I don't remember where I first heard the term, but I had encountered an entire conversation on one of my social media channels about the death of the author. It turns out that it's a term that refers back to an essay from 1967. In that essay, entitled The Death of the Author, Roland Barthes postulated the idea that at some point (after publication), a story takes on a life of its own, separate from the writer's intentions.
The idea makes sense when you think about it, because readers will add their own context and meaning to things based on their personal experiences. However, the essay has been debated for many long years about how much an author's intent should be incorporated into literary discussions about the meanings behind a written work.
In today's post, I want to take a look at this death-of-the-author idea, pointing out how I'm watching my own death unfold before my eyes… and my novel is still a newly-published work.
Readers bring their own experiences
To say that a reader will leave their own experiences behind in favor of what is on the page is delusional at best. No matter how well crafted a story is—how much a reader is whisked away into some fictional world—a reader will also bring some level of bias that will be dictated by their personal experiences. There's no avoiding it. As such, a reader will always layer some meaning onto the story that the writer might not have intended.
Let's take the beloved children's Christmas story How the Grinch Stole Christmas as an example. I think we can all agree that the underlining moral of that story is said best in the following line:
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store."
But there are other lines and ideas that carry an additional meaning that some people might not have even noticed was there.
In the section where the Grinch is stuffing the tree up the chimney, he is stopped by a "tiny who daughter" (named Cindy-Lou Who). She questions him as to why he would take their Christmas tree. And the Grinch quickly fibs about the dead lightbulb. He then gives her a cup of water and sends her back to bed.
The message here is that small children are gullible and will believe any lie that you tell them. I don't think the author intended that message to be there, but it's there.
And think about many of the older Disney animated films. There are often jokes in there that you need to be an adult to understand, bringing your life experience with you. (My early-20s daughter has been enjoying watching all of her childhood favorites on Disney Plus, and I often hear a gasp followed by a snort, as the meaning of a certain line (a joke) suddenly registers in her adult brain. "How did I not know that was there?" To which I always smile, knowingly.)
But there is a question as to how long it takes before the death-of-the-author effect happens, when readers (or viewers for film) will add an interpretation that the author had never intended.
Shakespeare: How do we know?
This idea of author intent vs our own interpretation is something I think all of us has faced at least once, and it often comes in the form of Shakespeare.
Whenever I heard the teachers say, "Shakespeare meant this," or "Shakespeare was referring to…," my brain instantly wanted to challenge it. "How do you know? Were you there?"
I'm sure some of you could imagine some of the variations that I said regarding that, and they never went down well. Certain teachers didn't like being called "Old." But it doesn't negate the validity of the question.
I've even had this conversation with a writing buddy who teaches high school English. Her answer: "We know." And when I pushed for a more elaborate answer: "There are things within his writing that suggests…"
Ah… the magic word: Suggests!
Because the truth is we don't know exactly what Shakespeare meant or what he was referring to exactly. We are inferring based on contextual clues and our knowledge of the period in which he lived.
But even our understanding of the contextual clues are shaded by our personal experiences and biases. Language evolves and the meaning of words change. So, what scholars think he meant by certain lines may not be what he actually meant.
Unless there is some diary out there in which Shakespeare wrote, "This line in this play means this," we can't be 100% certain what meanings he intended for anything he wrote. We can be reasonably certain, but that 100% level will never happen.
And the reason it will never happen is because he's DEAD!
Authors still living?
What about the author who isn't dead? We can go to the source and ask exactly what meanings they had intended for their works (assuming they can remember themselves). But even then, readers will layer their own interpretation regardless of what the author had intended.
I'm witnessing the death-of-the-author phenomenon with my own novel Dancing in the Purple Rain, and it only came out in August 2025.
I'm reading all of the reviews, fascinated by the parallels that readers are placing on my novel to the current geopolitical landscape. In more than one review, there is something about my novel being a social commentary about corporate corruption and how the health system is going to shit.
But here's the reality. While that commentary is there (because I can see it now that it has been pointed out to me), it's not something that I deliberately put there… at least not for reasons that people think.
When I wrote the story, I was struggling to come up with the lie that my character was being told for why she needed to take this medication that she was on. I couldn't figure out the mechanisms that created her in the first place. And I was struggling with that piece of the puzzle for 2 full years.
Then COVID hit.
In late 2020, they started rolling out the first lot of COVID vaccines. And in early 2021, it was announced that the type of COVID vaccine that would be made available in New Zealand (my home country) was one that was based on mRNA technologies. The rumors started to spread about how these vaccines were "rewriting our DNA" (which is not entirely accurate). And my writer brain had suddenly been unlocked.
The writer brain did what it does best: it asked that famous "What if…?" question.
What if these vaccines really were rewriting our DNA? And what if some "shady" geneticist wanted to force the next evolution of man? What side effects would happen if we started making changes to the human genome? And how would these "dodgy" vaccines influence the generations to come?
Those questions sent me down massive rabbit holes, one after another, researching health science, pharmacology, genetics, and genealogy. Eventually, I found myself looking at climate change, advanced telecommunications, and all the things that would happen if you thrust a story into the future by hundreds of years.
That whole thread about the health system going to shit had nothing to do with what is happening today in other countries. In fact, I'm unable to comment about the health system in other countries. I will grant you that the health system in New Zealand is not the best, with public health waiting lists a mile long for certain services, but it's not "going to shit." It could be better… but it's not going to shit.
My point here is that readers are adding a layer of meaning to my story that I had never intended. I'm not saying that it's a bad thing, but I recognize that my story has taken a life of its own.
And because readers are adding these layers, I'm able to shift my marketing messaging on the fly to lean into those added layers. (Something that dear Shakespeare could never do, right?)
For that story, I'm already dead
As I am writing this blog post (regardless of when the post is made public) we are only 10 weeks post-launch, and already I'm dead when it comes to that novel. My intentions are irrelevant now, because people will see what they want to see.
It is fascinating to me to watch all of this unfold. And the part that gives me the most pleasure out of this is to know that my novel has left this impression on the readers such that they feel the need to layer it with meaning that reflects the current world.
I have no idea if I'll be able to replicate that magic, but bloody hell, I'm going to try!
Dancing in the Purple Rain
In a poisoned world, Michaella, a genetically engineered telepath, uncovers a web of lies and implanted memories when her closest friend is killed. Michaella must now rely only on her personal AI and a 200-year-old playing card as she attempts to maintain her grip on reality to save herself and future generations from becoming emotionless automatons.
The rain starts August 1st, 2025.
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