I’m a major fan of unreliable narrators; I’ve sung their praises for years to anyone who has the misfortune to hear me natter on about them. I’ve always loved that reading a book with an unreliable narrator means that I, the reader, get multiple stories for the price of one: there’s the story the narrator tells us, there’s the story of why they’re telling us that version of events, and there’s what’s really happening. I feel a keen English major joy in untangling the snarl of stories. When I’ve shared my adoration of unreliable narrators, I’ve always been surprised by people who say they don’t like them. Usually, these readers say they don’t like being fooled or lied to. I’ve never understood that (who doesn’t want even more stories to think about?) until I hit the stunning conclusion of a book I don’t want to name here, to avoid spoiling an incredible plot twist.
I get it now, a least a bit.
The ultimate English major move here would be to argue that all narrators are unreliable. (They are.) Authors use them to give us readers a specific perspective or perspectives on the events of the plot. Maybe the author wants us to solve a mystery—a limited first-person perspective is called for. If we need a god’s eye view to take in the stories of a whole community, then we’re going to get third-person omniscient. Narrators can only tell us what the authors allow them to. This isn’t always a trick. I daresay that unreliability is mostly innocent. If narrators told us everything, all books would be unreadably massive tomes, like Clarissa.
One of the things that can keep readers engaged with an unreliable narrator is when we are in on the gambit, either because we know more than the narrator or protagonist or because the narrator clues us into their motive for keeping secrets from the other characters. One of my favorite examples of a narrator I know is unreliable because I know more than them is Rosalinda Achmetowa, of Alina Bronsky’s novel, The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine. The black comedy of that book comes from how clueless the scheming Rosalinda is about what’s really going on around her. Bronsky gives us plenty of information to show us the reality Rosalinda is out of step with. We can find examples of narrators who let us into their unreliability in oodles of thrillers and mysteries.
It’s easier to accept an unreliable narrator when we’re in on the game or, in the case of narrators like Hercule Poirot who keep things close to their vests, authors might use the fair play rules to give readers a sporting chance at figuring out what’s going on in the plot along with the investigating narrator or character. Careful reading can help us readers understand the twists and turns of a book without being blindsided and confused. Or, if we are blindsided and confused, we can understand the big twist with a little reflection with a fair play plot.
Until I came across the narrator of the book I mentioned but did not name above, I don’t think I’ve ever been more than briefly bewildered by a plot twist. Afterward, I generally applaud the authors for coming up with something original. After reading thousands of books, I crave originality, especially in genres prone to being derivative like mysteries, thrillers, fantasy, and romance. The narrator of the-book-that-won’t-be-named-here thoroughly hornswoggled me and I can’t say that I enjoyed it. I feel like my brain has been bruised.
My experience with this book isn’t going to put me off of my overall enjoyment of unreliable narrators, but it’s definitely going to make me much more wary of the next one.
Unreliable narrators are fun to read. Writing a good one is always a challenge. I read a mystery told through the dog’s perspective. So I was only getting information from what the dog understands is happening.