Symbols and Image Systems: The Secret Architecture of Storytelling

Symbols aren’t decoration—they’re paths inward

John Gardner famously declared that fiction’s primary role is to create "a vivid and continuous dream" for the reader. On the surface, this seems pretty straightforward—just craft immersive settings, believable characters, and tight plots, right? But the deepest dreams, whether we’re asleep or absorbed in great fiction, aren’t built on logic at all. Dreams operate in a strange, pre-rational language of symbols and impulses—a hidden syntax that storytelling naturally shares.

What Exactly are Symbols in Fiction?

A Symbol is simply an image or object in the story that holds emotional meaning beyond its literal presence. For instance, a wedding ring symbolizes commitment, but that’s just the start. If the ring recurs across the narrative in various contexts—lost, pawned, replaced, thrown away—that’s when a symbol evolves into an Image System: a repeated, emotionally resonant pattern of images that amplifies the story’s theme and emotional stakes.

Why does fiction rely so heavily on symbols and Image Systems? Consider dreams themselves—they encode our deepest wounds, desires, and fears into symbols and archetypes. Fiction does the same. Every meaningful story arc culminates in one of two ways: rupture (a profound emotional or moral break—think Gatsby’s shattered illusions in The Great Gatsby) or exposure (a deep reckoning or revelation of character—like Elizabeth Bennet confronting her prejudice in Austen’s classic). These narrative ends demand forms capable of holding contradiction without fracturing under complexity. Symbols and Image Systems, operating through emotional resonance rather than logic, are uniquely capable of holding this narrative complexity together without collapsing into surrealist nonsense.

Symbols usually start unconsciously. Early drafts naturally contain random yet resonant details—a cracked ceiling, a recurring bird at the window, rain pooling ominously. These images appear casually, often without obvious meaning, but readers intuitively sense their importance. The seasoned writer doesn't leave symbols raw. In revision, these scattered symbols get consciously developed into purposeful Image Systems.

Think of symbols like single musical notes: interesting but limited. Image Systems, by contrast, transform single notes into complex melodies through repetition, variation, and emotional resonance. Symbols feel momentary while Image Systems are symphonic. Take the motif of doors in Disney’s Frozen: initially, doors symbolize isolation and barriers. But through repetition—Anna knocking repeatedly at Elsa’s door—the door-image becomes emotionally charged, evolving to represent potential, choice, and connection.

What is an Image System?

Now, let’s ground this idea even more practically. Robert McKee defines Image Systems clearly: they're recurring categories of imagery (visual, auditory, conceptual) strategically repeated and varied across the narrative. While scenes and sequels (your horizontal storytelling units: Goal → Obstacle → Escalation and Emotion → Review → Anticipation → Decision) move your plot forward, Image Systems operate vertically—they give depth and emotional resonance to your theme without ever stating it explicitly.

Consider Toni Morrison’s Beloved. On the horizontal dimension (what literally happens), it’s a ghost story about a family haunted by slavery's traumatic past. But vertically, the house at 124 Bluestone Road isn’t just a setting—it's saturated with historical trauma, grief, and unresolved guilt. Morrison doesn't explain the house's symbolic meaning; readers encounter it, experience it. Contrary to your eleventh-grade English teacher’s insistence, symbols and Image Systems aren’t puzzles you solve: they’re truths you feel.

Aren’t Symbols and Image Systems the Same Thing as Theme?

Some writers confuse symbols and Image Systems with theme. A quick clarification: Theme, as Shawn Coyne explains, is the moral argument or “controlling idea” of your story. Symbols and Image Systems express themes implicitly—they embody your moral arguments through imagery, repetition, and emotional resonance, not through sermons or explanations. Consider fire in Jane Eyre: flames recur—comforting hearth, destructive blaze, symbolic passion—implicitly illustrating Brontë’s thematic argument about passion’s dual nature.

Here’s another critical point: James Wood argues fiction thrives on "strangeness," an inherent density and ambiguity that feels more lifelike. Symbols and Image Systems generate precisely this "strangeness." Haruki Murakami’s novels illustrate this strangeness brilliantly. Ordinary objects—wells, cats, jazz records—repeat and subtly vary, accruing dreamlike emotional significance that feels simultaneously familiar and unsettling. This emotional complexity is exactly why readers remain entranced even without rational explanations.

Can Image Systems be Consciously Engineered?

Let’s address a skeptical point directly: Can Image Systems really be consciously engineered? The answer: partly. Symbols emerge organically, but Image Systems require deliberate craftwork during revision. George R.R. Martin’s repeated motifs of winter and cold in A Game of Thrones probably began unconsciously. But through revision, they became deliberate Image Systems embodying thematic ideas of isolation, danger, and moral reckoning. Practical tip: during revision, list recurring images and systematically deepen their emotional contexts and associations to form a coherent, evolving Image System.

Now, a note on tone consistency: yes, symbols can feel abstract, but they must remain accessible. Symbolism isn’t some lofty academic exercise. It’s storytelling at its most primal level. Just as blocking grounds your scenes in physical reality, Image Systems ground your abstract themes in tangible emotion and sensory detail.

Could symbols ever hurt storytelling? Actually, yes—if overdone or artificially inserted. Avoid Static Image Systems—symbols repeated without evolution or deeper emotional context. These feel forced, artificial, and ultimately meaningless. Image Systems must evolve naturally with your characters’ arcs and thematic shifts.

Here’s your toolkit to identify and refine symbols into Image Systems:

• First draft: Notice what imagery naturally repeats.

• Revision: List repeated symbols, then consciously vary and evolve emotional contexts.

• Testing: Temporarily remove symbols. Does the scene lose emotional resonance? If yes, your Image System is working.

If the craft of fiction is truly form, not formula, Image Systems offer the perfect balance—structured enough to provide narrative cohesion yet flexible enough to foster emotional complexity and character freedom. They guide your reader deeper without dictating their response.

Ultimately, Image Systems aren’t decoration—they’re paths inward. They resonate subconsciously, long after the final page. Fiction’s true power isn’t what it explains, but what it leaves unsaid, deeply felt beneath the surface.

Done well, symbols and Image Systems make your fiction precisely what Gardner envisioned—a vivid, continuous dream. And like the best dreams, their deepest meanings are felt long before they're fully understood.