I’m on a fractals kick, finding ways to apply them in my dual livelihood, both as a micro-farm manager and as a writer and book editor. If you’re not familiar with the concept of fractals, take a moment to read Life’s Universal Patterns by Eliot Kersgaard. It’s a beautiful and conversational introduction. (At the very least, take a look at the opening image in that article, a close up of a head of Romanesco—a veggie related to broccoli. It’s a gorgeous living definition of fractals.)
Fractals are easier to grasp when witnessed, rather than through reading an abstract definition. If you’ve noticed the branching pattern of a tree or leaf—from very large to very small branches—you’ve seen a fractal. The same goes for the branching structures of river tributaries and river deltas. If you’ve appreciated the spiral pattern of a shell, from the largest arc down to the tiny originating point, you’ve seen a fractal.
Photograph by M. Maggs at Pixabay.
By sheer mathematical definition, a fractal is: a curve or geometric figure, each part of which has the same statistical character as the whole.
See? It’s much easier to see or touch a fractal than to dryly define it.
Regardless, fractals are nature’s way of getting things done efficiently. Branches, spirals, and crystals are just a few examples. I appreciate and rely on fractal patterns in my work as a micro-farm manager. That’s pretty straightforward—plants are living functional fractals. But I also see fractals everywhere in my work as a book coach, ghostwriter, and editor, and when writing my own work too. How is that possible?
Photograph by Susanne Jutzeler at Pixabay.
Fractals and Book Craft
Have you ever finished a beautifully crafted memoir or novel, and the story haunted you? It felt like you couldn’t stop thinking of it for days and months to come. Chances are, whether wittingly or intuitively, the author used principles of fractal construction to build the book’s resonant themes and deep archetypal imagery.
Oof. That’s lofty stuff. Again, it’s probably easier to provide a concrete example.
Let’s say you read a story about a woman who is trapped in a difficult situation, maybe poverty or a bad relationship or living in a country at war—maybe all of the above! Early in the story, there’s a scene where the Woman wakes with a start in the middle of the night to the sound of a train passing by on rarely used tracks near her home. We’re there with her, feeling her heart race, hearing the blast of the train horn, feeling the floor vibrate as the train rumbles past. She wonders where that rare train has come from and where it’s going.
The story continues, clipping along as the trials of her life unfold. No work, no food, grumpy Husband. Only a single girlfriend who is a bright spot in her life. The main plot and its side plots are the important components of the story. The train is not that important. Or maybe it is. It shows up again through visual hints:
- Seven chapters in, the Woman’s girlfriend has an opportunity to get out of the country. The Woman sees her girlfriend off at a train station and says goodbye, unsure of whether they’ll ever see each other again.
- On several occasions, the Woman walks with a group of other villagers, along the empty train tracks, to get to a nearby city to acquire food assistance. These are significant moments when the Woman is alone in the crowd stewing in her own thoughts—and wishing there was a train so she didn’t have to carry her bags all the way home.
Then the train shows up as subterranean theme:
- Without her girlfriend living nearby, the Woman is isolated with a Husband who is increasingly cruel. Then one day, in a food assistance line, the Woman meets a New Man who catches onto her plight. New Man is not romantically interested in her, but clearly is someone who can transport her out of her cage. If she’s open to it. He is, relationally and spiritually, a train—a way to get from one place to another quickly.
Finally, the literal train shows up once more:
- New Man offers the Woman a train ticket—A way to leave and get away to somewhere she can truly start over. No strings attached. She only has to say yes and board.
In terms of word count and emphasis, the train is not a massive focus. But literally or metaphorically, it keeps showing up. It’s this artful fractal repetition that creates a sense of deep subterranean theme and resonance. In fact, having read such a book, the next time you hear a train, you will think of that story. The Woman. Her escape. Fractals are that powerful.
Sit with some of your favorite books and leaf through. You’ll find this artful use of repeated motif throughout. When that motif not only repeats throughout, but also grows in size and influence, you’ve got a fractal pattern. Watch for repeating objects, sounds, conversational patterns, environments, conflicts, and archetypal characters. Perhaps it’s a train. Or a bridge. Maybe a candle or a staircase, a dark room or a wool coat. Perhaps it’s more conceptual: entrapment, betrayal, relentless hope, adaptation. Whatever the case, you see the fractal now and notice how it subtly shows up again and again and again.
The fractal may vary in its literal physical form whenever it appears in the story (leaf veins, tree branches, lungs) and in its scale (a tiny shell, a grand spiral staircase), but it is consistently present. That repetition is intentional. Yes, it haunts you for months and years to come.
How about your own book? All books benefit from a fractal review—even non-fiction instructional texts. Perhaps beta readers told you that your manuscript draft was interesting, but it felt fragmented; it didn’t hold together. Maybe it’s time to look for ways to incorporate some unifying fractals.
Let me know what you find. Share your discoveries and questions in the comments below.
Learn More:
For a deeper dive into fractals and how they play out in nature at an ecosystem level, watch this 7-minute video at Permaculture News. Enjoy!