Ignore the Story Pyramid

Writers need tools, not feelings. 

Abstractions like rising action, climax, and falling action describe the experiences of the reader. They are not tools for the writer.

It’s an important distinction. Abstractions that describe the experiences of the reader are not helpful to the writer when those abstractions are used to describe elements of story structure.

Yet the abstractions perpetuated by variations of Freytag’s Story Pyramid have haunted writers for over a hundred years. 

So what am I talking about? What is this story-pyramid thingie?

There’s something called the Story Pyramid that purports to describe the structure of novels. Supposedly, it started with a German guy named Gustav Freytag, and thus, this simple schematic was nicknamed Freytag’s Pyramid. 

Feel free to look it up. You’ll see tons of variations—I mean, tons. You may be familiar with the Story Pyramid. You may remember it from grade school. The five parts of this diagram are these: (1) Exposition; (2) Rising Action; (3) Climax; (4) Falling Action; and (5) Resolution.

These five abstractions are placed on a line that reads from left to right. The line starts at a base on the left (Exposition), rises up an incline (Rising Action) to a peak (Climax), and falls down a decline (Falling Action) to rest back at the same level (Resolution) as the starting base. The line goes up and down to trace the shape of a witch’s hat, and it’s supposed to describe story structure.

I guess that means if you spread out the 300 pages of a novel on the floor of a gymnasium, you could overlay this schematic on top of it, and the schematic would describe sections of the novel. The first sixty pages would be Exposition. The next sixty pages would be Rising Action . . . and so on.

FYI, Gustav Freytag (1816-1895) was a German nationalist who thought Poles and Jews were inferior and should be dominated by Germans, and he wrote novels supporting these ideas. See his entry on Wikipedia. Take that for what it’s worth.

Back to the Pyramid . . .

You can blame the Story Pyramid on Freytag, but you can’t blame him for its persistence after his death. Why do people keep referring to it and using it? 

Maybe the geometric simplicity of the Pyramid is intellectually empowering. It promises you that you can understand novels at a scientific glance. It’s a clever shortcut to comprehension.

But what are those five abstractions in the schematic actually describing? Are they tools to help a writer structure a novel? Or are they emotional states felt by a reader reading a novel? 

Who is this Pyramid supposed to help, and how is it supposed to help?

Is it supposed to help readers understand novels, or is it supposed to help writers write novels?

I know versions of the Story Pyramid are used in English and Language Arts classes in schools. I remember being taught the Story Pyramid in grade school. As a simple diagram to introduce fifth-graders to novels, maybe the Story Pyramid has its uses. 

But you’d still have to explain the metaphor to children. How does a triangle help a child read a book? 

Well, I guess you could imagine you’re in a tiny car at the base of the pyramid. You drive on a flat road until the road rises. You drive up an incline until you reach the summit. Exciting! Now you coast down the hill toward the bottom, and the story, like the ride, is over. 

So maybe the teacher can get kids excited to read a novel by claiming that reading a novel is like riding a roller coaster at a theme park. The Story Pyramid helps convey to young readers that reading fiction can be emotional.

That’s fine for fifth-graders. The Pyramid can function as an introduction to the emotional experience of reading novels. I say that’s about as far as that Pyramid should go in school. 

As you might guess, I chose not to teach the Story Pyramid when I taught Language Arts in middle school and English in high school. I found its abstractions unrelated to human experience, real or dramatized.

Why? Well, let’s ask some basic questions.

What is exposition? This one doesn’t seem like a metaphor. It doesn’t indicate a direction or a part of a triangle or even a state of being. It seems dry and clinical and rather static. It suggests the writer begins the novel by describing the conditions of the fictional world rather than dramatizing events.

What is rising action? Is this a metaphor? What is the metaphor meant to describe: the suspenseful feeling of reading this section of the novel . . . or a series of events that the writer must ensure take place? What are those events? What do human beings do, in life or in fiction, that would constitute rising action?

What is a climax? Is the climax a single confrontation, as suggested by the tip of the triangle at its peak, or is the climax a whole section of the novel, amounting to a fifth of the book? Is it the scariest or saddest or most exciting part of the story to read . . . or does it refer to a showdown between the main characters? 

Where does the climax happen in the story: in the middle or close to the end? If it happens in the middle, as the diagram shows, then does that mean the most exciting part of the story is over halfway through the book? If so, what happens in the second half of the novel to keep the reader reading?

What is falling action? Is this falling meant to be scary or relaxing? Is the reader coasting down a hill while the characters work out their problems . . . or does the writer need to write scenes in which the characters are falling toward failure and tragedy and death? What does a writer have to write to show action “falling”?

What is the resolution? The line of the diagram ends back on the same level as the beginning. We have risen, peaked, and returned to the start. Does that mean time has passed, but the character hasn’t changed? Does it mean the story made no difference in anyone’s life? Are the conditions set out during the Exposition reestablished at the Resolution exactly the way they were? If so, what was the point of the story?

The abstractions of the Story Pyramid break down under questioning.

It’s not possible to define these abstractions in any way that helps a reader understand a novel or a writer write one. 

If you’re a reader, ignore the Story Pyramid.

If you’re a teacher, ignore the Story Pyramid.

If you’re a writer, ignore the Story Pyramid.

So if I’m not a fan of the Story Pyramid formula, I must be selling you my own special formula, right?

Absolutely!

Act now . . . and receive . . . for a limited time only . . . 

Mr. B.’s Magic * Cure-all * Story Tonic!

It’s guaranteed to clean up your prose, relieve your plot-stipation, heal your final act, and turn your readers into text addicts, and it’s all yours for the low, low price of $9.95 per monthly ebook!

Uh, no. Sorry. No secret formula. 

For my part, I gather ways of thinking that help me as a novelist. 

That’s the work-a-day fact of it.

A writer’s tool is a way of thinking, and the Story Pyramid is a bad way of thinking. It’s sloppy and undefined and downright silly. It doesn’t help a writer, a reader, or a teacher think more clearly about stories. 

So let’s move on, and as always, let’s keep thinking.

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