I love a strong narrator

get in nerds, we're talking fourth wall breaks and metanarratives!

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When someone asks me what I like to read, I usually go with “oh, a little bit of everything.” It’s easier than saying I enjoy emotionally resonant books with a great sense of humor, or whip-smart romance novels that reveal something about modern relationship dynamics, or uniquely structured memoirs-in-essays. That’s too much of a mouthful for small talk, but for my own purposes, identifying those abstract concepts and turning them into detailed descriptors gives me supreme satisfaction.

One thing I love about being an eclectic reader is the opportunity to define my reading taste not by genre–but by more subtle literary devices and styles, helping me to find more rewarding reading experiences for myself and better book recommendations for you. Today, I’m taking you through my process of pinpointing a specific construct in a few completely different books I’ve recently read and loved.

Literary fiction with highly present narrators 

In Disoriental by Négar Djavadi, a 25-year-old Iranian woman sits in a fertility clinic and reflects on her family’s past. She weaves in and out of ancestral tales, connecting them with the present through fourth wall breaks and asides to the reader. The story spans centuries and continents, explores Iranian politics, and contemplates the immigrant experience—and it’s all told in a memoir-like, conversational tone, by a narrator whose presence you won’t forget.

“All I know is that these pages won’t be linear. Talking about the present means I have to go deep into the past, to cross borders and scale mountains and go back to that lake so enormous they call it a sea. I have to let myself be guided by the flow of images and free associations, the natural fits and starts, the hollows and bumps carved into my memories by time. But the truth of memory is strange, isn’t it? Our memories select, eliminate, exaggerate, minimize, glorify, denigrate. They create their own versions of events and serve up their own reality. Disparate, but cohesive. Imperfect yet sincere.”

Disoriental by Négar Djavadi

With such an apt title, the novel does indeed provide a disorienting experience, but I never felt lost to the point of confusion, all because of the narrator’s direct communication. Listening to the audiobook felt like listening to traditional oral storytelling. The teller bridges one part of the story with another by saying, “now let’s go and visit this character” or “allow me to pause and reflect here.” I’ve often said I love a “voice-y” novel or memoir, and when the narrator makes her presence so strongly known, it contributes to a bold sense of voice. 

Soon after finishing Disoriental, I started reading White Cat, Black Dog by Kelly Link and fell in love with her energetically present narrator as well. Instead of narrating her stories as personal memoir, Link is narrating as a teller of tales, a fable-spinner. Like Djavadi’s narrator, Link’s storyteller interjects with commentary and speaks directly to the reader.

 “The rich man had all of this and more than I have space to write. Anything you have ever possessed, know that he had this, too. And if he did not, he could have paid you whatever your price was in order to obtain it.”

In Tom Lake by Ann Patchett, a first person narrator tells the story to both the reader and her daughters, creating a story-within-a-story. Her thoughtful asides and reflections aren’t fourth wall breaks; they’re conversations with other characters or personal ruminations on what she shared that day. 

“My girls have directed me to start the story at the beginning when they have no interest in the beginning. They want to hear the parts they want to hear with the rest cut out to save time. ‘If you think you can do a better job then tell the story yourself,’ I say, standing, though not in a punitive way. I stretch my hands up over my head. ‘The three of you can tell it to one another.’ God knows there’s work to be done around here.”

Tom Lake by Ann Patchett

I loved Tom Lake and might even call it THE favorite of 2023 (though I’ve yet to read a few big titles like Let Us Descend). I thought I adored its Our Town-inspired metanarrative or the themes of family, community, and art in troubled times, but the more I think about my reading experience, the more I realize I fell in love with the storytelling. Most first person narrators are also characters in the story, but that doesn’t mean they have a strong presence. I can almost forget about first person narration in a book like Fourth Wing, for instance, because I’m focused on the plot, world building, or relationships. But I can’t forget about Lara, not when her story is interrupted for cherry-picking or when her mind wanders back to present-day concerns. 

“I look at my girls, my brilliant young women. I want them to think I was better than I was, and I want to tell them the truth in case the truth will be useful. Those two desires to not neatly coexist, but this is where we are in the story.”

In The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store by James McBride, we don’t have fourth wall breaks or a first person narrator. The presence of the omniscient narrator is much more difficult to articulate, aside from simply naming McBride’s storytelling genius. I’ll make an attempt anyway. 

McBride beautifully deploys free indirect discourse, allowing the reader into the minds of many different characters, to develop a clear sense of community in this novel. He takes us from one end of town to the other, into multiple families’ homes and into the minds of well-drawn individual characters. Because he writes with such detail, wisdom, and interconnectedness, it feels like you’re in good hands as a reader. I could let myself be swept away in the story, knowing he would tie loose ends together if not in a happy way, then definitely in a satisfying way. He shares what needs to be shared at the right moment, he builds a detailed world and makes the reader feel as though they are swooping in and out of his characters’ homes like an invisible spirit, observing everything from a close vantage point. He sets the scene each time it changes, with a strong sense of place and warm, colorful character descriptions. Even without fourth wall breaks or first person narration, I felt as if I were being led through the story, through the town, by a trustworthy teller.

“Moshe watched spellbound from the wings as Webb, a tiny man with a curved spine clad in a white suit, roared with laughter and enthusiasm as he played, egging his band on from the rear with his masterful drumming, the thunderous band shaking the floor with rip-roaring waves of gorgeous sound. That man, Moshe decided, was a joymaker. And Moshe could not help but notice that Webb, like his lovely Chona, had a physical disability. Though he was a hunchback of some kind, he moved with a certain feeling of joy, a lightness, as if every moment were precious.”

The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store by James McBride

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I have some quick thoughts on why very present narrators work so well for me. One, as I said, I enjoy “voice-y” novels. I’m consistently paying attention to style, voice, and structure while I read. Narration is a big part of that! Two, a strong, highly present narrator kind of feels like having a responsible adult in the room, a caretaker for the story I’m consuming. In a world with a lot of uncertainty and turmoil, a present narrator provides a layer of comfort while reading, especially for stories with sensitive, tough content. 

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Do you appreciate a narrator with a strong presence, or do you prefer to live inside one character’s mind for the duration of a novel? Or forget about the narrator altogether? I would love to continue this literary discussion in the comments with you.

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