides substantial meaning and a paradigmatic resolution for the audience. I would contend that his emotional cadence is indeed explanatory. Then once he emphasizes the bonding quality of emotional cadence, he abandons his own point which he had stated earlier, which is that a story must have a plot. Emotional cadence elucidates even haphazard events as long as the interpreter emotionally reacts to the events. When the interpreter discovers these events, their potential to construe it into a narrative format “is due to the possibility of finding something that they might mean to an audience in emotional terms” (Velleman 6).
I take Velleman to mean that a story does not have to possess any causality in order to evoke emotion from its interpreter. The interpreter is provoked to connect haphazard events into a narrative with imagined causality and closure. A plotless roll call recitation of events can provoke emotion because of the significance, not necessarily emotional, to the interpreter of the events listed. According to Velleman, it is possible that for integrity a narrative has the potential to solely depend upon its emotional reaction rather than upon its causality. This recitation of events does not have to limit itself to events as we know them to be events, nor is it required to provoke emotion of any kind. I can still call it a narrative. This recitation of events is an example of what I will hereafter call an “abstract narrative.” By “abstract,” I mean the opposite of standard. A standard narrative is a narrative which is represented with a literary comprehensive, coherent stream of thought logically linking through a type of explanation its sequence of events with tension and forward development not necessarily chronological. That a narrative is literary is that most or some of its events are either contingent upon one another for the effect of tension or otherwise related to one another in a way that evokes a sense of necessity and coherence. An abstract narrative is not fundamentally chronological and it need not include characters. For instance, it can recount a haphazard list of battles, or how a canyon forms. Abstract narrative is not restricted to the realism of Velleman’s emotional cadence. It only retains forward development. Tension is a result of the dissonance between what is occurring currently and what may, will, or should happen subsequently. This is not quite like Forster's formula of “and then?” but it is similar.
When an interpreter reads through a recipe for the first time, they do not worry about what will happen to the eggs once they have been cracked open. When they solve an addition equation, they do not initially wonder about the implications of carrying over a number. When they quickly peruse a list of warnings on a label, they do not question their sequence. Within all of these examples there is no initial coherent stream of thought. Even though a recipe is a chronological sequence of events that results in a finished product, with each ingredient and instruction in succession leading inevitably toward this conclusion, it does not entail any further comprehension that provides the instructions with any deeper literary connections such as that of plot or character development. Comprehension is a necessary factor for a coherent stream of thought. These three examples are rooted in the forward progression of time by means of explanation. The warning label presumes that the interpreter will sequentially read through the list in order to fully understand the dangers of incorrectly using the product, but it does not follow that the sequence is literary. Narratives are positively “a genre of explanation” (Velleman 1), yet how are a recipe, an addition equation, and a warning label narratives, outside of their inherent forward progressions and explanations of their respective events? The interpreter produces from their coherent stream of thought a certain apparatus that converts the abstract narrative into a faux-standard narrative. The apparatus superimposes tension onto the abstract narrative without turning it into a literary novel, to the effect that it is still explanatory as a faux-standard narrative. All of this is accomplished with microcausality.
The abstract narrative is the most fundamental of narratives since it requires only the forward progression of events. I take a standard narrative concerning the conflict between two people who are both on their way from the bank to the grocery store. I eliminate the literary craft and tension, which will hereafter be called the “lesser details.” I am left with an abstract narrative: two people are at a bank “and then” two people are at a grocery store. This follows Forster's definition of a story. I potentially could have imagined these “lesser details” over the abstract narrative had it originally been set in this skeletal form, thereby appending a sense of literary comprehension and tension. I have omitted the “lesser details” of the story by turning them into “microcausal details.” These come from an imagined afterthought; a major purpose of the imagination is to produce afterthought images and conceptions of reality. Borrowing terminology from Forster, standard narratives follow the formula of only asking “why?” while abstract narratives follow the formula of asking “and then” with a superimposed “why?” function (Velleman 2).
Microcausality is therefore an imagined apparatus which genuinely superimposes the “why” function over the “and then.” It is the imagined supplement to an abstract narrative which superimposes over an abstract forward progression the standard features of tension and “intelligibility” (Velleman 1). An abstract narrative possesses the potential to become imaginatively transformed into a faux-standard narrative, which is the abstract narrative plus standard features. This superimposition of microcausality satisfies Ernest Hemingway’s belief that “specific, concrete, revelatory description of visible reality in a story will suggest inner realities-- emotional, spiritual, thematic-- that not only do not have to be described, but will be less fully realized if talked about directly” (Taylor 31-32). The purpose of microcausality is to indirectly speak of these details so that they can shine as a vestigial yet relevant imagined attachment to the context of the standard narrative and fasten a personalized interpretative glow to the narrative overall.
Narrative and Reality:
To Velleman, through emotions the mind creates narratives out of haphazard events of the world of reality. This explains why microcausality is not artificial although it is imagined. Emotional cadence is not emotional. It merely suggests the discovery that all interpreters subconsciously make every day: progress is always being made in existence, although this is not initially perceived to be true. Interpreters perceive existence in a narrative form. Because the human brain is averted from chaos, it organizes its constant flux of sensory data into “a storyline that will make consciousness possible and create a sense of order, stability, and predictability” (Taylor 28-29) However, human existence, perhaps even existence overall, is constructed haphazardly, appearing as if it eludes noticeable progress. That which I phrase as the perceived “fictionality” of existence is found in the disjointed content of the events of reality amid its bookends, which make out the “solid,” “nonfictional,” incomplete form of reality. By form, I mean the marriage of the tangible solidness of real things and events and forward-moving time. It is “nonfictional” because it is based in solid reality. It is haphazard because of its disjointed nature. Products of the imagination, which produces afterthought images and conceptions of reality, are also based in reality, but for the lack of a better term, I will say that they live within a “gaseous” reality attached to the solid reality of the world with the glue of the commonality of existing.
“Gaseous” is definitely not the right word, but since the microcausal products of existence (atoms, for example) are afterthoughts as “lesser” details of existence, and since they are not perceptibly tangible as opposed to their bookends of the solid products of existence, then “gaseous” is a rather close match. This elusive content of reality is akin to products of microcausality. It is typically an afterthought that atoms speed around and build up the world when they are invisible to the naked eye, yet they exist prominently and engineer all of reality. Not only do they engineer solid reality, but also they are essential to air. Without this elemental interface, so to speak, in principle solid reality is incomplete. Since air is typically an afterthought, thereby appending a sense of comprehension and tension to a past moment (I doubt that people incessantly remember that they are breathing in order to stay alive,) then I can conclude: solid reality is by principle incomplete in form; its content, which completes it and thereby fills in the wholeness of reality, is perceived as fictional, despite being based in reality, because it is the product of imaginative microcausal afterthought. This is the primary reason explaining why characters are not necessary in abstract narratives. An interpreter pinpoints a center of interpretative focus from which the imagined “fictionality” would begin and creates a microcausal story. Faux-standard narratives borrow from reality.
Anecdotal Imagination:
Perry is aware of the microcausality of his recited memory (i.e. the omitted, afterthought “lesser details” of the memory) as opposed to that of everyday life, for instance that which is characterized by the inconspicuous yet indispensable activity of atoms. A stationary chair does not appear as if it is in motion because it appears to be stationary. Nevertheless, the microscopic atoms which build up the materials of the chair speed around in constant motion, building up the content of the chair. If Perry correctly thinks of atoms as details of the chair yet omits these details in an account of how someone picks up the chair “and then” throws it across a room, Perry is not excluding any significant details about his account. He is simply interpreting the existence of the atoms of the chair as a microcausal afterthought detail. The collision of one atom with another may reflect the life of the chair and affect its overall content in some minor way, but in this account, this collision has the potential to assist Perry in, through his imagination, turning his account into a faux-standard narrative with a superimposed “why” function promoted from its original role as an abstract narrative which follows Forster’s “and then” formula. Through doing this, Perry can better comprehend the reality of the situation. Of course, this is hypothetical. General knowledge of the existence of atoms does not practically reinforce any story, yet my premise still stands. Perhaps a more probable real-life anecdote featuring Perry will be better suited to explain my position.
Perry is now having a conversation with his friend Mabel. He recounts a different story from memory fully aware that he may omit and abridge some lesser details for the sake of time and Mabel’s comprehension of the story, yet the story is still complete. One time, Perry saw an old biology teacher of his, Mr. Norson, at the grocery store. It turned out that Mr. Norson had robbed the local bank and he was on the run. On their way to class, their conversation is rushed. Perry, for the sake of Mabel’s time and comprehension and not his own, omits some “lesser details” from his story. Mabel can still comprehend this as a complete account despite the fact that Perry has omitted the details about when he drops a bag of baby spinach leaves into his cart and when Mr. Norson examines a vast selection of lunch meats. These “lesser details” did not primarily contribute to Perry’s noticing of Mr. Norson in the grocery store. However, they are still microcausal afterthought details which incorporate tension.
If Perry’s exact recited memory were to be thoroughly published in a local newspaper article without any editing, then those “lesser details” become microcausal details assuming that an interpreter of the article has imagined the details about the baby spinach and the lunch meats and has subsequently superimposed them as afterthoughts over the narrative as it is originally described in the article, with the center of interpretative focus pinpointing the part when Perry is shopping before noticing Mr. Norson. The chief details about Perry noticing Mr. Norson and his later knowledge that Mr. Norson is on the run are akin to products of tangible solid reality, while those about the spinach and the lunch meats are “lesser details,” products of microcausal “gaseous” reality, existing as afterthoughts which he can append to his earlier account after he and Mabel leave biology class. These afterthoughts are the “why?” to the “and then?” and act as measures of the assurance of a deeper comprehension of the tense nature of the situation at hand.
This extended analogy has illustrated how microcausal details are perceived as fictional despite being based in reality. Kendall Walton’s concept of make-believe illustrates how in a fictional world built of fictional truths, the propositions and properties of these fictional truths are perceived as real despite being based in the imagination (Walton 237). These illustrations describe the same principle. Walton says that “one way to make a proposition fictional is simply to imagine that it is true” (Walton 237). Perry has imagined that his omitted microcausal details are true. Since he can choose to tell these omitted details to Mabel after he had already recited his account to her earlier, he is “making believe” that, assuming that the previous account is of a “distinct fictional world” that corresponds to his memory, these other details are principles that can be put into force and recognized as reality (Walton 237). They legitimately are real details which legitimately occurred at the grocery store, but in Mabel’s mind, if Perry does not decipher them as legitimate, then they are imaginary. If Perry decides to add that a chair has atoms, his interlocutor can perceive this update as imaginary, even though it is indubitably true in Perry’s mind (Walton 237).
Meaning:
Standard narratives are typically authored by one creative force, whether it be an individual person or a group of persons falling under one corporate label (Meskin). Abstract narratives also have authors. A recipe is typically composed by a singular cook or chef. An addition equation in a textbook has been formulated by (a) mathematician(s) or (a) mathematics teacher(s). A warning label is composed under the watchful shadow of corporate lawyers. The faux-standard narrative, the sum of an abstract narrative and superimposed standard qualities, is authored by existence, which is arguably not a human invention. How can a narrative presumably be authored by nobody at all yet still be called a narrative? I am fond of Aaron Meskin’s analogy that “if commercial films were produced by some process akin to that involved in making cars or computers, then it might be reasonable to deny authorship to them” (Meskin 15). If a story is the result of mass production, then it cannot be said to have a distinct author or force of authorship behind its production. Since a faux-standard narrative is authored by principles of existence, then I can classify it as a narrative that possesses no sense of authorship.
Roland Barthes and Michel Foucault “argue that elimination of the author would be hermeneutically liberatory and ‘truly revolutionary...’” (Meskin 17). I suppose that my “revolution” would be that anything based in reality can be construed into a faux-standard narrative. Even so, “revolution” may be too strong for my argument despite how accurately it matches the description. Foucault also stated that authorship is “a constructed and therefore contingent social role” because meaning “would be better left to ‘proliferate’ to some significant extent” (Meskin 16-17). If Foucault’s “meaning” applies to the imagined aspect of microcausal details in that their addition to the abstract narrative obscures the overall meaning of the narrative, then this is also true, but not as strongly as Foucault had intended. Perry buying spinach does not add any significant meaning to the account of his encounter with Mr. Norson. According to the New Criticism movement, “meaning is dependent on the arbitrariness of the signs within the signifying system” (Segal 151). This is based on Jacques Derrida’s theory of écriture, which is defined as “a system of communication that stands under the sign of absence– the absence of the spoken voice behind the written sign, the absence that is always marked by the very fact that reality, presence, the object of existence can be evoked only by a sign” (Segal 151). This absent voice is filled by the superimposed microcausal details imagined by the interpreter, and the foundation of the imagined content in reality reinforces the fact that the content can rightfully substitute the silence of an unknown element of the abstract narrative. The meaning of the abstract narrative is amplified by the interpreter, an external source adding new vigor to the narrative. Foucault might have reacted by arguing that, since every person has the opportunity to be the interpreter of the abstract narrative, this would be an example of a universal social role and therefore it would effectively “proliferate” meaning.
Meaning can most successfully be applied to poetry. R.P. Draper, in his definition of concrete poetry, establishes that “concrete poetry has its informing structural principles which are capable of enhancing and developing meaning” (Draper 340). Solid reality, the bookended form of existence, develops its meaning from the fact that it is based in reality. This meaning is enhanced by the inference of “gaseous” reality, its interface content. An abstract narrative on its own is the form, and the microcausal details that come from superimposition make up the meaningful content that enhances the form. Together these form the faux-standard narrative, which is essentially a concrete poem, especially because “in what may, perhaps a little pretentiously, be called ‘pure’ concrete the spatial element is essential to the communication” as a “structural principle” (Draper 329). Draper proceeds to review Ian Hamilton Finlay’s 1963 concrete poem XM as a “delicately evocative concrete lyric” that, in its linguistic resemblance to a flowing stream that vertically repeats X’s and M’s, allows “the reader enough freedom to join in with his own subjective response” (Draper 334). Draper says that a concrete poem is no longer concrete once its words still register as conventionally meaningful when read aloud. I would say that simply because the source of these words is a poem that uses space in an unconventional way (the main purpose of a concrete poem,) the poem in either format is still valid. Microcausal details are not spatial in Draper’s sense of the word, but rather in the sense that they form an imaginative topography of the interpretation of reality to the effect that even when taken out of context and produced individually they can spawn more microcausal details and thereby create a different meaningful interpretation of reality.
Questioning Causality and Closure:
Microcausality is not strictly meant for written works, just as narratives can occur every day. This means that anything that exists in reality can be construed into a narrative form with subjective interpretation. Since one can interpret anything as fiction or nonfiction depending on the usage of Walton’s make-believe situations, then the ambiguity of events of reality leans toward fictionality in content. Even without Velleman’s emotional cadence, any “verbal artifact” (Draper 329) can become an emotional story if an interpreter makes it that way. That meaningful microcausality which one superimposes over the abstract narrative can affect how they react to it, and whether this reaction is emotional rather than analytical or observational. Before I delve into real-life examples of faux standard narrative, I briefly want to criticize Noël Carroll’s concept of closure and the erotetic narrative by comparing each of them to my concept of the faux-standard narrative.
Noël Carroll describes the erotetic narrative as a narrative which functions via the “natural thought process” of the formation of a web of microquestions attached to its beam of substantial macroquestions and provides “a range of admissible answers” organized by “a coherent framework of possible outcomes, which we use to follow the incoming events in the story and to determine their significance” (Carroll 8). Carroll adapts Aristotle’s definition of a beginning in tragedy, which occurs as a consequence of antecedent events which do not need to be clarified in order to retain the integrity of a standard narrative (Carroll 9). He then proceeds to tarnish his own argument and support mine by adding that a proposed question can indirectly connect to the narrative without necessarily entailing an answer (Carroll 9). As does Velleman, Carroll implies that events can potentially occur without any direct explanation supported by the rest of the narrative. For the faux-standard narrative, it does not matter if a question is completely independent, having nothing to do with the rest of the narrative. It nevertheless provides a possible outcome and connection to imagined events that may have occurred in the context of a specifically given center of interpretative focus. This impairs his argument to the effect that I can successfully apply his full definition of causal connectivity to my faux-standard narrative and still maintain that elements have been imagined externally:
...a narrative connection obtains when (1) the discourse represents
at least two events and/or states of affairs (2) in a globally
forward-looking manner (3) concerning the career of at least one
unified subject (4) where the temporal relations between the events
and states of affairs are perspicuously ordered, and (5) where the
earlier events in the sequence are at least causally necessary
conditions for the subsequent occurrence of the events and/or
states of affairs in the chain of events being described or are a
contribution thereto (Carroll 11).
In Perry’s faux-standard narrative, adapted from the officialized newspaper article on the subject of his encounter with Mr. Norson, I consider the connection between Perry putting spinach into his cart and noticing Mr. Norson. While one is legitimate and the other is imagined and has been superimposed over the original abstract narrative, (1) both events (2) occur in a forward progression in time (3) and concern the “career” of Perry; (4) depending on when the interpreter (i.e. the author of the newspaper article) superimposed their imagined microcausal element, the spinach event can come “perspicuously” before or after the encounter. Carroll goes on to clarify that (5) is optional depending upon the situation because the subsequent event may “merely be some kind of contribution to the elucidation of the causal history of the later event” rather than a direct effect of its antecedent (Carroll 11). Assuming that the spinach event comes after the encounter, the encounter clarifies the occurrence of the spinach event: perhaps seeing Mr. Norson distracts Perry just enough to get him to notice the spinach, which he had not originally intended to purchase.
In a condensed narrative featuring this singular connection, the spinach event would be the event of closure. This is a point of contradiction for Carroll. He defies the integrity of the erotetic narrative by saying that closure is “the impression that exactly the point where the work does end is just the right point” and also writing, on the same page, that “closure is not a feature of all narratives, let alone, as some have suggested, a distinctive or essential feature of narrative as such” (Carroll 2). On top of that, some narratives even defy closure because their events, still in progress, cannot be tied up neatly into a conclusive finish (Carroll 2). This is where the faux-standard narrative beats out the erotetic narrative. Standard closure is not the only method of providing a sense of completion when it comes to the faux-standard narrative. Microcausality, which does not independently provide closure for it is meant to link events rather than conclude them, gives just as much of an impression of completion as does Carroll’s definition of closure. The fact that with a recipe an interpreter cannot automatically presume the conclusion that the meal is eaten does not imply that they have provided imaginative closure to the recipe. Rather, this provides a missing link that connects to a different series of events not included in the recipe already. Therefore, closure is not necessary in a faux-standard narrative. Perhaps it is impossible.
Naturally, since Carroll adapts Aristotle, I have also refuted Aristotle’s grand claim that the end of a narrative “‘is that which does itself naturally follow from something else, either necessarily or in general, but there is nothing else after it’” (Carroll 2). Since with the faux-standard narrative ongoing imagined interpretations of reality are equivalent to microcausal details and since closure does not necessarily equate to a conclusion, events can indeed “occur” after the closure in the microcausal sense of interpretation. Scholars have argued that katharsis, Aristotle’s conclusive sense of emotional closure akin to Velleman’s idea of emotional cadence, by “illuminating” the tragic events “produc[es] the kind of pleasure that is appropriate to tragedy, a pleasure that will subordinate emotional excitement to intellectual clarification” (Segal 153). Aristotle defined the “proper pleasure” of tragedy as that sense of katharsis emotional or intellectual that is “aroused by the mimesis of the action, that is, by the representation rather than the events themselves” (Segal 155).
An interpreter can think about how closely the tragic events resemble events of everyday reality without crying in fear or pity. While this is the prefabricated ritualistic reaction to a tragedy (Segal 149, 150), it is certainly not the only possible reaction. Indeed, an intellectual consideration of the tragic events reveals “‘anti-closural’ elements” that clash with those revealed by the ritualized audience reaction (Segal 162-163). However, fear and pity in the form of surprise can also arise from what Aristotle called “‘an appearance of design,’” which signifies a disjointed narrative that has “the plotted events ‘occur unexpectedly and at the same time in consequence of one another’” (Velleman 5 6). In a complex Aristotelian tragic plot, the reversal of a character’s fortune and/or the recognition of this reversal are each a consequence of antecedent events (Velleman 2). An Aristotelian disjointed story is the result of causally unrelated events that seem to connect by design as if through coincidence. At this point, I have taken the intellectual reaction to be related to the imagined microcausal element of the faux-standard narrative by virtue of interpretation. The interpreter may be sad as a result of one warrior brutally murdering another, or they may alternatively be elated because they personally did not care for the late warrior. The audience, through its imagination, and subsequently through intellectual interpretation, can react as it pleases to the events of a tragedy or of a faux-standard narrative alike. It can simultaneously “illuminate” events by supposing that two originally unrelated events are part of a causal chain created through its imagination.
Three Real-Life Examples:
Food Network’s Ree Drummond ambitiously claims that she has created the perfect bacon cheeseburger recipe for her family gathering (Scripps). Noël Carroll would agree that her recipe is indeed an erotetic narrative based on his own definition. (1) All of the individual events of the recipe cooperate in a causal chain (2) which progresses forward in time (3) and concerns the construction of the bacon cheeseburger (4) by listing the instructions for preparation, cooking, and plating in a logical order (5) and all of the instructions are causally necessary for the successful proper execution of the cheeseburger. Macroquestions may include whether the cheeseburger will be completed in the approximate total cooking time, whether it will be completed at all, whether the grill will cook it properly, and whether the cheeseburger will taste good; microquestions may include whether each ingredient will be readily available without substitution, when the bacon will come into play, whether the rolls will be grilled properly, et cetera. All of these questions will have been answered by the end of the plating process or once it has been eaten. Aristotle would be satisfied too: no antecedents to the beginning of the recipe need to be explained for clarification, all of the instructions are probable and necessary, and if Drummond in the process of preparation decides to replace the hot sauce with ketchup, for the cheeseburger, assuming that it is the protagonist and Drummond represents the tragic events that happen to it, this substitution would be a reversal of its expected fortune and a simultaneous recognition that this will change its life dramatically since ketchup is sweeter than is hot sauce. For Aristotle, nothing that affects the plot significantly will occur after the ending which has left the audience in surprise due to the ketchup fiasco.
Aristotle’s disjointed plot would become an issue for Carroll. In his erotetic narrative of Drummond’s recipe, everything is laid out in a straightforward manner: the ingredients listed are the ingredients used, the cooking time specified is the cooking time to be used, et cetera. What would he do if Drummond were to go off to the side and prepare her own homemade sauce, return, and use that rather than hot sauce, or if her grill were to stop working making her have to resort to cooking the patties in the oven instead before returning to her station, or if she were to grill the rolls at the same time as the patties rather than beforehand? All he would have to do is refer to his own essay and reply that these questions do not necessarily require direct answers. It does not matter if the question that an interpreter asks has to do with a conversation that Drummond is having with someone else in her kitchen because this conversation may affect the ingredients added or omitted from the recipe; this microcausal question is indirectly answered by the recipe according to the interpreter’s imagination. When an interpreter reads the recipe, they may clarify that they would add Worcestershire sauce to give the patty a “kick” of flavor or hot sauce to make it spicier. This comment is not written directly in the recipe, but it may be read in such a way. This is a prime example of a microcausal detail. The interpreter encounters an afterthought having read the ingredient specification of “4 dashes Worcestershire sauce” clarifying that in order to elucidate the “and then,” they should superimpose the “why” that the sauce adds a “kick” of flavor. Drummond may read her own recipe and when she gazes at the specification of “6 slices cooked bacon, halved” comment that one of her sons had wanted more bacon so she had increased the number from four to six. This too is an imagined element of the abstract narrative of the recipe that supplies it with a personalized literary structural integrity.
These hypothetical possibilities lead to questions that are not directly answered by the end because life is haphazard and at times issues are left unresolved. This narrative defies closure because events are still in progress in the interpreter’s imagination; it is possible that the interpreter is not bothered by the lack of direct clarification about how Drummond kills time while the patties are cooking on the skillet (Carroll 6). Aristotle may presume that Drummond is cooking this cheeseburger in the summer at a reasonable time such as the early afternoon, but what if she is using an indoor grill at midnight in the dead of winter? From the beginning of the recipe, the interpreter is dropped into a certain setting with questions such as this and others already answered depending on their reasoning for reading the recipe in the first place, but at the same time they do not necessarily have to clarify in their microcausal narrative Drummond’s intentions to kill her son who is allergic to hot sauce. As for closure, Drummond can throw away the cheeseburger after all of her work, or give it to her dog, or put it in the fridge, or set it on fire. All of these possibilities allowed by the faux-standard narrative defy the conclusion inferred (yet, notably, not specified) by the recipe that Drummond will have a nice family meal of bacon cheeseburgers (Scripps).
199 + 99 = 298 counts as an abstract narrative, but is this an erotetic narrative? According to Carroll, a macroquestion is whether the answer will be correct in the midst of the solving process, or whether this process will result in the given sum; a microquestion may concern how 199 + 99 = 298, which would be answered by the act of carrying over; the process is post hoc and propter hoc because everything is causal. Clearly once the equation is solved, all questions about the abstract narrative have been answered. This would not cause any initial problems for Aristotle the philosopher because math is inherently a causal process with all of its steps being probable and necessary as a rule of logic. There is nothing to be done with the sum 298 because the equation is an internal narrative that does not connect to the outside world directly. On all standard accounts, this and any other addition equation is undoubtedly a proper narrative.
However, both Carroll and Aristotle would remain unsettled. There is the old standard method of summation and then there is the new standard method, which is the Common Core method of anchoring and decomposition (instead of starting with the nines and carrying over, one would begin by anchoring 199 to 200, 99 to 100, and going from there.) The Common Core method jumps out of and back into the process of solving the equation, so it immediately defies Carroll’s straightforward erotetic structure. This is akin to a faux-standard narrative: this method starts from the same center of interpretative focus as does the other method, but it is a tangent akin to the imagined microcausal details of Perry’s account. Carroll says that questions do not always entail answers: why does this equation even matter, and how is 99 significant as opposed to 17? 298 is the sum, but is it an end in itself or an extended middle (Carroll 2)? Carroll has said that narratives defy closure when their oration process is ongoing. Who knows if this is the actual end of the equation or only the part that matters? What if this sum also resolves another dilemma or contributes to another equation or theorem? For Aristotle, from the beginning it may have been omitted that there had been a previous equation that summed into 199 which provides a different, more sinister intention for this equation. Some may view the Common Core method as an unnecessary part of the process since this is the new mathematical standard and therefore faces controversy.
Carroll and Aristotle, hand in hand, enter a white room together. It is empty except for a table in the center of the room which has standing upon it a spray bottle of Febreze fabric refresher (P&G Shop). Curious, they slowly step up to the bottle. Aristotle picks it up, and together they read the warning label because there is nothing else in the room that can attract their attention. They pause, stunned. Aristotle exclaims, “This defies both of our theories!” “This is a list of negative terms,” Carroll discovers, “in other words a list of things that one should not do, unlike a recipe of positive terms.” Aristotle turns away from the list and adds, “Based on that logic, Noël, a mathematical equation is neutral because either of these types of terminology can be implied in the solving process. Right now, I am more worried about the causality... there is no beginning, middle, or end... at all! I see no opportunity for characters. Therefore, I see no possibility for a dramatic reversal or recognition of reversal!” Aristotle is correct. The events are not causally probable and necessary in the sense of a standard narrative, but rather in the sense of logic, which, as with the addition equation, strictly defies tragedy and emotion. Carroll is horrified that the list already provides all of the answers. “This is a travesty! I would suppose that the respective microquestions and macroquestions for each item on the list would have to be imagined and superimposed as an afterthought!” “Who sprayed Febreze directly at their cat?” Aristotle proposes. “Good one. How about, what happens if one were to spray it on a suede couch?” Carroll stands akimbo in confusion, because even if these questions were at the forefront, they are not attractive questions that follow any logical order, for one may ask about the leather before they ask about the cat. Even so, there is active significance as everything is there for a reason, legal and/or logical.
They face one another and ask aloud, “How is this a narrative in any sense?” Carroll nervously laughs, excited that he was thinking the same thing as his idol. The microcausal details are the missing elements, the “lesser details,” the questions that are implied but are also unpredictable depending on the imagined circumstances, the “why” tacked onto the “and then.” “I have an answer,” Carroll retorts. “Quickly thinking, the person sprayed their cat because she had just used the litter box, and no person in their right mind bathes a cat!” “Their washing machine,” supposes Aristotle, “was broken and they used it to quickly deodorize their leather jacket before a family gathering.” But they cannot get past the elephant in the room... the questions elicited by this list of negative terms are not answered within the list itself. Carroll wipes his brow pensively, replying, “But there is no coherent framework of possible outcomes...” (Carroll 8). Aristotle reassures Carroll by patting his shoulder and saying, “...but at the same time, questions do not always entail an answer” (Carroll 9). “In spite of this, Noël,” Aristotle continues, “the beginning does not elucidate previous events, and it can be presumed that the warnings are in such a specific order for a reason, so that it still follows your erotetic narrative.” Carroll gasps, “But Aristotle, since there is no causality in the typical sense of the word, it follows that there is no closure!” “In this case,” Aristotle answers, “the closure is imagined depending upon the imagined causality. For you, there is no narrative closure in the proper sense, but this list is a perpetually expanding middle with an end that will occur once all of the negative uses of the fabric refresher have been tackled” (Carroll 2). Carroll sighs in relief. “There is one more thing that is bothering me...” “Yes?” “Aristotle, why did we come in here again?” Also, keeping all of the above in mind, the interpreter can react in any way to the warning label. It can be funny if they think of whoever had to have sprayed the fabric refresher directly toward their cat in order for the warning to be added to the label.
Using a classical marketing technique, modern companies use “myths and storytelling” in order to “separate their ‘adventures in marketing from other brands’” (Adi 750-751). Since humans naturally interpret the world in a narrative form (Taylor 28-29), I can posit that as consumer-interpreters, they would practically be selling the fabric refresher to themselves. They can read the warning label and think of the man and his cat; for each consumer-interpreter, the situation may vary, which means that they themselves would be interjecting their own personality into their interpretations and thereby demarcating their personal reasons for purchasing the product from those of every other consumer-interpreter. If every consumer-interpreter were to embrace the concept of the faux-standard narrative while shopping, then there would be no longer be any need for corporations to “reflect and adopt the role of mentors in their consumers' journeys” (Adi 752). Corporations would stop “interpret[ing] reality” for the consumer-interpreters “by creating new possibilities for their consumers to understand it” (Adi 755). If this were to happen, corporations would begin to realize that consumer-interpreters have a voice in their interpretations of the world around them “looking for clues, consciously or unconsciously, for how to navigate [their] own lives” because “most of the helpful answers come in story form” (Taylor 28). Besides, we are no longer living in the Dark Ages when consumers were so easily persuaded by marketers’ heroic stories about their products that they would not critically analyze the falsehoods and misleading claims of the corporate story and they would trust the brand based on the marketer’s positive interpretation of the position of the product in the reality and life of the consumer (Adi 752-753).
Conclusion:
I can posit that the concept of the faux-standard narrative would be revolutionary, perhaps almost in Foucault’s sense. Because microcausality allows for fresh perspectives of narrative realms, it is exemplary at fostering original ideas, such as mine, the concrete poetic narrative, which I will rather rudimentarily describe. A concrete poetic narrative linguistically represents, personifies, and/or alludes to its muse, a concrete object such as a goldfish. In other words, a concrete poetic narrative about a goldfish would take its muse, a goldfish, and based on the structure and traits of the goldfish construct a matching narrative. A goldfish tail is thin and frail yet helps to propel it along. Its abdomen features gills and scales that may represent a cyclical or rough series of events. Finally, its head is small and goldfish are said to have short memory spans, so perhaps the beginning can be confusing and short. The concrete poetic narrative does not have to be about the goldfish itself: the image of the goldfish which I kept in mind for this example is the form of the narrative, and I have imagined literary content which completes the form. It is not “pure” according to R.P. Draper (Draper 329), yet as I perceive it, the content is a form of “verbal artifac[t] which exploit[s] the possibilities... of space” in a faux-standard way (Draper 329); the structure, inspired by the actual goldfish, enhances and develops the meaning of the narrative (Draper 340) without explicitly stating what the meaning is. In a conversation with his portrait artist, the muse James Lord asked Alberto Giacometti why he thinks that his busts based on real heads are false compared to the ones which he sculpted from memory. Giacometti answers, “...since a work of art is an illusion anyway, if you heighten the illusory quality, then you come closer to the effect of life” (Lord 63-64).
I should introduce one final counterargument. No matter what anecdote or narrative one devises, there are only up to thirty-six unique plots under which it can be labeled (ipl2). Also, it is not realistic that everything can be construed into a narrative because, while humans do perceive reality in a narrative form for the purpose of memory recollection and understanding connections between obscure moments or influences in life, they do not typically construct fictional stories out of the warning label on a product unless they have an overactive imagination. Personality can also come from how an abstract narrative, not a faux-standard narrative, influences one’s life, and not from how one superimposes standard narrative qualities onto it. For instance, the addition equation may be the final problem on a student’s test in elementary school and their subsequent confidence stemming from their completion of the test may guide the student into seeking education in order to become a scientist and change the world for the better. Perhaps a recipe for a cheeseburger may hold the instructions for cooking one’s cheeseburger on a dinner date that leads into a long and happy marriage.
Maybe the fabric refresher has warned its user about spraying it on a suede couch, saving them from creating water spots on their father’s heirloom sofa passed down from his father. This person can read the warning label and, before the line that warns about spraying it on suede, they can imagine that it says, “Firuz from Illinois was in a rush of preparations anticipating a family gathering and felt the need to deodorize his old suede sofa. He knew that it was safe on fabric, so he sprayed it just as his second cousin entered the basement. To Firuz’s horror, the spray puddled and seeped into the suede.” This anecdote is not imagined, nor is it microcausal or extraneous to Firuz’s life, yet it has been personalized as an afterthought to the warning on the label. Firuz’s anecdote can fall under one of Ronald B. Tobias’ twenty plot types, perhaps Sacrifice, Maturation, or Underdog; or it can fall under one of Georges Polti’s thirty-six dramatic situations, perhaps Erroneous Judgment or Rivalry of Superior and Inferior (ipl2).
In light of how largely unrealistic this hypothetical situation would be, Firuz would still hold a memory from his anecdote that can only be labeled under the category of, “Things That Have Happened to Firuz.” This is not a plot type, and it is not a narrative of any kind; rather, it is a lifestyle that cannot be construed into a narrative or applied to any other situation because, while external influences have certainly affected Firuz’ life story overall, in ways major and minor, I doubt that Firuz would want to compartmentalize his story into such a general scheme. At the same time, these arguments miss the point that everything and everyone has the potential to personally influence one’s life in some fashion, and that the most lucrative way in which this can happen is through understanding the world in narrative.
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