Last Updated: May 20, 1999
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National Writers’ Workshop
Narrative is a simple thing, at bottom: Chronology with meaning. Soap
operas have it, and so do daily newspapers. What are our pages for, if
not the episodic revelation of our public (and sometimes private) lives?
When an editor moves a story, the word “story” refers to a particular piece
of copy. But when we talk about “the Watergate story” we mean the whole
19 acts. When a good reporter sits down to write, the first task is to
place the daily story in the context of the overarching social narrative.
Presumably, the reader is aware of that narrative, and the hard news story
can therefore plug directly into it.
But our standard techniques fail us when the overarching narrative isn’t
there, or when it’s wrong, or when it’s too shallow. Then there is nothing
to plug our daily episode into, and the hard news form fails us. We need
to orient the reader to the history, issues and values that lie behind
the facts.
Narrative is important because it is the penultimate orientation technique.
We learn best by experience, but experience has a cost. Narrative is the
next best thing, because it allows us to live vicariously the experience
of others. So it’s not surprising that narrative journalism thrives in
moments of great change. The last golden age of news narrative was the
late 1960s and the early 1970s, when we were reorienting ourselves to a
world undergoing revolution in every aspect, from civil rights to environment
to sexual behavior. The sagas of the civil rights marchers reset our social
values, as did tales from Vietnam, Chicago and the City of Love.
The intervening years have marked a period of consolidation, and narrative
journalism fell out of favor. Now the world seems on the brink of yet another
period of change, and it’s not surprising that narrative is coming back.
As it does, my strongest advice is that we should remember that narrative
is chronology with meaning. It is all too easy to forget that last qualifier,
and to focus our narratives on messages that are no more than conventional
wisdom. Narrative journalism, like literature of any sort, must contain
a kernel of vision, of insight — this is the literary counterpart to a
news peg. The narrative that lacks vision will suffer from exactly the
same weakness as an inverted-pyramid story that lacks hard news. It will
seem pointless. Worse, narrative, being by nature stronger, will seem not
only pointless but also vacuous and self-indulgent.
Vision is no more magic than a news peg. Like the news peg, it results
from reporting. In the case of narrative that means depth reporting — talking
to many people, doing library work and searching the Internet, and, most
important, doing the heavy lifting that is contemplation and consideration.
In this way we can see beyond what we expect to see, and what we are supposed
to see, and lift our stories to the level that merits narrative. Then,
when we have something to say, the complex of rhythms, styles, and devices
we identify with literature can serve journalism as well.
Jon Franklin, a two-time Pulitzer Prize winner, is the author of
“Writing for Story.” After years of teaching in Oregon, he now writes for
The News & Observer in Raleigh, N.C.
