#implied author

From Rhetorics to Sociology: Authorship Figures in Contemporary Narratology

Abstract: Theoretically speaking, authorship has (almost always) been excluded from narrative studies, although practical literary criticism never ceased in using this category. It is a well-known fact that Wayne C. Booth invented the term “implied authorship” in his 1961 study called “The Rhetoric of Fiction”. Although the concept survived through several heated debates, it is, alas, no longer…

this is a great question! unfortunately, though, i don't have a handy dandy term like "implied author" to thoroughly encapsulate my possibly abstract answer.

first, while i understand your goals, i think beautiful prose, and the focus thereof, is still a very important pursuit. there's also nothing wrong with being YA-ish; the implied author comes from a book called the rhetoric of fiction, and the title implies that it's a study of fiction in interaction with an audience. so different readers get different things out of what they read (i wrote about this more in my june newsletter). possibly your perspective is something someone else hasn't seen before, and you've offered them something new without even knowing.

that said, i absolutely understand the drive to have a wider perspective, and write things that you find more complicated and challenging. however, the only way i can answer this is with metaphors couched in narrative, of how i learned about how to approach my writing differently, and which presumably, maybe widened a reader's sense of my implied author (but since i can't be a reader of my own work, there's no way to tell for sure).

so, i once took a creative nonfiction seminar during which i read a whole bunch of memoirs, and the final project was either a research paper or a personal essay. obviously i chose the personal essay. i decided to write about my ex-boyfriend, with whom i'd broken up five years earlier, and i was still very fucked up about it even though we'd been broken up far longer than we were together.

looking back on that essay, it reads like a sales pitch, ten pages of me just pleading with the reader to see my side of the situation, to see how i was the victim, sympathize with me and not him. he's the evil one. hate him with me. please please please.

it was not a good look.

there was a lot of unprocessed grief in that essay, a lot of anger. it was clear i had no wider perspective of the situation other than wallowing in my own narrow feelings about it. i was telling the reader what to think about me, about him, about the situation, rather than conveying the situation as it truly was and allowing them to draw their own conclusions.

in nonfiction, that's terrifying, because it potentially paints me in a negative light. a reader may see my actions and think poorly of me. and honestly, looking back, they should. i was as toxic to my ex as he was to me. i was not good to him at all.

but see, that's an example of me telling you what to think. in the essay, i am pretty much saying outright, "he is evil. hate him." i want to force the reader to be on my side. but after a mental breakdown and a lot of trauma therapy, i was able to step out of the situation and my feelings thereof, and see it from a much wider perspective, and instead of putting my actual emotions on the page, i'm able to illustrate honestly the emotions i felt at the time. i am no longer in the story. i'm outside of it.

here are the events as they actually happened: one night, he didn't come home. i texted him. i tried to call him. i waited a couple more hours and called him again. he came home as i was looking up numbers to nearby hospitals, around four a.m. he wouldn't tell me where he'd been. the next day i found a bunch of hickeys on his neck. i was hurt, and angry, and i pushed him. i told him to get out of my house. he still denied it, and kept denying it for hours longer, until finally admitting he'd been dating someone else for months. i couldn't find it in myself to blame him. to me, it was my fault for not being good enough for him, for not fitting into the shape of someone he could love.

there was more to the story than that; he was financially dependent on me, he was no longer attracted to me and felt trapped in our relationship, my father had just died and i couldn't even begin to grieve over the loss of someone whose life mine revolved around.

but an essay -- or a short story, a novel, a poem -- can't ever render reality exactly as it is. we as writers are always just curators of experiences, images, sentences. there's a lot of fear in that, of leaving out details, of being misunderstood. but that's the inherent risk of art.

the lesson i brought back to fiction is this:

it's not my job as a writer to place judgment on my characters, but to simply convey the story as it happens. my characters may have biases, misperceptions, judgments, and opinions, but they are not mine. widening the implied author, so to speak, is a process of removing yourself from your prose.

obviously you will make characters who are like you in some ways, and so they may share traits with you. they may be identical to you in every way. but they are not you, and cannot be you. possibly the implied author is the absence of ego. or maybe it's an embrace of the self and the world as things that can't be fully known.

i think about films that have a wide implied author versus a narrow one (in my opinion; see above point about fiction as rhetoric). to me, pacific rim has a very wide implied author. even though all the characters in the movie take the events therein very seriously, i know that the mind creating this story knows it's kind of ridiculous, even though it's not a comedy. they know this wild, over-the-top conceit is a vehicle for the more complicated and nuanced experience of intimacy and trust.

a narrow implied author would be zack snyder's justice league. that film leaves me with no evidence that the mind behind it is capable of truly understanding experiences beyond their own, or using their medium to render a nuanced portrayal of being. that doesn't mean snyder isn't, in reality, capable of those things, or that the movie isn't enjoyable on an aesthetic level, but that i found no evidence in the text of, well, themes. it's just...characters doing things. i see no exploration in it, no question that the narrative addresses.

which leads me to my second point, which is that i think the widest implied authors are the ones who are vulnerable enough not to have an answer or conclusion, to simply discover and explore larger questions.

so, what questions do you have? what things do you not know? what are you most afraid to convey or admit?

i’m so excited i have an answer to this. so first i want to say, i experience this also and it’s why i struggle to get through a lot of books. it’s why i love the secret history but couldn’t get twenty pages into if we were villains, even though everyone told me they had a lot in common. even if the description of a book is compelling and the story is very much to my taste, and even if the writing is totally competent, i’ve found that sometimes there’s just something lacking that makes me set a book down and never pick it back up. 

i was thrilled to find there’s term for this: the implied author.

the implied author was coined by wayne c. booth in his book the rhetoric of fiction which, while dense, is a really fantastic read (if you’ve been keeping up with my newsletter you know how feral i am for this book). as a blanket definition, the implied author is the space that exists between the narrator and the writer. when you read something, you can’t make any factual conclusions about the writer (the author is dead and all that), but the narration often tips you off to the idea that the consciousness behind the writing is wiser and knows more than the narrator. 

that’s a very condensed version of booth’s definition, which takes up like 40 pages. here forward are some conclusions i’ve drawn based on it. 

when the space between the narrator and implied author is narrow, some of us as readers tend to get bored pretty quickly. it’s what you’re referring to as maturity. however, when that space is wide, when it’s clear that the implied author is much, much bigger than the narration, that’s when i’m willing to sink my teeth into something. the wider that distance, the more i’m happy to ignore things like syntactical clumsiness or poor grammar. i would follow a good implied author into hell. 

for example, i could write a story from the point of view of a violent abuser. if you were to read it, you wouldn’t be able to say for certain that i, the writer, was not a violent abuser also. but you would be able to tell via the implied author whether or not there is an awareness of the abuse, whether it’s being written with intentionality. not morality, mind you, but artistic purpose. 

the implied author has an idiosyncratic relationship to the reader. sometimes depending on the complexity of the work and the critical reading skills of the reader, the presence of the implied author can be invisible. this is the catalyst, imo, to a significant amount of the present morality discourse. many (if not all) purity officers and antis don’t have the reading skills to be able to see the implied author, or that the moral trespasses that occur in fiction are written intentionally and for a purpose. they believe that anything depicted in fiction is advocating for or promoting that which it’s depicting. 

lolita is kind of the ultimate classic example of the inability of some readers to see the implied author. nabokov even has a fictional preface from the pov of a scholar doing research, flat-out telling us that humbert is a bad guy and Do Not Trust Him. and yet, lolita has been misinterpreted and vilified for decades now.

in that same vein, the implied author is the reason that some stories put a bad taste in our mouths. it’s how we reach the conclusion that a story is racist or sexist or homophobic outside the literal depictions of racism, sexism, and homophobia. how can you witness racism taking place in a story and know that it’s speaking to the experience of racism and not advocating for racism? that’s the presence of the implied author. sometimes, though, you can’t tell. sometimes a writer tries to speak to the experience of something and fails at making clear their own awareness. or sometimes, they’re just not aware at all. 

in fanfiction, the implied author takes place, in part, in the tags. i remember stumbling upon a fic written by a purity officer which depicted an extremely unhealthy, non-negotiated power dynamic. and none of it was tagged. i had no evidence the author was aware that they were even writing something “problematic.” obviously i support their right to depict whatever kind of relationship they want for whatever reason they want, but i did find it a bit off-putting, that this person who was a known harasser in fandom had no seeming understanding that they were writing the very kind of fic they were rallying against.

but, you know, my hands aren’t clean either. until the MFA, i was a very poor reader. for example, in 2010 i read the hunger games for the first time. in 2020 i re-read the series on my kindle, where all my annotations from 2010 had been saved, and so i got to see all my glaring misinterpretations of the text. every time katniss has to get dolled up in the capitol and made beautiful, i left a note like “ugh,” because i thought all depictions of performative femininity were Bad. even though thg is a YA book and i was an honors student in college, i was still unable to see that katniss’s beautifying was commentary on consumerism. i was oblivious to collins’ implied author, the presence in the book that is shaking you by the shoulders and going, THIS IS WHAT’S WRONG WITH SOCIETY. 

but sometimes, like in your case, the opposite situation occurs: you the reader are wider than the implied author, and so some books have little to offer you in terms of depth or insight into the human experience. i don’t mean that to sound pretentious or anything; what i mean is, we all read at different skill levels and for different reasons, and we all get different things out of the stories we read. we’re all at different places in our reading lives, and we all have room to grow.