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We’ll start this foray into story by discussing Aristotle’s Poetics, a text written approximately a billion years ago (or 335 BCE, depending on whom you ask).  

These writings focussed on contemporary dramatic tragedies and are of more or less use to you as a modern writer depending on your personal technique.  Nevertheless, the foundations are there for a reason–and it’s always a good idea to know the rules, even if you continue to go ahead and ignore them.  Especially as the rudimentary lessons of storytelling are essentially just exercises in pattern recognition.

The purpose of the Poetics was to explore some of the storytelling elements that made the tragedies so gut-wrenchingly tremendous and successful.  It looks at a lot of things to do with theme, tone, and emotionally-satisfying character arcs (which we will inevitably look at in a later blog post). Possibly one of the most important topics is the concept of catharsis, which is an emotional purging: that moment when you release a breath you’ve been holding all through a terrible scene that was sure to end in someone’s death or disaster. Cathartic moments are extremely important, and learning to create them is a valuable tool. Again, we’ll look at that in a later blog post.

Aristotle also wrote on comedy, but sadly this text was lost in some great flood or fire or other calamity that was always insensitively destroying creative accomplishments, so we’ll have to move ahead with the tragedy stuff alone.  

Of the rich bounty Poetics provides, today we’re going to look at a concept known as the “Three Unities” or “Dramatic Unities”.  The Three Unities are:

1. Unity of Time: the action of the play should take place in a short internal chronology, ideally, no more than 24 hours.

2. Unity of Place: the action should take place in a minimal number of locations–ideally, just one.  A public square or palace courtyard would usually serve this purpose well.

3. Unity of Action: The action of the play should be as succinct as possible.  Accomplish the emotional beats and relevant plot points in few, efficient steps.  Avoid subplots. Quality trumps quantity. (If Aristotle had known what non-linear storytelling was, he probably would’ve advised against that, as well.)

You may have instinctively agreed or disagreed with one or all of these points, so let’s take a moment to look at their merits and faults.  

1. Unity of Time:  This one seems immediately useless from a modern perspective. In today’s media, stories can expand across any amount of time, from a measly half hour to spanning entire generations.  But in Aristotle’s day this served more of a purpose; stages were set in large amphitheatres, with actors often playing multiple roles.  Communicating the passage of time could be tricky and confusing, as masks and body language were used to communicate different characters across the large space.  Trying to capture various ages between those characters might just muddy the waters.  Nowadays, famous faces and descriptive prose make ages-long storytelling a walk in the park, and non-linear storytelling is not only possible but often desired.

Nevertheless it serves a purpose for us, as well.  It behooves us to remember the tool of urgency–something which can play a pivotal role in any story, not just the thrillers or adventures. Dragging out the chronology of your story removes that urgency. This isn’t necessarily bad, just something to be aware of.  If you want a reader’s undying attention, try to capture it in the now.  

2. Unity of Place: again, this was more useful in Aristotle’s day when stories faced logistical challenges. Changing location meant using set pieces or hauling out the chorus to tell us about the shift. This could be awkward and clumsy, and it would pull the audience out of the immediacy of the scene. But today we can capture a sweeping landscape in a few well-crafted lines, and visual media makes movement from place to place even easier.  

All the same, a unity of place is something many writers show a lack of appreciation for and their work often suffers as a result.  Characters need goals and direction, a steady balance between progress and obstacles.  Using “video game style” narrative to suggest a character has to collect the 7 Dragonballs or the 150 Pokemon or what-have-you is fine for an episodic adventure series but it dilutes the potency of your narrative when you stick it in your novels or films: it essentially becomes a montage of many places and experiences.

Worse, when we drag them from place to place it shifts the focus from the characters to the landscape; we see how the scenery changes at the expense of spending time with the people who occupy it.  Again, this works fine sometimes (especially in video games, where story and character come second and third to gameplay), and occasionally in TV shows–but less so for other media.

Instead, try to keep the spirit of Aristotle’s Unity of Place alive.  Choose a few key locations that we can switch between (using cutting-edge storytelling technology) but make those locations firmly grounded in your character’s minds. If they occupy the space then both they and the environment will seem much more alive.

3. Unity of Action: Despite the thousands of years between us and Aristotle this is the one step that I feel is still right–well, at least 85% right.  Unity of Action is essential to any story.  The precise thing that makes Hollywood action movies shallow and derivative is an over-abundance of action (which is fine–you’re allowed to enjoy that!  I do!  Let’s just call it what it is: spectacle, not story.)

But “Action” doesn’t simply refer to gunfights and explosions, it describes the steps through which your story reaches its conclusion (AKA plot points).  The art of good writing–both in terms of language and story–is succinctness.  Say what you want to say in as few words as possible.  The better those words, the more elegant your writing becomes.  If your story is burdened with too many ups and downs, lefts and rights, it will feel that way, and suffer for it.