Exploring Themes

Introduction: Themes as Concepts and The Relativity of Truth

An expression of both language and emotion, the earliest instance of the written word was discovered in ancient Mesopotamia in 3400 BC. What distinguishes writing from visual art, which is, incidentally, also a means of communication, is the fact that writing gives concrete form to language. It can be said that writing is an expression of language rather than a manner of transcribing speech; this lends it accuracy and permanence, turning it into a unique channel for ideas and emotion.

Literature was first produced in the fourth millennium BC in Ancient Egypt and Sumeria, and was taken to include both spoken and sung texts. The definition of literature, like that of any other word, has varied with the ages. Prior to the eighteenth century, literature as a term, in Western Europe, indicated all forms of writing. The Romantic Period saw the emergence of a more restrictive sense of the word, one that prioritized imagination above all else. Born of the human desire to communicate, literature collectively serves as a window into the soul, reflecting the ideals, ideas, and visions of humanity as a whole.

Inevitably, poets and authors drew from their lives and began experimenting with language, and with the advancement of thought and growing complexity of human society, literature too flourished, and its power was harnessed. At the heart of every work of literature lies a theme, or multiple themes, as the case may well be.

A theme may be defined as a central idea, concept, opinion, or message explored in a novel, short story, or any other literary work. For instance, A Sound of Thunder by Ray Bradbury illustrates the delicacy of nature and the interconnectedness of the organic world—a concept. Robert Browning’s The Patriot highlights the fickle nature of humanity, who, for all the adoration they bestow upon the successful, are more than ready to prosecute those who have fallen from grace. This again can be viewed as a concept, but is primarily an opinion. ‘Slow and steady wins the race,’ the widely known message of The Hare and the Tortoise could easily be called an ‘opinion’ and yet it’s assumed to be a moral. The deeper one delves into literature, the more apparent it becomes that literature can’t be categorized into neat little groups; things are seldom one way or the other—then whyever do we cram them into boxes?

The truth is a beautiful and complex thing—it’s neither ‘good’ nor ‘evil’, never wholly tilted to one side. However, as human beings, there’s only a finite amount of the world that we can see, and of that, there’s a lot that we consciously or unconsciously ignore. But is that necessarily a bad thing? Protagoras, a famous Sophist, believed that truth is more dependent upon the perceiver than it is on physical reality, and emphasized the power of logic and rhetoric in getting one’s point across. Even assuming that humanity shall never fully grasp the complexity of the universe we inhabit and see the true flow of thoughts, emotions, and events, we’re still free to see what we can and make something of it, aren’t we? All themes are ultimately opinions, correct? ;)

People write, in part, to convince others of their perspective (note: I didn’t say ‘opinion’) and in a world where nobody really knows how things work, this is ideal. Themes may be worked into a novel to persuade, but then again, they might not. Regardless, themes make literature compelling, motivating the reader to dig deeper and search longer. The best themes are universal in nature and use relatable instances to put forth a line of thought, simultaneously hooking audiences and promoting discussion.

Look Before You Leap: A Word of Caution

Before one commits pen to paper, it’s essential to give serious thought to the purpose of the piece one intends to produce. Would you like it to entertain or provide food for thought? If you’ve responded positively to the former question, would you prefer to emphasize the plotline or draw up uniquely believable characters? How much do you care about the theme(s)? More often than not, forcing elements into a piece does not end well. By picking up an oft-used theme and placing it at the centre of your story, at the expense of round characters and/or an invigorating plot, you’d be doing yourself more harm than good. I’m no expert, but in my experience, it’s advisable to plan out the elements one is invested in before moving on to others.

Building a Foundation: Recurring Themes in Literature

While some literary themes are unique to their time period and region, others have recurred frequently throughout the course of history. The following is a list of common (sub)themes in literature.

Coming of Age: Narratives that incorporate this theme depict, in some form or another, the development of a child or adolescent into adulthood. Typically, this involves the young protagonist navigating obstacles, experiences, and revelations, until at last they find their place in the world. The first part of The Song of Hiawatha, an epic poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, details the coming of age of the titular hero, Hiawatha, an Ojibwa Indian. His feats, trials, and journey to success as a chieftain of his tribe form a significant portion of the plot.

Good versus Evil: It has long been argued that any work involving a hero and villain features conflict between good and evil to an extent, and the truth of this statement is undeniable. As I mentioned a little earlier, it’s impossible to categorize literature with precision, but for the sake of convenience, it must be done. A literary work featuring this theme may be described as one that explores the topic on an abstract level as well as on a material level (i.e. with its plot and characters), challenging existing perspectives and bringing new ideas to the table. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, a thought provoking novella by Robert Louis Stevenson, exposes the fragility of Victorian idealism, and the hypocritical nature of society that lies concealed beneath masks of sincerity. The story deals with choice and moral responsibility, but also discusses man’s inclination towards evil and its ramifications on human nature. In Dr. Jekyll’s letter to John Utterson, he (Jekyll) says, ‘I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive duality of man…if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both.’ What makes it all the more intriguing is the fact that Jekyll genuinely believes that he is, to a degree, absolved of guilt (‘Though so profound a double-dealer, I was in no sense a hypocrite; both sides of me were in dead earnest; I was no more myself when I laid aside restraint and plunged in shame, than when I laboured, in the eye of day, at the furtherance of knowledge or the relief of sorrow and suffering.’) Perhaps he deludes himself, perhaps he doesn't— the fact of the matter is that Stevenson wrote about much more than a superficial black and white scuffle; he challenged conventions, and treated ‘good’ and ‘evil’ as two sides of the same coin instead of wholly separate and distinctly independent entities.

Vengeance: One’s desire to prosecute an individual for the harm they have been assumed/charged of inflicting upon them, or their near and dear, is by no means novel. Indeed, human ‘justice’ seems to have existed since the conception of society, with interesting consequences. This inherent need to mend lives by tearing apart those of others, who have seemingly destroyed them, has understandably seeped into literature, with various results. William Shakespeare’s Hamlet, is one of the most notable plays about revenge in literary existence. For a play that involves a moping protagonist who spends his every waking hour being indecisive, (in)action, as a theme, is explored extensively. Hamlet wrestles with the practical as well as moral implications of vengeance, wondering whether, all things considered, any good can come of kxlling Claudius. None of the characters survive the play, with the exception of Fortinbras and Horatio—thus did Shakespeare put forth his opinion of Hamlet’s moral dilemma: whether or not one chooses to be led by their thirst for revenge is inconsequential, seeing that we all dxe in the end. Alexandre Dumas, on the other hand, seems to have taken a different view of the matter. Upon following through on the vengeance he meticulously planned, Edmond Dantès, from The Count of Monte Cristo, feels far from liberated; it begins to dawn upon him that he hurt people he never intended to harm (albeit inadvertently) and he strives to redeem himself by fixing the lives he wrecked—but this doesn’t stop him from finishing what he started, and yet the devious task he willfully undertook gives him little joy. His story doesn’t end badly, but his happiness is in conjunction with Mercedes’ despair—however, at this point, Dumas does not seem intent on riddling Dantès with guilt, instead lending him a new lease of life.

Fate versus Free Will: The fate versus free will debate has been raging for centuries now, and this conflict is evident in Sophocles’ play Antigone¸ that emphasizes the power of fate over that of free will. The ancient Greeks believed that the future was unchangeable, but predictable, with the gods and oracles having access to it. Fate was personified, and spun tapestries that dictated human destiny, with the three Fates being called Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos. Lachesis dispensed the thread of fate, while Clotho spun it and Atropos cut it, thus signifying death. Indeed, Antigone owed her existence to the fulfillment of an unfortunate prophecy, that, for all Oedipus’ attempts at subversion, came to pass. When Antigone chooses to defy Creon’s law and buries her brother, in spite of her sister, Ismene, advising her against it, she exercises free will, but seals her fate. Macbeth, on the other hand, approaches the issue from a different angle. The Weird Sisters’ prophecies stir Macbeth’s ambition, and while in other stories, characters have failed in their attempts to avert fate, Macbeth worked towards it, thereby raising a profound question as to its very existence.

Man versus Society: A common theme in the dystopian genre, this usually involves conflict between an individual and the society at large, as the name suggests. Often, most characters excluding the protagonist and the people on their side (if any), are reduced to their ideals, with the primary antagonist being the embodiment of the society’s principles, and presenting arguments supporting them, so that the protagonist can either triumph against them (through their words or actions), or fall prey to them. Captain Beatty, from Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, functions as the antagonist of the story. Despite being a fervent ‘fireman’, the Captain is extremely well read, and uses his vast knowledge of literature to fuel his arguments. In comparison, Montag’s knowledge of literature is limited—and yet he understands its value enough to reach out to Faber, persuading him to help him (Montag) fight against the system. The curtains drop on Montag trying to rebuild society, having gathered a group of intellectuals who believe in his cause. 1984 by George Orwell, on the other hand, is an entirely different story. O’Brien is the novel’s primary antagonist, and yet he’s more enigmatic, and much more manipulative than his counterpart in Fahrenheit 451. Perpetually at the forefront of the plot, O’Brien is a constant, changing in appearance and disposition to suit his cause, always shrouded in mystery. Winston and Julia, the protagonists, lack Montag’s righteousness, and their passion is powered by selfishness alone. Uncaring of the harm they might have to inflict to achieve their ends, they both surrender to Big Brother in the end.


Making an Impact: Parallel Themes and Subthemes

The themes discussed above are timeless, universal ideas that writers have added to and experimented with for their own sake—but what if you were told that they can be mixed up and combined to explore overreaching concepts? In Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables, redemption ceases to be a theme, and comes off, instead, as a very powerful feeling. In the book, redemption isn’t an abstract idea self-righteously forced down the reader’s throat—to the contrary; it is lovingly developed over the course of the novel and supported by both literary techniques and themes. None of the elements Hugo masterfully interweaves would have been as impactful if they were analysed in complete isolation. Taken on its own, Hugo’s plot might appear contrived, the coincidences making it seem unnatural. Where other writers might have striven to conceal improbable events, Hugo fleshes them out, exaggerating them till they cannot possibly be ignored. One way Hugo enlarges coincidences, is by pairing them with persistent failures in recognition. Javert, a prime example, does not recognize Jean Valjean at once, despite having pursued him for years. Les Misérables feels real because it combines randomness with destiny, and makes the different versions of the truth that operate simultaneously, and often parallelly, accessible to the reader. Then there’s the matter of detail. They say God’s in the details, and if Hugo’s work is anything to go by, they would be (whoever ‘they’ are) unequivocally right. Refusing to filter out information that isn’t strictly essential to the plot, unlike other writers, he insisted that no fact was inconsequential—after all, who decides what’s ‘useless’ and what’s not? He argued that, for all we know, the world could be created by falling grains of sand, each as significant as the rest. Upon threading his story with realism, Hugo sets the stage—lending the novel both believability and credibility.

Love plays a key role in Les Misérables, as do compassion, forgiveness, faith, courage, perseverance, and acceptance. If the Bishop hadn’t trusted Valjean enough to take him in, Valjean would never have realized the error of his ways, and if Valjean hadn’t chosen to save Javert, Marius might have fallen prey to Thénardier’s slander (of Valjean), and the story would not have had as powerful a conclusion—so you see, the novel as a whole would not have been as impactful if not for the themes and techniques that laid its foundation.

Then, there’s the question of parallel themes. Parallel themes aren’t really parallel because, like all things in both life and literature, they intersect at some point or the other. In my (limited) experience, these are prevalent in books like those of Agatha Christie (literally the only example I can think of at the moment gosh), where the plot and characters take precedence and everything else follows. However, the usage of parallel themes can also be observed in works like Swami and Friends by R.K Narayan that (while sustaining a constant plotline) simultaneously delve into multiple themes to craft a layered atmosphere.

Reinforcing Themes

The easiest way to reinforce a theme is unceasing repetition (not so) subtly hidden within volumes of text. Repetition could take the form of circumstances with similar outcomes or themes, or simply textual repetition. Albert Camus' Letters to a German Friend, features letters written by a Frenchman to his friend of old, that express his disdain of the latter’s ideology. Each letter focuses on a specific theme that’s carried forward to the next letter, which in turn uses it to support its theme before passing on the load to the succeeding epistle. In doing this, Camus worked by Aristotle’s Laws of Associativity that collectively state that words, sentiments, or images presented as stimuli evoke conceptually related thoughts or images.

And that brings us to the importance of conflict—that plays a key role in Aristotle’s Laws. By putting one’s characters in conflict with one another, one raises important questions as to the choices, actions and decisions that lie at the root of the issue, thus enabling discussion.

Another great way to incorporate themes is to use symbols and motifs to reinforce your message. Though closely linked, motifs and symbols aren’t synonymous. Motifs are recurring phrases or images that appear throughout a work of literature. The Iliad by Homer is laden with richly interwoven metaphors and meaningful symbolism. The eagle, a bird of prey and an emblem of Zeus, plays a fascinating role in Homer's work. Often depicted as a bird of omen, it makes frequent appearance throughout the course of the epic. It appears in the midst of the Trojans while they prepare to storm Greek defenses, and is seen carrying a struggling snake in its talons–whose writhing form it promptly drops onto the battlefield. Polydamas, known for his eloquence, interprets it as a warning from Zeus, with the snake representing the Greeks and the eagle, the Trojans. The snake was alive, and the eagle failed to get it home to its young; in the same way, even if the Trojans succeeded in breaking down Greek defenses, it would be at the cost of many of their own men–such was the opinion of Polydamas. Later, in book twenty-four, heeding Hecabe's counsel, Priam prays that Achilles might receive his supplication well, and entreats that Zeus send down an eagle, so as to assure Priam that his pleas have been heard and shall be answered. Quoting E.V. Rieu's translation of the Iliad, 'Father Zeus…grant that Achilles receives me with kindness and mercy; and send me a bird of omen, your swift ambassador…so I can see it with my own eyes and put my trust in it as I go down to the ships of the Greeks.' If one peers deeper into the associations made with the eagle, as well as its history as a personification and/or messenger of Zeus, its interpretation may be extended to a somewhat broader motif for the will of the gods (̶w̶h̶i̶c̶h̶, g̶i̶v̶e̶n̶ t̶h̶e̶ O̶l̶y̶m̶p̶i̶a̶n̶s̶' t̶e̶m̶p̶e̶r̶a̶m̶e̶n̶t̶s̶ a̶n̶d̶ i̶n̶c̶l̶i̶n̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ t̶o̶w̶a̶r̶d̶ c̶o̶n̶f̶l̶i̶c̶t̶, i̶s̶ s̶u̶b̶j̶e̶c̶t̶ t̶o̶ c̶h̶a̶n̶g̶e̶ a̶n̶d̶ i̶s̶ s̶e̶l̶d̶o̶m̶ u̶n̶a̶n̶i̶m̶o̶u̶s̶, b̶u̶t̶ h̶o̶p̶e̶f̶u̶l̶l̶y̶ y̶o̶u̶ g̶e̶t̶ m̶y̶ m̶e̶a̶n̶i̶n̶g̶.)̶ The crown in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, on the other hand, is a symbol of power ('You all did see, at the Lupercal/ I thrice presented him the kingly crown/Which he did thrice refuse')

It's completely okay to write thematically similar pieces—Hugo’s Things Seen ‘reads like a part of Les Misérables stripped of its plot’, as Graham Robb writes in his biography of Hugo, —in terms of both ideas expressed and the level of detail.
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edit: okay i'm so sorry but it dawned upon me that the raven wasn't a great example–and maybe the eagle isn't either, but it's here to stay now.
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Bibliography:
https://www.masterclass.com/articles/the-complete-guide-to-narrative-theme-in-literature-definition-examples-and-writing-how-to#3-ways-to-create-literary-themes-in-your-writing
https://www.masterclass.com/articles/motif-vs-symbols-in-writing-similarities-and-differences-between-literary-devices#what-is-a-symbol-in-writing
https://www-britannica-com.ezproxy.canberra.edu.au/
https://sparknotes.com for reminding me of character names
Length, An Essay on Seven Themes by Victor Hugo, with a Coda by Adam Thrilwell,
Hergenhahn's An Introduction to the History of Psychology Edition Eight
Primary Sources mentioned above

Credits:
Many, many, thanks to @Sunclaw68 for their invaluable advice and for helping me out a ton!

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(Boo ;) )

Ohh this is amazingly done and very helpful, thank you Elfie <33

Elfie, I have a question. Would something such as a quinceañera count as a “coming-of-age?” I had no idea how popular this theme was O:

Bellevue91 wrote:

Ohh this is amazingly done and very helpful, thank you Elfie <33

Birdi thank you so much; it truly means a lot!!

IvyCreations wrote:

Elfie, I have a question. Would something such as a quinceañera count as a “coming-of-age?” I had no idea how popular this theme was O:

I'm totally not ignorant of the coming of age theme and no no of course I didn't cram it in because it was comparatively easy to write about okay so take this with a whole sea of salt but if i'm not wrong the ‘coming of age’ theme usually describes a jouney–not so much the destination. so if you're talking about the events leading up to the quinceañera (basically the journey from ‘childhood’ to ‘adulthood’) then yeah, thematically, it should count as ‘coming of age’!

Oh okay, yeah! Yeah that's mostly what I meant :] thank youuu

*Kicks down door*


D̴͙͕͓͉̮̳͚̎͗̂̓̚͘Ḯ̴̲̬͛̾͝D̴̺̘̟͖͒̓̓̿͠ ̸̥̇̇̾̌̎̋͋̚S̶̨̛̝̦͓̺̙̮̿͂̿̀̾͘͜O̸̡͕̬̎M̸̡̪̩̮̤͕̪͈͋͌̽͝͠È̸͙̱̜̭͍̻͕̗̘͑͛̓̈́̐͂͘O̸̡̡̫̭̼͔̬̩̯̽̃̄́Ṋ̷̨͉̈͛E̶͚̘͍̯̱̊̀̃̓̂̾͘̕ ̶̲̥͂̈́̂̍̆͜S̴̠͕̥͂̎̓͑̓͠͝A̴̳͈̬̋̊Ỳ̶͕̭̟̙̠͇̗̻͉̦̀̓̿̾͂ ̴͕͇̣̺̺̰̫͓̹͑͐͗ͅJ̵̡̹̏̔Ḙ̶̮̪̭̏̽̅̅K̸̢̛͇̜̳̽́̈́͐͗̉͘͝Y̷̱̞̜̖͑͐̂̐̊̒L̸̤̳̰̺͕̃͌͗̍̀̈͒̐́L̷̪̺̎͊̃͊̚͝ ̸̧̧̝̘̮̣̼̀A̵̜̓́̄͆N̸̳̏̆͜͝D̸̢̠̙̉̽͐̇͋̅̂̀̕͘ ̶͉̻̮͚̯͈̾̊̽̽͑H̶̢̲̖̮̹͖̗̟̏͛̏̂̎͐͠͠Y̵̧̬̥͉̘̱̞̹͖͓̏͝͠D̷͍̰͉̮͚͚̭̟̀̑̏͘Ë̸̜̯́̒̌̽͘͜͠ͅͅ

*clicks link*
BoO!
That’s not the workshop- wha-

I’m going to start on this in a moment… my dog is so loud at sleeping, he’s snoring next to me

Would ‘escaping from reality’ work as a theme? I'm pretty sure but would like confirmation before I write about it (great workshop by the way!)

I have a question, could I use the theme of ‘Be unique/be yourself’ ?

-WritingIsCool- wrote:

Would ‘escaping from reality’ work as a theme? I'm pretty sure but would like confirmation before I write about it (great workshop by the way!)

Yep it would!!!

DashingDiamonds wrote:

I have a question, could I use the theme of ‘Be unique/be yourself’ ?

Yesyesyes of course :D

Elvin_Wonders wrote:

Yep it would!!!

Ok thanks!

This reads like an actually intelligible academic paper. I applaud you.

This is a masterpiece, thank you so much for all the work you spent on it.

how did you ever have time to write such a complex masterpiece, professor?