Fiction can change hearts in ways facts can’t
We live in a time where information is everywhere. Even when we might like to avoid it. Even when we might, actually, prefer to look away.
As soon as a question is raised, we turn to our phones, to Google, to AI, to research, to the news, and to social media for answers. We look for communities who agree, podcasts who will give us perspective, and books that will break it all down for us.
And yes–information is a gift. Knowledge is power. Education is the greatest opportunity a person can be offered. Research gives us the vocabulary for our pain, expert analysis helps us understand complex behaviors, and data allows us to build better systems.
But as an actor and writer sitting in cafes or pacing around rehearsal rooms, I know there is a massive difference between understanding a concept intellectually and actually feeling it in your gut.
We need research, but we need storytelling too.
Expert advice can tell you what a healthy boundary looks like, but a story lets you feel the frightening, confusing weight of trying to set one.
Sociology can map out how isolation impacts a community, but a novel makes you sit in the quiet living room of a lonely character until your own heart aches for them.
Information speaks to the brain; fiction bypasses our analytical minds entirely and speaks straight to the heart.
When we took my play The Culture on tour, I saw this exact dynamic play out night after night.
Every time I stepped onto that stage as outspoken, sensitive, beautiful, flawed Katie, I wasn't handing out sociological reports or lecturing the audience on toxic relationships. We were simply inviting people to sit in the dark and watch two human beings navigate friendship, tension, and subtle boundary shifts.
And while I loved to inhabit Katie’s shoes and get to tell her story, my favourite moments from the tour were actually those in the foyers after the shows. More women than I can count, strangers mostly, approached me to thank me for bringing elements of their own lives to light. They told me that I told their story, or the story of their mother, sister, aunt or daughter. Their emotions were close to the surface, and, if you know me, you know that I’m a feeler too, so more than once, we grasped hands and shed a tear.
That didn't happen because we gave the audience new facts. It happened because seeing a real, flawed woman on stage provided a mirror. It created a safe, unguarded space for them to process what they had seen and survived in their own homes.
When we are given direct advice, it’s easy to become defensive. We evaluate it, we argue with it, or we nod along and decide it applies to someone else. When we open a novel, sit in a theatre or watch a film, we are invited into another person’s skin. For a little while, we see the world through their eyes.
And in that quiet space, our guard drops. Empathy takes over. Seeing a character stand up for herself, make a difference, or survive the unthinkable reminds us that maybe we can too.
Data can convince us that a problem exists. But fiction is what makes us care enough to do something about it.
We need researchers, experts, and advocates to help us understand the world and how it could be better.
But we also need artists and storytellers. They remind us that the world is worth fighting for in the first place.