Anagnorisis and Foreshadowing
Warning: Greek words and personal thoughts on writing incoming!
One of my favorite parts of a story is anagnorisis.
It generally happens towards the end. After hundreds of pages of reading about these characters you’ve come to know and love/loath, you sense things are wrapping up. Then, a character says a line or observes a situation and it completely shifts how you understand the story.
A smile grows on your face. “Of course!” you think. “That’s what that all means!” You immediately want to re-read the story with your new understanding. That feeling, for you and the character, is anagnorisis.
Definitions
Anagnorisis: The moment in the plot in which the hero makes a discovery that explains previously unexplained events or situations.
Foreshadowing: A literary device whereby an author drops hints or symbolic representations of plot developments to come later in the story.
Foreshadowing
In order to be well done, I think anagnorisis, this realization or reveal, needs to be foreshadowed. When we re-read a story, we should get as much or more pleasure out of it by seeing the clues and hints that were given to us by the author. A twist out of nowhere is unfair, but a foreshadowed one is satisfying. We don’t think “How could I have seen that coming?”, we think “How did I not see that coming?”
There are several ways to make a good reveal, more of which I will probably go over in a future post, but let us just think about some ways to foreshadow the reveal.
In film or television, the director can place an element in darkness, out of focus, or in the background. In a video game, information can be in hard to find places or hidden behind special abilities. But in writing, everything is laid bare for the reader.
All is plain text, so we must learn to hide our foreshadowing in plain sight. There are methods of misdirection that we can us in writing.
Lists
You can just slide your clue into a list of other things.
“I’m late, Gotta go. Sorry, Carl.”
James hurried out of the house, grabbing his keys, phone, that bag Kari wanted, and most importantly, the purple piece of paper with the demonic scribbling across it. Bizarre and abstract crystalline patterns on the paper shimmered in the golden afternoon sun.
Since the paper is described in unusual detail, your mind’s attention is brought to it. You casually ignore Kari’s bag. It’s just another scene detail. You can resolve any tension with a mention in the next scene.
James handed her the bag. “I remembered your bag this time.”
“Thanks.” She set it next to her chair. “So, these are the same symbols you saw in your dream?”
James nodded. “Absolutely.” He stared hard at the page. “I think.”
Humor
Humor changes the focus from what is said towards who said it and why.
Ophelia the harpy sat on the park bench, watching the fae and gnomes play a game of volleyball. Sweat dripped down her face. Ice cream dripped over her hand and down her feathers. “It’s hard to eat this so fast.”
Her best friend, a selkie named Claire, just nodded and licked her cone in silence.
“Why do we suffer?” she asked. “I wish we could just move somewhere cooler.”
“Damn curse. I’d kill for it to be cooler.” Claire laughed.
Ophelia tried to shake the ice cream out of her feathers. “At least you can shed your seal skin.”
It seems to show their relationship and build the world slightly. They are friends, they can laugh, and there is some sort of curse. But what was originally said in jest can come back later in the story.
“Stay back, or I’ll kill her.” Ophelia held the knife to the sun sprite’s throat. “I’m sick of this goddamn heat, and it’s all her fault.”
Humor can be combined with any other method to help disguise the foreshadowing.
Double Usage
Sometimes you can foreshadow in an obvious way that is then resolved within a few chapters. You might think it’s a bit clunky, but your mind enjoys resolution.
Then, after quite a bit of story, that same foreshadowing comes back a second time.
“Knock knock. Pause. Knock. Do you understand?” Peter asked.
Henry nodded. “Yeah, I ain’t stupid. What’s so special about your secret club?”
“Clubs,” Peter corrected. “There is a multitude, scattered around where they are needed. You can always go there for help.”
Ah ha, you say to yourself. He will need to get in to a club and remember the knock. I’ll remember that. Then, a few chapters later:
Henry gasped for breath, tripping over his own feet as he ran. He only just saw the raven sign out of the corner of his eye. One of Peter’s hidey-holes!
He pounded on the door twice. An agonizing wait for the pause as he heard the footsteps of the soldiers catching up to him. Then another, single frantic pound.
The door creaked open and he dashed in.
“Thank you, he said to the perplexed doorman.
That information has been used and resolved. Your brain will file it away and forget it, since it is no longer important. Then, many chapters later:
Henry sat on the curb, the rain running down his back. He held the tattered scarf in his hands. Sonya left him. Peter was dead. He had no one to help him in this dreary, foreign place.
A gentleman crossed the wet street, not even looking at Henry in his distressed state. He walked past Henry and to the plain door to the shop behind him. Knock knock. Pause. Knock.[note]Notice how the third time, the knocking code uses with the same punctuation as when Peter originally explained it to Henry.[/note]
Henry’s eyes widened. He turned around, looking over his shoulder and through the heavy rain. He saw the door open. The light from inside lit the hanging sign and the painted raven.
Our brain pulls back the information from earlier. A second resolution and we feel the same way that Henry does. A satisfaction in remembering the code as well as a joy in finding hope.