The magic circle – stories and immersion

Posted: January 27, 2014 in reading, writing
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Immersion is vital to enjoying a story on its own terms. That sense of surrendering to the imaginary world, living within its confines, accepting its rules, buying into what’s at stake. And one concept that’s crucial to this is the magic circle.

The magic of immersion

The magic circle is the idea of a special space, a set of circumstances that supports an audience in setting aside the real world and immersing themselves in a story. It’s the pool of light around a campfire, the darkness of the cinema, the moment when the curtains are pulled back revealing the stage. Here’s the folks at Extra Credits explaining it in more detail:

The magic of writing

Readers may have their own space to help with their immersion, whether it’s curled up on a corner of the sofa, sitting with headphones on in a crowded tube train, or lying in bed with just the light a small lamp.

But as writers we have no control over that space. We have to create the magic circle through the words that we set down on the page. Any time we break the flow of the story, that we remind readers that they’re reading a story rather than living it, we break the circle. And the loss of immersion that creates can lead to dissatisfied readers.

But its not just about avoiding breaking the circle – it’s about building it in the first place. We have to create a virtual space that draws the reader in, that replaces their thoughts with story thoughts, their emotions with story emotions. We have to make a circle so compelling that they won’t drift out of it and back to the ordinary world.

Too clever by half

I think this is part of why I’ve not been immersed in some of the books I’ve read recently, ones that relied on particular intellectual conceits. Umberto Eco’s Prague Cemetery is a prime example of this, being as it was a stitching together of fragmented history. But Samuel R. Delaney’s The Einstein Intersection also suffered from it. For readers already immersed in the mythology Delaney was using, the work tapped right into their thoughts, making it all the more immersive. They filled in gaps and connections that Delaney didn’t make, and the fact that they were doing some of the work for themselves added to the immersion. This wasn’t somebody trying to lure them into the circle – it was them stepping forwards to create their own.

But I had to step back to make those connections, and that disrupted my immersion in the story just as surely as the fragments from Delaney’s journal did. This wasn’t my sort of circle, and I wasn’t immersed.

Yes, but…

My thoughts on this are still half formed. After all, I found some of Pratchett’s early work compelling despite the flow-breaking footnotes, and I love the intellectual playfulness of Tom Stoppard’s plays even when they break out of the traditional circle. How does such fourth wall breaking work fit into the model of the magic circle? Is it making a different sort of circle, or embracing audiences in another way?

Odds are I’ll be coming back to this one in a week or two. In the meantime I’d be fascinated to hear your thoughts on the subject – just leave a comment below.

  1. everwalker says:

    I think the difference between Pratchett’s 4th-wall-breaking, and a writer like Eco (or, in my case, Moorcock’s ‘Behold the Man’) is primarily levity. They’re inviting the reader to laugh and move forward, whereas the purely intellectual step-back can smack of either authorial superiority (‘look at me making this point, aren’t I clever?’) or simply not invite you back in again afterwards. Laughter is a good bridge for that.

    • Good point. So it might be breaking immersion in the flow of the story, but you’re still immersed in a relationship with the writer and their book. It’s inclusive and it doesn’t leave you feeling a little stupid, or at least excluded from someone else’s cleverness.

      My ‘feeling smart = enjoying reading’ hypothesis lives!

  2. Very much as per above comment. There’s a world of difference between a pace/immersion breaking aside which assumes you are keeping up, and a quite intentional chuckle break.And as you say, you have to leave just enough to allow the reader their own immersion to build in their own way, without spelling stuff out for them too much.

    I always like when a film version of a novel I’m at least aware of (even if I haven’t read it) churns up a scene which prompts a discussion along the lines of, ‘I always imagined it going like that…’ or, ‘that really *isn’t* what I pictured…’. And again, the difference can be as subtle as a reader’s opinion or in fact an executive decision on a wholesale change in said scene.

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