Should Fiction be Safe?

Photo by Chris Long on Unsplash

You’re driving down the interstate when you see a massive plaster sculpture of the Jolly Green Giant, his blocky 1950s grin startlingly white against the green of the pines around him. The kids are restless, and you need a stretch, so you pull into the parking lot, turn off the engine, and release the children. As you approach the sculpture, you see a tall, thin man dressed in black with a mop of curly hair standing there, staring up at it. He turns to look at you—it’s Neil Gaiman.

This is not a real story, but it could be if you live in the Midwest. After all, Gaiman is a transplant from England who now lives in northern Wisconsin. Gaiman has written many books and graphic novels, including some recently adapted into shows: “American Gods,” “Good Omens” (alongside Terry Pratchett), and “The Sandman.”  

Gaiman is one of my favorite authors. His writing is funny, irreverent, evocative, and mystical. I have no idea what will happen anytime I open one of his books. He is also a Brit in love with “Americana” culture (think diners, dusty roads through corn fields, and roadside attractions), which I remember fondly from childhood road trips. Gaiman could have lived in New York or LA, but he found his home in the Midwest and respects its land and people in his stories.

In his book of short stories entitled Trigger Warning, Gaiman has fun putting his spin on beloved characters—penning essays on Sherlock Holmes, Snow White (and the several dwarves), and Doctor Who. He also writes incredibly spooky tales, like “Click-Clack, the Rattlebag” and “Feminine Endings.” This last one had me check my house’s dark corners for living statues before turning off the lights.

How to deal with unsettling fiction

However, the intro was the most inspiring part of this book for me. Here Gaiman writes:

We take words, and we give them power, and we look out through others’ eyes, and we see, and experience, what others see. I wonder, Are fictions safe places? And then I ask myself, Should they be safe places? There are still things that profoundly upset me when I encounter them, whether it’s on the Web or the word or in the world. They never get easier, never stop my heart from trip-trapping, never let me escape, this time, unscathed. But they teach me things, and they open my eyes, and if they hurt, they hurt in ways that make me think and grow and change (p.xiii).¹ 

Gaiman brings up an interesting point here. We don’t know exactly what we will find inside when we crack open a novel. Will there be death, sadness, loneliness, betrayal, rape, murder, suicide or addiction waiting in its pages? Will we become invested in a character only to follow them down the dark path of alcoholism, loss, or an abusive relationship?

If you don’t know me well, let me tell you something sad. I promise I won’t go into it in depth. I have three living children, but my first son has passed. He was stillborn (dead at birth). Even though it has been many years since he died, I still struggle to read books about pregnancy loss or babies dying. Before checking out at the library, I always skim books (especially modern fiction) for these triggers.  

I like to feel safe and warm, knowing a happy ending will come and beloved characters will overcome their struggles. I know others feel the same way. That’s why cheesy romance novels are so popular.

But reading tough stuff can help us process the pain in our lives, grow in empathy, and learn new things.

Where can we go with this idea? I don’t think the answer is to find books or shows filled with your triggers and force yourself to ingest them. I tried “Call the Midwife” a while ago but couldn’t make it through the first episode without bawling my eyes out.

Maybe the way forward is reading and watching with an open mind—letting fiction challenge and change in addition to entertain. We can grow by wrestling with unsettling plot twists or character reveals instead of disregarding them. And when those big, tear-inducing triggers pop up, it is okay to return the book or find a home repair show to watch instead.

Back to the adventure with Gaiman.

You stand next to him, staring up at the Jolly Green Giant. Now that you’re close to the sculpture, you can see that the paint is chipping, and one hand looks a little loose. Gaiman says, “Let me show you something,” and pushes a bald spot on the sculpture’s kneecap. A door in its leg slowly opens, and you follow Gamain inside, where anything can happen.  

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¹Gaiman, Neil. Trigger Warning, William Morrow, 2015.