Are You an Unreliable Narrator?

Hint: the answer is yes.

Greetings, my friends.

I just returned from a quick trip with my husband and two of our sons to look at a college in Northern Idaho. On the day we were heading back, we dropped into a local coffee place for our morning caffeine fix and I “just happened” to find myself listening to a group of old-timers who had congregated in the shop. They were having a delightful and humorous conversation about their season of retirement, and I couldn’t help eavesdropping or from capturing the moment with a photo.

I’m still musing about these fellows, maybe because seasons are on my mind. With a current high school senior and a junior right on his tail, our current season with them at home is slipping through our fingers. We have one son already in college and with the other two quickly headed in that direction, daily life around here will look different in a blink.

It happened so swiftly—just as the wizened ones who went before us said it would—and while the days flutter by and my boys grow into men, I find myself constantly needing to shift my perspective. As they enter into their adult years, I see them maturing more and more into a) fuller versions of the people they have always been, and b) people I hadn’t necessarily seen forming. The latter has been a mental adjustment.

We have a tendency, I think, to pigeon-hole folks, and perhaps most dramatically those with whom we are closest. But we shouldn’t, and really, we must not. People are not static, and if we become so, we have probably lost our way. Growth is one of the best and brightest gifts of being a human. As Christ-followers, particularly, if we are not continually growing more into his likeness, then we have most definitely lost our way.

There is no arrival on this side of heaven.

In a recent course in my MFA program, we had a lesson on unreliable narrators. From a literary standpoint, an unreliable narrator is simply a character whose viewpoint can’t be fully trusted for any number of reasons. The character may be naïve, biased, or impaired, to name a few. The lesson brought to mind something I pondered quite a bit last fall and is relevant for the present conversation.

During my in-person residency in October, I presented the prologue and first chapter of my current work-in-progress. As my cohort discussed the piece—the prologue in particular—one of the lovely writers in my group suggested that my protagonist might come across as an unreliable narrator. After thinking about it, I had to agree. The comment served me greatly as it caused me to go back and clarify a situation to make my protagonist more credible. But the comment also stuck with me.

Prior to the prologue consideration and the more recent lessons, I hadn’t thought much about unreliable narrators, and while I don’t think my protagonist fits the literary definition of one, she’s still not completely trustworthy either. There are pieces of her family history she doesn’t know. There are lies about her worldview that have yet to be unveiled. There are even facets about herself she doesn’t understand. The thing is—and this is what hits me about the whole business—how can any protagonist be reliable? If a character doesn’t need to change, where is the story?

The truth is, among us mere mortals, there is no reliable narrator. Fiction or not.

Who amongst us can boast a perfect understanding of the world, their neighbor, or themselves? From day one, we are on a path of learning, and we are deeply formed by our experiences, the narratives we are told, and the narratives we tell ourselves—for better or worse. Truth or lie.

We form opinions about others, perhaps through rose-tinted glasses. Or perhaps through dark-tinted ones. But we can never fully know another human. We can’t possibly understand the depth of their thoughts, motivations, or the wounds that affect their behavior. We are all prone to misguided conclusions about others.

We also form opinions about ourselves, and these might be the most misguided of all. We tend to self-deprecate or self-aggrandize, not understanding the depth of our worth nor the breadth of our unworthiness. “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” (Jer 17:9).

Please don’t misunderstand, I do believe in absolute truth. There is one Reliable Narrator. It just isn’t me. And friend, it isn’t you either. The longer I’ve walked with Christ, the more I know to hold my opinions of myself and others loosely. Lean not on your own understanding, says the Lord (Proverbs 3:5). Remember, the verse suggests, your thoughts are not reliable.

Circling back to the fiction side of these musings, I recently listened to Under the Magnolias by Southern writer T.I. Lowe. This is the second title I’ve read of Lowe’s, and I’m quickly becoming a fan. Not only is this a stunning book, but the protagonist is a perfect example of this reliable/unreliable dichotomy.

Austin Foster, the narrator and protagonist of the story, is forced into a heart-rending family situation and, in the midst, proves herself to be hard working, self-sacrificing, and unyieldingly loyal. Yet, her sense of pride keeps her from fulling disclosing a family secret which ultimately hinders not only her own growth and relationships, but also the very thing she most desires: her family’s restoration. The lie she tells herself about how to keep the family intact actually aids in its demise. I highly recommend this one, not only as a study in human nature, but simply as a beautiful piece of fiction.

In conclusion, dear reader, undoubtedly you are in some season or another. Perhaps it is retirement like the old-timers in the coffee shop or maybe, like me, you are in the midst of watching your teens morph into adults. It could be your toddlers are graduating from diapers and tantrums. Or maybe, like the protagonist in Under the Magnolias, your family is in crisis.

Wherever you are, it’s wise to hold your view of others, your situation, and your conclusions about it, lightly. Perspective is as fluid as the river, as the protagonist in my novel quips midway through her own story.

We are not the same people today that we will be tomorrow, thank God. Pliable minds and hearts, steeped in a fair dose of humility, are always a good idea.

Especially for a cast of unreliable narrators.

Tiffany