Angus Fletcher

Il nostro cervello nasce per creare storie, non per la logica.

Cosa sia lo storytelling probabilmente lo sapete: è uno di quei termini di moda in questi anni, e c'è parecchia gente che si sta facendo i soldi vendendo corsi di storytelling che ha soppiantato la "scrittura creativa". Io non c'entro, lo garantisco. Angus Fletcher però parla di storythinking, e ha un approccio piuttosto diverso. Secondo lui, il nostro cervello, e soprattutto lo sviluppo delle sinapsi, nasce proprio per farci show more pensare per mezzo di storie, dal controfattuale (cosa succederebbe se...) agli sviluppi futuri, ed è colpa dei filosofi greci e soprattutto dei loro seguaci se tutto questo è stato cancellato dallo sviluppo della logica. Fletcher non dice che la logica è inutile, anzi: però rimarca come la logica per sua stessa definizione non può trattare il divenire ma solo cristallizzare verità e falsità in un eterno presente, cosa che spesso non è quella che ci serve. Lo fa scrivendo naturalmente in modo molto accattivante, e ben reso da Daria Restani: il risultato finale è un testo che non accetto al 100% ma mi ha comunque dato molto da pensare sul rapporto tra narrazione e logica, e in particolare su come usarle al meglio. show less

Ever since the ancient Greek philosophers, western thought has been focused on logic. Everything, it is claimed, can be understood as operations of and, or, or not. It has gotten mankind quite far, but it has limited both progress and creativity. Biologist Angus Fletcher is here to straighten that out and restore the high office of the narrative, in his latest book, Storythinking. It is a most unusual book, plumbing the depths of history to find where philosophy went off the rails, examining show more neurobiology for insight into creativity, and festooned with stories about great characters all the way through. I can honestly report I’ve never read anything like it. And that’s a good thing.

Biologically, Man is keyed to sight and action. Forcing the brain to assign logical explanations for everything he sees and does has taken tens of thousands of years, and has not proven a thorough answer to much of anything, Fletcher says. If Man could return to his natural self, the result could be a whole new universe of thought and creativity. Instead, we today believe that intelligence itself derives from logic, an empty concept by comparison to what could be. No wonder we think every story has already been told.

He discovered that story wasn’t just for telling, as we have been led to believe. Story was for thinking. It was a way of life, learning, and projecting.

This is not a new discovery. Fletcher found that “MBAs at Harvard University, the globe’s most successfully self-promotional business school, are scrupulously instructed: ‘Telling a story has proven to be a superior way of communicating information, because people process stories differently than they do non-narrative information, such as a simple recitation of facts.’” He says the problem with logic is that it seeks an ideal product, while storythinking seeks an ideal process. Product is a thing; process is becoming. Early literature: Greek, Roman, English – was all about becoming – a hero, a champion, a survivor, a god . A product is dead by comparison.

This sort of logic-seeking, tortured interpretation is not a happy place. Fletcher points out we have a habit of “abstracting practice into the theory of practice.” In an endless attempt to simplify, we overthink to force ourselves into the new box. Where we can never be happy with the results. Because it represents no truth at all. Storythinking, on the other hand leverages “our personal, physical, emotional and intellectual growth. (It is) accelerated by empowering the storythinking of the people around us.” Far from obsolete or redundant, this is Network Effect in action. The more people have at it, the more valuable it becomes to all.

This hammering a square peg into a round hole has lots of unintended side effects, too. For one thing, it demolishes the joys of literature: “By converting literature into language and then interpreting language with semiotics, America’s futuristic curriculum was flattening four-dimensional narratives into two-dimensional propositions that reduced characters to representations and plots to arguments. Behaviors became themes, happenings became meanings, and actions became allegories, expunging much of the psychological activity that Shakespeare and the rest of our global library had been crafted to generate.” Is it any wonder kids won’t read?

Fletcher has his own rules and framework to grow creativity, much more accommodating to the way people are built: Prioritize the exceptional, shift the perspective, and stoke narrative conflict. Out of those parameters, he thinks, far more creative outcomes are possible.

He says there are four elements to story: characters, storyworlds (environments with their own distinct laws as to what can and cannot happen), plots (sequences of action), and narrators (“their why shapes how it is told”). This is certainly not what they taught in my schools.

Logic and metaphysics are simply not equipped for “solving ethical or biological problems such as personal and social growth.” And yet that is what most of the world’s greatest literature is all about. “Logic un-narratives narrative, creating fables with morals, myths with archetypes, heavens with commandments, stories with symbols, media with representations, and other timeless interpretations that evaporate storytelling’s core function: the innovation of action.” Today, you couldn’t sell a book without those qualities evident, cutting off potentially groundbreaking stories at the knees. And finally, logic is artificial, while storythinking is “part of life, and the law of life is growth through variety.” For Fletcher, we have strayed – far.

Having made his points, Fletcher cinches it with: “What our brain’s dual mechanisms thus reveal is that narrative and logic are complementary tools. There’s no way to replace storythinking with deduction or interpretation, any more than there’s a way to replace a hammer with a saw.”

There is a lot on artificial intelligence (AI) in Storythinking, as it seems in most books I’m reading these days. For Fletcher, AI will never overtake human ingenuity, because it simply processes words looking for patterns, on request. He says “Limited data is the province of the narrative, and narrative is the province of our brain’s synaptic machinery.” Human intelligence has a “main source: the plan-generating, hypothesis-imagining, action-inventing neural processes of storythinking.” I’m not at all sure that is correct, as AI seems capable of imitating writers, writing stories in their styles, and in general, being all but indistinguishable from them. And I’m really not sure what would happen if someone tasked AI with outside-the-box thinking.

Notable by its absence in Storythinking is the word reduction. Reductionism has been the logical endpoint of numerous disasters, such as healthcare, for example. Doctors routinely fail to listen, claiming to have reduced the symptoms to a clear and simple diagnosis without further investigation. This goes on in politics, and even in the sciences like physics, where Einstein spent the last half of his life trying to reduce the entire universe in to neat and simple geometric shapes. Yet somehow, Fletcher doesn’t focus on it.

Similarly, he does not venture in mind-expansion through things like psychedelics, which countless creatives employ to break out of the stifling mold of logic and reductionism. Because for all the marvelous connections neurons make to bolster human thinking, there are infinitely more possible connections when not forbidden by logic, efficiency and deduction.

The book ends with an absolutely jampacked Q&A of Fletcher with himself. It is a rapidfire summary answering most of the questions readers might have, imparting at least as much information as the rest of the book. It is a most unusual conclusion to a book, and is worth the price of admission by itself. I guess one should expect no less from someone professing storythinking.

David Wineberg show less

Storythinking: The New Science of Narrative Intelligence by Angus Fletcher is a wonderful short read that delivers a big message: story is as important to human knowledge and progress as logic.

Not surprisingly, the most engaging parts of the book are where Fletcher is offering a narrative rather than listing facts or making a "logical" argument. And together, as in all of human thought, the storytelling and the logic come together in a narrative. Go figure.

No doubt some people will find show more little points to critique rather than take in and assess the larger argument. These are likely people who lean heavily toward logic at the expense of story. They must be great fun at get-togethers. Does Fletcher take some liberty in his storytelling? Probably so, but not to the point of being unreliable, more as someone who uses mind-pictures that help make the points of the story more memorable. Surprise, the wolf didn't actually pretend to be grandma, just in case that small point kept you from getting the point of the fable.

If you sometimes find yourself bogged down in the "just the facts" deadends many of our public and academic debates take us, read this and try using story in your talks. It is surprisingly easy since we do it naturally, well, until it is driven out of us by our "education." Much like our imagination.

Highly recommended for those wanting to understand the value of storythinking, the idea that thinking in "what ifs" is both fun and productive. Not in isolation from logical thought, but alongside.

Reviewed from a copy made available by the publisher via NetGalley. show less

“It was barely sunrise. Yet even in the faint, rose-fingered light, there could be no doubt: the invention was a marvel. It could mend cracks in the heart and resurrect hope from the dark. It could summon up raptures and impossible days. It could chase away dullness and unlatch the sky. The invention was literature. And to catch its marvel for ourselves, let’s return to that dawn. Let’s learn the story of why literature was invented. And all the things it was invented to do.”

Angus show more Fletcher explains twenty five ‘inventions’ that underpin the appeal of literature in Wonderworks.

Stories have many purposes and Fletcher proposes thot these have evolved over time as authors have discovered techniques, from the plot twist to the happy ever after ending, for eliciting specific emotions and reactions from their audience. The emerging field of story science explains how different types of narratives, from thrillers to satire, have been proven to stimulate different areas of our brain and have the ability to affect our attitudes, beliefs, and behaviour. Stories can not only educate, they can also encourage the development of empathy, alleviate depression, inspire creativity, and improve self-awareness.

In each chapter of Wonderworks, Fletcher examines a invention of literature, relating its history, and often that of its ‘inventor’, provides examples, and explores how and why the technique resonates with us as revealed by modern neuroscience. I thought Fletcher offered some astute insights, though much confirms what avid readers instinctively know about the power of all types of fiction has to enrich our lives.

“For whatever the power of truth may be, literature’s own special power has always lain in fiction, that wonder we construct. It is the invention that unbreaks the heart. And brings us into hope, and peace, and love.”

There is, as necessary, some jargon to contend with but Fletcher embraces the style of nonfiction narrative so Wonderworks is rarely dry. It can be dense however and, in my opinion, occasionally veers into the pretentious, so I found it difficult to read in one sitting. I think enthusiasm for Wonderworks will be higher among those interested in literary analysis and study, students of psychology, philosophers, and writers looking to hone their craft, but it does have value for the simply curious.

Wonderworks provides a way to understand literature that moves beyond its construction and practicalities. It’s an interesting and thought-provoking study of narrative and the significance of fiction to both individuals and society. show less