On nailing narrative dissonance (by writing porn)

This is the sixth in a series relating to how writing sex in fiction is beneficial to you as a writer. The previous post can be found here.

When I was writing last week about characterisation and using private moments to invoke the character of the world, I thought my next post would be an (unplanned) commentary on using sex for worldbuilding. And, true, it’s still sort-of related to that. But while mulling over how I’d write that post, I realised that what I actually wanted to say is something tangentially different.

Narrative dissonance is related to worldbuilding the same way that establishing character is related to worldbuilding: they both rely on the structure of the world a writer creates, and how that world moves, and how you as a writer interact with it. The way you write your characters will indicate what kind of world they grew up in. I don’t think there’s much more that needs to be said about that. (I might be wrong.)

What’s more important to me about worldbuilding is handling what a writer wants from their world versus what it actually is. Narrative dissonance is when a character makes a claim (ie, that the usually-male love interest is a good guy) which is defied by the character’s actual actions (the love interest acts in abusive or discriminatory ways) and, most importantly, the narrative agrees with the former.

If you have a character who says they’re good, no, really, but then don’t act like it, and the narrative treats them as though they aren’t good, you don’t have narrative dissonance. You have a character who is an asshole, in a setting which may or may not validate them (and this is okay). If you have a character who says they’re good but don’t act like it, but the narrative acts as though they do, that’s when narrative dissonance comes into play. It fundamentally blends the setting with the narrative, by assuming that the character or setting (if the world built agrees with the character) is correct (even when they may not be).

There’s a saying that the best way to get a measure of a person is how they treat those they consider their lessers. This is essentially what happens when you write a character (or characters) in a moment of vulnerability, intimacy, or both; you’re reducing characters to their most basic fundamentals and instincts with regard to how they interact with another person who is also in a state of vulnerability. (Yes, I said ‘a’ character: self-hatred is a thing. A character alone interacts with themself.) Sex is nearly always ‘both’, which makes it a good scenario to test your worldbuilding-narrative cohesion.

Awareness of this concept is important to establishing character because you want how your characters act to match who the story claims them to be. (Not necessarily who they claim to be.) It’s important to worldbuilding because the world you develop is the setting which validates them or not. And it’s important to story because it is the narrative itself which proves or disproves that connection. You could have a man who claims to be good, but isn’t, and is validated by the world around him, and is also narratively described as bad. Such a story is making a commentary not only on individuals, but the society they live in, and can do so without trying to actively be a social commentary.

Narrative dissonance is very often most socially recognised in romances between men and women, specifically because we as a society generally have enough awareness of various kinds of sexist abuse to recognise it in fiction. Yet it isn’t limited only to these situations, and can still be very readily revealed in all sorts of intimate situations you may choose to write about, especially for readers who have relevant experiences.

So when you have an abled character who treats a disabled character indulgently and/or as if they’re lazy, they might be an (intentional or unintentional) asshole. If the disabled character believes them, or the society in which they live believes them, then you have a probably-abusive situation. These may be salvageable scenarios narratively speaking (though potentially unwise, if you have no experience with ableism, disabilities, and the disabled character is the only disabled character in the story.) If you then have the story act as if the abled character is accurate in their assessment, judgement, and correct in their choices and actions toward the disabled character, then you have a story which is ableist and hurtful, and you need to rethink what you’re doing.

Narrative dissonance is one of the things which turns representation bad. Just the existence of a (woman, person of colour, neuroatypical, nonbinary person, take your pick) doesn’t make their representation good. This is why it’s so important to establish your characters well, and establish them not only in relation to each other and their setting, but to the story itself.

Your characters aren’t perfect. As long as your story recognises that they aren’t, and intends to call them out when they aren’t, you’re going to write better stories. Starting from a platform of a closed room and physical intimacy, while thinking about depth and characterisation, forces you to consider what kinds of assumptions you might be bringing to the scenario. The vulnerability (or conscious lack thereof) of the characters opens the door to understanding exactly how you, as a writer, approach those vulnerabilities. And it gives you the opportunity to make the choice to go in another direction.

Instead of a man who assumes he has a right to a woman’s body, have him ask consent at every turn to focus on her comfort and safety. Instead of writing about someone being ‘trapped’ by a lover whose genitals doesn’t match their gender, allow the latter room to air their fears with a person who will accept them. The way you approach your narrative will validate or condemn the actions your characters take, and which actions you choose to validate can negatively impact your readers.

Learning to juggle the differences between character/societal action, character/societal belief, and narrative validation is very difficult and nuanced, not to mention an ongoing learning experience, but doing so is the mark of a really good writer.