Tell us a story

Plot and conflict beg for resolution | Janie B. Cheaney

Illustration by Krieg Barrie

At any literature conference, especially children's literature, one is likely to hear elaborate tributes to "stories": "Stories can save us" is the idea expressed, explicitly or not, by keynoting fiction writers everywhere. The last time I heard this was the weekend before the election, a contest not so much between philosophies or policies as "narratives." The cocky pilot tested and redeemed or the symbol of oppression at long last vindicated—which story would appeal to Americans the most?

But back to the conference: Just how stories can save us is a matter of opinion, and every speaker has one. Stories help us make sense of experience; they create community out of disparity; they inspire empathy for others; they expand narrow worlds. All well and good. The question that seldom comes up is, Why? Obviously, as someone pointed out at the conference, "Humans are the only creatures who tell each other stories." Crows and whales are great communicators, for example, but they don't tell jokes or swap hunting yarns. What makes humans this way? Why did the ancients regale each other with tales of loss and restoration? Why do children learn to put narratives together almost as early as they do sentences?