Fiction and reality are often divided by a simple dichotomy: that which is not, and that which is. However, when we draw such a rigid line between them, a sensory dissonance inevitably arises.
Rather than being separate realms, fiction and reality exist on a continuum. Their watershed is defined by how, and to what extent, the self and others intervene. We might define fiction as a state where a symbol and its referent can be viewed separately. Conversely, reality is where these two are indissolubly joined.
The more others intervene—and the more significant that intervention—the closer fiction draws to reality. This is not to say that fiction becomes “fact,” but rather that the fiction is accepted as the fact of being fiction.
When we treat this continuum as a binary of “existence vs. non-existence,” we lose our grip on what is real and what is imagined. Things that never existed feel present, while things that truly occurred seem to vanish.
This sensory dissonance is perhaps why we feel betrayed when someone we trust defies our expectations, or why someone we viewed with suspicion turns out to be genuine. It begs the question: how much did our own “self” intervene in those perceptions? By strictly defining the boundary based on the presence or absence of an event, we create these gaps. Our trust or doubt is a product of our own level of intervention. If we view them as a continuum, even the inversion of fiction and reality can be understood as a mere dissonance of the senses.
