Mind the Gap

Narrative Ambiguity’s Role in Making Readers Co-Authors (Part 1 of 2)

Dear reader,

Welcome to summer. Here in New England, the heat from the sun and cool ocean breezes are mingling to make for an absolutely delightful start to the season. I usually say summer is my least favorite season, but that’s not true. I think the height of summer is my least favorite weather. But here and now, where it's just warm enough to sit on the porch but not too hot to drink tea, this is a time to be savored.

While still getting an early start on this month’s newsletter, I found myself struggling with this one, guys. I think as anyone who’s put a lot of thought into a topic will know, it’s the things we care about the most that can be the hardest to write about. The subject of narrative gaps and how to read them has been on my mind since the summer of 2023 when I was first introduced to it in the reading of Genesis 22 by a rabbi in Oxford. Due to the length of this newsletter, that story in particular will have to wait until next time. I broke this topic into two parts, and in this first part I want to break down what narrative gaps are as I think that foundation is important.

Enjoy!

Hannah

P.S. I use the endings of Great Expectations and Inception as examples. If you don’t want spoilers… well, you should have read/watched them already. Honestly, Inception came out in 2010 and Great Expectations was published in 1861— you’ve had plenty of time!

Mind the Gap: Part 1 of 2

Photo by Bruno Figueiredo on Unsplash

“Mind the gap.” It’s a phrase most anyone who has used the London Tube will be familiar with. It is difficult to miss that pleasant, crisp voice reminding all boarding and alighting from the subway cars of the hazardous gap before the platform. There’s even text to remind the hearing impaired to watch out! The Boston T has no such reminders (not helping its abysmal safety rating), so it’s up to passengers to take notice. Reminder or not, the unwary rider risks a lot if not paying attention.

Narratives can have gaps, too. I’m not referring to physical space, but rather those spots in the story where something notable is missing. The gap is an interesting storytelling device because it's noteworthy, not by virtue of the words on the page (or the shot on screen in the case of film) but by what is not said or shown. Narrative gaps usually invite some head scratching. They are moments where we as the readers and viewers say, “hey, what was that about?” But they should not be confused with plot holes or other errors of omission. We’re talking about an intentional storytelling device. Just because they might leave us momentarily confused does not mean narrative gaps are unhelpful to a story. In fact many great works of literature, tv, and film use narrative gaps to great effect. I think the Bible does, too. But before we get to the Bible, I want to spend some time unpacking how we notice narrative gaps and what they can bring to a story.

Noticing the Gap

So, how do we know we’re looking at an intentional gap and not just sloppy storytelling (looking at you, Star Wars prequels)? We should first keep an eye out for ambiguous moments that leave the reader with abiding questions. Take the ending of Great Expectations, which Charles Dickens rewrote to have a “happier ending.”¹ Dickens could have used an unambiguously happy ending. But he didn’t (Dickens never does, but that’s a spoiler). Instead he ends the 544-page novel centered around the relationship between Pip and Estella with this:

I saw no shadow of another parting from her.

Great. So, they are together forever… right? Or does it mean Pip didn’t get back with Estella and so they never needed to part again? As I said, this is AFTER the happier rewrite, and even still it’s uncertain. Despite Dickens’ efforts (or more likely because of them²), Pip and Estella’s relationship status is ambiguous.³ There’s a gap. English majors like me are still fighting about this ending today. So, something we can use to pinpoint gaps—to point to them and say “yes, I’ve found one!”—is some obvious point of ambiguity in content leading to ambiguity in story meaning. Questions about what happened to Pip and Estella lead to larger questions about how we as readers interpret the themes and meaning of Great Expectations as a whole, which is kind of a big deal. The ambiguity in content leads to questions, the ambiguity in meaning is when fights—or, put more nicely, “heated academic discussions”—start.

However, narrative gaps do more than just invite questions and fights discussions. There is something—for lack of a better word—sticky about gaps, and that is another important defining feature for us to understand them. As we’ve seen, often these gaps leave people angry or confused, but almost always there is something about this ambiguity that sticks with the reader or viewer long after the ending. Here’s another example: the movie Inception—often on best-film-ever lists—is noted for its ending that cuts before the final resolution.⁴ We can tell there’s a gap here because the cut is pretty obvious and, as with Great Expectations, people love to argue their favorite theory of the ending. Is Cobb dreaming or has he made it home? Well, obviously since he’s not wearing his wedding ring he’s not dreaming… right? Yet the top didn’t stop, so does that mean he’s really still in a dream? And on and on it goes. But, along with these questions and discussion comes a very simple fact: the ending is very memorable and it in turn makes the whole movie more memorable. This memorable characteristic seems to be wrapped up in those earlier trademarks of the gap. We remember the ending because of the questions it invites, and those questions lead us to discussion, not just with others but with ourselves. In fact, these gaps do as much if not more for harnessing reader imagination as descriptive imagery.

Let’s think about a different work, The Hobbit (the book, of course), and the moment when Gandalf leaves Bilbo and the dwarves to go handle “other pressing business” at the end of the Queer Lodgings chapter. No one is going to describe Tolkien as a master of ambiguity—our boy loves his words. But here we have a little gap because the exact reason for Gandalf’s departure is not explained in The Hobbit.⁵ Instead, we’re left to wonder “what could be more pressing than this adventure?” Without knowing exactly what Gandalf is off to do, the reader is left to their own devices to fill in the gaps and further develop his character and the world of Middle Earth. Gandalf’s mysterious and powerful nature comes across more clearly by what Tolkien left out. Which leads us to why a writer would use the gap.

The Strengths of the Gap

We’ve already seen one benefit of the gap: it’s memorable! But gaps aren’t like other memorable tricks writers have up their sleeves, like plot twists. Gaps invite thought and imagination in the reader—we can’t help it: our human brains really like to fill them in! Gaps “open up multiple interpretations, challenging readers to engage more deeply with the text to discern its meaning.”⁶ The narrative sets up a pattern for the reader to follow, but the gap means the writer stops short and suddenly it’s up to the reader to fill in the hole in the patter.

Here’s an example that helps me. When I am writing a story, I like to think of it like building a house for my reader to hang out in. I want it to be comfortable and also beautiful. Now, we can think of narrative gaps like the writer leaving an unfinished room in that house. We come into the house, have a look around, notice all the lovely furnishings and then find one unfinished room. What do we do? We finish it, of course! In using a gap, the writer is saying, “hey, reader, how about you have a go at it?” Gaps are tools that writers can use to make space for the reader to join them in the storytelling process. Which is amazing…and also risky.

The Risks of the Gap

If a writer has not done their job well enough the gap won’t work even if it’s intentional. Gaps need to be set up. Can you imagine how different Gandalf’s departure would be if we hadn’t seen him continually rescue and help Bilbo and the Dwarves for the first six chapters of the book? Far from seeing him as powerful and mysterious, we’d see his absence as suspicious or treacherous. A skillful set up puts guardrails on the reader’s imagination, helping them throw out dumb ideas while inviting real possibilities. Of course, we readers do have to be paying attention to the story the writer is telling, which leads us to an even greater risk.

Often inattentive readers will just not be paying enough attention to read the gap at all. I suspect a reason we see gaps used more at the end of stories in modern fiction is because modern English readers tend to bias their focus toward the end of a story, so we’re more likely to notice when a gap is left there. I also think this is why gaps are rare in trade fiction and fast-paced action films, where the reader or viewer is not expected to bring as much thoughtful and careful attention to what’s before them. So, not every story will benefit from a gap even if it's done well. Noticing gaps requires careful attention, repeat reading or watching, and occasionally someone else to point them out for us. We have to mind the gap. And this brings me, all the way at the end of my newsletter, to the Bible.

The Gap and the Bible

Gaps are not just a hallmark of modern storytelling. As I’ve already mentioned, the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament has narrative gaps, too, though I certainly wouldn’t have thought of it that way when I first started reading it. Or, rather, I probably would not have wanted to think of it that way. When we say the word “gap” and the word “Bible” in the same sentence, I think it can feel a bit scandalous. It’s as if we’re saying the gaps in the Hebrew Bible are the same as the plot holes in my first novel, Sparks Fly (there were many plot holes). But, let’s remember two things I have mentioned in newsletters past:

1. The original writers of the Bible were not dummies, but were instead storytelling ninjas.

2. Narrative gaps aren’t plot holes. When gaps are done well, they are powerful storytelling devices.

And if a writer did something intentional in their story, they want you to see it. So, seeing the gaps in the Bible will help us read it better. Further, if we’re writers I think it will give us examples of what sort of storytelling masterpieces can be achieved with a gap. Sounds cool, right? Next time in part 2 we’ll continue on and explore the gap in Genesis 22. I’m looking forward to it!

What I'm Enjoying

• This was my favorite substack this month, from A.A. Kostas and Ekstasis Magazine. If you are a poetry fan (or even if not), give it a read.

• We just finished the second (and last) season of Andor, the Star Wars tv show based on the story of the Rogue One movie character. Like Season 1, Season 2 is good. No, it’s great. I loved it. I do think Season 2 goes to some pretty dark places (without being gratuitous), yet I really appreciated the perspective. It was a show rich with theme, and a good example of how all of a project’s various pieces can be brought together to create a really profound work.

• We celebrated Memorial Day with a delicious Greek Salad. We got this recipe while taking a cooking class in Santorini, Greece, and it is one of my favorite summer salads. The technique is key and really leads to a flavorful dish.

• I finally finished my most recent readthrough of Moby Dick. Listen, guys: I know this is a big book, but if you haven’t read it you really have to. The whole “Symphony” chapter at the end is one of the greatest chapters in English literature. I’m not trying to be hyperbolic, I really mean that. Just read this:

What is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it; what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly making me ready to do what in my own proper, nature heart, I durst no so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but it as an errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that thinking, does that living, and not I.

• My goodness, I’m dying. It’s so good. Go read Moby Dick.

1. https://medium.com/adams-notebook/the-three-endings-of-great-expectations-834c248f8109

2. Sometimes I think Dickens is the Joss Whedon of 19th century English novelists—every love story has to be tragic.

3. https://materialwitness.typepad.com/material_witness/2023/01/great-expectations-and-a-beautiful-but-controversial-ending.html

4. youtube.com/watch?v=LiloW0_ivNM

5. We do get more details in The Fellowship of the Ring.

6. https://www.gilliamwritersgroup.com/blog/ambiguity-in-literature-fostering-participatory-reading