Understanding Nonfiction versus Fiction

by Mandira Pattnaik

Shiromani Kant

Recently I faced two interviews. I say ‘faced’ because I dread them. I’m terribly shy and the same words that flow when I write are tied and bound when I am required to speak. It is only when I put on a garb of false confidence that I can talk in public. I’m told not speaking enough is like precipitating dark spots in one’s personality because people you meet, even your family, don’t know all that they should about you. It must be the truth because we’re always listening to so much around us: channels and media literally yelling information that tell us more about people we seemingly don’t know enough about. During both interviews, I was asked about my process and writing craft. It’s strange how, when one hears one’s stories being dissected and told how others perceive your writing, it has a reverse flow kind of effect. I am invariably drawn into a ritual of self-assessment long after the interview is over. Evaluating my body of work, I discover that nonfiction is one genre I write the least in. Writers often answer that question of writing lesser nonfiction, by saying they’re inhibited or feel victimized to narrate and put out episodes that actually happened. I am not sure that is the case with me. Instead, my problem, and I suspect many others share my problem, is not seeming to have enough tools to tell a true story interestingly. The truth just stays there, bare and boring, in my mind’s recesses. So when I find and read work that have cracked the code, made truth interesting by inserting bits of poetry or rich dialogues, if they’ve accomplished a cinematic narrative, if they’ve braided global headlines that are universally identifiable, or used a structure that I’ve never come across before, I think that teaches me how it should be done.

Non-writers reading this may question: What even is nonfiction? Nonfiction is a narrative that is based on factual reports, real people and/or on true events. Histories, biographies, journalism, and essays are all considered nonfiction. Even the slightest of fabrications will fail it, make it lose all credibility, just as it would or rather should do to a news report on TV. The highest order of objectivity and unbiased writing is required, and the final result is a recounting of what is not fiction.

Fiction, on the other hand, is all imaginary though it often tends to use true events and people as inspiration, but such usage does not make fiction a narration of truth. Its appeal lies in stylized use of language, lyrical writing, evocative sensory details, a flow that aims to heighten tension and keep the reader on tenterhooks, and sometimes engages in deep internalization and analysis of human psychology through character interplay.

To make fiction more authentic than a writer’s imagination, and nonfiction more interesting than purely academic, there’s a bridge. If you cross it, you’re in the third territory. It is the realm of creative nonfiction. In his article “What is Creative Nonfiction?”, Lee Gutkind, the creator of Creative Nonfiction magazine, defines the term thus: “Freedom” and “flexibility” are words I like to use when defining creative nonfiction, for the genre invites writers to push boundaries and open doors, offering them the opportunity to use all of the techniques of the fiction writer (or the poet) — dialogue, setting, description, inner point of view (seeing the world through the eyes of the person about whom they are writing) — in order to capture a reader’s attention and enlighten and intrigue them through nonfiction.

Now, like fiction (where some readers prefer action, change and moment of epiphany, and others are looking for movement that might be limited to psychological exploration and probing inquisitiveness), creative nonfiction too seems to be broadly defined. For example, in The Rise and Reign of the Mammals, categorized as creative nonfiction, paleontologist Steve Brusatte explores the history and evolution of mammals, as also stories of the scientists involved in the fieldwork and discoveries. Similarly, in flash-length work, you just have to read the author interviews in SmokeLong Quarterly to realize how many stories are greatly drawn from real life, weaving together research and personal experiences.

In some cases, however, the creative liberties taken by nonfiction writers, especially physicians and historians, have irked readers, while leaving others satisfied and appreciative of the possibilities of the genre. In a nutshell, the lines between what is a work of fiction and what is creative nonfiction continue to be blurred. Broadly, the extent and application of truth is the point of classification.

I’ll admit I am very much in that blurry zone of confused interpretation. I do not understand how weird-speculative work, alternative history, or works of fantasy and futuristic writing can be classified as ‘nonfiction’. Are we saying they are, even if in parts, true? For example, as some articles claim, George Orwell’s most famous work is nonfiction, except that it is highly creative and imaginative. And, Charles Dickens portrays the shoddy lives of criminals in mid-19th century, and exposes cruel treatment of orphans in London in Oliver Twist.

I’d need to continue reading and learning. I’d also need to examine that if so, what are the limitations to writing nonfiction creatively. And if there are any. I am not sure if I have fully grasped this, and I understand as long as I don’t figure that out, my folder will have lesser nonfiction work.