Yes, Virginia, Story Themes Still Matter
By John J Kelley | November 29, 2023 |
I had an epiphany while attending the WU UnCon earlier this month. Actually, it was more of a breakthrough; I just don’t want to frighten my skittish muse.
My journey to Salem was one of excitement tinged with trepidation. Aside from a few short stories, my writing vein has run dry as of late. I considered but decided against bringing notes on the novel I abandoned a year ago. The pages felt more like an anchor than a springboard. Yet, to my surprise, during an exercise in Susan DeFrietas’s session on “Honing Your (Character’s) Voice,” the words flowed with ease. The scene was brief, under a page, later distilled into two paragraphs. But the thrust was instant, as if my characters had been sitting in the dark, waiting for me to return and switch on the light. They were eager to engage.
I’ve been pondering the occasion since my return home. How could a story I felt had withered on the vine spring back so quickly? After all, the reasons I set it aside remain – the political world in which it was set has changed; the circumstances of the characters no longer fit. As I once said to a friend, I had begun to feel my contemporary novel was instead a historical anecdote, or a fantasy. That wasn’t at all what I had envisioned when I had started, and so I lost the thread.
But here is the thing I realized in Salem. What I had not lost was the theme that first drew me to it. The ideas that underpin the story haven’t changed. I still feel them, and writerly me still wants to explore them. I still want to see what this group of characters has to say about life in these troubled times.
And that leads me to my post today, a query with which I hope you can help – How do story themes fit into modern fiction?
Let’s begin with the basics.
What is Theme?
The minds at MasterClass describe theme as follows:
“A literary theme is the main idea or underlying meaning a writer explores in a novel, short story, or other literary work. The theme of a story can be conveyed using characters, setting, dialogue, plot, or a combination of all these elements.”
I like this definition because it acknowledges the exploratory nature of storytelling. Even the most ardent plotter, in my view, doesn’t know the full nature of their work in progress until they are in the thick of it. They may have guideposts and a sense of direction, but ideas bubble to the surface on the way to the climax.
Perhaps their protagonist is a detective who always works alone but is forced to partner with a psychologist to track down the troubled teen son of a prominent businesswoman who has run off with his drug supplier. As the stakes climb, issues such as trust and abandonment are bound to arise. By the third draft, the writer may find their stoic detective of two prior books suddenly facing his own demons, coming to terms with the devastating betrayal that created the hardened man he is today. The idea may not have been in the cards when constructing the intricate cat-and-mouse plot; but finding it compelling to have the case and the protagonist confront similar issues, the writer embraces it. And, bam, suddenly book three of the by-the-number detective series has a theme.
The second reason the MasterClass definition appeals is because it recognizes the ethereal nature of theme, how it is woven into the story but not a working element of it. In that regard, it is helpful to consider what theme is not. Theme is not the premise, nor the moral of a story. Neither is it the plot, nor the hero’s journey. Theme is instead the ideas that infuse a tale, ones that give it meaning or raise broader questions in the mind of the reader.
The Chicken or the Egg?
I just presented a scenario in which a theme comes to light over the course of writing a story. But is that usually the case, or even desirable? Stephen King would likely insist that it was. In his memoir on craft, On Writing, he wrote:
“Good fiction always begins with story and progresses to theme; it almost never begins with theme and progresses to story.”
Then again, acclaimed authors such as Barbara Kingsolver and Ann Patchett often speak at length about the ideas that sparked their latest efforts. Having listened to several interviews, it certainly sounds like they have theme firmly in mind when they start their initial drafts.
In my own writings, I find it to be a mix of both. I generally have an idea of what I want to explore when I begin a new story, or at least an awareness of why the premise appeals to me. And those ideas often become themes in the story. Yet I also distinctly recall an early galley reader of my first novel pointing out a prominent theme I failed to recognize until the moment they shared their feedback. It was as if I had chosen the story for that very reason, and then erased it from my mind while crafting it.
Does Every Story Need a Theme?
In writings from antiquity, themes were bold and plentiful, designed to teach valuable life lessons. Early cultures promoted parables to reinforce societal norms and values. The plays of Shakespeare represented a giant leap forward for western audiences, offering greater complexity in plot and character while still providing the catharsis only a good theme can provoke. Later, in late eighteenth century Germany, the bildungsroman, or “formation novel” emerged, laying out a template emulated by nearly every coming-of-age tale published in the intervening centuries.
Yet, given the vast market for genre fiction today, grounded in highly entertaining plots, has the importance of theme diminished? Will the age of AI further erode its prominence? Or are we as a species wired to find patterns in both our world and the stories we consume, a need fulfilled by stories laden with themes?
As given away in my title for this post, I land squarely in the camp that says stories of any genre, from humor to horror, are elevated by deftly integrated themes. I believe that, as with the enduring appeal of strong character arcs, the stories I want to read – and those I wish to write as well – should ask big questions and highlight larger truths through the skillful employment of narrative themes.
These are my thoughts, but what about you? Do you think about theme when considering new projects? Do you consciously introduce themes into your writings? Or do you allow them to develop naturally? Have you ever been surprised by a theme that emerged in a story you crafted? Is it vital for a story to possess themes, or is it only necessary for certain genres? If you have opinions on these questions or other thoughts regarding story themes, please chime in. I look forward to hearing from you.
John J Kelley crafts tales of individuals at a crossroads, exploring themes of growth, reconciliation and community. His debut novel, The Fallen Snow, about a young soldier’s homecoming at the close of WWI, received a Publishers Weekly starred review and earned an Honorable Mention nod at the 2012 Foreword Reviews Book-of-the-Year Awards.
Born and raised in the Florida panhandle, John graduated from Virginia Tech and for a time served as a military officer. Today he lives with his partner in Washington, DC.
I do believe that humans are wired to look for meaning in storied, even if it’s unconscious. I also find that when a story remains with me after I close the book, it’s because a theme or underlying idea has resonated with me. As a writer, I think we probably do all the things you mention above. Just not in the same order for each new project. I got an image in my head while I was reading this of a fish swimming though water, the fish being the character we will follow through his adventures (plot) and the water as everything else. Setting, yes, but with other currents running over under and through it. Okay, maybe not enough coffee yet, but I love this post and you have me thinking!
I love your image, Susan. Working with no caffeine, or up late on a post assignment (someone else … certainly not me ;) can sometimes get the creative juices flowing.
I always see myself as most interested in setting (I traipsed through woods in Virginia for over a year for my first novel) and character development. But I’ve started noticing the threads of themes lately in the stories that appeal to me, and it has gotten me thinking of where it fits in my bag of writerly tools.
Here’s to thinking outside the box!
Hey John, I’m so glad to hear that the fires were kindled at UnCon. Same here. Susan really sets the sparks flying, doesn’t she? I’m one of those who finds theme after at least a rough draft is done. Heck, when I first started, I had not a thought in my head in regard to theme, and yet I stumbled across them. I’ve had them pointed out to me, too.
No judgement of others (every path is worthy of exploration), but my own issue in regard to starting with theme is that I tend to get heavy-handed once I’m fully aware of it. I think I’d lean too far into a targeted theme, and the result might be preachy at best, and “clubbing readers over the head” at worst. Even once I know my themes in revision, I do a draft leaning in, and then another pulling myself back again. Silly, but a couple decades in, and I’m still far from becoming a sensible or efficient writer. Regardless, I do believe our truths will make themselves known, one way or another.
Thanks for another great essay. It was great catching up with you in Salem! Wishing you a winter of warmth and bright light from the flames kindled there.
Hey, Vaughn! The speakers this year were fantastic, and I’m so happy I was able to enjoy at least one session with each of them. I loved Susan’s lesson on plot too … it took the mystery out of plot development for me, as it has always been the one piece that doesn’t feel natural to me. I’ve just never been able to see it or speak to plot as clearly as I can other elements of story. Her lecture simplified the aspects for me, and their importance.
On today’s topic, I’m glad you brought up the fear of being heavy-handed. I suspect that concern may be one of the reason discussion of theme seems glossed over in lessons about craft these days, relegated instead to reviews and book club dissections after the writing is done. Mentioning theme and symbolism in your writing feels nearly archaic in an era grounded in close narration stories … after all, a first person narrator or close-in perspective would hardly stop to note the recurrence of moonlight in their story, or the fact that everyone around them is dealing with shades of grief, unless noted sarcastically. But I would argue that theme is there all the same. It shouldn’t veer into being didactic, but instead hang an idea of a question in the air.
I think what works for me is to have a loosely-defined idea in the back of my mind as I forge ahead. For a long time I thought my first novel was about “finding home,” and in many ways it was … To this day I could rattle off the various characters and the ways they were seeking a place where they would be content, or at least nearer to peace. But in the end it wasn’t the primary theme. What emerged in the story were ideas I didn’t recognize on the page until well into the editing process.
It was great seeing you as well. I wish we’d had more time to catch up. Here’s hoping we’ll have some home fires this season so to speak. Winter is usually a good season for my writerly brain, and last year we didn’t get as much here in the mid-Atlantic. It’s chilly this morning though, and the autumn has been fantastic.
Oh, and congrats on the new installment of your epic series! Yays!
I have noticed the same issues with my own writing, Vaughn! It’s too easy to just state the theme, once I’m aware of it, or to configure situations where the reader is forced to agree what my views about that theme. I prefer books that truly explore a theme — turn it inside out and upside down, and find more than one truth about it — because that allows an interaction with my own ideas, and allows me to come to my own conclusions. I’ve sat through too many boring sermons in church to want them in my fiction!
I agree, John, that emotionally resonant books tend to have thematically consistent currents flowing under the surface (to borrow Susan’s image, above). Because they’re oblique, they require more writing/thinking time, which might explain why some popular published fiction feels flat and formulaic despite having an exciting plot, an unusual protagonist, or an exotic setting.
“I prefer books that truly explore a theme — turn it inside out and upside down, and find more than one truth about it — because that allows an interaction with my own ideas.”
This is an excellent point, Kristen. I don’t know that books should necessarily reflect the author’s view. If it is an “exploration,” which is how I like to describe it, there is a strong argument for, as you put it so well, turning it inside out and upside down to find more than the one truth. Because when there is only one perspective, it strangely always happens to coincide with my own. Go figure. ;)
Good point as well as for reasons why some highly polished works can still feel a bit flat.
Story for me starts with characters. As the characters flesh out and have interactions in specific settings, it’s then the themes emerge. They’re shadowy at first, but then grow clearer as the characters take a stance and the theme finds its way into unexpected nooks and crannies.
I was surprised while writing my novel Better Late Than Never how integrated the themes of longing for a home and family became. They seeped in as a force pushing the plot in a very organic way, for my writing. Now something similar is happening in my WIP. I feel like defining themes while writing are like manifesting intentions. Define them and they will come. It’s part of the writing that feels magical to me, driven by intuition.
I think every novel needs at least one good theme, all genres included. It’s what gives a feeling of depth to a story.
Thanks for the post today, John. It was so nice to meet you in Salem.
Also for the technical team please note I couldn’t post my comment through my iPhone, so had to use my laptop. It’s asking me to use a new app (no please) or the browser but the browser won’t post a comment.
Good morning, Ada! I love this way of looking at it — “defining themes while writing are like manifesting intentions”
I think that’s how it works for me, and I imagine others as well. It aligns too with an interview I saw of Ann Patchett discussing her new novel, “Tom Lake.” She essentially said, “I was thinking about these ideas during the pandemic, and this is the story that grew out of that.” I think it’s having a light touch that works best. And when it does it is, as you say, magical.
Have a wonderful day – stay warm along the shore. :)
PS – I’ll mention the technical issue to the WU team, in case they don’t see it here.
Hi John, a powerful post. I don’t believe I thought about theme when I began my “forever” novel. I was angry about a real event, a Chicago kidnapping, and being a mother of three I began to realize that there are actually humans walking the planet who enjoy harming children. This was the beginning….though it then created a web of STORY, people, places. Is theme still obvious in my work? Probably in the words of the characters, in their heart-felt moments of grief, surprise and decision. Maybe theme is that day to day thought process that produces the next scene. Maybe theme lives in our work, but in some ways is truly a mystery. What is the theme of my personal recounting of growing up without a father: grief, loss, the strength of family. EVERYTHING we write has a theme, don’t you think?
Your comment about theme residing in the characters deepest moments is a wise observation. Theme is on the page, but it’s stealthy when done well. It’s like little shimmering pieces of a pattern woven into the descriptions of the setting, in the way the narrative ebbs and flows, and perhaps most powerfully in the way characters speak to each other, and to themselves.
In discussion with you all now, I like the current idea that Susan suggested. Setting is time and place for a story, whereas theme is kind of the atmosphere … or at least that’s my fuzzy image of it at the moment.
I’m all jelly thinking of you all at Uncon but I no longer travel well so it’s lovely to get a glimpse into it. How wonderful that an old story came alive for you. Stories always come to me through characters in a pickle and once they begin talking in my head, I can go forward. I often don’t know what the story really is about until I finish a draft. I might think it’s about A, but really underneath it is B. So revisions give me the opportunity to deepen those themes. But once I become aware, I have to guard against showing AND telling. I have to trust the reader, trust myself that the story is enough.
My first novel, BOUND, began because I was in an RCIA program (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults) and I wondered if it’s really true. I was questioning everything. Am I really my brother’s keeper? I had to write a story to figure out the answer. My most recent picture book, Little Thief! was just a story about a childhood event, but beneath it, which I didn’t realize until I was signing books, that it’s about our assumptions. So now I sign with Question Everything! I’m sure it’s annoying to some parents but my heart is always with the children.
Hey, Vijaya! I was hoping you might be at the UnCon, though I knew everyone wouldn’t make it. I missed the last in-person one. It was nice being together with folks in person again.
Your caution about guarding against showing and telling is good advice.
Perhaps it is a ying-yang situation — a portion of Stephen King’s view on focusing on story first, letting themes evolve naturally with a dash of Ada’s advice to have key ideas or intentions manifest themselves in the writing.
As with most writing advice, there is no right or wrong answer. I think we all find what works, and change it again if needed for the next story.
Oh, and applause for encouraging the young minds you encounter to open. It’s our best chance to build a better future, for us all.
Be well, and Write On!
Hello John. Great meeting you at the conference. What you say here invites us to think about something that’s always been elusive for me. So much so that it bothers me. Why should it be so hard to identify my theme? First, it has to be isolated from other things. For instance, stakes. Tiffany Yates Martin and Donald Maass have written and spoken wisely about stakes. They encourage writers to “drill down” to find the true motives of both the writer herself, and her characters. But we’re still left needing to be able to state in simple terms what Big Idea shapes the mission of the story. It’s taken me all too long to identify the theme for my current WIP, but I think I have it at last. Even so, I can’t help thinking that being unsure of my theme suggests something missing in my sense of a story’s reason for being. Thanks again for an excellent post.
It was great spending time with you at the conference, Barry.
While I clearly don’t know the details on your current WIP, I don’t know that I would worry too much about taking a while to figure out what theme, or themes, may exist in your story. You can always ask when getting feedback from beta readers, and see what others think.
I’m surprised at how analytical I can be at studying another writer’s work, yet sometimes have a blindspot on my own. Perhaps it’s because many organic themes explored in our writings stem from our own subconscious. If the rest of your story is coming together well, then it may just be a matter of sitting with it for a while, or away from it for a while. When you return it, or contemplate it away. from the nitty gritty, it may be easier to see what was at play within the tale.
I hope that helps. Take care.
Great post, John! I agree with you and all those who say that theme adds depth and complexity to the story and invites the reader to participate. Here’s how I understand the Stephen King quote: I differentiate between the subject of the story and the theme. I’ll start with a subject I want to explore, say, your idea of finding home. The theme, then, is my take on that subject (e.g., you can never go home again; you need to open yourself to change in order to recognise your true home, etc.). I may not know what my take is until I start embodying it in the characters, plot, setting, etc. Or I may THINK I know but leave myself open to having it change while writing the first draft (it usually does).
Starting out with a fixed theme–a pre-determined take on the subject–can preclude that so-important exploration in the first draft and creates the heavy-handedness Vaughan describes. That’s why King goes on to say that the best time to figure out what your theme is will be after you finish the first draft. I believe readers want to participate in the exploration–the journey–with all its wrong turns and red herrings; they want a maze, not a tunnel.
I also recommend Shawn Coyne’s exercises for starting to find your theme: https://storygrid.com/theme/
Thanks, Barbara – these are wise observations. I especially like imagining subject (or premise, as I read somewhere) being distinct from themes, which develop as you explore the subject.
So, using your idea, a writer could start out thinking a story idea is about “loneliness.” In the writing the idea gets fleshed out and explored. So the theme might end up being the way loneliness can change people, toward bitterness (as seen in one character) or to greater empathy (as seen in the arc of another character). I like that framing.
And thank you for the link — what a great resource, and so well presented too.
Wow. I really enjoyed reading your perspective on this. I don’t think I typically go into writing with a theme, but somehow the theme reveals itself. I look forward to more blogs like this! Happy holidays.