Fiction Writing Book Review: The Science of Storytelling by Will Storr
When you’re building your craft library as a fiction writer, it’s easy to get overwhelmed. Should you start with a structural beat-sheet book like Save the Cat!? Should you dive into psychology and theme with Story Genius or Into the Woods? Or maybe get them all? But then when do you have time to read them?
Recently, I finished Will Storr’s The Science of Storytelling, and while I wouldn’t call it an absolute must-read, I did find it a valuable addition to my shelf—especially because of the appendix, “The Sacred Flaw Approach,” which I think is worth the price of the book.
First Impressions
Storr approaches story from a psychological angle, exploring how human cognition and perception shape the stories we tell and the stories we’re drawn to. Much of this isn’t new territory, but Storr has an enjoyable and interesting way of framing the material.
I enjoyed the book enough that after listening to it on audio, during my marathon training runs, I bought a print copy—mainly so I could flip back through the appendix (a forty-pager that sets out a practical story-building method based on his ideas).
The Invisible Gorilla and Storytelling
One of the book’s unexpected insights came through Storr’s discussion of the famous “Invisible Gorilla” experiment. In this study, participants were asked to count how many times a ball was passed between players. Because they were so focused on that task, many failed to notice someone in a gorilla suit walking through the scene, even when they turned to the camera and thumped their chest.
At first, I thought, Well, sure—I’ve heard of that experiment. But how does it relate to writing fiction? And then, later that same day, it clicked.
A client had asked me about some feedback I’d given her. I had flagged parts of her plot that I believed would confuse readers. She pointed out that technically those details were in the book—“Character A told character B about fact C in scene D, so that explains why B knows about C in scene X”—and asked whether I still thought she needed to clarify them.
The problem, though, was that in scene D, fact C didn’t seem important. The scene appeared to focus on something else entirely: It involved an emotionally gripping revelation that had little to do with fact C. So when fact C became crucial later, most readers wouldn’t remember it had even been mentioned. It had become the Invisible Gorilla: present but invisible because our attention wasn’t drawn to it.
That framing has already become a useful shorthand for me when working with clients: If an element risks becoming the Invisible Gorilla, the author probably needs to reinforce it, repeat it, or spotlight it so the reader understands its significance.
Conversely, though, sometimes you want an element to be the Invisible Gorilla—as with another recent client, who was concerned that the clues in her mystery novel were too obvious. In that case, cleverly drawing the reader’s attention to something else in the scene can sneak that gorilla past us.
Writing the Antihero
I also found Storr’s exploration of antiheroes thought-provoking. He discusses how Nabokov primes readers in Lolita. A false preface informs us that Humbert Humbert was captured and died in prison, and Humbert himself confesses his wrongdoing early on.
This doesn’t make Humbert likable—he remains a predator—but it does defuse the reader’s outrage just enough that we don’t spend the whole book worrying about justice. Instead, we can focus on the story itself. It functions almost like the “save the cat” moment for which Blake Snyder’s story structure is named, in which an unlikable hero does something such as literally saving a cat toward the beginning of a story, thus winning the audience over (at least a little). They’re ways to balance reader response to an otherwise unpalatable protagonist.
The Appendix: Flaw and Theory of Control
For me, the most valuable part of The Science of Storytelling was the appendix. This extended section distills Storr’s ideas into a practical method for story design, centering on two crucial and related elements: the character’s sacred flaw and their theory of control.
Fatal Flaw as Double-Edged Sword
Storr explains that flaws often function as both strength and weakness. He uses the example of former UK prime minister Theresa May, whose defining flaw was said to be her belief that she was always the only adult in the room. (He doesn’t weigh in on whether that’s actually true, and I won’t either; let’s just accept it as a fictional premise.) That inflated self-belief could have driven her early political success. But once she became prime minister, it undercut her ability to collaborate and negotiate effectively, and ultimately it became her downfall.
This idea—that what makes a character strong can also destroy them—adds richness and believability to fictional characters. It’s not a new idea by any means, but I found Storr’s examples and descriptions illuminating.
Theory of Control
Closely linked to the flaw is the character’s “theory of control”: their belief about how to stay safe, happy, or successful in the world. Over the course of a story, this theory is tested, broken, and re-formed.
Storr uses The Godfather as an example. When we meet him, Michael Corleone has already formed the belief that if he remains honest and upright, he can stay separate from his family’s criminal world. But when an attempt on his father’s life proves that honesty and appeals to the law won’t keep him safe, that theory shatters. He forms a new theory: Only through brutality and deception can he protect what matters. This shift drives his arc and his tragic transformation.
Practical Prompts
The appendix also offers prompts to help crystallize your character’s theory of control. Storr suggests filling in statements such as these:
The thing people most admire about me is…
I’m only safe when I…
The most important thing in life is…
The secret of happiness is…
The most terrible thing about other people is…
The big thing I understand about the world that no one else seems to get is…
These statements often link directly to the character’s flaw and to their fears—the fears that shape how they act and react throughout the story, and that determine their character arc and their relationship to the story problem.
The importance of this can’t be underestimated. Seeing a character try to fix the story problem the wrong way (using their old theory of control), failing, and being forced to form a new theory of control is central to classic story structures and character arcs.
Final Thoughts
Would I call The Science of Storytelling essential reading? Not really. For me, it doesn’t reach the level of John Yorke’s Into the Woods in explaining why stories work the way they do and why classic story structures appeal to us. Similarly, although Donald Maass’s The Emotional Craft of Fiction doesn’t focus specifically on science, I found its use of scientific studies to illuminate craft points far fresher and more illuminating than Storr’s.
But Storr’s book does offer some enjoyable insights into why stories resonate with readers, and the appendix in particular is a practical tool fiction writers can put to use immediately. It’s earned a place on my shelves, and I hope to revisit it.
Next up? I’m currently reading Matt Bird’s The Secrets of Story, but I have Lisa Cron’s Wired for Story: The Writer's Guide to Using Brain Science to Hook Readers from the Very First Sentence high on my to-read list. The premise seems somewhat similar to Storr’s, so I’m looking forward to comparing it with The Science of Storytelling—especially after how much I loved Cron’s Story Genius.
Interested in reading more about craft books? See my blog post on Save the Cat! Writes a Novel, and my earlier post discussing Into the Woods, Story Genius, and The Emotional Craft of Fiction. And watch this space, since I’m on a craft book binge!
