1 However, quite a number of novels were banned because of their ‘obscenity’ or explicit sexual content in the US before 1959. Where Literary Studies and Psychology Could and Should Meet The Persuasiveness of Fictional Stories Vera Nünning 1 Introduction The persuasiveness of fictional stories is usually only recognised by those who regard literature as a peril or threat. At least from the time of Plato onwards, philosophers and politicians have raised their voices to warn against the undue influence of literature that has been held to poison the minds of readers in general and young women in particular. Especially totalitarian regimes and dictators who censure, ban, or burn books have, as Mario Vargas Llosa contends, a fine sense for identifying texts with subversive potential that might threaten the foundations of their power (see 2007 [2004]: 216, 218), while democratic governments do not often regard books as dangerous. 1 However, even in democratic countries such as Great Britain the debate about the censorship of books has been sparked recently, when it became clear that, for different reasons, and from different points of view, books are expurgated and tampered with. When Puffin Books released a new edition of the works of Roald Dahl in February 2023, an astonished reading public realised that several sensitivity readers had changed not just words but whole passages of Dahl’s novels, deleting or substituting references to race, ethnicity, sex, gender, disability or slavery, as well as descriptions of characters and passages in dialogues. Though the criticism of this tampering with fiction was so strong that Puffin Books additionally released a ‘classical’, unexpurgated version of Dahl’s work, there seems to be a renewed tendency within some Western countries 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 2 This situation might change in the future, since a recent volume deals with the topic of fiction and belief: James, A., Kubo, A., and Lavocat, F. (eds), The Routledge Handbook of Fiction and Belief (New York, NY: Routledge, 2023). However, this volume comprises articles from a variety of disciplines and deals with many different facets of the topic; it does not focus on the relationship between literary studies and psychology. 3 Transportation (or immersion in a story) is characterised by concentration, affective engagement, and mental imagery (see Green and Brock 2000), it is “a state of cognitive, emotional, and imaginal immersion in a text” (Green et al. 2012: 37-38). to regard books as so dangerous that they should be censored or banned. A ‘woke’ culture demands sensitivity readers and political correctness, making it nearly impossible to discuss certain novels in schools or universities, while US-American states governed by Republicans employ measures to ban the discussion of issues concerning gender, sexuality and race, and the use of words such as ‘queer’. By now, books are under siege from various sides, and there seems to be a general awareness that (even fictional) stories are persuasive and can change readers’ minds. In academia, in contrast, the persuasive potential of fictional works has not been awarded the amount of attention that it arguably deserves. 2 While the potential of fiction to enhance readers’ empathy has instigated a vast amount of research ever since Suzanne Keen published her ground-breaking works (see 2006, 2007), the persuasive potential of fiction has mostly escaped the notice of literary scholars. This neglect is astonishing, since psychologists have conducted research into the power that (fictional and factual) stories have to change readers’ minds since the late 1990s, while literary scholars have by and large ignored these studies. In the following, I want to argue that literary studies and psychology should meet, and that literary scholars should consider the results of psychological studies that have demonstrated that fictional stories can change readers’ beliefs and attitudes. After all, in societies saturated with all kinds of stories, the persuasiveness of fictional narratives is arguably of social and cultural impor‐ tance. If fiction has the power to impact readers’ minds, we need to know more about the mechanisms involved in this process. The factors influencing the degree of persuasiveness that concern the perceptibility of readers (such as ‘transportability’) 3 have already been well established; but which exact properties of fictional texts play a role in the audience’s change of mind has not yet been explored. In this chapter, I will first briefly demonstrate what is meant by the persua‐ siveness of fictional stories, and in a second step focus on the narratological categories and methods that can be used to assess the persuasiveness of fictional stories. Rather than analysing these on a theoretical level, I will offer an 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 196 Vera Nünning 4 A drawback of these studies is that the books are usually read and discussed in preschool groups or classes, which makes it difficult to assess whether the change of beliefs is solely caused by reading the book or whether the discussion played an important part as well. interpretation of Hilary Mantel’s prize-winning and best-selling novel Wolf Hall that exemplifies certain narrative conventions that can serve to enhance the persuasiveness of novels and how these conventions can be identified. In the conclusion, I will identify new directions of research that are opened up when we take the persuasive potential of fictional texts seriously. 2 The Persuasiveness of Fictional Stories A host of empirical studies have attested to the persuasiveness of fictional stories and shown that readers or viewers can change their beliefs after being immersed in a storyworld. From the late 1990s onwards, psychologists explored the way in which stories can change readers’ beliefs, attitudes, and even their self-image (see e.g. Mar et al. 2009; Green et al. 2004; Djikic et al. 2013). Though the potential negative influence of fiction is often in the foreground of the public debate on the importance of fiction and leads to, for instance, lists of banned books that are not allowed to be taught in schools (Huckleberry Finn being a controversial example), fictional stories can also have positive effects, and the integration of health messages in popular TV soaps has been shown to change viewers’ behaviour and induce them to avoid unnecessary health risks (see Slater 1999: 342). There are two fields of psychological research related to the impact of fictional texts that are worth a brief mention here. The importance of fictional stories for the beliefs of children has been demonstrated in many experiments that have highlighted the positive as well as negative effects of children’s storybooks. Stories can reduce the potency of beliefs about gender stereotypes, for instance; they can foster children’s approval of allegedly ‘feminine’ behaviour of boys, and can encourage young girls to consider gender-untypical job choices (see Kneeskern and Reeder 2022: 1474, 1481f.; Abad and Pruden 2013: 1-4). Fictional narratives can also help to reduce homophobia. Reading Brent Hartinger’s novel Geography Club (2003), a young adult novel about a queer boy, considerably diminished prejudices against gay students in a class that read and discussed the book. Moreover, instead of strengthening the beliefs of those with strong prejudices, the reading “was effective in significantly reducing homophobia in participants with high pretest homophobia” (Malo-Juvera 2016: 18). 4 However, stories can have a less than beneficial impact, too. Exposure to superman videos 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 Where Literary Studies and Psychology Could and Should Meet 197 5 Unfortunately, parents are not very effective when trying to counteract stereotypes embedded in stories. One study even showed that, after a certain period of time, children not only still held the beliefs that their parents had questioned - they also remembered them better than other beliefs encountered in story books (see Coyne et al. 2014: 416). not only confirmed children’s gender stereotypes, but also induced them to spend more time playing with toy weapons, and to behave more aggressively towards their peers (see Coyne et al. 2014: 427). 5 A second research tradition is concerned with the impact of fictional stories on (young) adults. The insight that fictional stories can induce readers to change their beliefs about the real world is partly a by-product of research into the persuasiveness of stories in general. It quickly turned out that it makes no difference whether readers thought that they were dealing with a fictional or factual story (see Green and Brock 2000). Even when readers were warned that the story they were assigned to read would contain false information, a considerable number of participants still assimilated their beliefs to what they encountered in the story (see Marsh and Fazio 2006: 1140-49; Marsh et al. 2003: 519-36). The experiments tested distinct beliefs (such as the idea that eating chocolate helps you lose weight or that Saturn is the largest planet) and attitudes, for instance towards minority groups (see Johnson et al. 2013). The fact that the degree of fictionality of a story made no difference to the beliefs taken by a considerable number of readers at first puzzled psychologists, who then came up with several explanations. Since readers are not aware of the persuasiveness of fiction, they do not think it necessary to check whether the beliefs encountered in fictions are true or plausible. Reading fiction reduces counterarguing, which is partly due to the conviction that one will not be influenced by fiction anyway, and partly due to the immersion in fictional works. If we are ‘transported’ into a book we do not want to interrupt being in such a pleasant state; we want to know what happens next. The beliefs and attitudes encountered in fiction are therefore quickly integrated into a reader’s mental encyclopaedia (if we are not absorbed by a text, it has no impact anyway). In the words of Melanie C. Green and Karin Dill: Even though individuals often remember that they read a particular piece of information as part of a story, the fictional information also appears to be quickly integrated with related knowledge in individuals’ memory. […] Fictional information becomes accessible in mind, and creates new memory connections between concepts. (2013: 451) Even after a time span of two weeks, readers did not pause to check or delete the beliefs adopted from fictional stories. Instead, the beliefs were, if anything, held more firmly than before (see Appel and Richter 2007: 113-34). 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 198 Vera Nünning 6 For a summary, see Green and Dill 2013. 7 For a summary, see Wolf 2009: 144-59. However, there are certain conditions attached to the persuasiveness of stories. Part of them depend on the reader and have been analysed in detail particularly by Melanie C. Green and colleagues, who also set up a questionnaire ascertaining the ‘transportability’ of readers (see Green and Brock 2000: 704). Some people are more prone to be immersed in stories and feel with the characters, others are less predisposed to become absorbed by fiction. Moreover, readers’ preferences - for instance with regard to genres - play a role, and sometimes stress and other circumstances prevent being transported into a book that would otherwise completely occupy their attention (see Vaughn et al. 2009: 447-56). The exact features of stories that heighten their persuasiveness has not been researched in any detail. Green and colleagues established some major factors, all of which are related to the degree to which fictions can prompt readers to become transported: The quality of fictional works (excerpts from bestsellers were more immersive than stories written by psychologists), the ‘perceived realism’ of stories (which refers to readers’ experiencing the fictional as real and life-like, and can thus be attested to fantasies like Harry Potter and many other genres), the vividness of the mental images the stories evoke, and readers’ emotional engagement with the characters. An attitude embodied by a favourite character has a higher degree of persuasiveness than one uttered by others. 6 These findings from psychological studies can be used as a basis for literary analyses of the persuasiveness of narratives. ‘Perceived realism’, for instance, can be understood in terms of ‘aesthetic illusion’, which has been related to a host of literary features in several studies, 7 most of which are relevant for the study of ‘perceived realism’. Readers’ emotional engagement with the characters can be assessed with recourse to the features evoking narrative empathy, a field that has been explored in a number of outstanding literary studies (see e.g. Keen 2007; Breithaupt 2009). Unfortunately, research on the likeability of characters and the likelihood of their becoming the readers’ favourite character (whose views and remarks are more persuasive than others) and on the direction of readers’ sympathy has barely scratched the surface of this important process, but a few theoretical foundations have been established (see Prinz and Winko 2014; Nünning 2020). The vividness of mental images also deserves more research (see Miall and Kuiken 1994). All in all, literary research into those features of narratives that enhance their persuasiveness can build on a solid basis, though these findings have to be adjusted to the specific requirements of the research on 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 Where Literary Studies and Psychology Could and Should Meet 199 8 ‘Perceived realism’ can be evoked by reading novels and narrative poetry, by watching or reading plays and watching films. There is an overlap concerning the narrative strategies involved, but, depending on the genre, there are also differences. In the following, the focus will be on novels. 9 Various forms of suspense have been analysed in a host of literary studies (for a summary see Schindler 2020: 56-68). the persuasiveness of fictional works. Moreover, the hypotheses derived from future research should be tested in experiments (see the summary in Green and Dill 2013). 3 A Brief Overview of Narrative Conventions Heightening the Persuasive Impact of Fictional Stories On the basis of these relations between the results of psychological experiments and narratological categories, I would like to suggest that certain narrative conventions heighten the degree of the persuasiveness of the stories (for preliminary studies see Nünning 2014: ch. 5; 2020). The key - and rather broad - category of ‘perceived realism’ can be linked to four related phenomena: aesthetic illusion, the illusion of immediacy (transparency of the level of narrative mediation and the lack of distance between reader and characters), the life-likeness of characters, and the degree of experientiality. 8 Readers’ emo‐ tional engagement with the characters can be raised by narrative conventions fostering empathy with or sympathy for a character. The vividness of the mental images the text evokes can be connected to the use of metaphors and the description of colourful images. The life-likeness of characters is surprisingly difficult to assess, since it is tied to implicit personality theories of readers, which have a common ground in folk psychology, but can vary nonetheless. However, in addition to the categories for exploring the degree of ‘perceived realism’, one can analyse the mode of presenting a character, and focus on the use of gaps and ambivalences, since such gaps induce readers to attribute those traits and feelings to a character that they perceive as plausible and life-like. This, in turn, is bound to lead to a characterisation that readers perceive as life-like - probably more so than the most masterly presentation of a narrator could ever be. Since the reduction of counterarguing and the desire to continue to read is another prerequisite for ‘perceived realism’, it makes sense to add the degree of suspense to the list of factors enhancing the persuasiveness of stories. 9 This rough sketch of narrative conventions heightening the persuasiveness of stories provides a first overview of a field that should be further explored; it cannot do justice to the wide variety of combinations that can be found in 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 200 Vera Nünning 10 See, for instance, “the novel’s ability to bring the reader directly into Tudor England and reflect the turbulent political status at the time was magnificent” (Wondereyes 2010: n.pag.). The book was also praised as “not just another historical novel. It’s in a league of its own because despite pulling together a huge amount of information, it is still well written” (H.J. Moreton 2013: n.pag.). Goodreads is an Amazon-owned social cataloging fictional narratives. In addition, each of the key concepts mentioned above can be realised in several ways. Empathy, for instance, can be evoked by extensive focalisation, putting the hero/ ine in a predicament, characterising them as likeable, and the use of narratorial comments or other means of directing readers’ sympathy. Moreover, structural features such as the constellation of characters can also play a role: In a genre with a very moral set of characters such as the eighteenth-century sentimental comedy, even a heroine with minor flaws would, in contrast, appear to be morally highly suspect, whereas in Dickens’ fictional worlds, eccentricities and foibles are so common that they do not attract a lot of attention. The potential of narrative conventions therefore depends not only on the genre, but on the individual features of each storyworld. 4 Narrative Conventions Fostering the Persuasiveness of the Story in Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall Turning now to my test case, I will use Hilary Mantel’s novel Wolf Hall to illus‐ trate the categories that literary critics can use in order to assess the persuasive impact of novels. Following this, I shall explore the narrative strategies used in Mantel’s novel for changing readers’ beliefs about one historical personality, namely Thomas Cromwell. Mantel’s novel seems to be a good choice for an analysis of the persuasiveness of fiction, since the book was not only awarded several prizes (including the Booker Prize) and acclaimed by reviewers and critics alike, it also persuaded readers to accept a specific image of the protagonist. Many reviewers praised the novel, asserting that it rings true and provides insight into the period of the Tudors and a fascinating portrait of Thomas Cromwell. As one reviewer stated, “Mantel rewrites the history of England from 1527 to 1535 with Thomas Cromwell as the hero” (Fitzherbert 2015: n.pag.). This is quite a feat, since, as Stephen Greenblatt observes, she chose one of those “figure[s] exceedingly unlikely, on the face of things, to arouse any sympathy at all” (2009: n.pag.). Many critics agreed with this, and many readers showed their approval by rating the novel with three stars or more on Amazon or posting favourable com‐ ments on Goodreads. 10 Some of these comments even reflect on the difference between the personality of the protagonist and the established historiographical 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 Where Literary Studies and Psychology Could and Should Meet 201 and reviewing site (launched in January 2007), on which mostly lay readers publicly rate and comment on books, compile reading lists, and engage in discussions. characterisation of Cromwell, and assert that the novel is more truthful than the history books, claiming that this “meticulously researched and beautifully written book […] made me realise how historical reputations can be built up (as with Thomas More) with no justification, or unfairly maligned (as with Cromwell himself)” (Purcell 2009: n.pag.; see also Debra F. 2014: n.pag.). Those readers who liked the book and pondered its historical authenticity changed their beliefs about Cromwell. Most of the readers praising the novel, however, are not unduly concerned about its discrepancy to historical knowledge; they seem to tacitly accept the new image of Cromwell. In contrast to literary critics and many readers who recommend the novel in comments on the internet, some historians with expert knowledge on the sixteenth century did not like the book at all. As Simon Schama makes clear: “When I was doing research for A History of Britain, the documents shouted to high heaven that Thomas Cromwell was, in fact, a detestably self-serving, bullying monster who perfected state terror in England, cooked the evidence, and extracted confessions by torture” (2015: n.pag.). Another renowned histor‐ ian of the period, David Starkey, is scarcely less acidic in his criticism: “This is total fiction. There is not a scrap of evidence for it at all. So the thing that’s used to create Cromwell as a sympathetic character is totally fiction […]. [A]s I understand it, [Wolf Hall] is based on a deliberate perversion of fact” (2015: n.pag.). These are very strong words indeed, and they illustrate that the novel did not change those readers’ minds who already held a strong belief about the ‘correct’ image of Cromwell. The evaluations of the historians also show the extent to which the fictional Cromwell deviates from how he is portrayed in history books, and demonstrate that readers who knew about the traits of the historical Cromwell substantially altered their mental image of him after they read Mantel’s novel. The key factor for the persuasiveness of novels, readers’ immersion in the story, is encouraged by several narrative devices in Wolf Hall. Among the narrative conventions that achieve this overall effect are certain means of heightening the feeling of immediacy, and to enhance the emotional engage‐ ment of readers. Immediacy as well as experientiality (or the feeling of ‘what it’s like’ for the characters in the story) are fostered by the novel’s style and choice of focaliser. Throughout the book, the protagonist functions as the central sensibility, the psychological filter or focaliser through which readers come to know what happens in the storyworld. Readers perceive events through the 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 202 Vera Nünning 11 Mantel describes this narrative situation herself: “the camera was behind [Cromwell’s] eyes. The events were happening now […] unfolding as I watched, and what followed would be filtered through the main character’s sensibility” (2012: n.pag.); for the ‘immediacy’ of the homodiegetic focalisation, see also Brosch 2018: 62f. eyes of Cromwell; they seem to be able to relate to him directly. The narrator remains invisible, they refrain from analysing the events and motives of the protagonist or commenting on the story, which would create a distance between the narrator and Cromwell. 11 Instead of feeling the presence of a narrator, readers focus on Cromwell’s perceptions. Information about and evaluations of the other characters are conveyed by means of the protagonist’s thoughts and impressions. When, for instance, Cardinal Wolsey is introduced into the story, it is through the eyes of Cromwell, who goes to visit him. We do not get to know what exactly Cromwell tells him; instead, the protagonist’s perceptions are in the foreground of the story: “As he listens, the cardinal’s face creases into its affable, perpetually attentive folds. From time to time he notes down a figure that he is given. He sips from a glass of very good wine” (Wolf Hall: 20). The following brief account of the cardinal’s plans and his relation to Cromwell confirm the impression that the readers have immediate access to his mind and to his field of vision: He [Cromwell] has the leisure to think about this, because the cardinal is staring down at his desk, at the letter he has half-written. He looks up. ‘Tom…’ And then, ‘No, never mind. Tell me why you are scowling in that way.’ ‘The people up there say they are going to kill me.’ ‘Really? ’ the cardinal says. His face says, I am astonished and disappointed. […] Behind the cardinal there is a tapestry, hanging the length of the wall. King Solomon, his hands stretched into darkness, is greeting the Queen of Sheba. (Wolf Hall: 21) There is no sign of a narrator telling the story; instead, the reader sees the whole scene through the eyes of Cromwell. It is Cromwell who reads astonishment and disappointment in Wolsey’s face. His own ‘scowling’, which is not acknowledged by his internal focalisation or the narrator, is reported through the speech of Wolsey. That this important historical figure thinks highly of Cromwell confirms readers’ favourable image of the protagonist, who seems to be very competent: “‘I am listening,’ the cardinal says. ‘Indeed, I go further. I am captivated’” (Wolf Hall: 20). There are several other aspects contributing to the effect of immediacy and experientiality in these brief quotes. One of these is the use of a “vivid language that does not incorporate archaisms” (Arias 2014: 28) even though it is rooted in sixteenth-century life and refers to ideas and material details that are most likely 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 Where Literary Studies and Psychology Could and Should Meet 203 12 The use of the present tense is mentioned by several critics; for a masterly interpretation of it, see Gebauer 2021: 158-67. 13 See also Johnston for the novel’s “interest in the material and, especially, the visual culture of the Renaissance” (2017: 542). According to Marion Gymnich, such a “preoccu‐ pation with material culture in historical novels […] may partially be seen as a response to the increasing competition between different media as far as the representation of the past is concerned” (2018: 79). unfamiliar to modern readers (see Stocker 2012: 313). Perhaps most notably, the whole story is narrated in the present tense. 12 Though it is quite obviously a narrative about a relatively distant past, the mode of narration suggests that the story unfolds in the present. The protagonist is a very perceptive filter, providing visual details that allow the reader to imagine the scene vividly. In the quote above, readers can visualise how the cardinal stares at his writing, the letter half written, and the luxurious and probably colourful tapestry featuring the Queen of Sheba covering the length of the wall. At the beginning of the scene, when Cromwell comes in from the cold, the atmosphere is evoked in a similar way: “Then the whole room is in motion: food, wine, fire built up. A man takes his wet outer garments with a solicitous murmur” (Wolf Hall: 18). Such scenes appeal to a reader’s senses, to what they would see, hear, feel, or taste, were they in that situation. 13 They thus evoke experientiality and render the scene both vivid and plausible. The novel also evokes vivid mental images by means of describing colourful, intense, and dramatic images. Many small details referring to every-day life and the material culture in the sixteenth century enhance the impression that a true picture of society is given. As Jerome de Groot notes, highlighting the materiality of the past and presenting “the details of normality and the minutiae of everyday life” (2016: 26) is one of the strategies that fosters a sense of realism. Such factual details pertain to table manners, the use of (golden) cups and cutlery, clothes in general, and women’s attire and the cut and fabric of dresses in particular. Moreover, significant details concerning the appearance of Henry VIII, Thomas More, or Anne Boleyn conform to well-known paintings, which may help readers to form vivid mental images of the characters. In addition to immediacy and vivid images, the quote provided above, with its short sentences and focus on Cromwell’s subjective impressions, illustrates a characteristic of seemingly ‘life-like’ and engaging narratives: The use of implicatures and ambivalences that leaves room for the reader’s own imagina‐ tion. Empirical studies have demonstrated that a mode of writing that relies on implicitness and suggestiveness allows readers to make their own inferences about the events and the characters’ feelings. This in turn evokes the impression 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 204 Vera Nünning 14 For different interpretations of the function of Cromwell as filter - or the mode of narration as interior monologue - see Brosch 2017: 175f.; Johnston 2017: 543f. 15 See also the description of the novel’s first encounter between Cromwell and his wife Liz: “‘Forget where you lived? ’ He sighs. ‘How was Yorkshire? ’ He shrugs. ‘The cardinal? ’ He nods” (Wolf Hall: 34). that readers can comprehend the characters in a more than just superficial manner and relate to them on a more intimate basis (see Bortolussi and Dixon 2003: 93-95). 14 The description of “a room in motion”, “food, wine, fire”, for instance, offers enough details to enable readers to project their own idea of a bustling atmosphere with a blazing fire providing warmth and light, as well as their own preferences with regard to food and wine onto the scene. There is enough information to visualise an enticing place that contrasts to the wet, cold, and dark evening outside, but the filling in of details about the room and food is left to the reader’s imagination. 15 This mode of presentation even pertains to the character of Cromwell. As Marion Gymnich notes, despite the use of Cromwell as psychological filter, “he remains a somewhat enigmatic character throughout both novels” (2018: 77; see also Gebauer 2021: 163). Readers have to supply themselves with what exactly Cromwell feels when he takes part in these vivid and often dramatic scenes - and they are likely to supply thoughts and emotions that feel plausible and life-like to themselves. In a realist historical novel like Wolf Hall the degree of suspense, which is also among the features fostering persuasiveness, should be quite low. After all, readers versed in history will know what happens to Cromwell and the other characters, and even those who do not know any details may expect that the hero will stay alive and well till the end of the trilogy. In spite of this, there is a surprising degree of uncertainty as far as the fate of the protagonist is concerned. The relentless focus on the present tense and the lack of narratorial comments and prolepses keep the reader in the dark - at least as far as many arcs of suspense are concerned. There is an atmosphere of threat and intrigue, especially with regard to Cromwell’s relationships with the other courtiers, who would gladly be rid of him (see also Knox 2015: 137). Moreover, Cromwell has to fear for his family’s safety; the death of his wife Liz and two daughters show that he is vulnerable. The underlying feeling of insecurity, which keeps up suspense and engages readers’ emotions, can also be witnessed in the conversation between Cromwell and Wolsey quoted above, when Cromwell states that “[t]he people up there say they are going to kill me” (Wolf Hall: 21). Evidently, there are people who would rather see him dead - even though the reader is kept in the dark about who wishes him ill, and why this should be the case. Readers are left in uncertainty, with a vague sense of unspecified threat. 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 Where Literary Studies and Psychology Could and Should Meet 205 In addition, the novel features narrative techniques that serve to enhance readers’ sympathy for and empathy with the protagonist. Among these features are strategies that evoke a sense of victimisation of the hero. Though the threat in fact emanated - if one believes the historians quoted above - from Cromwell rather than from those who had to deal with this ‘bully’, the novel evokes a different impression through its striking beginning: ‘So now get up! ’ Felled, dazed, silent, he has fallen; […] his eyes are turned towards the gate, as if someone might arrive to help him out. One blow, properly placed, might kill him now. (Wolf Hall: 3) The victim of these continuing acts of violence turns out to be Cromwell, who is abused by his father, and has good reasons to fear for his life. At this stage, Cromwell is still a child, who is at the mercy of his callous father, and readers experience the brutality and the threat posed by his father through Thomas’ thoughts and feelings. His father, Walter, is upset solely because he has “[b]urst my boot, kicking your head” (Wolf Hall: 4), while Thomas’ only aim is to get out of the situation. By the time Thomas loses consciousness, the reader has been provided with ample reason to take his side and feel with him. Such a scene generates ‘situational empathy’, i.e. placing a character in a precarious position, which is one of the most important means of directing the audience’s sympathy, since it reinforces readers’ interest in the fate of the characters by creating a situation of potential harm (see Hogan 2003: 81, 140; Gerrig 1993: 80). Scenes like the well-executed first one present a further strategy that should evoke the empathy and sympathy of readers: They show the character as the victim of cruel, unfair punishments (see Nünning 2012: 96). The feelings of readers are likely to be rather pronounced since the victim is an innocent child who cannot defend himself, and since corporeal punishment (let alone a beating that threatens the child’s life) is now disapproved of in Western countries. The cruelty and neglect the protagonist suffers during his childhood is mentioned several times. One of his very rare childhood memories shows the degree to which he was victimised: “Beth throws something at him. He dodges. It’s always the excuse for breakages, in that house: I threw it at Thomas” (Wolf Hall: 332). Though this might imply that he was a wilful and exasperating boy, Cromwell is shown as someone who habitually suffers from the cruelty of others. The fact that he has an unpromising start in life and had to work hard for his later success probably makes it easier for readers to sympathise with him (see also Dimpel 2011: 95, 166). Moreover, in the context of the novel, Cromwell’s childhood is presented as a “psychological explanation for Cromwell’s personality” (Arias 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 206 Vera Nünning 16 The historical Cromwell was surrounded by servants and others who were below him in rank and therefore had to defer to him. However, such interactions are only rarely described in the novel. Johnston also stresses that Cromwell “is denigrated as a social climber and never permitted to forget his lowly origins” (2017: 540). 2014: 25). Even though he may act in untoward ways occasionally, this can be explained by his sufferings during his childhood. It is difficult to criticise someone who had such negative experiences as a child, and who still manages to grow up to be an accomplished, tender, and humane man. The novel thus abounds with scenes generating ‘situational empathy’ for Cromwell. The positive impression of Cromwell is enhanced by showing the wounded young protagonist leaving England rather than endanger his sister, who wants to care for him. That young Thomas tries to save his siblings from the retributions of the violent father demonstrates his kindness and altruism, which prevails even in situations of utmost danger. This already highlights another characteristic of the protagonist that is conducive to fostering readers’ sympa‐ thy: Engaging and sympathetic characters should show their basic benevolence and good-will, for instance by performing one or two remarkable kind actions (see Snyder 2005: 120-23). Even before the main story of the events that take place 27 years later begins, Cromwell is established as a humane, brave, and likeable hero. The configuration of the characters and the presentation of scenes staging conflicts in which the protagonist has no chance to achieve their goals can also engage readers’ emotions by appealing to their sense of justice and pity (see Nünning 2012: 96f.). In Wolf Hall, Thomas Cromwell is often placed in such situations. Again and again it is brought home to readers that Cromwell is looked down upon and discriminated against. Nearly all the other characters he meets during his work think themselves superior to him and despise him because of his low rank. This motif is introduced at the beginning of the second chapter, when Cromwell is back again in England, 27 years later, and meets Stephen Gardiner, who talks to him accusingly and “unpleasantly”, and, according to Cromwell, “sings always on one note. Your reprobate father. Your low birth” (Wolf Hall: 17). As Cromwell knows well, this belief of Gardiner is shared by the majority of those whom the protagonist works with - or, to be more precise, those whom he is shown to work with. 16 Even the young aristocrats whom he helps to get out of prison do not hide their contempt of him, and a young boy of thirteen patronisingly and condescendingly refers to Cromwell’s knowledge and abilities, stating that “in men of base degree we often see high gifts of nature” (Wolf Hall: 400). 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 Where Literary Studies and Psychology Could and Should Meet 207 17 Renate Brosch also notes that Cromwell is attributed characteristics that we admire today, and that he is ‘sympathetic’ (see 2018: 61, 60). José Prieto-Arranz emphasises that Cromwell invites readers’ sympathy because he acts as a focaliser, and because of his pragmatism and his actions (see 2022: 155f., 158, 164). 18 See Fitzherbert for an explication of “Cromwell’s modern sympathies - believing in nurture over nature, loving over burning, learning over prayer” (2015). Leigh Wilson asserts that Cromwell’s mind seems real as well as familiar and sympathetic to modern readers. Johnston (see 2017: 539-41) also notes a number of characteristics that make readers like Cromwell, who is in these respects “remarkably alone in the two novels’ fictional universe” (Wilson 2015: 157, 163). This kind of contempt and discrimination probably prevailed in the sixteenth century, but it is likely to strike modern readers as unfair. It is even more likely that readers take Cromwell’s part against the other characters, because the protagonist is much more talented and knowledgeable than those who despise him: He is repeatedly said to speak several modern languages, and he taught himself Latin and Greek as well. He also knows the New Testament by heart, in Latin, and “he can draft a contract, train a falcon, draw a map, stop a street fight, furnish a house and fix a jury” (Wolf Hall: 31). Moreover, he knows how to cure dogs, keep accounts, and manage parliament. Seen in the light of modern hierarchies of value, the fictional Cromwell is a gifted and competent man, and far superior to those who act as his ‘betters’ and cause him trouble. Just because he is the son of his ‘low-born’, reprobate, and cruel father is, nowadays, no acceptable reason for despising him; it rather invites readers’ sympathy. 17 Apart from general benevolence and goodwill, Cromwell’s position as an outsider who differs from others because he holds some key twenty-first century beliefs is likely to appeal to contemporary readers. In Wolf Hall, Cromwell is arguably presented as a ‘likeable’ hero for modern readers, because he holds a number of beliefs that are nowadays widely shared, but which, in the sixteenth century, were unusual and suspect. The “modern sympathies” (Fitzherbert 2015: n.pag.) 18 of Cromwell have been noted by several critics. Those ‘modern’ features include his social (and geographical) mobility and his attitude towards his family, particularly his daughters. Instead of being a strict and authoritarian father, he is a sensitive family man, tender and kind even to his daughters, especially to Anne, “a tough little girl” (Wolf Hall: 82) whom he allows to learn Latin and Greek. Even though his son Gregory disappoints him as a scholar, he is unfailingly supportive and kind to him. Gathering “children, wards, protégés, close relatives and friends around him” (Arias 2014: 26), Cromwell is a caring and unlikely pater familias, always trying to do the best for everybody, disregarding conventional methods of education. When someone remarks that, formerly, his children “would have been knocked round the head till [they] bled from the 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 208 Vera Nünning 19 Gebauer also notes that Cromwell is a ‘likeable’ character with whom readers can empathise (see 2021: 164). ears”, Cromwell calmly remarks “[t]hen we live in happy times”, even though the Cambridge scholar Thomas Cranmer is present and asks incredulously: “The children are not whipped? ” (Wolf Hall: 251). Apart from his attitude towards his extended family and friends, Cromwell shows other modern features such as a dislike of torture and of self-flagellation, not only because of the ensuing pain (in itself an anachronistic attitude), but also because of the fact that workers have to create these instruments. What is more, “[h]e thinks, also, that people ought to be found better jobs” (Wolf Hall: 87). Perhaps most tellingly, he has enlightened views about women, whom he takes seriously and who often confide in him (see also Gymnich 2018: 78). This almost proto-feminist appreciation of women stands in stark contrast to the attitudes of the people at court. The Duke of Norfolk, for example, proclaims: “‘What’s the use of talking to women? ’ [Norfolk] asks earnestly. ‘Cromwell, you don’t talk to women, do you? I mean, what would be the topic? What would you find to say? ’” (Wolf Hall: 509). Several other features invite readers to empathise with Cromwell, to adopt his opinions and think well of him. Though the protagonist only rarely expresses his emotions, readers can identify with the situation he is in, which leaves a lot of space for them to infer what they themselves would feel in such a case, which again makes the protagonist more life-like and likeable. Moreover, Cromwell is kind to animals, saving the life of a little cat (see Wolf Hall: 188), rescuing dogs, and even expertly saving the eyesight of “the favourite bitch” of another character (Wolf Hall: 221, 223). In addition, his family and numerous friends and dependents reinforce this favourable view of Cromwell. The characters in the novel can be divided into two groups: Those who know him intimately and think well of him, and those who only know him on a superficial basis and vilify him. It is made amply clear which attitude readers should adopt, since Cromwell’s critics are discredited by the fact that they are haughty and self-serving. Mantel therefore uses the old device of heightening the credibility and likeability of the hero by having him criticised by ‘bad’ characters, and praised by ‘good’ ones (see Nünning 2012: 95; Staves 2006: 186). 19 In conjunction with other features, the use of Cromwell as the most important focaliser, whose point of view dominates the story, his saving dogs as well as cats, his victimisation and the unfair prejudices against him, the casting of Cromwell as a ‘modern man’ out of tune with his time - all of these enhance the likelihood that readers will empathise and perhaps even identify with him. 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 Where Literary Studies and Psychology Could and Should Meet 209 There are many situations that should appeal to the readers’ sense of pity and justice, and can serve to evoke sympathy for the protagonist, who attempts to be kind to animals and humans alike, even doing his best to try and prevent harm to those who do not accept him as an equal. A whole battery of fictional devices is thus directed at convincing readers that Cromwell ‘really’ is a good man, undeservedly maligned in many history books. 5 Narrative Conventions Geared towards Revising the Historical Image of Thomas Cromwell While the narrative conventions discussed above are geared towards heighten‐ ing readers’ degree of immersion and fostering their emotional engagement with and sympathy for the protagonist, the novel also contains devices prompting readers to change their beliefs about Cromwell. The novel features a few strategies that can reshape our understanding of the hero, who is presented not as a self-serving upstart, but rather as an honest and loyal man unjustly discriminated against in an obsolete system of rigid social ranks. The overall mode of attempting to change readers’ beliefs through narrative strategies and conventions used in Mantel’s novel can be subsumed under a process that Ellen Peel has called ‘belief bridging’. In some ideologically informed works, well-known, commonly accepted facts or values that are shared by readers are used to establish a common ground that can then be expanded strategically, and gradually broadened in order to include new attitudes (see Peel 2002: 16-47, particularly 36-42). Historical novels, which by definition deal with historical persons and events that happened in the past, can profit from this process: Readers know (or are supposed to know) a few facts about the history of the period in question, and these facts can then be further enriched, elaborated, stretched, and twisted in a process of belief bridging that collapses only when readers detect details which they think are counterfactual or contradict one another. Mantel’s treatment of Cromwell’s outward appearance can serve as an exam‐ ple of the way in which the narrative proceeds from historical facts, which are then either questioned or re-evaluated. Readers might have seen Hans Holbein’s portrait of Cromwell (1532-33), in which he looks rather sinister, dressed in black, against a dark background. This dark image does not seem to be far off the mark, since it is difficult to find sources that describe Cromwell’s countenance as open, friendly, or in any way attractive. There are no overt favourable comments on his appearance in the novel either, and the traditional image seems to be confirmed when a character says that he looks like a murderer (see Wolf Hall: 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 210 Vera Nünning 20 Prieto-Arranz interprets this deletion of negative facts about Cromwell as a clue to Cromwell’s and the narrator’s unreliability (see 2022: 161f.). 199, 225). Thus, the novel establishes a common ground by affirming established opinions. Later it becomes clear, however, that this unflattering and critical view of Cromwell stems from someone who is discredited by his own actions: Mark Smeaton, who will later play a dishonourable part in the trial and execution of Anne Boleyn, apparently lying in order to be saved from torture. Cromwell is therefore criticised by someone with a bad reputation, someone who will spread lies, “a silly little boy who runs after George Boleyn” (Wolf Hall: 527) who does not really know Cromwell. Those who know Cromwell better, the women living in his house, voice a different opinion, saying that Holbein’s sinister portrait is unlike him, partly because he is not smiling in the painting (see Wolf Hall: 526). A second device geared at changing the traditional image of Cromwell consists of the deletion or at least toning down of his misdeeds. Again, there is no sudden and disturbing deviation from historical knowledge. Instead, there are quite a number of allusions to the protagonist’s misbehaviour and even cruelty. However, none of these objectionable deeds are presented vividly in a scenic description; they are not even spelt out. Rather, there are brief hints only, all of which concern the past, such as his wild behaviour as a youth. Cromwell admits, for instance, to have been an “unruly child” (Wolf Hall: 248), 20 but readers who have seen how he was mistreated by his father can hardly find fault with that. Moreover, his admission shows self-irony - “[p]irates would have given me back” (ibid.) - and it is difficult to match with the experiences of readers who have witnessed how kind he was to his sister, when he, in spite of his injuries, left the country in order to secure her well-being. The process of toning down and re-evaluating damning facts also pertains to the presentation of an alleged murder that Cromwell committed while he was in Italy. Even this killing is given a spin which reflects favourably on the protagonist. The topic is introduced in an oblique way after Cromwell instinctively ducks away from a movement which, in the shadows, appeared threatening. This brief moment of fear leads to remembrances, when Cromwell recalls that he “didn’t see his assassin, but he saw his shadow move” (Wolf Hall: 72), twenty years ago, in a dark street in Italy. What exactly happened remains vague. Moreover, the killing is justified in several ways. Cromwell’s reaction is shown to be instinctive, it is a response to a threat, and presented as a case of preventing a murder rather than committing one. Even more to the point, it is introduced as a scene in which Cromwell acts like a traumatised victim, instinctively moving away from a menace. This impression that it is 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 Where Literary Studies and Psychology Could and Should Meet 211 really Cromwell who has been wronged and who just barely managed to stay alive is heightened by the use of language: The “assassin”, the one who is guilty, is not Cromwell but the man who is killed, whom the cardinal later on refers to as “[t]his dirty fellow who attacked you” (Wolf Hall: 73). This story also highlights a constant feature of the depiction of Cromwell’s behaviour, which serves to shift the responsibility for his misdeeds on to others: He is presented as reacting to circumstances, and to the orders of his masters (the cardinal and later Henry VIII), whom he serves with unwavering loyalty. When he is at court, he is not presented as a powerful agent, as the only one who is able to manage parliament, but rather as someone receiving orders, an outsider who will have to do the dirty work. Thus, he remembers that it was Henry’s idea to plunder the monasteries and chisel “the sapphire eyes out of saints”, while Cromwell only wishes that Henry does not appear as the “poor man of Europe” (Wolf Hall: 533). The protagonist is shown to intend to prevent harm, while the king is portrayed as ruthless and greedy. This becomes more explicit when Cromwell reflects on the king’s future actions. His “guess is, the clergy own a third of England. One day soon, Henry will ask him how the Crown can own it instead” (ibid.). Cromwell’s role in the dissolution of the monasteries is not denied, but it is shown to be Henry’s responsibility. Though the fictional Cromwell may have influenced the King’s plans, his intentions are depicted as noble. The re-evaluation of the contrast between Thomas More and Thomas Crom‐ well, which has been noted by many scholars (see e.g. De Groot 2016: 24), is another means of revising the image of the protagonist. Hilary Mantel recognised the importance of this constellation of the characters right at the beginning: “when I began to explore the contest between Thomas Cromwell and Thomas More […] I realised I was writing the climax of a novel, not merely another chapter” (Mantel 2012: n.pag.). Though the good features of the hero are often highlighted by contrasting them with the negative characteristics of the villain, Mantel does so in a most unusual way, by keeping the contrast between the two well-known historical persons intact, but giving it a different valence. She puts More, who is commonly remembered as a conscientious, brave, ascetic scholar, into the position of the villain. On the one hand, the novel foregrounds the similarities between the two men, both of whom are well educated, highly capable, sincere, and called Thomas, with the pronouns “he/ him” often used in a way emphasising that the behaviour, words, or attitudes attributed to “him” could refer to either More or Cromwell. On the other hand, crucial contrasts are established right from the beginning, when Cromwell, as a mere kitchen 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 212 Vera Nünning 21 See Wolf Hall: 113f. Though this appears to be a neutral encounter, the contrast between the privileged young scholar and Cromwell is made clear. boy, first meets More, who is a (pampered) promising young scholar. 21 Other differences pertain to their private lives, where More is shown to be arrogant and cruel towards his wife, family, and his servants (see Wolf Hall: 229-33) by having a poor young servant boy whipped brutally twice merely because he was caught reading the Bible in English, while Cromwell’s affective ties to his wife, his family, and dependents are stressed throughout. In Wolf Hall, even Cromwell’s role in the execution of More is re-evaluated in a way that demonstrates the good qualities of the hero. In an interesting twist, it is More who is characterised as hypocritical, duplicitous, and aggressive, thus taking over the role that history books usually assign to Cromwell, while Cromwell appears to be humble, passive, and kind. Even the positive image that the renowned Erasmus of Rotterdam has of More is turned on his head. The contrast between Erasmus’ views and the fictional reality is highlighted by Cromwell’s musings after listening to a particularly aggressive outburst of insults by More: “‘Perhaps your faith is for purchase. You would serve the Sultan if the price was right.’ Erasmus says, did nature ever create anything kinder, sweeter or more harmonious than the character of Thomas More? ” (Wolf Hall: 352) The reader sees that Erasmus could not have been more wrong, while Cromwell reacts in a meek and humble way: “He is silent” (ibid.). While the narrative conventions discussed above can be found in any subgenre of the novel, historical fiction often employs additional means of achieving ‘perceived realism’ by stressing the truthfulness of the account. Wolf Hall is no exception to this rule. After the table of contents, there is a “Cast of Characters”, a feature usually found in plays. A brief glance at the list, however, shows that it consists entirely of the names of people that can be traced in historical records (see Fletcher 2017: 40). In addition, a genealogical table of the Tudors and the Yorkist claimants to the throne evokes the impression of historical authenticity - though it remains a mystery as to how far this table could in any way help to better understand the book. For readers not well versed in the Tudor period, it may be helpful to briefly characterise the status and roles of, for instance, Wolsey, Gardiner, or Smeaton, who are all introduced without any information about their profession or position; but the genealogical tables of the houses of Tudor and York do not provide any information essential for the plot. Perhaps even more telling, however, are the author’s note and the acknowl‐ edgements at the end of the book. Here, Mantel admits that she followed a 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 Where Literary Studies and Psychology Could and Should Meet 213 common practice in history books and adjusted the dates of the New Year, which at the time began on 25 March, to our contemporary date of 1 January. The highlighting of such a small tinkering with the sources demonstrates the conscientiousness of the novelist and enhances the impression that the story is true; it suggests that the author took great pains to attend to any and every minor detail which might detract from the factual accuracy of the book. In addition, Mantel affirms that a historian, Dr Robertson, to whom the novel is dedicated, approves of the image of Cromwell presented in her novel. Both primacy and recency effects therefore emphasise that readers have every right to expect a novel which truthfully depicts the years between 1527 and 1535. Moreover, Mantel stressed in interviews and lectures that thorough and serious research is a necessary part of the business of historical novelists. Facts and the complexity of history have to be honoured, she claims, declaring that she never “ever falsif[ied] a date or a place or any item of information” (Attar 2014: n.pag.): “My guarantee to the reader”, she affirms with regard to the story of Cromwell, is that “it could be true” (Wolf Hall: n.pag.). 6 Conclusion: New Trajectories of Research In Wolf Hall, there is a whole array of narrative techniques heightening the persuasiveness of the novel and turning readers’ image of Cromwell upside down; everything is geared towards evoking the impression that her story is realistic, and certainly better than the one propagated by historians such as Simon Schama or David Starkey. It does not come as a surprise, therefore, that despite the inaccuracies and the “liberties with history” which, according to Michael Hirst (qtd. in Bordo 2012: n.pag.), characterise Mantel’s fiction, the novel is praised by readers as providing an authentic portrait of the protagonist and his contemporaries: “everyone says ‘what insights it brings to the Tudors’” (Bordo 2012: n.pag.). Though Mantel’s masterly use of narrative conventions, and the hype ac‐ companying the publication of Wolf Hall are certainly exceptional, there are multitudes of novels providing an immersive reading experience for a broad audience. Such novels can change readers’ beliefs not only about the way the human mind works, but also about a broad range of facts concerning the real world. Historical fiction is special in that it can be a perfect means of teaching history. The persuasiveness of these novels works both ways, however, since they can also convince a large audience to adopt a seriously distorted image of the historical reality. Historian Simon Schama thinks that this happened to the readers of Mantel’s novel: “It grates a bit to accept that millions now think 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 214 Vera Nünning 22 However, Borman insists that it would be anachronistic to separate the private from the public Cromwell. But Mantel’s creation of a new image of Cromwell as a private man makes it possible to join the two sides of the King’s loyal servant. It is thus possible that Mantel’s novels will influence the historiographical understanding of Cromwell. of Thomas Cromwell as a much-maligned, misunderstood pragmatist from the school of hard knocks who got precious little thanks for doing Henry VIII’s dirty work” (2015: n.pag.). Apparently, Hilary Mantel was aware of the persuasive potential of literary fiction: “Mantel knows, too, as she told me, that ‘fiction is commonly more persuasive than history texts’” (Bordo 2012: n.pag.). At least in one sense, Mantel turned out to be right. Not only were numerous readers persuaded by her narrative of the life of Cromwell, the novels also induced a number of historians to thoroughly analyse the records about Cromwell’s life once again, and publish biographies of him. However, it cannot be decided as yet whether these biographies will change the historiographical image of Cromwell. As the historian David Loades, one of the biographers in favour of Mantel’s works, remarks, Mantel’s novels Wolf Hall and Bring up the Bodies “are essentially concerned with his private life, about which the authentic record is usually and infuriatingly silent” (2013: 288). In her biography of Cromwell inspired by Mantel’s novels, the renowned historian Tracy Borman takes a different view. She pieced together details “found in the many letters, notes and accounts that were seized upon his arrest”, which add up to “a fascinating and very personal portrayal” of the King’s servant (2014: 1). According to Borman, Mantel’s depiction of the private Cromwell as a sympathetic hero is correct, and she seems to think it is very persuasive, too: “It is a portrayal that, though fictional, is based on meticulous historical research and is all the more compelling as a result“ (ibid.: 391). 22 Thus, although the jury is still out on the subject, the recognition of the persuasiveness of fictional stories opens up new directions of research. Two fields of research concern narrative conventions and categories of analysis. First, on a more abstract level we need more research into the literary conventions that heighten the persuasiveness of stories, and more research on the broad range of narrative strategies that engage readers’ emotions and tend to bypass their critical understanding. What has been suggested here provides a basis, but it is anything but extensive or encompassing. We need a deeper knowledge of the strategies that can persuade readers, and on the seemingly infinite combinations of such techniques. Secondly, we need interpretations of the persuasive potential of a broad range of literary works. This is necessary in order to explore how narrative conventions are combined, and how they impact one another. It is also necessary 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 Where Literary Studies and Psychology Could and Should Meet 215 in order to add to and refine the categories that have been established so far. In addition, it is desirable to analyse whether some genres tend to employ specific narrative strategies while ignoring others. Moreover, we need research into the historical and cultural variability of narrative conventions prompting immersive reading, fostering ‘perceived realism’, and engaging readers’ emotions. Another trajectory of research concerns the communication of knowledge about the persuasiveness of fiction to a broader audience. Given the persuasive function that literary fictions can fulfil, the ability to assess the degree of persua‐ siveness of narratives and to identify the beliefs and attitudes disseminated by fictions is of cultural importance. In a world replete with stories, it is crucial to be aware of narratives’ possible impact in order to deal with them in a responsible way. Parents, students, and teachers should be able to assess and cope with the fictional stories that they read, recommend, or teach. Such knowledge would, for instance, help facilitate the debates in parent-teacher meetings in the U.S., where one finds failures of understanding with regard to books that should be discussed in class. For literary scholars, the first step in that direction consists of the identifica‐ tion of novels that are likely to be particularly persuasive. This includes popular novels that are often neglected in literary studies. It is essential to establish the exact beliefs that are embedded in such works, to analyse whether they are likely to foster proor anti-social attitudes and beliefs, and to explore whether they disseminate facts or fake facts. I hasten to add that this research agenda does not aim at excluding or disregarding texts that convey incorrect beliefs or anti-social attitudes. On the contrary, it is at least as important to identify and analyse those potentially harmful works that can broaden the gaps and increase the hatred between different social groups, in order to become aware of the possible impact that they have. Moreover, we should differentiate between the potential factual and ethical impact of fictions. The portrait of Cromwell in Wolf Hall is very probably factually inaccurate, and, read in school, one should point out the ways in which it is likely to deviate from the ruthless behaviour of the historical Cromwell. Nonetheless, Mantel’s book is, read as a novel, likely to foster pro-social attitudes such as kindness to human beings as well as animals, supportive behaviour even towards people who are unkind and inefficient, loyalty towards one’s friends, and the belief that girls can be just as intelligent and should study the same subjects as boys. On the basis of such knowledge about the potential impact of literary fictions one can responsibly decide which books one wants to recommend to one’s friends or children, or what should be mentioned in discussions in class. 10.24053/ REAL-2024-0009 216 Vera Nünning Obviously, the consequence cannot be to ‘ban’ a marvellous novel like Mantel’s Wolf Hall from the classroom because it disseminates a factually incorrect image of Cromwell. But teaching such a novel should be based on an analysis of the persuasiveness of the novel and a discussion of the ways in which they can prompt readers to change their minds - for better or for worse. Since most people believe that they are immune to the persuasive potential of fiction, it would be advantageous to raise an awareness of the persuasiveness of fictional stories and of the consequences of an immersive reading experience. This insight may entail the cognitive effort to scrutinise and reflect on what one has read, but it could also heighten a critical competence that, in times of fake news and conspiracy theories, is in high demand. In addition, research into the persuasiveness of fiction can back up claims concerning the use of novels at school and in university. Though usually held to be harmless in Western societies, fictions can and do change some readers’ minds. As Dan Johnson and his colleagues confirm, the results of their experiments “suggest a broader implementation of novels in history, social studies, and other areas in which other cultures are explored” ( Johnson et al. 2013: 594). In a similar vein, David Lewis and colleagues claim that novels such as Monica Ali’s Brick Lane can serve as a “Source of Authoritative Knowledge” (Lewis et al. 2008: 198-216), since they can convey a better understanding of the facts of the lives of immigrants in London than sociological books and articles. Though in Germany, the reading of literary stories is decreasing even in classes teaching English, there are in fact good reasons for reading novels for better understanding big social topics such as migration experiences, racism, sexism, or homophobia. 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