Reading Notes: John Yorke’s “Into the Woods”

The text argues that storytelling, regardless of its form or medium, shares a universal framework rooted in human psychology, biology, and even physics. This framework often involves characters embarking on quests in unfamiliar worlds, confronting challenges, and overcoming “monsters.” According to the author, this structure isn’t an artificial construct but a byproduct of how humans perceive and make sense of the world.

The text also posits that the pattern of storytelling is so ingrained in us that even when writers claim to reject traditional structure, they inadvertently adhere to it. This could be because the laws of physics, logic, and form dictate that all stories essentially follow the same path. Moreover, even works that appear to break away from traditional structure are still anchored in this universal archetype.

Importantly, the text highlights that understanding the structure isn’t necessarily a prerequisite for good storytelling. Many great writers have an intuitive grasp of story shape, even if they can’t articulate it. But, having an understanding of this structure can be considered a form of artistic craftsmanship, akin to grammar in language. Even artists who break the rules are often those who first master them; they know the limits so well that they can effectively push beyond them.

The text also contends that this isn’t merely a how-to guide for storytelling but an exploration of its inherent nature, as storytelling is an intrinsic part of human life. It emphasises the critical need to understand storytelling, given its prevalence in human society, from ancient myths to modern media. The recurrent motif in stories across cultures and times—of entering the woods to discover a hidden, usually transformative truth—is cited as an example of the universal elements at the heart of all stories.

Thus, the text is an examination of the fundamental principles underlying storytelling, offering insights into why and how stories are constructed the way they are. It invites readers not only to understand these principles but to probe deeper into the “forest” where all stories originate, hoping to uncover the mysterious forces that drive us to tell stories in the first place.

The text outlines the archetypal structure of storytelling, emphasising the role of the protagonist as the central character who serves as the audience’s avatar in the narrative. The protagonist encounters a problem or a situation that destabilises their world, initiating the journey or quest to resolve the issue. This journey often includes obstacles, moments of despair, and ultimate triumph, providing the story with its essential shape and dynamics.

The text further elaborates that while the protagonist is crucial, they don’t need to be flawless or universally likable. In fact, characters with imperfections or “rough edges” are often more engaging because they resonate with something profound within the audience. The goal of a good story isn’t necessarily to win audience approval but to evoke empathy and identification, making people think, “you too?” or “there but for the grace of God go I.”

The framework for stories revolves around the problem faced by the protagonist and their pursuit of a solution. The audience’s investment in the story is closely tied to their concern for the protagonist, not necessarily because they approve of them, but because they can relate or empathise with them.

Empathy, as the text clarifies, is not simply rooted in understanding why characters do what they do, although that does enhance it. Rather, the basis of empathy is its ability to tap into and connect with the audience’s unconscious mind. The text also acknowledges the magnetic power of wish-fulfilment, whether benevolent or masochistic, in storytelling.

The text focuses on the key elements that define archetypal storytelling, with special attention given to the role of the central character or protagonist. According to the text, a good story always involves a protagonist who has an active goal or desire. This desire is then challenged by a set of obstacles, often personified in an antagonist. The effectiveness of these “forces of antagonism” often determines the success of the story, as evident in popular works like James Bond films.

Another central tenet discussed is that characters are often motivated by primal human desires like success, love, revenge, or survival. These desires usually manifest as tangible objects or “grails” in the narrative. The internal conflict within a character often arises when what they think they want clashes with what they actually need. Such conflicts are crucial for three-dimensional storytelling and are typically a central element in structuring the narrative.

The character’s journey usually involves overcoming flaws and weaknesses, culminating in an epiphany where they realise their actual needs as opposed to their initial wants. Often, this transformative realisation leads them to abandon their initial, ego-driven goals for something more significant and fulfilling. Thus, well-crafted characters do not always get what they want but get what they need if they deserve it. This internal journey generally kicks off with an “inciting incident,” a pivotal event that catalyses the protagonist’s desires and sets the story in motion.

The text elucidates that effective storytelling is driven by a protagonist with a clear desire, facing obstacles and antagonists that challenge this desire. The narrative tension often results from the conflict between what a character wants and what they truly need, leading to a journey of self-discovery and transformation. The antagonistic forces often embody qualities that the protagonist lacks, and the journey often culminates in the character realising a more universal or nourishing goal.

The text introduces the idea of the “crisis,” a pivotal moment of extreme danger or difficulty for the hero. This crisis serves as a catalyst that forces the protagonist to confront their innermost fears and flaws. It’s a decisive point where the hero must make a critical choice that tests their character and worldview. Often, this choice involves overcoming an external antagonist, which symbolically represents the protagonist’s internal fears or flaws. In making the right choice, the hero overcomes these internal challenges and triggers a change within.

Following the crisis is the climax, the culmination of the narrative where the protagonist faces off against the antagonist. It is the point of ultimate resolution where all narrative threads converge. By overcoming the external obstacle in the climax, the protagonist finds internal healing, bringing full circle the journey initiated by the inciting incident. This climactic resolution often leads to a denouement, a winding down of the story where the outcomes and “rewards” are clarified.

The text also notes that these fundamental elements of storytelling can be altered or omitted for specific narrative effects, as seen in works like “The Wire” or “No Country for Old Men.” However, these deviations are impactful precisely because they are exceptions to the well-established rules of storytelling.

The text elaborates on the foundational principles of storytelling, likening them to the alphabet or musical notes: simple yet infinitely adaptable. It discusses variations in storytelling frameworks, such as tragedies inverting the heroic arc seen in mainstream films like “Jaws” or “E.T.” to show a hero’s downfall, as in “Macbeth.” Other variations include dark twists, as seen in “Taxi Driver” and “The King of Comedy,” where the protagonists are rewarded, thus offering a dark commentary on society.

The text underscores the dominance of the three-act structure in drama, composed of a beginning, middle, and end. This structure includes setup, confrontation, and resolution, featuring turning points at the end of the first and second acts, known as the inciting incident and the crisis, respectively. This pervasive pattern suggests that storytelling taps into deeper psychological or even biological frameworks.

Furthermore, the text talks about how characters are often flawed and thrust into a universe that embodies everything they lack, forcing them to find a new balance and self-integration within this challenging environment.

It also touches upon historical views on storytelling structure. Horace’s “Ars Poetica” posited that no play should be shorter or longer than five acts, a principle that is essentially a refined version of the three-act structure. This five-act structure is simply a more detailed rendition of the Hollywood three-act paradigm, inserting two additional act breaks in the second act.

The text also mentions “Freytag’s Pyramid,” outlined in 1863, which identifies five stages in every tragedy. Interestingly, although intuition might suggest that the climax should appear in the fifth part, Freytag places it in the third, corresponding to the “midpoint” in structural study.

The text elaborates on the core elements of storytelling, particularly focusing on the concept of the “midpoint” in a narrative, which is the moment when something profoundly significant occurs. This point in the story is crucial for the characters and the overall arc because it often ramps up the stakes and forces a significant change or decision, creating a risk/reward dynamic.

The text notes that the resurgence of three-act drama in the 19th century was not a reaction against Shakespearean forms but rather aligned with developments in comfort and technology. For writers struggling with the traditional Hollywood three-act paradigm, a five-act structure can provide better control, particularly over the middle section of their stories.

The essence of all drama, according to the text, is the concept of change. Characters must undergo an internal struggle to achieve this change, which is directly linked to their dramatic desire or what they want. In other words, if a character wants something, they will have to change in some significant way to achieve it.

The text also emphasises that in every archetypal story, there exists a template or a paradigm that serves as a guide for structure. Learning and change are central to these stories, following a pattern where characters’ flaws are exposed, acted upon, and eventually overcome. The characters start flawed, discover something that can help them (the “elixir”), learn to use it, and end up complete or whole.

Quoting a description that evokes Joseph Campbell’s monomythic “Hero’s Journey,” the text highlights the universal shape of stories where the hero ventures into a strange world, faces challenges, wins a decisive victory, and returns transformed and empowered. The existence of a “midpoint” hints at a sort of narrative symmetry, implying that this point in the story has a unique and specific importance.

The text outlines the intricate structure of storytelling, emphasising that stories are built hierarchically from acts, which are themselves built from scenes, and further down to units called “beats.” This structure resembles a fractal pattern where each smaller part mirrors the larger whole, containing essential elements like setup, inciting incidents, crisis points, climax, and sometimes, resolution. This fractal concept reveals a deep level of order beneath what may appear as artistic freedom or chaos.

In this framework, a crisis point is critical as it embodies the worst possible outcome of decisions made at the story’s outset. It serves as the point where the protagonist is forced to confront their deepest fears or weaknesses, shaping the story’s overall archetype. The fractal structure works across scenes, acts, and the story as a whole, presenting the protagonist with the critical question they must answer.

The text also introduces the idea of a question-and-answer structure within each act, illuminating how this narrative technique unifies the story. Each act, while sharing the same underlying fractal structure, serves a different purpose depending on its position in the story. For example, in the beginning, it’s about setting up the inciting incident; in the middle, it lays the foundation for the story’s midpoint; and at the end, it culminates in a climax.

Inciting incidents act as invitations for the protagonist to leave the familiar and venture into the unknown, setting the stage for transformative experiences. Each unit of the story, down to the individual scenes and beats, is focused on depicting change. Dramatic tension is achieved through a conflict of desires between the protagonist and antagonist, making each scene a battleground where opposing goals clash.

The text also discusses “turning points,” moments that act as units of change, forcing a character to confront the consequences of not adapting or evolving. These turning points create action-reaction dynamics within scenes, culminating in a moment where one character achieves their goal, forcing the other to confront loss or change.

The text delves into several techniques and principles that sustain narrative momentum and engage the audience. One such technique is “top-spin,” where each scene ends on a question that creates anticipation and keeps the audience hooked. This feeds into E. M. Forster’s notion that a story’s sole merit lies in making the audience eager to know what happens next. By cutting away at the crisis point, writers can defer gratification, building tension and curiosity.

Another approach is the “come in late, get out early” strategy, which aims to heighten tension by ending scenes at their most crisis-laden moments. In essence, every crisis point serves as a cliffhanger, driving the narrative forward. Each scene’s crisis shakes the characters, forcing them to form new plans or wants.

The text also emphasises the value of subverting expectations, an essential device in archetypal storytelling. It keeps the audience engaged by challenging their anticipations, often turning them on their head. The characters themselves, by utilising knowledge gained at critical junctures like the midpoint, manage to defy odds, defeat adversaries, and complete their transformative arcs.

On the note of story structure, while ideal fractal patterns often emerge, it’s important to note that these are not prescriptive rules. Great works can, and often do, deviate from these established patterns. Interestingly, many of these archetypal structures emerge unconsciously in storytelling.

The crux of storytelling lies in the balancing act between order and chaos, merging opposites to create a narrative equilibrium. This relationship between opposites is fundamental to how audiences perceive drama, serving as a linchpin for storytelling as a whole.

The text underscores the importance of character-driven storytelling in creating compelling drama. It posits that great drama is not only predicated on well-realised characters but also thrives on the internal conflicts they endure. Such conflicts often stem from the disparity between how a character wants to be perceived and their true feelings or nature. This tension gives life to drama, making characters relatable, complex, and engaging.

Writers find it particularly enriching to explore characters who act counter to their expressed beliefs or engage in self-sabotage, as these traits lend authenticity and depth. These internal conflicts and contradictions make for characters who are more nuanced and intriguing.

In archetypal stories, characters embark on journeys towards completion, transitioning from a state of imbalance to equilibrium. Successful conclusions—both in fictional narratives and psychological terms—often involve resolving these conflicts and reconciling opposing aspects of one’s self.

The text emphasises that the conflict between a character’s inner self and outer portrayal is central to successful storytelling. This conflict can be so profound that it sometimes necessitates the division of a character into dual identities to dramatise the dichotomy fully.

Characters often project a superficial “want,” which they believe will help them fit into societal expectations. However, it is often their deep-rooted fears or deficiencies—embodied by the antagonist or “monster”—that they must confront and overcome to achieve growth and completion.

The text elaborates on the intricate relationship between a character’s inner conflicts and the dramatic structure of the story. It suggests that what a character perceives as a weakness can often be a source of redemption and growth. As a story unfolds, a character’s superficial wants, which are typically aligned with their external façade, give way to deeper needs that are linked to their inner vulnerabilities.

Characters are often introduced with certain flaws or neurotic traumas, depicted through defence mechanisms or façades that mask their inner selves. As the narrative progresses, these façades start to crumble, leading the character to confront and assimilate their underlying issues, which often aren’t fully revealed until the latter parts of the story. This process mirrors psychological theories, suggesting that characters must confront and come to terms with past traumas to achieve personal growth.

The text further highlights that a character is not just what they say but what they do, underscoring the notion that character and story are intrinsically linked. The actions taken by a character in a story reveal their inner complexities, offering a glimpse into their struggles between their “wants” and “needs”. This evolution is usually marked by pivotal points in the story, like the inciting incident and the climax, where the character’s “needs” start to overshadow their “wants”.

An essential element in keeping audiences engaged is the element of mystery or the “not knowing” aspect. This allows viewers to project themselves onto the characters, making the story a more immersive and personal experience. In well-crafted narratives, the protagonist essentially becomes a stand-in for the audience, facilitating a deeper emotional connection.

The text argues that compelling drama has a therapeutic effect, serving as a “temporary balm” that allows audiences to experience emotional resolution vicariously. In well-structured films, this effect is heightened because character and structure are seamlessly integrated, making explanations superfluous and impacting the audience at an unconscious level.

Dialogue is highlighted as a crucial element of drama, serving multiple functions including characterisation, exposition, and subtext. Good dialogue should reflect a character’s desires and intentions, while also revealing inconsistencies that make the character more complex and relatable. Dialogue should not just tell; it should show, revealing character through what is said and how it’s said. It contributes to the façade that characters create to present themselves in a certain way, while also providing glimpses of their true selves.

Exposition, another element of dialogue, is effective only when it serves a character’s goals and is entangled with conflict, thereby becoming “invisible” to the audience. Bad exposition lacks this imperative, making it easily detectable and detrimental to the drama.

Subtext adds depth to a story by capturing the gap between language and thought, offering a closer approximation to truth. Characters may not always be aware of their hidden desires, which contribute to the subtext, making the story rich and multi-dimensional.

The text also stresses the importance of audience interpretation in the dramatic experience. Too much explanation kills the drama, while the ambiguity and complexity inherent in good dialogue and structure engage the audience more actively.

The text argues that stories serve multiple purposes, including making reality more bearable and facilitating emotional and intellectual exploration. In terms of structure, the Hegelian dialectic is highlighted, emphasising that storytelling is essentially a synthesis of opposites, and that opposition is crucial for effective drama.

The text also distinguishes between subject matter and theme; the former is static, while the latter is an active exploration or argument about the world’s nature. Stories are seen as dialogues that test and explore truths, with the protagonist often taking on qualities of their adversaries to achieve their goals.

In serial storytelling, the characters’ flaws or needs should not be completely resolved until the end, maintaining tension and interest. Drama is defined by its capacity for transformation, and while stories can deviate from traditional forms, they often gain power from their relationship to these archetypes.

The text argues that all good art contains a blend of tradition and revolt against tradition. It suggests that stories serve as a model for life, helping us impose order on uncertainty and providing tools for psychological and emotional resolution.

Censorship is criticised for replacing psychological truth with propaganda, disrupting the story’s capacity to confront and integrate the “other” to produce emotional immunisation. The structure of drama is likened to the dance of opposites, with each scene building on the last and incorporating new elements, reflecting our innate need for narrative order.

Stories are not just entertainment; they are complex interplays of theme, character, and structure that engage us on multiple levels, offering both an escape from and a lens onto reality. They serve as both reflections and critiques of the world, combining elements of tradition and innovation to create emotionally and intellectually resonant experiences.