Department of Philosophy

ESSAY COVER SHEET

Student number: 13117610
Module name: Fiction and Language
Essay title: Problems in Distinguishing Fiction and Nonfiction

Word Count (excluding bibliography): 4500

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 Problems in Distinguishing Fiction and Nonfiction

In her paper Imagining Fact and Fiction, Stacie Friend brought to bear the various problems
that one might encounter by taking strict definitional stances while distinguishing between
fiction and nonfiction. My objective is a similar one: to supplement her position with a few
more categories which would leave this dichotomy problematised.

First, I will list out the various ways in which fiction is distinguished from nonfiction. They
can be broadly categorised:
1. Through the authorisation of games of make-believe, so theorised by Kendall Walton,
wherein readers are said to partake in an imaginary fiction where there is a clear
intentional authorisation of a set of rules that they are to accept in order to correctly
engage with the work.
2. Through the fictive intent of the author, as made clear by Greg Currie, according to
which, the work must intend to incite make-belief rather than belief, which is the
function of nonfiction.
3. Lamarque and Olsen extend the previous account to also include the reciprocal
relationship in the culture of storytelling in which the reader and the author are
embedded within certain practices which both side implicitly or explicitly abide by.

The major problem, as pointed out by Friend, is one of overlap. All these categories seem to
include within them works which we would nonfiction and seem to leave out several works
that are indeed accepted as fictional. She identifies the task as that which gives a narrower
account of the definitional status of fiction as accepted in a broader cultural sense.

All of the above theories, in striving to give a notion of how we understand fiction, seem to
overlook the culturalism that is inherent within the categories themselves. To divide things
into fiction and nonfiction is itself a practise which neednt be so in a different context, in a
different time. Indeed, Friend provides us with a most potent example of Thucydides and
Tacitus both of whom used several fictive texts in order to present what we would call a
nonfictional account of history.

What remains strong in our current practise is the identification of genre itself, which
precedes not just the reading of the texts, but also tends to precede its writing. In order to
recognise the quality of fictionality within a text then it not only becomes important to
identify what it says, but also how it is read. The simplest example is George Orwells
Animal Farm, which can both be read as fictional account of how power functions and also a
vaguely nonfictional account of the unfolding of the Russian Revolution.

Thus, one can identify a dichotomy in the function of a fictional text: that which is merely
present as a basal level sequence of events, and also that which lies in the subtext, an idea or
a truth which the writer purports to convey. In my opinion, this tension between the grander
purpose for which fiction is produced, and the mere reduction of such work to functions of make-
believe renders the strict classification difficult. Below I will try and highlight certain problems which
arise because of this dichotomy, which I believe instantiates itself in the three classificatory attempts
mentioned above.
i) Didactic fiction

It is not a bold statement to say that much of fiction attempts to be didactic in some form or other.
Like in the case of Camus trying to propound his Absurdism in The Stranger, or simple moral tales
told to children, one cannot ignore that no matter how one attempts to define fiction, a lot of it tries to
expound some form of truth or belief that the author holds. This didacticism though may not seem
central in understanding individual statements or fictionality itself, is an important function of the
fictional genre as a cultural product. In all the theories that adhere to make-believe, the central move
while reading fiction is to transport several assumptions of the real world into the work, in order to
engage with it in a proper manner (like assuming that Sherlock Holmes insides are the same as any
human being, and not made up of some individual). While I believe this to be true, I also want to
invert this notion and see how we can transport certain truths present in the fiction back to reality and
use it to affect change. In this regard, distinguishing fiction from nonfiction in terms of belief and
make-belief seems to be on shaky ground. Walton concedes the nuanced nature of approaching such
statements, and would argue that those which prompt make-believe, be characterised as fictional and
others not so. Currie took this even further to suggest that one must examine individual statements in
order to ascertain fictionality. But as Friend rightly points out, this move shirks away from examining
our cultural understanding of the generic form of fiction and nonfiction. Below I will examine
particular cultural examples where didacticism renders mere-make-believe ineffective in
understanding fiction as a genre.

Folktales and Oral Traditions

Folklore as a cultural mechanism to disseminate fiction is quite ubiquitous around the world, and
many of these are preserved over generations through oral traditions. This method leads to the
evolution of the story and its events and sometimes even its characters. But usually the central theme
of the story is preserved. Now, all folktales need not be didactic in nature, but I want to explore a
particular form of didacticism, which involves preservation of certain customs and knowledge through
the mode of fiction. A study of this kind of folk tradition was done by Rustom Bharucha, in his book
Rajasthan: An Oral History. Through his interviews with Rajasthani scholar, Komal Kothari,
Bhraucha was able to ascertain several aspects of knowledge preservation through oral storytelling.
He was thus able to explore how the knowledge of crop cultivation patterns and the genealogy of the
caste system was preserved through stories.

Take for example Bharuchas findings about the Hir-Ranjha epic:

Let me talk a little bit about Hir Ranjha. Sung in the Alwar-Bharatpur region to the
accompaniment of the jogia sdrangi (bowed stringed instrument), it is known primarily as a
romantic tale composed by Waris Shah, who took the story-line of a long lay from Punjab,
adapting it within the Sufi philosophical tradition. Now what we find is that Hir Ranjha is sung
in those rural areas that are prone to cattle epidemics, more specifically to the foot-and-mouth
disease that affects cattle. Whenever such disease is rampant, Hir Ranjha is sung, and the local
people say, 'We are doing the path (religious reading) of Hir Ranjha.' Just as there are readings
of the Gita and the Ramayana, in the same way there are readings of Hir Ranjha. In the course
of this reading, it becomes a religious text.

Now, who is Ranjha? He is identified as a mahiwal, which originates from the Sanskrit word
mahishpala buffalo-keeper (bhains-palak), as he is known in everyday life. In this role
Ranjha is identified as a god who can effectively counter any cattle epidemic, particularly the
disease concentrated in the khur, literally the cleft in the hooves of the animals. Formerly,
Ranjha was effective only with the buffalo, but gradually his power extended to the cow as
well, the animal most closely identified with Krishna. And yet, in Krishna's own territory, in
Mathura, Govardhan, and the entire Braj area, whenever cows and buffaloes face any epidemic
in this area, it is Ranjha who is invoked to solve the problem and not Krishna.
 Of course, it could be argued that it is not Hir Ranjha itself that is instrumental in preventing
the disease, but any number of preventive rituals surrounding the singing of the epic. Very
often, we focus exclusively on the musical and literary aspects of any epic poem, without
taking into account the social activities and material practices adopted by a particular
community in their everyday life. In any crisis of foot-and-mouth disease, there are particular
niyam (rules) that have to be followed by the community during this time. The most important
rule is that all the affected animals have to be isolated they cannot be taken out of the
infected area, nor can any animals be admitted into this area. There is total quarantine. No
migration of animals to the surrounding areas is permitted. Secondly, no smoke should filter out
of the household fire into the neighbourhoodit is believed that the disease spreads through
dhuan (smoke). There are also restrictions on cooking fried food. Also, another preventive
practice is the addition of alum to the fodder of the cattle, and potassium permanganate to all
drinking water. All these actions are part of a larger vigilance upheld by the entire community
to prevent the foot-and-mouth disease from spreading.1

These practises, Bharucha, goes on to explicate, as in many other similar folk rituals, are found
embedded within the text of the fiction. The story itself serves as a guidance as to how certain
problems can be understood and remedied. Therefore, the story has an explicitly didactic function, it
works more like an instruction manual, than a simple aesthetic medium. If the story states, certain
truths about the rituals that need to be performed, or that are performed by a character in a story, in
order to rid the community of certain evils, rituals that are developed over centuries, and passed down
in the form of fiction, the relationship between the reader and the text becomes far stronger than the
one attributed by mere make-believe.

The authorial intent is not just to authorise certain games of make-believe, in this circumstance, but to,
along with the basal layer of pretence, also call for the reader to see the text as nonfictionally relevant,
as that which has very direct correlation to reality.

In this context, the fictive intent as Currie proposes also seems to fall short. It is very much possible to
locate the intention in the exposition of the story to create beliefs about the real world. One will then
have to separate out the two functions of the story wherein it functions as any story would, asking the
reader to imagine a world in which the events describe occur, but one would also need to separate out
the unspecified call to the reader to eke out the bits of the story which are relevant to their lives. But
such a move wouldnt give a wholesome picture of the tradition of folklore, where such a divisionary
move may or may not be applicable.

If one was to consider Curries move of separating individual statements in order to study their
fictionality, notwithstanding the difficulty of such an act in apprehending the nature of fiction in
general, it would also not account for the statements which instil both belief and make-belief. Take for
example a statement constructed roughly like this so and so character performed so and so ritual in
so and so a manner. Such a statement would appear to exhibit a dual nature: it would be authorising
make-belief by inviting the reader to imagine a world wherein the prescribed fiction occurs, but also
expect a certain notion of belief, wherein the reader is expected to take for granted that certain actions
are to be performed in certain situations.

The reading then becomes context specific as elaborated by Lamarque and Olsen, one would have to
look at the context within which the reader engages with the text, how she interprets and uses it. But
such subjectivity does nothing to help us understand the status of the text itself. We would still be
tempted to call it a work of fiction despite its intention to invoke belief in the reader.

Its status then precedes authorisation of make-belief, and is apprehended as fictional only if the
intention is thusly first understood by the reader. The text itself, whether it purports to instil belief or
make-belief, becomes secondary, and it is the cultural context that gives it its fictional status. It is this

1
Pp 61, Rustom Bharucha, Rajasthan: An Oral History, Penguin Books India (2003)
setting of the status first within the genre of fictional and nonfictional that authorises the reader to
read the text in the appropriate manner. Here, I believe, one first identifies the genre, then indulges in
make-belief because that is what is expected in the fictional mode, and deviates to belief as and when
required. Therefore, make-belief and authorial intention though help identify the way in which the
reader tackles the text, doesnt give us enough reason to justify the culture product of didactic folktale
as a whole as a fictional entity. Much of the onus in this case still lies with the reader and how she
chooses to read the text rather than in the official authorisation provided within the text.

Mythology & Religious Texts

This duality of identity can also be seen in the case of mythology or religious texts. But in this case, I
want to specifically talk about the practise of reading such texts as fictional. Here, you can broadly
categorise the audience into two camps: those who are religious and those who arent. It is not
uncommon to find people who read scriptures not as empirical data about history but as didactic texts
which propound moral and metaphysical precepts. Such interpretations are quite common within
philosophy itself with thinkers like Kant and Hegel among others, who do not shy away from utilising
religious texts in order to expound their own systems of thought. Even philosophers on the Radical
Left, like Giorgio Agamben, Alain Badiou and Tony Negri, do not shy away from incorporating
theology into their critical theory.

This kind of intelligent engagement with what one can argue is a fictional text is not considered
reading in bad faith, but rather has led to (arguably) much advancement in thought. Even a layman
will concede that much of what mythic text tries to do is fulfil a didactic function. In his examination
of Greek mythology, French historian, Jean-Pierre Vernant, proposed a similarly complicated
relationship that the Greek shared with their religion (although his position is controversial):

Thus their religion and their pantheon can be seen to be a system of classification, a
particular way of ordering and conceptualizing the universe, distinguishing between
multiple types of force< and power operating within it. So in this sense I would suggest that
a pantheon, as an organized system implying definite relations between the various gods, is
a kind of language, a particular way of apprehending reality and expressing it in symbolic
terms. I am even inclined to believe that, in those ancient times, there existed between
language and religion a sort of co-naturality. When one considers religion as a type of
thought it appears to date back as far as language itself. 'What characterizes the human level
as opposed to that of other creatures on the animal scale is the presence of these vast
mediatory systems - language, tools, and religion.2

This symbolic level of engagement with mythology raises similar concerns, I think, as those raised by
didactic folklore. Similarly, belief and make-belief both can be attributed to the text rendering its
definition problematic. Even if one was to accept that such scriptures dont present historical truths,
and thus sanction make-belief, one can see how their explicit function is to influence the behaviour or
the belief system of the reader. Then, if a believer concedes the fictionality of the text, and yet insists
on the very real importance of the subtext, how does one designate a genre to such writing.

Again, the examination of individual statements isnt satisfactory. Take for example, Krishna reciting
the Bhagavad Gita or Moses descending Mt Sinai with the Ten Commandments. One can engage with
the moral lessons, that come out of such texts in the form of stories, just as one took lessons out of
didactic folklore. The counterpoint may say that, again, we distinguish between the individual
statements here, following Curries cue, and pick and choose those that provide a fictional make-
belief and a nonfictional belief. But that still doesnt clarify the way in which one can classify the text
as a whole. Especially those that follow the structure I mentioned earlier (so and so character

2
Pp 104, Jean-Pierre Vernant, Myth and Society in Ancient Greece, Zone Books (1996)
performed so and so moral act in so and so a manner). In fact, it is doubly problematised because of
the socio-political and cultural importance of such texts.

Despite the status of such texts as fictional, the drawing of beliefs from statements that seem to
sanction make-belief is plausible. Here again, only fictive intent or appeal to make-believe doesnt
help us in designating fictionality to the text.

Fiction in general

What we have seen so far is that the drawing of beliefs from within the context of make-believe
leaves a lot of problem in defining some of the specific cultural practises of storytelling as fictional.
What I now want to do is extend this examination to fiction as we understand it in the modern,
cultural sense.

I want to further examine the didacticism, that is present in the previously mentioned forms of
storytelling, in fiction in general. Although, this might appear too pedestrian a move, while reading a
story, can it not be the case that by putting oneself in the shoes of the characters, one also learns
lessons from the story? Can one not learn perseverance from Captain Ahab, or the evils of jealousy
from Othello? It might be too presumptuous to believe that a lot of people take these lessons. But
there certainly is some level of implicit didacticism in a lot of fiction, which one can very well apply
to ones life. If one is indulging in this kind of direct referencing to ones real life, as one does in the
case of folktales and mythologies, what is the status of authorial intent and make-believe in such a
relationship?

Consider this extract from Jorge Sempruns The Long Voyage:

I dont feel like explaining to him why I talk exactly as they do, why I talk like the Colonel,
without any accent, that is, with a real French accent. This is the surest way of preserving my
status as a foreigner, which I cherish above all. If I had an accent, my foreignness would be
constantly apparent. It would become something banal, exteriorized.3

In the story these words are spoken by Gerard, a Spanish communist, fighting in the French
Resistance during the Second World War. This character acts as a surrogate for Semprun himself,
who was also a Spaniard and a communist fighting in the French Resistance. The words which Gerard
speaks can without much controversy be attributed to Semprun. And not just purely because he wrote
the words. But because they seem to be drawn from his life, as a representation of a certain truth he
actually experienced, which he wants to depict through fiction.

We take such a leap quite often in our reading of fiction, where certain passages on states of mind, or
descriptions of experiences, can reflect a truth that the author wants to consciously present. One can
say that the author is only calling us to indulge in mere make-believe. But then much of the agency of
fiction, in depicting what the poets call truth, in representing that which is true about humanity, or
about human experiences, stands to be undermined.

And I believe that there is a great importance in this didactic function, because of which fiction holds
a central place in culture. The belief inspired in us by fiction is not just restricted to the more obvious
cases like Solzhenitsyns Gulag Archipelago or Knausgaards My Struggle, which try to give us a
picture of that which actually happened, but also in the case of the whole genre of fiction, which tries
to apprehend to various degrees the human condition. Of course, a lot of fiction can be characterised
by make-believe, but then again it only gives us a pale understanding of the function and cultural
place of fiction in our lives.

3
Jorge Semprun, The Long Voyage, Grove Press, Inc. (1964)
As long as we continue to apply or at least relate fiction to our personal experiences, and if it indeed is
able to affect our behaviour by giving us a strong case for empathy, love, courage and so on, it is
functioning in the same capacity as belief-giving nonfiction, which too purports to give us a similar
case about actuality.

If one was to follow the make-belief model, then we would have to separate out fiction as a cultural
entity, and fictional statements. An analysis of the sum total of all fictional statements thus understood
via make-belief would still not give us an understanding of the cultural phenomenon that is fiction.

ii) Predictive Nonfiction

A lot of the speculative elements that are often employed in nonfictional writing can be solved via
Greg Curries formulation, which requires one to break down discourse into individual statements and
analyse their fictionality at an atomised level. However, one can problematise this account by
bringing into consideration what I call predictive nonfiction.

Predictive nonfiction, as the name suggests, is that which makes speculations about the future of
certain state of affairs. This could include stock market projections, charting the trajectory of
company profits, soundly researched predictions of election results, or even the creation of a personal
budget in anticipation of a yet unreceived salary.

All these cases invoke some form of make-belief, which are authorised according to certain rules.
Thus, it is possible to denote them as fiction. After all, arent these discourses simply about that which
doesnt exist (yet)? Dont they prompt imagination in the reader? But it seems very unintuitive to
deny their status as nonfiction, mainly because of their impact on the real world and authority in
matters concerning concrete state of affairs.

These speculations can be used to affect real change, and can guide real decisions, even though the
discourse itself concerns a fictional entity, which may or may not turn out to be true. Isnt this the
reason why so many of the financial speculators refuse to give fool-proof, perfectly accurate
predictions, because the discourse they create may well turn out to be fictional (false) in the future. As
long as the future isnt arrived at, predictive nonfiction, continues to work as properly nonfictional,
leading people to base a lot of their decisions on it, i.e. instantiating belief in them.

This dichotomous tendency of predictive texts is stronger than mere imagination employed in several
nonfictional works. In the latter case one can settle for the argument that nonfiction often involves
cases of waltfiction, as coined by Stacie Friend4, and one can dismiss them as mere illustrative
means that have come to inhabit the practise of nonfictional writing. However predictive nonfiction,
serve a very specific discursive purpose which is opposed to the waltfictional definition. Here, not
only is there an expectation to believe in what is explicated, but also to act in such a manner that
would drop the immediately recognisable made-believe elements which I identified in the previously
discussed didactic-fictional models.

But still, here the same text does seem to employ make-belief by asking us to imagine, and also belief,
by expecting us to function as if the case would indeed be true. Using Curries model we would still
be hard-pressed to find a definitional status for such discourse, because as in all the previous cases it
seems to embody the spirit of both fiction and nonfiction. Why then do we tend to categorise them as
nonfictional? Such a model doesnt really give an answer.

4
Stacie Friend, Imagining Fact and Fiction, New Waves in Aesthetics, edited by Kathleen Stock and Katherine
Thomson-Jones, Palgrave Macmillan (2008)
iii) Biopics and Cinema based on Nonfiction

Cinema insofar as it functions as a narrative medium, can also be characterised as fictional and
nonfictional. However, those dramatic films which represent events which actually occurred, for
example, biopics, toe the thin line that separates the two genres.

The intention of such films is to dramatize real events that did occur. Oftentimes biopics take licenses,
for example, the film Pollock, about the artist Jackson Pollock, depicts the moment when he
discovered his chief innovation in abstract expressionism. In the film, Ed Harris, who plays Pollock,
accidently allows his dripping brush to create a trail on the canvas, which leads him to the Chubby
Hmm moment that changes the art world forever.

This can clearly be characterised as fiction, because the scene induces make-belief, we have no reason
to believe that such an event actually occurred, and even if it did occur, that it happened in the way it
is depicted in the film. But with our continued reliance on technology, several historic moments are
permanently captured on film. The trial of OJ Simpson, for instance, will always be available to us
thanks to the taping of the court room sessions. Because of this, in the television series The People vs
OJ Simpson, the creators were able to stage scenes that resembled the footage of the original tapings
quite accurately.

Here too at a basic level one can see the pretence that is at play, that this adaptation is merely a game
of make-believe which simulates the original. But then one must also consider the authorial intent
behind such creations. If one was to create an exact simulation of certain set of events, the work
would then be striving to create a true reflection of how things actually happened in the real world.

How would this simulation be any different from a biography or a journalistic account of the same
situation, if for instance a writer gives a blow-by-blow account of the events? Wouldnt we categorise
such writing as nonfictional? How does this acceptance of text translate when we come to depictions
in visual form? After all the intention of media based on real incidents is to present an accurate
nonfictional account of that which actually happened. And yet we know the actors are pretending,
they arent the real people. We are definitely invited to make-believe that this is just a depiction of the
actual events. We know that the time it is shot in is different from the original event, the atmospheric
temperature is different and even the location is different. And yet there is an expectation to induce
belief. In the film, Christine, the on-screen suicide of reporter Christine Chubbuck is depicted exactly
as it had occurred in real life.

Here, one can see the film trying to depict the event, though retrospectively, in an accurate manner.
One can sense in this instance the tension between belief and make-belief. One can identify the
authorial intention to be inducing both belief and make-belief at the same time. How then would one
characterise such texts?

Definitional Problems

What I have attempted to do in the above passages is show how the way in which we define fiction
isnt necessarily satisfied by the accounts given by Walton and Currie. However, I do think that there
is some validity to all their arguments, especially those put forth by Lamarque and Olsen, wherein the
understanding of fiction does require some sense of a cultural examination of the genre.

Something that keeps recurring in the above examples is the precedence identification of the genre
takes to the sanctioning of belief and make-belief. Make-belief, though a crucial tool in our
examination of fiction, doesnt seem to be restricted to it, and also doesnt offer a satisfactory
explanation in defining and separating fiction from nonfiction. Make-belief and authorial intent seem
to be restricted to only a particular kind of fictional culture, and seem to lose their bite when trying to
understand the various ways in which different storytelling traditions engage with fiction. Therefore, I
think, there is a need to focus on fiction as cultural product, within our practices, in order to define it
as such.

Bibliography

1. Stacie Friend, Imagining Fact and Fiction, New Waves in Aesthetics, edited by Kathleen Stock
and Katherine Thomson-Jones, Palgrave Macmillan (2008)
2. Gregory Currie, The Nature of Fiction, Cambridge University Press (2008)
3. Kendall Walton, The Mechanics of Generation, Mimesis as make-believe, Harvard University
Press (1990)
4. Rustom Bharucha, Rajasthan: An Oral History, Penguin Books India (2003)
5. Jean-Pierre Vernant, Myth and Society in Ancient Greece, Zone Books (1996)
6. Jorge Semprun, The Long Voyage, Grove Press, Inc. (1964)