Narrative prosthesis

As someone who has a chronic illness that technically qualifies me (by law) as disabled, I think a lot about how much I dislike fighting language – I’m not a fighter or a warrior, bravely battling this disease. If anything, I’m an ally. We have to live together, so we need to get along. Really get intimate with each other. We’re entwined.

Fighting language and narratives of courage have always annoyed me greatly. There’s nothing inspirational about my lived experiences.

I recently discovered the concept of narrative prosthesis, and it’s on my little writerly mind for some weeks now.

Narrative prosthesis is a term originally developed by David T.
Mitchell and Sharon L. Snyder, where the disabled body is often inserted into
literary, or in this case, visual narratives as a metaphorical opportunity. The
disabled body or character is used as a type of crutch or supporting device that
allows the narrative to take a turn or a new direction, but often the relationship
between the story itself and the disabled body is one based on exploitation. “

Amanda Cachia

In other words, it’s when disability is used as a storytelling device to develop characters or a narrative. Think “inspiration porn,” although that’s a bit reductive. This is something that has come out of the Disability Studies field and takes a critical look at how disability is represented, literally and metaphorically, in various artforms.

A disability of some sort is described and spotlighted in some way in the story as a deviant feature or something that must be overcome – then, ultimately, is overcome, to restore a sense of normalcy or health. It then actually re-marginalizes people with disabilities, because without the “happy ending” – the overcoming of the disability or deviance – the narrative has now become a tragedy.

I’m not a tragedy or failed narrative arc. I’m not a sad ending or morality tale. I can’t overcome my particular disability, so we’ve developed a relationship. Like all relationships, it has its ups and downs, and I’m in this one for life. It’s not an external enemy, but something that’s woven into who I am.

I’m not a battlefield – I’m a tapestry.

Here’s an interesting article on how narrative prosthesis is used, and how it has evolved, in the Marvel universe, for some pop culture context.

This is something I’m still chewing on. There are a lot of flavors here I haven’t quite discerned yet, but it’s an important framework to explore and important for those of us who create to think about if and how this plays out in our own narratives.

In mine, a disabling condition is not overcome – it’s embraced. The character recognizes that it’s part of who she is and something she has to learn to get along with. She finally understands that she’s not something that needs to be cured.

I think I was unconsciously bucking narrative prosthesis without knowing what it was, simply by virtue of my own frustration with stories and media and generally how disabled people are talked about (aforementioned “inspiration porn” and warrior narratives being my biggest pet peeves.)

I’m glad I have a name for it now. Being able to name a thing is a big step in being able to understand it.