All stories follow a pattern. This is not a new-fangled, commercial thing. The three act structure can be applied to some of the earliest stories, and it’s a good idea to think about how your own story fits into it. Probably you’ll have imbibed it already from a lifetime’s experience of stories, and you have followed it anyway without having thought too much about it. If you haven’t, this might cause an “aha!” moment, and we all love one of those.
The three act structure is not a paint-by-numbers, more a scaffold in which to construct your creation. The more you become aware of it, the more you will see it everywhere. It also works the other way: if you have already written something and it isn’t quite working, or you don’t know where to go, it can help to look at the three act structure model.
Yes, there is also a five act structure: a more detailed version of the traditional three acts. It’s not different from the three act structure, only embellished. It’s the same with seven, nine etc. But I write to three instinctively, and when I think of my novels I think of the narrative in thirds, not fifths.
Stories are about things going wrong. On a very fundamental basis, we meet our protagonist, they are given a problem, and then it’s solved. In Into The Woods John Yorke calls these three stages thesis, antithesis and synthesis. You could also call it setup, confrontation and resolution or beginning, middle and end.
Thesis (act one) - we meet the character in their “before”.
Inciting incident leads to…
Antithesis (act two) - the character is thrown into an unfamiliar world and must go on a journey to find what it is they are missing. These are usually basic but absolutely human needs such as love, family, safety, money or reputation.
Dark night of the soul (everything goes wrong, crisis point) leads to…
Synthesis (act three) - problem is solved, enemies vanquished, etc.
This might seem super reductive. But think of any story well told, from Legally Blonde to His Dark Materials, and you’ll see that the way events play out isn’t that different. Next to me is a small stack of children’s books. Stick-Man follows the three act structure. In children’s books thesis and synthesis are much shorter, sometimes only a page. The majority of the story is in antithesis. Stick-Man lives happily in his tree with his family (thesis), goes for a jog (inciting incident), is picked up by a dog and antithesis begins. He embarks on a journey to return home to his family (basic human need), and is eventually successful (synthesis). Beauty and the Beast, the Ugly Duckling, the Very Hungry Caterpillar - they all follow this innate structure. The character goes on a journey to recover something they need (Belle’s father/acceptance/food).
All stories start twice: for us and for the character. The inciting incident is when the story begins for the character. Elle Woods gets dumped; Lyra’s friend Roger goes missing. It’s unexpected, it’s new information, and it throws them into a new world. Now the story can properly begin.
The second act is a through-the-looking-glass version of their old world, where they must embark on a journey or mission. They can be reluctant about it. They’re allowed to almost refuse, but they must accept. Then there is a rise towards a midpoint (think of the drama as the apex of a triangle) or a false high; they think they’ve achieved power or control over this new world, or they have found what they’ve been looking for. Visually, I like to think of this as the part in Mean Girls when Cady is strutting down the corridor with the other plastics: glossy, popular, accepted. It’s slap bang in the middle of the film, and you know it won’t last.
And then everything starts to fall away from them again, until they are obliged to confront whatever obstacle is in their way: a literal villain, a physical or mental test, an impossible landscape, themselves.
Break into act three – the new and final world – follows, where the hero has new knowledge. Their problem is solved, their goal, as set out in act one, accomplished.
But why must stories fall into this predictable arrangement? Surely there are some good ones that don’t? Some artists will argue until they’re blue in the face about why their work subverts the structure. I don’t know why you would try very hard to avoid it, though, because as well as being the way we have told stories since the beginning of time, the three act structure is based on human nature itself. We are exposed to a threat or information, we respond, then we assimilate. Threat, response, equilibrium. It’s caveman stuff.
If you are writing memoir (for example I’m currently dipping into James Herriot’s books) or non-fiction, your narrative structure might differ. But even James Herriot’s writing is like a jar full of mini three act structures. He’s asleep in bed or having a cup of tea (thesis), receives a phone call (inciting incident), a ridiculous or precarious confrontation with a farm beast ensues (antithesis), followed by resolution (synthesis) where everyone’s happy and he sends a bill (he’s a vet, by the way, for those who don’t know).
Once you’re familiar with how stories work, it’s hard to unsee. The length of each act can be played with, the events that unfold within can be surprising. But if your story was a house, every house needs foundations, walls and a roof. The detail is up to you.
Next week: motivation vs discipline.