Shayna Provine: "Dear Max Gladstone: Fate Addicts Anonymous"

Dear Max Gladstone: Fate Addicts Anonymous

By Shayna Provine

Humans are creatures of habit. Whether we like it or not, we find ourselves reverting back to past and proven comforts time and time again. I, for one, am an example of this. While others are indeed adventurous and are constantly pushing themselves to the edges of their comfort zone and beyond, I realized from a young age that spicy tuna sushi is delicious, and have not ordered anything different from any sushi restaurant ever since. And yet, even though this is the case for almost every aspect of my life, where safety in experience takes precedence over trying something new for the fun of it, I can’t say the same when it comes to books. After all, books act as my one means of pushing the limits of my imagination from within the safe confines of my mind. Because of this freedom, I have been able to take to bed with me a plethora of genres and plotlines in search of my “narrative kinks.” After much time spent exploring the wide universe of books, I realized. My name is Shayna Provine and I am a fate addict.

            A “narrative kink” is a group of tropes or themes that, when a reader sees them in a story, they fall for immediately. In my case, this “narrative kink” would be the inclusion of elements of fate, or the denial thereof. The idea of a predetermined destiny, or of denying one, is one of the key ingredients behind what makes a story interesting. From reading a variety of stories, I have come to realize that books often deal with fate in two ways: one, as its traditional role of being the hand that guides the plot along; and two, as something to be resisted and overturned. Either way, I enjoy a story that takes the concept of fate and shoves it to the forefront of a narrative.

The first case that I enjoy reading is when a story follows its destiny. Typically, I see this play out in fantasy as a prophecy. For example, in Stardust by Neil Gaiman, readers are exposed to a deterministic world of destiny and prophecy through supernatural means. Lady Una, the mother of the protagonist, is under a curse, or at least until certain conditions are met. She prophecies saying, “I gain my freedom on the day the moon loses her daughter, if that occurs in a week when two Mondays come together.” At the conclusion of the story, the moon’s daughter Yvaine gets married as a certain Mr. Monday turns Victoria Forester into his wife Mrs. Monday. Prophecies like this that act almost like riddles help me to enjoy the story even more by keeping me on my toes thinking about how they could possibly be fulfilled. At the same time, when I want to revert to my comfort zone even in the world of books, having a fate there to guide the story guarantees the closure that I seek.

Contrarily, when I am looking for adventure, I also enjoy stories where the characters attempt to find a different fate. Take for example the myth of Sisyphus. Despite being destined to forever push a boulder to the top of a mountain, just to have it fall back down, Justin O’Brien takes a different perspective on Sisyphus’ fate in his essay. “Happiness and the absurd are two sons of the same earth.” Since they are inseparable, we continue to go on, believing, sometimes in our ignorance, that there is still more worth going on for. In this light, “All Sisyphus’ silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him.” Sisyphus’ acceptance and ownership of his fate, also interests me by showing that people are capable of doing more than what is simply predesigned for them. Reading stories of characters defining their own destiny brings out my adventurous side as I imagine defying the world at their side.

Whether fate spins the story or the character shuns their destiny, there is a certain quality in both tales that keeps me clinging on until the end of the book. A predetermined plan forces me to commit to the story while creating a framework for the story to follow that satisfies in the end. On the other hand, a character defying their fate incites me to want to rebel against the world. At least through both sides of the coin, my “narrative kink” is always satisfied, at least until next time.