#is the 'weird pragmatic puritanism' mentioned in this post.

[undead-moth]

Because this is such an excellent post I'm going to try to keep my infodump here brief but I can't pass it up:

Whether or not something that happens within a story is "realistic" is determined by an agreement made between the writer and the audience in the premise.

The writer establishes the rules of the world and promises not to break them as long as you, the audience, promise to believe anything that happens without breaking them is real even if they aren't plausible or possible (re: realistic) in real life.

This is where the term "suspension of disbelief" comes from. If the writer asks you to suspend your disbelief higher than they initially promised in the premise, that means they broke one of the rules, and something has happened that goes against what you agreed to believe is plausible or possible for the purposes of immersing yourself in the story. If a story asks you to suspend your disbelief too high from the outset, that means something about this story is just too implausible or impossible as a premise for you to immerse yourself in personally.

When something "unrealistic" happens within a story, it very specifically refers to what shouldn't be plausible or possible within the story's universe -

It does not refer to what is implausible or impossible in real life.

This is why criticism of tragedies, horror, and musicals are often missing the point, and don't offer productive analysis. It doesn't matter if someone in real life would "wait a few minutes" to see if Juliet wakes up. It doesn't matter if losing cell service is "convenient." It doesn't matter if no one "bursts into song" in real life. None of these genres have the same rules as real life and they're not meant to.

If these genres are asking you to suspend your disbelief higher than you're able to, it's fair to not be a fan of them. It's not fair to insist all of these genres actually suck just because they don't conform to the specific height at which you personally prefer a story to suspend your disbelief.

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.