Storrs »Science of Storytelling«  –  Stark Stories due to Neuroscience, Brain Research and Psychology

A scientifical and at the same time practical bestseller

Review by Bernd Friedrich von Schon

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»Sapere aude – have courage, or you will miss something out!«

This is my advice to all those who read the title of Will Storr’s book »The Science of Storytelling« {*} and who become uncomfortable as a result because they fear that it could become too theoretical, even dry as dust.

Because: The book by the British journalist and novelist is suitable as a guidebook, worth reading for us storytellers. The author only consults brain research, neuroscience and psychology to help us overcome three major challenges of story design.

If you are still deterred from reading it, stay undaunted: My book review offers a summary of Storr’s most important strategies, tactics, methods, tricks and tips.

Answers to Three Challenges of Story Design

The »Big Three« for which Will Storr finds solutions:

1. How do we give our stories accessibility, suspense, relatability and humanity?

2. How do we create lively characters?

3. How do our (main) character(s) connect smoothly with our plot?  

The fact that Storr starts from general human foundations – the structure of our brain, our psyche and its development – enables him to investigate effective storytelling from a universal angle and to make understandable how it succeeds. 

Storytelling Serves (Social) Survival

Similar to Lisa Cron in Wired for Story {*}, Storr assumes – in terms of evolutionary biology – that we have always been driven by two main motivations: 1) our desire to survive and 2) our desire to reproduce.

Since, according to Storr, we belong to a hypersocial species, two goals arise from our two motivations of »survival« and »reproduction«, namely (1) to get along with each other within our »tribe«, but also (2) to get ahead, i.e. to surpass others. Afterall, both – »connecting with our fellow human beings« and »dominating them« – increase our chances of surviving, cultivating a refreshing love life and, as a result, having offspring.

This reads quite matter-of-factly, but is realized by the fact that most stories make the bond between people the defining theme. Jodie Archer and Matthew L. Jockers from the Stanford Literary Lab, for example, have algorithmically searched around five thousand novels – including five hundred New York Times bestsellers – and found that the theme »human connection« is the most important of all, as can be read in their book The Bestseller Code {*}.

Who are the Others? And Who am I?

From the goals of getting along and getting ahead of our fellow human beings, in turn, further goals for our – hypersocial – brain arise: It has to decipher other consciousnesses, their intentions and plans, put itself in their shoes in order to answer the question as quickly as possible: »Friend or foe?«. Moreover, it has to navigate through a social network of our co-consciousnesses, our tribal members, and try to control our (also: social) environment.

Accordingly, our curiosity about people is insatiable: How do they feel about us? What do they think? What are they planning? Who do they love? Who do they hate? What are their secrets? What is important to them? How did they become who they are?

The less predictable people around us behave, the more curious we become. Accordingly, »unpredictable« characters are the best material for narratives. Thus, Storr’s approach is character-driven, not plot-driven.

For Storr, the central dramatic question is: »Who is this person?« – or, from the point of view of the main character: »Who am I?«

Storytelling – what for?

But what role does storytelling play?

First of all, storytelling is natural. A functioning brain is characterized by capturing its life in »story mode«, so storytelling is as natural to us as our breath – which is why it is no coincidence that Storr flatters his audience at the beginning of his TED Talk that they don’t have to painstakingly learn how to tell stories, since they already are already fantastic storytellers.

Our brain is a story processor, constantly crafting stories out of our experiences – portraying us as the heroes of our lives pursuing noble goals – and confronting us with villains who seek to thwart our goals.

While our brains follow the mission of finding answers to the simple question »How do I control my outer and inner world?« in order to ensure »survival« and »reproduction«, we keep noticing that we – and others too – are wrong, have false assumptions, making mistakes, and thereby endangering our very own goals.

A psychology professor quoted by Storr puts it this way:

»All individuals are essentially scientists erecting and testing their hypotheses about the world and revising them in the light of their experience.«

Brian Little

We convey these significant, transformative experiences to our fellow human beings through storytelling.

Storytelling thus serves 1) to pass on (survival) important advice in the form of, for example: »This plant smells tasty, but is poisonous«, but also socially significant information, such as: »If you approach him like this, he will reject you. To seduce him, you should instead… «.

»Life is change that longs for stability.«

Roy Baumeister

And stories are games that show us what it feels like to have lost stability and control (without actually putting ourselves in danger) and how to (re)gain control.

We are keenly interested in: How do we overcome »weaknesses« in the sense of: How do we avoid – or at least reduce – dependency, heteronomy and being at the mercy of others? And: How do we gain »strength« in the sense of controlling our inner and outer world?

In addition, narration (2) serves to negotiate and evaluate which behaviour is desirable or unpleasant. Storr goes so far as to say that human communication originated from »gossip« – with the aim of influencing behaviour.

[AI generated image of hominids exchanging gossip]

Storytelling conveys the values of a »tribe«, extolls socially desirable manners and reprimands the disagreeable, and thus serves as a method of inclusion and exclusion for the »tribe«: Who belongs to us, who does not – and who must we banish? According to Storr, the more storytellers a tribe has, the more prosocial behaviour spreads.

»Stories arose out of our intense interest in social monitoring.«

Brian Boyd

Heroes and Villains

In this way, our brain not only portrays fellow human beings as antagonists when they stand in the way of our goals. We are also morally outraged at them when their behaviour runs counter to our internalized »tribal« values and narratives. This tribal behaviour can easily be triggered when, for example, a character is undeservedly exploited by others. In the face of such injustice, we impulsively side with the victim and yearn for the wrongdoers to be punished, often even deriving questionable satisfaction from tangible reparation.

For us, heroes are, according to our atavistic heritage, those who selflessly stand up for (the) values (of our »tribe«), sacrifice something or even themselves for them, and who only work their way up from a low status, from powerlessness and vulnerability, those who only gradually and with effort overcome their weaknesses, who protect those under them on the ladder of the social hierarchy,  show them understanding and compassion – in other words, earn their heroic status hard and honestly. Antagonists, on the other hand, are those who are selfish, abuse their power and abilities, and do not use them for the benefit of all (our »tribe«), but arbitrarily for their own discretion, who are also not concerned with adapting to their social environment.

How to Arouse Curiosity and Capture Your Audience

As a means of suspense, we already have the fact that we encounter one (or more) interesting – in the sense of »unpredictable« – character(s) who are being played badly by their opponents, so that we long for compensatory justice.

Storr also offers a number of other techniques that arouse our curiosity, create excitement and help to transport our audience into our world and story:

• Surprising change: In its mission to control our inner and outer world, our brain is overwhelmed, because it cannot see all the details. Therefore, our brain is obsessed with change. Because: Change could mean »danger«, but it could also hold »opportunities«. Accordingly, storytellers are well advised to start the story with an unforeseen change or with the gloomy premonition that nothing will remain as it is.

»There’s no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it.«

Alfred Hitchcock

• Show, don’t tell: At any given moment, our brain models a complete illusion of reality from a rather sparse data set. Likewise, sensual storytelling ignites the imagination of its readers: Name specific details of the fictional world: How does it feel, smell, how does it sound? Also, use meaningful details that help your audience’s brains in their mission to learn about people: What does a tic, a colourful piece of clothing, a beloved object reveal about your character? If something terrible happens to a character, don’t call it horrible, but make sure that the receiving brain has to develop a model of this terrible thing – because, for example, the hot breath of the scaly beast exudes a putrid smell of flesh. Use active language, concatenate words »cinematically«, so that a lively sequence of events inevitably emerges in front of the inner eye of your audience.
• Status Game: Since it is important to us humans to get along with each other, but also to get ahead, we always evaluate our own status and that of our fellow humans. We react sensitively to power struggles, conflicts over popularity and over favour of the powerful. Good storytelling shows people who (want to) gain status, lose status, fight for their status back. Status changes hold valuable narrative potential – they form the basis of stories about ambitions, loyalty, deceit, intrigues, conspiracies and alliances, about defeat, despair and triumph, as well as about losing and winning love. Incidentally, Will Storr has now written his own non-fiction book on the subject called The Status Game {*}.
• Gaps, omissions: Our brains try to understand what’s going on and search for the motivations for human behaviour. To gain »control,« we need to  understand correctly. The language of our brain is causality: as long as we can understand which causes lead to which effects, we understand what is going on. Accordingly, we are puzzled by gaps in our knowledge, which is why efficient storytelling stages events with uncertain outcomes, raises questions, presents puzzles, confronts us with riddles, disavows our expectations, whispers of secrets, hints at possible solutions and lets people appear who, unlike us, obviously know what is going on secretly.
• Metaphors have a similar effect to riddles. When they are fresh, in order to comprehend them, we must first envision the image conjured up in a sensual way. In this way, they are not only »understood« as a kind of comparison game, but can actually be »experienced«.

From Character to Story

According to Storr, a »story« could be defined as follows:

A specific person (»main character«), with an individual way of wanting to control his inner and outer world, is confronted with obstacles and events (the »plot«) that force him to change (that is, above all, »his way of wanting to gain control«).

Here, »external« events (the »plot«) and the »inner« mental life of the main character (»desires, longings, drives, obstacles, inner conflicts«) interpenetrate and determine each other.

»To change« means that the main character has to make several decisions, which pose the central dramatic question again and again in a new and different way: »Who is this person? «, »What choice will she make?«, »Who will this person become (through her decision and its consequences)?«

The task of the plot events is to test a flawed belief system of the main character, to convict it as unsuitable and to break it painfully. In this way, the main character discovers peu à peu, under increasing pressure, »who she is« – and is often surprised by the answers to this »dramatic question«.

A »heroine« is, in this sense, a person who accepts the challenge of their story, says goodbye to her erroneous, flawed models, changes for the better, gaining a new, more valid view of the world. An »anti-hero«, on the other hand, is a person who persists in his or her flawed beliefs, rejects change and fails as a result – or who dismisses a value-conforming model and instead prefers a sinister, morally reprehensible model to dominate his/her world. 

A Specific »Primordial Event« eads to a Flawed »Theory of Control«, …

Often, effective storytelling leads not only to answering the question of »who the main character will be«, but also back to the »primal event« that made her who she was (until now)  – think of  Charles Foster Kane’s »Rosebud« mystery and its »resolution« in Orson Welles‘ world-famous movie Citizen Kane {*}.

In this way, the pattern of the (progressive, future-oriented) »unfolding drama« is combined with the pattern of the (backward-looking, past-oriented) »revelation drama« – the influence of which on the mystery genre I outlined in my blogue article on Innovation in the Crime Genre.

The primordial event leads the affected (main) character to an erroneous, distorted assumption of how she can gain control over her world. Storr calls this assumption the »theory of control.« It describes (from the character’s point of view) what she has to do to get what she wants and avoid what she fears. This conviction of hers gives the character a sense of superiority. Her »theory of control«  is at work in her unconscious. Because: According to neuroscience, our own weaknesses are (often) invisible to ourselves, as are the origins of our strengths.

The most vivid characters, according to Storr, are those who are obsessed with an erroneous »theory of control« – he cites Dickens’s Ebenezer Scrooge and Melville’s Captain Ahab as examples.

Thus, in order to develop convincing characters, Storr suggests starting with their flawed »theory of control«.

Their specific, erroneous beliefs, they assume, help them control their (social) environment. To develop a productive »theory of control« for your main character, it helps to complete the following sentences:

• »People admire me, because … «
• »I’m only safe if … «
• »The most important thing in life, which only I seem to understand, is … «
• »The secret of happiness is … «
• »The best advice I ever got was … «

A suitable »theory of control« should include the hopes, goals, and (unconscious) fears of the character. It should answer the questions: »Who do I have to be and how must I behave in order to achieve my goals (i.e. gain control)?« and at the same time: »Who must I never become, what must I never do, otherwise my greatest fear will come true?«

Since the plot will later show that the character’s »theory of control« is flawed, it does not only act as a »strength« of the character, it has a flip side, becomes – under specific conditions (which the plot will create) – a »weakness«.

The primal event mentioned above, from which the (flawed) »theory of control« emerges, is usually in childhood or adolescence, as we humans are easy moulded during this time. According to Storr, it is worth working out the primal event as a precise, well-defined situation. Often it is a traumatic humiliation experience that leads to the erroneous assumption, which then solidifies into a persistent – false or at best half-true – belief . The character begins to test this assumption, to examine it, to follow it, to trust it, it grows into an attitude, becomes »sacred« in the sense of »irrevocably true« and – since it is intertwined with her unconscious fears – »untouchable«. It begins to fully condition the character’s being and life: her specific conviction determines the character’s perspective, from which her biography develops: what is important to her, what goals she pursues in which way, what makes her uncomfortable, what kind of relationships she has, what kind of life she creates around her.

… that leads to the »Ignition Point«, finally to Answering the »Dramatic Question«.

»Primordial event«, »control theory«, »perspective« and »biography« form the backstory, whichis usually unknown to us when we meet the character in her story for the first time. Storr aligns himself to the classical five-act structure – as Gustav Freytag formulated it prototypically in his Technique of the Drama {*}.  This is because it being the most proven and reliable pattern for depicting how a main character is confronted with a challenge and has to change in order to overcome it.

Storr points out that David Robinson analysed 112,000 plots, and revealed a basic pattern common to them: the main character has to overcome a challenge, everything gets worse until he survives a significant test. This basic pattern also forms the basis for the five-act structure that Storr adapts for himself.

In the first half of the five-act structure, the theory of control is established, which is transformed in the »midpoint«. In the second half, a new theory of control is tested to the utmost, so that the story comes down to a final decision in the last act: »Will the main character accept the new theory of control or insist on his old one? Who will she be?«

Each act has a central event to which the main character must respond.

I. Act: »This is me, and it’s not working«

At the beginning, in the exposition, the character and his everyday life, his goals and ambitions are introduced, secret wounds are hinted at when an »unexpected change« strikes. Storr calls this challenge a »story event.« Depending on the nature of the story and its genre, this »story event« can be many things: an opportunity, an intrigue, a search, a journey, an investigation, a misunderstanding, a revelation, a defeat, an accusation, a discovery, a sudden enemy or monster, an unwelcome figure from the past, an injustice, a discovery, a temptation …

The challenge takes our main character into a new and unknown (psychological) realm. In an attempt to solve the overwhelming task, the character proceeds habitually according to his original »theory of control« – and fails, even worsening his situation. What now?

II. Act: »Is there another way?«

The character is at a loss, sinking into chaos, realizing that a new strategy must be found. Desperately, she begins to experiment – even with new versions of herself. In this crisis, the dramatic question arises: »Who must she become in order to master the challenge?« It has already been shown that the character does not get anywhere with answers from her standard repertoire (her »theory of control«).

Now she is beginning to break new ground, which may at first be aberrations, but it can also achieve small triumphs. A new facet of the main character is revealed in what Storr calls the »ignition point«. She reacts (possibly even to herself) unexpectedly, which surprises us and therefore arouses our curiosity. Now, for the first time, a possible new self, a different version, a perspective of »who the character could become« becomes conceivable. The main character finally decides to take the new path.

III. Act: »There is. I have transformed«

In response to this new facet of the character, the »counterplay« reacts with full force. Adversaries put a lot of pressure on the main character, whose first attempts are still inadequate, amateurish, bungling, and hasty – so the dramatic question arises again, unexpectedly fresh: »Who will the character be (at last)?« The price that our character has to pay for abandoning his old theory of control finally becomes clear.

After his decision, two (or more) versions of himself fight for supremacy. In this way, external plot challenges, conflicts and setbacks, and internal conflicts (between different possible versions of the character) intertwine.

„Beneath the level of consciousness we’re a riotous democracy of mini-selves which, writes neuro-scientist Professor David Eagleman, are ‘locked in chronic battle’ for dominion. Our behaviour is ‘simply the end result of the battles’“.

Will Storr

IV. Act: »But can I handle the pain of change?«

The central event of the fourth act is the greatest defeat, the deepest low, the darkest hour of our main character. She doubts her resolve to change, wonders if she can survive without the protection of her belief system, she blows to retreat to her old strategy.

In the fourth act, it is a good idea to tell the original event that led to her flawed theory of control. Once again, the dramatic question »Who will the main character be?« is asked. It becomes clear that she will soon have to make an irrevocable decision.

V. Act: »Who am I going to be?«

The central event of the fifth act is the final test, the final battle, the confrontation of the main character with her greatest fear. If she passes the superhuman challenge, if she wins the battle, her victory, according to Storr, becomes a »God moment« in which she gains complete control over her inner and thus over her outer world.

In the archetypal happy ending, we see the main character mature into a newer, better version of herself.

When the story ends tragically, the character sticks to his flawed belief system, makes it worse and worse, even turns to immoral behaviour. Instead of healing the damage, tribal punishment follows on its heels: humiliation, banishment, ostracism of what he has become, the character has to face imprisonment, sometimes even death.

However, both possibilities of the ending guarantee that satisfaction sets in, because the dramatic question of who the character has become is clearly answered.

My Conclusion: Stark Stories Due To Science?

I can recommend Will Storr’s The Science of Storytelling {*} with a clear conscience. Undoubtedly, it is worth reading for us storytellers. Compared to other writing guides, especially manuals for writing screenplays, it is pleasant to note that Storr focuses on character design, perspective and perception and does not rely solely on the architecture of the »right« plot structure.

Although Storr starts with the main character and also describes conclusions other than the happy ending alone, and also refers to other types of open, ambivalent stories, the popular, »causal« narration of a central conflict as well as the change of the main character dominates in his work. In this respect, his approach is predominantly »classical«, as evidenced by his use of the traditional five-act structure.

Refreshingly – especially when compared to popular screenwriting manuals – Storr’s approach considers a continuation of or return to the status quo or a turn to veritable anti-heroes as possibilities, which many manuals for writing popular film and television stories or novels refrain from doing.

Excellent is Storr’s recourse to Shakespeare, his remark that, especially in character design, too much explanatory »causality« causes harm. After all, it suits fascinating characters well when they surprise us again and again and remain mysterious to a good extent. 

What Storr neglects is humorous storytelling, which often draws its comedy precisely from the rigidity of the characters, who, surprisingly and against all reason, do not question their »theories of control« and never change, even though they are obviously flawed. Nor does he refer to modernist storytelling, in which the narrative structure resembles an acausal sequence, nor to narration through ensembles of characters, stories in which, for example, the uniformity or interchangeability of the main character(s) and the statics of the relationships are to be conveyed.

His focus on the struggle for dominance, survival and status, conflictuality may also seem to some to be an expression of a questionably masculine narrative style, to which Ursula K. Le Guin offered an alternative as early as 1986 with her »Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction« {*}. 

By drawing on insights from neuroscience, brain research, and psychology, Storr’s approach places storytelling on a solid, universally human foundation, ensuring that it relates to everyone. On the one hand, this is a clear advantage.

On the other hand, this approach runs the risk of forgetting the fact that we look back on a tradition of storytelling that goes back thousands of years and has undergone many transformations. Focusing on what is the foundation of the common human being may miss innovations in storytelling that sometimes differ from the concept of a narrations that are »natural« to us. Anyone who ignores the continuous development of storytelling, the change in the view of the world and humanity and the zeitgeist may be in danger of merely reproducing the traditional and reliable. 

But this is criticism at the highest level, which may place too high demands on a popular storytelling guide. One thing is certain: Storr’s book offers practical instructions for all those who want to tell their own stories in a popular and exciting way. In addition, it never ceases to surprise with enlightening insights into how our brains process narratives and create an exciting »story« out of our own lives.

Sincerely yours,  

Postscript: If my blogue article was uplifting, enlightening, or useful to you, please feel free to share it with other storytelling enthusiasts. Thank you very much in advance!