Over the summer, I went to Greece for two weeks with my family. About halfway through the week, my sister and I decided to visit one of the nearby islands. The ferry ride brought about scents of fresh, salt air, and the water was a clear, cerulean blue. I remember turning to my sister and asking if we had stumbled upon a cat, if we could keep it, she said yes. The sun rose higher in the sky, and we arrived at the island, learning that there were no Ubers or ferries to take us back to the mainland past 12 pm. Of course, time escaped us as we wandered down the stoney streets of Kea, stopping along the various beaches to test out the water, and finishing our venture off with some traditional Gyro. Finally, being in an environment where there were, not only walls, but a way to tell the time, we realized it was 3 pm and we had far lost the opportunity for a quick ride back to the island where our hotel and, more importantly, our parents were. Without hesitation, we started the trip back to the bridge, praying that our shoes would be sufficient for the sandy trek. Â
About 2 hours had passed, and I still had not run into any cats to take home. My sister and I had talked about everything, from college relationships to our favorite Rick and Morty episode. And then, we heard it. With our heads on a swivel, we saw a white van barreling down the road we were walking. Immediately jumping to the side, I stuck my thumb up and the van began to slow to a halt. Rolling down the windows, my sister and I observed an elderly couple, seemingly whispering to one another in French, who then proceeded to attempt a “where are you trying to go” in broken English. We pointed to where our hotel was, a small speck seemingly hundreds of miles away, and the couple smiled and nodded, waving us into the van. The ride was bumpy but comfortable as they had ac in the car. The first ac I had felt in days, mind you. Making eye contact with the woman, she turns and saysÂ
“When I was your age, I fell in love” she uttered. My sister and I looked at one another with curiosity and got comfortable as she began to delve into her and her husband’s love story. Â
Her name was Melanie, his Jean, and I have been lying this entire time. Â
Let’s talk about unreliable narrators! And why they’re my favorite.Â
Over the summer, I read American Psycho. I’m not lying this time, I actually read it, pinky promise! Personally, I hated the book. It was a gratuitous excuse to be vile, and there were multiple times where I looked up the author to see if he was ever admitted into a mental institution. The only parts that I liked were the beginning, and the end; everything in between was a strange fever dream of moments that did not even add to Bateman’s character, but I digress. I can, however, appreciate the author creating a well-orchestrated illusion of Bateman’s mind, allowing the reader to understand that it was all a bout of delusion at the very end of the novel. Closing the book for the last time, thanking the Lord himself, I reflected on how much I really do love unreliable narrators. It’s interesting when you find the character slip and, as the reader, you begin to distrust their viewpoint. Â
The beauty of the unreliable narrator is that, often, they are not trying to trick the reader; they are simply presenting their view of the world affected by their own history (as Bateman himself was doing.) As I’ve gone through various moments in my life, I always think back to the other person’s perspective, which is more of a talent than you might think. I am driven to take certain actions by how I was raised and who I am now, and others do the same. It takes time and skill to learn how to empathize with other people and understand why they act the way they do because of their own lives and history. That is why I love unreliable narrators because, in a way, we are one in our very own life. My history does define me, in my actions and my personality, and it is up to me to relearn how to approach situations and mold myself into a better version. Unreliable narrators are ultimately subjective, and incredibly prone to human nature in that way, and I believe they’re an author’s way of reminding society that there is always another side to the story, but it’s up to you to find it.Â