Very Big Fish

What the use of stories that aren't true? A question repeatedly asked of me by my aunt, who, upon hearing  I had decided to declare my major English Lit, immediately went straight to the liquor cabinet and poured herself 3 shots of tequila. I suppose this is a decently respectable question, but the answer to this lies all around us. What is the point of movies about fantastical realms, unable to exist in the real world, but actualized through the light and magic of modern day cinema? What is the use of allegorical tales about hobbits and wizards, set in a middle earth created solely from imagination, yet utterly believable? We are surrounded by webs of fiction, spun by authors of inspiring genius as well as writers of published clumsiness. The use of these stories stems from the truth found within them, no matter how unbelievably fantastic the tale might appear.
Upon immersing myself in Haroun and the Sea of Stories, what immediately struck me was the connecting threads between Rushdie's book and the 2003 Tim Burton film, Big Fish. Burton's movie tells the story of a father and son, separated by the father's love of storytelling. The son's frustration with his father stems from his attempts to learn anything about his father's childhood. When prodded for information, his father responds to his son's questions about his past with fantastical tales the son refuses to believe. At the heart of the movie lies the same question voiced in the opening paragraph of this blog; what's the use of these stories that aren't true? The son grapples with this question throughout the film, wondering how he can truly understand his father if everything the man tells him is merely a story. The film concludes with the father dying, and at his funeral, all the bizarre characters from the stories he told his son make an appearance. Ultimately, the son realizes that his father's tales, while exaggerated, were grounded in reality and thus offer insight into his life. The deepest reality of our lives may not, in fact, be our true selves. Instead, we are the stories we choose to embody, and it is through our stories that we may effectively live forever. Through our stories, we may all become very big fish, swimming in the ocean of notions.