Around the end of the nineteenth century, Western literature began to turn away from attempts at describing an objective, universal truth through stories. Arguably, the French Realists were the epitome of these attempts, including such celebrated writers as Honoré de Balzac, Gustave Flaubert, and Émile Zola. These writers attempted to describe a common, true reality for all or most people. As literary critic Erich Auerbach put it, “[These authors] told us out of their certain knowledge what their characters did, what they felt and thought while doing it, and how their actions and thoughts were to be interpreted. They knew everything about their characters.”
With the twentieth century came a turn inward. The leading theory became that the most truthful stories we can tell are built on the subjective impressions of the characters within the story. We ourselves, in our own lives, cannot truly say anything about what we know beyond our sense impressions and our memories. Early twentieth-century writers such as James Joyce, Marcel Proust, and Virginia Woolf wrote modernist novels following this philosophy. Relatedly, there came novels involving unreliable narrators. Here, the truth of the narrative is in question because the character telling the story—themselves involved in the events—has something to hide, or a naturally imperfect memory.
Emily Adrian’s Seduction Theory is stated from the very beginning to be a subjective account by a suspicious narrator. The novel is stylized as a final thesis submitted to a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing, written by a “Roberta Green.” This thesis begins by following Ethan, a writing professor and author, and his associate, a departmental administrative assistant named Abigail. The two vigorously flirt at a party. Halfway through Chapter One, the narrator mentions themselves in the first person “I”, lurking somewhere in the party near Ethan and Abigail. This is Roberta, a student of the local writing program. With one more character not present at the party—Simone, an accomplished scholar, memoirist, professor, and Ethan’s wife—we have the core cast of Seduction Theory. What follows is a series of trysts, physical and emotional. Then, ultimately, a revenge plot which results in questionable success.
It may be said that there is really only one character in Seduction Theory: Roberta Green, writing the narrative thesis that makes up the entirety of the text. Although she writes about real people in her life (Ethan, Abigail, and Simone), her narrative unreliability is so plain and biased that by even the quarter point of the novel, the reader must question what is real and what is not. These early warning signs come in the form of Roberta’s declarative certainties about Ethan, including speaking for things “Ethan didn’t know he thought.” This is common practice in fiction, for the author to know more about their characters than the characters know of themselves, and to make statements for them—see again the French Realists. However, when writing about real people you know, as in Roberta Green’s case, it becomes an immature lashing out. Ethan is depicted as a massive loser, even within the privacy of his own thoughts, while his wife Simone is a relative goddess. It is not a terrific surprise when we learn that Roberta has feelings for Simone.
Roberta becomes an exemplar of the unreliable narrator as Ethan and Abigail’s physical affair develops, and Simone and Roberta begin to toy with one. Roberta, emotionally compromised by her proximity to the lives of the “characters,” flails about and finds contradictory insults and compliments for everyone involved. After being lacerated for half the novel, Ethan starts getting described in admirable terms, and not in celebration for any particularly heroic change in behavior. Simone, who is largely praised on every front, is suddenly declared as “nothing without Ethan”—an apparently preposterous sentiment considering all the acclaim of before. Abigail’s depiction remains the most consistent throughout the novel, largely unflattering.
The novel’s indecision about its characters can come across as frustrating and unpleasant, but the context must be borne in mind: this is literally a debut piece by a young person, Roberta, writing about personal, emotionally-charged events that just happened to them. It is a hit piece against Ethan and Simone, fueled by the narrator’s resentment. It is no secret that Roberta’s account is unreliable and adjusted to her purposes. Besides stating with certainty the most private thoughts of a person she barely knows (Ethan), the narrative actually stops at several points for Roberta to completely rewrite scenes, to portray herself in a better light. The delight of seduction, which Roberta projects onto Simone, is perhaps entirely her own feelings—later on, Roberta boasts about “easily” seducing a fellow graduate student.
Seduction Theory wrestles with the questions of objectivity and subjectivity brought up at the beginning of this article. Can any writer make objective, “true” statements about their characters? Or is all writing only projection, the placement of personal worldview and emotions onto the actions of others? Seduction Theory tends heavily into the latter style, channeled through the tumultuous feelings of a young, debut writer. Whether or not it is possible to describe the personalities of other people with truth and certainty, one who is inexperienced and has a bone to pick definitely cannot.
FICTION
By Emily Adrian
Little, Brown and Company
Published August 12, 2025
