How (and How Not) to Advocate via Fiction
By Tracy Hahn-Burkett | March 12, 2024 |
Last week, I had to have a tooth pulled. (I know, you’re thinking, “Yes! All great Writer Unboxed posts start with a dental story.” No? Stick with me.)
Now, I’m a bona fide dentophobe, my extreme reaction to any dental procedure caused by a childhood dental trauma. I’m also cursed with terrible teeth, so I find myself in the dentist’s chair far too frequently. And the coping mechanism I’ve adopted for every procedure, from cleanings to root canals, is by listening to engaging novels with the volume turned up high enough to drown out the high-pitched whine of the drill.
This brings me to last week’s procedure. I’d recently begun a dystopian novel whose name I will not share for reasons that will become clear. The novel’s premise intrigued me: What would happen to society if a certain, real, high-tech weapon was used against the U.S.? The author had a military background, and I was curious about how he would depict the aftermath of the weapon’s potential use.
By the time I got to the dentist’s office, I’d already listened to the novel’s beginning, and it wasn’t promising. The characters were uniformly flat, and formulaic. The ex-military guy and his teen daughters. The mother-in-law who gives expensive gifts to her granddaughters and has very definite, regionally based ideas about how the girls should behave. The ex-military guy’s gruff, military pal. The family lives on a mountain with sweeping views that will come in handy in the coming crisis. The early pages were nothing but a set-up that ran on too long, and I became impatient for the actual story to begin.
The inciting incident finally happened, and I thought, Good. The story will at last begin to move while my tooth is being yanked from my head. But my God, these characters were slow. Despite clear signs all around them that the world was amiss, they were at best mildly concerned. They neglected to ask obvious questions. By the time my procedure was done, they still hadn’t even figured out they were in trouble. The most emotional person in the whole story was me.
What is the point of this discussion, besides the result that I was not distracted from the tooth-pulling? I know that the author of this book wrote it to alert people to the dangers of the weapon in question. But though I am still interested in the premise, I’ll need to drag myself back to the novel because of the glacially paced story and the uninteresting characters who, an hour into the audiobook, don’t yet engage with their surroundings in any sort of believable manner, even when they’re faced with a challenge begging to be noticed. In fact, I may be better off just finding a white paper on the topic and reading that instead.
There’s been a lot of discussion about politics in fiction lately, here at WU and elsewhere, and with good reason: politics is everywhere these days. Fiction can be pure escapism, but it also can be a place to explore hypotheticals, to show the world the potential results of evil, and yes, to communicate political messages. Authors have written politics into novels for as long as there have been novels, and you can do the same, as long as you remember one overarching rule: in all cases, you must focus on the story. Do that, and you can advocate for a cause, communicate a message, show political consequences, and so on.
So now that we’ve looked at an example of how not to make a point with your book, let’s look at some relatively recent examples of novels where authors have advocated for causes or made political points in their books with much better results:
• In the category, “Gold-Star Winner Political Fiction” – The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood.
This is such a clear and relevant example of an entire story that is political that it’s become an anchor of U.S. political dialogue and a meme. I dare you to find a single day in 2024 American politics without someone mentioning the word, “handmaid.” Atwood’s meticulously researched, high-stakes story filled with characters you both root for and despise finishes with a gut-punching epilogue. You can’t miss the message here—unless you’re determined to. Under his eye.
• In the category, “It was fiction when she wrote it” – Red Clocks, Leni Zumas. Published in 2018 as dystopian fiction, here’s the beginning of the back cover copy of my edition: “Welcome to America. Abortion is illegal, in vitro fertilization is banned, and the Personhood Amendment grants rights of life, liberty, and property to every embryo.” Ahem. Though it would have been so easy for Zumas to get preachy, she avoids that by homing in on the stories of the four characters central to the story—four women in different places in life, facing different reproductive circumstances in a society that doesn’t permit them control over their own persons. Message delivered.
• In the category, “Let’s keep it fiction, shall we?” – Parable of the Sower, Octavia E. Butler, and Our Missing Hearts, Celeste Ng. These novels, written decades apart, tell stories of a United States that has ceased to be the democratic country in which anyone sitting and reading these words grew up. Butler’s depiction is the greater horror, as large parts of the country have disintegrated into violent lawlessness. Various sinister influences compete for control, and the protagonist works to survive and create meaning in a world where murder, rape, enslavement, and other forms of exploitation are the norm. Ng’s work and world is more recent and quieter, where most open violence has mostly been quelled by the silencing of “dissidents,” especially Asians, and by removing said dissidents’ books from libraries while discouraging people from asking any questions. Ng’s story is about one such disappeared dissident’s family and her 12-year-old son’s search for her, through which we understand the injustice of this family’s experience. Via their stories, it’s clear that both authors are showing us how the chilling paths from our world to the ones they’ve created are fiction now, but easily traveled in reality if we aren’t careful to avoid them.
• In the category, “Political because of the condition of our society when it was written” – Brokeback Mountain, Annie Proulx. Published in 1997, this love story between two cowboys both shocked and won over many straight Americans who had never once considered that such relationships could exist. In Proulx’s story, the reader is thoroughly enveloped in the relationship between the two men and the circumstances of their lives. But what happens in the story makes an unmistakable statement about society in the mid-to-late twentieth century—and the one we’re still living in today. (It’s undeniable that this story’s widespread influence stemmed from the fact that it was turned into a movie.)
• In the “slightly futuristic literary fiction with a touch of magical realism” category – two books: Exit West, Mohsin Hamid, and Vigil Harbor, Julia Glass. As I’ve written on this blog before, Hamid strikes a perfect balance in Exit West, which sets a love story against the world’s growing migrant population in the near future. (See news reports a few years and decades hence for confirmation of this trend.) Glass’s novel drenches the reader in setting and characterization while deftly weaving multiple plot threads to relay a tale of the inhabitants of a Massachusetts peninsula who cope with personal demons, climate change-related weather, and visits by someone perhaps a bit supernatural in nature.
Obviously, this list could continue for paragraphs and pages. It could be endless. So that leads to the inevitable question: does this mean that every novel is political?
No, of course not. You can write a romance or a detective story, for example, or something that explores dynamics in a family, that has nothing to do with politics. Some of your characters may be political, and some will undoubtedly hold a political view or two. But their opinions are their own and spring from the traits and interactions you’ve given them; in these cases, you’re probably not writing with the intent of communicating any specific message.
But if you perceive something amiss in our world, if you want something to change, then let the above examples show you how you can do so within the parameters of your art. Just remember that the message must serve the story, not the other way around. Political advocacy is just one more tool available to you from your writer’s toolbox. Employed skillfully, it can draw some people to your story and help it sparkle.
And as a bonus, it just might help people like me get through their tough moments in life—like having a tooth pulled at the dentist.
Can you think of other great examples of authors using their fiction to advocate for a position or a cause? What about bad examples? (You don’t have to name the book or the author in the latter case; just share how they’ve gone astray so we know how to avoid that pitfall.)
Tracy Hahn-Burkett is a writer and public policy advocate who has written everything from speeches for a U.S. senator to texts seeking proof-of-life from her kids in college. She’s published dozens of essays, columns, articles, reviews and a story, and teaches writing for advocacy. She currently lives in the Washington, D.C. area with her husband, cat, and dog, and she is revising her first novel. Her website is TracyHahnBurkett.com. You can find her on Threads as @tracyhahnburkett.
[coffee]
Thank you for making the case, Tracy. It’s so true — fiction can and often should get political, but if the political fiction can’t get people to *read* it it isn’t doing either side of the job.
Exactly, Ken.
Great post, Tracy. I have read most of the books you listed, and yes, writers are often on fire about truth, using their characters to make valid points about the breaks, problems and sheer mistakes in our society. Literary works can shine a light, stressing how people have been harmed….maybe forever. The beauty of language, the excitement of plot can bring someone to a change of heart. It also happens when writing becomes film, another way to approach society with warnings, reveal that change is necessary. And PS, you have an amiable dentist!
Thanks, Elizabeth. That’s why so many of us write, isn’t it? To “bring someone to a change of heart,” whether that’s about something wrong in the world or to see a single character’s plight in a whole new light. We want to touch humanity, to make people think just a tiny bit differently. This is a writer’s superpower.
And haha, yes, I have an amiable dentist–although that was not what I was thinking last week!
The Kite Runner. A Thousand Splendid Sons. The Boys in the Rain. To Kill a Mockingbird. Once I get started thinking about this…thank you, Tracy.
Susan, I considered including Hosseini’s novels; they’re great examples. And of course, To Kill a Mockingbird is as well. I haven’t read The Boys in the Rain. There are so many. And the good ones stay with us for a long, long time.
Fabulous article, Tracy.
I know the book you are talking about! The premise and Author’s background drew me in but when I read the sample it was a pass for the reasons you mentioned.
I watched the hand Maiden’s Tale (never read the book). I stopped after season 4 beacuse the story and America had moved too close together. It made me uncomfortable.
My current WIP is a speculative YA dealing with teen suicide and gay rights. I am aiming for character and story and I am trying to advocate through story and hoping to avoid all the pitfalls you mention. I am working with two wonderful editors and a bunch of fabulous writers in a six month workshop. I’m sure they will keep me on the right path.
And here’s to minmal dental work in the future :)
Thank you, Robert. That’s a valuable lesson: read the sample before you buy! And I recommend reading The Handmaid’s Tale even if you’ve seen the series. Season one is basically the book; the show goes off on its own after that. Like many TV shows and movies, the book is still worth reading even if you’ve seen the visual art.
Good luck with your YA WIP. It sounds like you’ve got lots of good people guiding you through!
Thanks for this post, Tracy. I’ve read many of the books you listed. These are powerful examples of book with strong political content, but the story and the humanity of the characters are the pillars of each work. Another example is, “Super Sad True Love Story,” by Gary Shteyngart. It centers on a dystopian future in which America is on the brink of economic collapse, beholden to Chinese creditors. The US is a totalitarian state with no tolerance for dissent and the government blatantly promotes consumerism. Within this bleak landscape stands Lenny Abramov, an unremarkable middle-aged man, who falls in love with young Eunice Park, a Korean-American barely out of her teens, who is obsessed with materialism. Lenny has a 20th Century mindset and he values nothing more than his collection of printed books, which are considered outdated in this future age. The story is at times hilarious, despite its dark underpinnings. Thanks again for this thoughtful post.
Chris, I’ve long had Super Sad True Love Story on my TBR list, but somehow have never gotten around to reading it. Maybe I should move it up!
1984 by George Orwell. Prophetic.
Let’s hope not, Vijaya. But it has been disturbingly relevant in casual conversation and national discourse over the past ten years.
The Great Gatsby. The social commentary, which is also political, is vivid yet not overtly stated. It’s only as we’re drawn in by the characters, settings and action that we see the injustice and cruelty of the world Fitzgerald paints.
Yes, Christine! A classic example!
Player Piano, Kurt Vonnegut Jr’s unsung masterpiece is more novella than novel, and predicted in the 1950s what 2025 is looking to be. It’s also a .pdf in the public realm. Question, as Peter, Paul and Mary sang, when will they ever learn? Maybe if we tell the stories often and well enough … ?
In my own quiet way: What is a chronically ill/disabled person allowed to want? And how deeply embedded in her psyche is society’s disapproval? Because that’s what Pride’s Children comes down to in the end. Until something even more important – the children – must be saved.
Hi Tracy:
As one of those who has been talking about politics here at WU, I read your post with great interest. The problem you identify is common to books that involve a highly technical world or situation, and thus are naturally prone (unfortunately) to the need to impart information, rather than tell a story. You have to find a way to embed whatever information you feel the readers needs to know in the beliefs and behavior of your characters. And belief and behavior are not distinct entities. A belief is something you are prepared to act upon, they are two sides of the same thing.
In my teaching I often ask students to identify their character’s dream of life: the kind of person they want to be, the way of life they hope to live. The answers to those questions also point to the character’s tribe–the other people in the character’s life who share or can at least understand that dream of life. And in today’s world, where fewer people belong to bowling leagues and the Elks and Friends of the Library (sadly), the tribes they increasingly find are political.
Some people argue that political fiction should talk about process, not ideology. But we are not polarized in this country because of disagreements over process. We are polarized because of seemingly irreconcilable visions for the right way to live. And that polarization provides a great opportunity to depict profound conflict, if we can root the characters’ belief in their dream of life, that there are degrees of commitment to the tribe that seemingly shares that dream, and never forget people can and do abandon their tribe, move from one tribe to another, or even betray their tribe, meaning their individual agency may be crippled by their tribal allegiance but the spark of that agency remains. (The tragedy of 1984 is that the totalitarian state with torture and deceit at its disposal are capable of destroying that agency.)
As for my vote for a great novel about politics: All the King’s Men by Robert Penn Warren. And one of the brilliant decisions he made in addressing his material was to make the narrator someone who gets sucked in to the Huey Long machine, and then must reckon with his error.
Thanks for this post. And for reminding me I need to read more Octavia Butler.
Daid:
I’d been reading from Vinson Cunningham’s new novel Great Expectations when I read your post. The story is based on the author’s time with Barack Obama’s first presidential campaign. On the first first pages, the narrator explains why he was first attracted to “the Senator”: the candidate spoke to his followers as a pastor to congregants, the party as a religion, their united vision of the country as a fair and just, belonging to them, as God. It’s eerily prescient.
Thanks, Christine. I just dragged that book up from my cavernous kindle library and will finally put my mind to reading it
David, you are so right about “irreconcilable visions for the right way to live” and the potential to mine that for conflict. It IS a major cause of our real-life conflict, and it is a deep well from which we can draw for fiction. My ideal isn’t yours, nor is either of ours someone else’s, and when we all pursue our ideals we run into conflicts. Similarly, think about any novel with competing POVs regarding the same set of events–has anyone read, for example, Lauren Groff’s Fates and Furies, in which two married characters offer vastly different perspectives on the same marriage? It’s an excellent illustration of how conflict may exist simply in how two people view the same thing, both in our stories and, I suppose, in our lives.
The Constant Rabbit by Jasper Fforde. Dark satire, very political while entertaining with a gripping story and great world building. Speculative fiction at its best, in my opinion.
I haven’t heard Jasper Fforde’s name in ages. Thanks for the reminder.