Creative Writing

Masks and Storytelling

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 Audiences love masks. More
specifically, we love the slipping of
the mask. Our love for the mask may
explain the wide appeal of celebrity
gossip:
I don’t care what celebrities eat for
breakfast or what they buy at Whole
Foods, but I like it when they lose their minds: the Britney Spears breakdown,
Lindsay Lohan’s downward spiral, Paris Hilton going to jail, etc. I’m sure part of
it is just base, ugly schadenfreude on my part, but there’s something else too.
Their public images are so carefully micromanaged and manipulated and
wrapped in Teflon, and there’s something exhilarating about seeing the mask
slip once they stop caring.

Suzanne Riveca at The Short Form

There is an ever more acute difference — and an intolerableness — between
my inner self, which I know is the real me, and various faces of the outside
world.

from Patricia Highsmith’s diaries (writer of Carol)

No life, no matter how successful and exciting it might be, will make you happy
if it is not really your life. And no life will make you miserable if it is genuinely
your own.

Carol S. Pearson, Awakening the Heroes Within: Twelve Archetypes to Help Us

Find Ourselves and Transform Our World

When creating characters for fiction, storytellers sometimes draw a distinction

between what Michael Hauge refers to as ‘identity’ (masks) and ‘essence’.

 Identity refers to the faces people present to the world, also known as
masks.
 Essence is the (one) true self.

This distinction is more clear in some non-Western cultures, for example in

Japan. Japanese culture draws a clear distinction between ‘omote’ and
‘ura’ (public face and private face). The words literally mean ‘front’ and
‘behind’.
We may not have widely understood words to describe this in English, but the
distinction is clear in our history of storytelling. The underlying message of
most stories is the same no matter the genre: It’s only when a mask (false
identity) comes off that true happiness can be found.

(Interestingly, this is not how Japanese culture sees it. In Japan, the ‘omote’
face is a necessary ‘mask’ for a harmonious society.)

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he
will tell you the truth.

Oscar Wilde

Lie to yourself about this and you will

forever lie about everything.
Frank Bidart, “Queer”
A Brief History of Masks
Like the veil, another aspect of costume worn in front of the face, the mask has
a dualistic nature, and can indicate:

1. The sacred
2. The profane
3. And both at the same time. This can be seen in a stock character such as
the Harlequin, whose mask (alongside the diamond-patterned clothing)
is an indispensable part of the costume.
4. Some think the word ‘mask’ comes from Arabic maskharat, which means
clown.
5. Go back into antiquity and humans across cultures have used masks as a
way to transform themselves, often as a way to try and become closer to
the gods. (Maybe coming closer to the gods helps us come to terms with
death?)

The Victorian fascination with death extended to the production of a range of

Memento Mori, objects designed to remind the owner of the death of a loved
one and indeed, their own eventual demise. These took several forms: locks of
hair cut from the dead were arranged and worn in lockets, death masks were
created and the images and symbols of death cropped up in all sorts of
everyday paintings and sculptures. Photographs of dead relatives became an
increasingly popular feature of family albums, often in a lifelike pose with a
rosy colouring and even open eyes painted over eyelids.

Victorians and the Art of Dying

Faces are ‘masked’ in various ways:

1. Sooted cheeks (Ancient Rome)

2. Red noses (devils from the Middle Ages)
3. Actual masks (in the Italian commedia dell’arte, see Harlequin)
4. Bismuth and rouge (in the English version of commedia dell’arte)
5. Flour (in old French farces)

6. Make up (at Shrovetide, a festival/carnival before Lent)

It’s hard to find a culture where there wasn’t some kind of mask wearing.
Reasons for wearing masks vary:

1. To embody spirit helpers

2. As a haven for dead ancestors and animal spirits
3. As a place for demons/gods
4. In dance and mime, to exorcise evil spirits and other bad things
5. To catch the soul of a living being (including plants), and then send it
back to the spirit world, generally so that humans can keep benefitting
from it
6. To hide one’s identity (clowns)

Masks and dance go hand in hand, probably because as Lommel said in 1991,
‘ceremonies demand ever-new creative impulses’.

It is a thousand pities never to say what one feels.

Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway

Modern Storytelling Genre And Masks

The ‘mask’ of modern storytelling no longer looks like an actual

mask/rouge/red nose. The mask comes in many forms, and I mean it here to
refer to any kind of deception or inauthenticity.

The Love Genre

This omote/ura distinction is important in the love genre. The audience is

clued in about who is right for each other because even if the romantic pair
start off fighting (fight fight, kiss kiss trope), they eventually get to know the
other’s essence. All other romantic rivals never get past the ‘identity’ stage of
knowing.

Comedies

The transgression comedy is all about masks. A character tries to get away with
something by posing as somebody else. The audience is in superior position,
waiting with glee for the mask to come off. When it does, this big scene is full
of comedy. We’ve been anticipating it, so it’s especially satisfying.

Tootsie is the tentpole example of a transgression comedy. A man dresses as a

woman because he’s ruined his reputation in Hollywood and needs work. (If he
dresses as a woman he assumes a whole new identity.)
Thrillers

The transgression thriller — surprisingly, perhaps — has the same structure as

a transgression comedy. It’s just the entire tone and plot details that are
different.

By the way, the structure looks like this, courtesy of The Narrative Breakdown
podcast:

Discontent – someone is unhappy about something

Transgression with a mask – peculiar to comedy and thrillers

Transgression without a mask – midpoint disaster when the mask is ripped off

Dealing with consequences

Spiritual Crisis – happens in almost every story

Growth Without a Mask

Another name for the transgression thriller is ‘the wrong man thriller’.
Hitchcock was a big fan. He would set up a falsely accused innocent. Over the
course of the story, the truth is revealed.

Horror Stories

It is said that horror stories exist to define what is normal by showing us what

isn’t. There’s a long tradition of horror monsters who act because ‘the devil
made them do it’. Equally lazy but more modern: The horror monster is
‘psychotic’.

The horror genre is beginning to move more solidly into a phase where the
audience discovers the ‘true identity’ of the monster and finds that in fact we
are looking at the darkest parts of ourselves. This is widely known as The
Shadow In The Hero. (see: Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheous by Mary
Shelley.)
Types Of Masks In Storytelling

“…masks depend on people for care, and the people depend upon the masks
to acquire certain states of control over their environment which are normally
beyond human means of achievement … Power is an important concept here.”

If mistreated, the masks have vengeful powers, which act as important

sanctions.

Harold Blau,

Actual Masks

Masks are used in all cultures around the world, especially in rituals and
ceremonies. Masks play an important social function.

The masks used in ancient Greek theatre are based on the culture of the
ancient Dionysian cult. Thespis was the first writer to use a mask in stage
writing. Members of the chorus wore masks to distinguish them from the main
actors. There was a good logistical reason for this: The same actors were able
to play a variety of roles in the same play. Also, the actors were men. Masks
allowed them to play women, starting a tradition which is still utilised today to
varying degrees of success.

Another logistical reason for stage masks: A bland-featured mask utilised over
and over again distracts from the individual character and forces the audience
to focus on that character’s actions.

Posing As Someone You’re Not

These characters are based on the ancient trickster archetype.

BEHAVIOURS INCLUDE:

 Dressing in disguise to get away with a crime

 Acting as someone with a different personality
Are Western Storytellers Correct?

In the book The People You Are, Rita Carter presents quite a different thesis of
human behaviour.

Carter’s main argument is that there is no ‘one true self’. She argues that
humans have the ability to change according to circumstance, and that we are
rewarded for doing so. We are one way with our colleagues, another way with
our families, and neither one of these ‘people’ takes precedence over the
other.

The dominant idea in modern storytelling contrasts with this psychological

view. No matter the genre, we are told time and again that that there is ’one
true self’. This version of the self must make its way to the surface and be
somehow ‘exposed’ before happiness can be found.

Since culture prioritises the view of the personality as a ‘singlet’ (hence the
popularity of astrology, as explained in Carter’s book), readers generally have
little time for a fictional character who does one thing in one context, then
seems to be completely different in another. Multiple selves in a single
character may be one of those things which doesn’t work too well in fiction
even if it would reflect real life. Certainly, if not written well, the reader may
blame the author for failing to create an authentic and consistent personality,
even though none of us is one hundred percent consistent in real life.

I believe moving past this idea of ‘one true self’, which includes all stories in
which someone ‘finds’ their ‘true self’ needs a bit more pushback. It might be
closely related to moving past the gender binary, and has particular impact on
those who live in a more gender expansive manner, which is hopefully all of us.

“In storytelling, masks typically have the dual nature of indicating ‘the
sacred’ and ‘the profane.'”

“Initially believed to be a way of getting closer to the gods through

performance, masks in storytelling have adapted to many genres while
typically referring to any kind of deception or inauthenticity.”
– Karen Ramudit
Masks as Storytelling
The use of masks have been used as a trope in storytelling for centuries.
Micheal Hauge calls the ‘identity’ a mask that “refers to the faces people
present to the world” and that their true ‘essence’ or “true self” is hidden
underneath (Lynley 2018). In Japanese culture there is a distinction between
the ‘omote’ and ‘ura’ or private and public faces. These words literally
translate to ‘front’ and ‘behind’ (Lynley 2018). The underlying message in
many of these stories is that nothing is resolved and true happiness is achieved
when the mask comes off. This connects to the use of literal masks as a means
of storytelling in various forms of media. Throughout various cultures the use
of the literal mask has been to obscure the face for many reasons ranging from
the Victorian masks representing death and were designed to remind people
of their loved ones, Italian masks were worn for entertainment, and English
masks were also worn for performance purposes. Masks today also exist in
many forms and all have the common trait of deception when they are used
for their specific purposes.

In many cases the person who wears the mask is considered to be associated
with the mask’s spirit force and exposed to “personal danger of being
affected” by the mask’s power (Wingert 2020). For the sake of “protection”
the wearer follows certain procedures in using the mask and in many cases the
wearer plays the part of an actor in “cooperation or collaboration” with the
mask (Wingert 2020). The real importance of the mask is its ability to conceal
the wearers identity and its ability to give the wearer a new one. Typically,
after wearing the mask the wearer assumes the spirit character depicted by
the mask. The wearer becomes the “partner” of the character he is
impersonating and brings the masks to life as they psychologically become one
and the character comes to life (Wingert 2020). Often the wearer becomes
subservient of the persona of the masks itself. This association between the
mask and the wearer is made more evident by the spectators as many initially
understand the mask’s identity before that of its wearer. The importance of
the masks lies in its ability to be understood by everyone and its integral role is
to give a sense of continuity “between the present and beginning of time”
which is a sense of importance for the “integration into culture” (Wingert
2020).
Spectators become linked to the mask through its power and depending on
the representation which affects how the wearer reacts as they may eventually
become absorbed by the mask’s identity or reject it completely. The ‘being’
that is presented through the mask is met with familiarity by others which
leads to catharsis for the wearer and the spectators. Even if the mask is
depicted with malignant potential the spirit of it is recognized by others. Those
that represent more harmful spirits are used as a way to keep a “balance of
power” in the traditional social and political relationship of “inherited
positions” in a culture (Wingert 2020). The characters depicted are created
from tradition and fulfill roles to achieve the desired ends. These cultural
beliefs on the power of masks have entered our media and are often depicted
through characters in movies, gaming, and fashion. Many iconic film characters
are shown wearing masks for their own gain and for the purposes of telling
stories to audiences.

Types of personality masks

Masking your personality means you take steps to cover up who you really are
around other people in social, work, or personal interactions. You can mask
your personality with:

 words
 facial expressions
 body language
 actions

1. The martyr or victim mask

The martyr or victim mask does not accept blame to protect their self-esteem.

Instead, if you or a loved one uses this mask, you may blame things in the
outside world for your own problems and failures as a way to protect your self-
esteem.
2. The bully mask

If you feel self-doubt or have been abused, you may turn to bullying as a way
to keep people away.

This may take the form of acting out physically, picking fun of others, or
coercing others to accept your opinion to overcompensate for their poor self-
esteem.

3. The humor mask

People may use humor to prevent getting laughed at by others or hide feelings
of sadness. After all, no one can laugh at you if you are already laughing at
yourself.

And others also won’t know how you really feel if you hide your pain with
attempts at humor.

4. The calm mask

Some people wear a calm mask in nearly every situation. If this is you or a
loved one, you or your loved one might bottle up their emotional responses
and show only a calm, even composure.

When this happens, the emotions have no place to go. A person wearing the
calm mask may eventually explode or become emotionally dysregulated.

5. The overachieving mask

If you are wearing the overachieving mask, you may strive for perfection.
Anyone using this mask might hope to gain acceptance and praise for doing
things perfectly.
In this case, self-esteem relies too heavily on being perfect, which means you
might internalize any mistake. The need for perfection can also cause a
constant state of anxiety.

6. The self-bashing mask

Do you or a loved one talk down about yourselves? Even if you do this in jest
or joke around about the self-put-downs, it is a defense mechanism meant to
shield the person from being made fun of or hurt.

Self-bashing can also be a defensive method against low self-esteem. It may

also be used as a protective mechanism as a way to put yourself down before
someone else does.

7. The avoidant mask

The avoidant mask involves withdrawing into yourself for fear of rejection and
judgment of your mistakes. You or a loved one may avoid saying much to
others or being around others. Withdrawing can cause you or a loved one to
be socially isolated.

8. The controlling mask

The controlling mask wearer strives for a different type of perfection. If you
use this mask, you will try to control everything around you so you can achieve
a sense of security.

A person wearing this mask may plan every detail of an outing, demand their
plans get used, and keep a very neat and tidy room, house, or workspace.
9. The people-pleasing mask

If you wear a people-pleasing mask, your self-esteem depends on the

acceptance from others. You may often go out of your way to make sure other
people around you are happy.

Making others happy gives you a sense of self-worth. You may live with extra
anxiety related to making sure you’re making others around them happy.

10. The socializer mask

If you wear the socializer mask, you will use your ability to talk with anyone to
mask insecurity. Though you may have many acquaintances, you may not have
many meaningful friends because you keep conversations from going too
deep.

11. The conformist mask

If you wear the conformist mask, you seek to follow what everyone else
around you is doing. You’re desperate for acceptance and will follow cues from
others in social groups you want to belong to.

What masks do you wear?

One of the most common reasons we wear masks is what I think of
as Imposter Syndrome—the fear that the world is going to find us out. I’ve
heard it described as feeling like a fake like you don’t really belong, or you
aren’t really successful but are just posing as such. It’s like my Halloween
costume at age 7: I dressed up as a zombie gypsy—something I believed to be
terribly scary, until my next-door neighbor yanked off my mask and said, “Oh,
it’s just you.”

One of our greatest fears is that if we show our true selves, the world will say,
“Oh, it’s just you.” But being just you is actually the best and most perfect
thing you could ever be. As Oscar Wilde said, “Be yourself; everyone else is
taken.” Or if you are interested in the spiritual perspective, the psalmist wrote,
“I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

Writing Tasks:
Choose 1 of the following prompts to respond to –

 Write a prose poem in appreciation of all the problems that your face mask
has prevented.
 Write a poetic list of “The Masks We Throw Away”
 Robert Bloch once wrote, “Horror is the removal of masks.”  What does this
mean to you?
 Write a poem that includes each of the following words related to masking:
- disguise, front, screen, obscure, veil
 Describe the personality of a modern “Man of Many Masks.”
 Describe your favourite mask — or perhaps the different masks you wear for
different circumstances — and why.
 Research how different cultures integrate masks in their daily life. And then
write about a conflict of your own design that masks might create or resolve.
 Reflect on all the things that you hide behind your mask in a short creative
non-fiction piece or realistic memoir.
 Write from the perspective of a character whose mask is ingrained. So much
so, that even he/she/they don’t know who they are.
 Write a simple story where the concept of masks and those that one wears is
centre stage (metaphorically-speaking.)
 Readings:
The Masked Face
BY THOMAS HARDY
I found me in a great surging space,
At either end a door,
And I said: "What is this giddying place,
With no firm-fixéd floor,
That I knew not of before?"
"It is Life," said a mask-clad face.

I asked: "But how do I come here,

Who never wished to come;
Can the light and air be made more clear,
The floor more quietsome,
And the doors set wide? They numb
Fast-locked, and fill with fear."

The mask put on a bleak smile then,

And said, "O vassal-wight,
There once complained a goosequill pen
To the scribe of the Infinite
Of the words it had to write
Because they were past its ken."

 ken = one's range of knowledge or understanding

Essay:
The Representative of the Verse (Part II): On the Poet and Her Mask
BY LISA WELLS
Many things have already been said on the subject of persona and poetry, but if
you don’t mind, I’d like to say a few more.

Some writers (me), in thinking back on their development, realize that when
they “found their voice,” they did not unearth an unadulterated gem of true-
being from deep within themselves, but rather, fashioned a vessel for
channeling that being in language. Let’s go ahead and call that vessel a mask. A
mask formed by the writer’s own hands, and from their most treasured
materials, perhaps, but a mask all the same.
A friend and writer I admire, Charles D’Ambrosio, has spoken eloquently on
the use of persona in nonfiction writing, a concept which might seem anathema
to some readers on first blush. “Persona isn’t being untrue to the self so much as
enlarging the self so that it can contain the whole of an artistic truth; it’s a self
with room for all the demanding and conflicting currents inside written art.” 

In daily life we are expected to project a consistent and coherent self. The
people in our lives have ideas about what sort of person we are: charming, shy,
needy, generous, resourceful, successful, quick to anger, etc. Each of us is
plastered with enough of these labels to fully obscure our face (another origin
of mask).
 “A real self simply can’t expand enough,” D’Ambrosio continues. “Instead of
accommodating, as art must, it bursts, like an appendix, spreading sentimental
poisons. It’s hard to locate the problem but in my own work things gunk up
when I feel myself burdened by a fidelity to fond fact, as if naked reality alone
were sufficient, or I identify too closely with some cherished idea of myself
rather than a speaker, a voice, a complicating and questioning presence—a
persona, in other words.”

The poet Ed Hirsch makes a related point in A Poet’s Glossary. “Creating a

persona is a way of staging an utterance. There is always a difference between
the writer who sits down to work and the author who emerges in the text.”
Hirsch’s entry on Persona includes variations on the uses of the mask, variations
that overlap, but might serve different masters. The mask utilized in “archaic
rituals,” in which “independent beings possess the ones who assume them,” acts
as a conduit for sovereign energies that overtake the vessel of the actor.
This possession is differentiated from the mask’s more collaborative uses, “the
poetic move into personae” which has “a quality of animism” and “embodies
the displacement of the poet’s self in a second self.” But with whom or what
does the poet collaborate?
Thinking on this second-self makes me wonder about the tertiary self, the
quaternary, and so on. What might arise from the poet who inhabits her
splintered parts of self, of psyche, the splintered aspects of her family or cultural
systems? These parts need not relate directly to one’s public face, one’s life
narrative, or even be recognizably human. Indeed they might arise from
subconscious material, from dreams, from the greater than human world. They
may go to war with our supposed selves.

I think of moments in Berryman’s Dream Songs, when the Whitmanic assertion

takes a metastatic turn:

I am the enemy of the mind,

I am the auto salesman and love you.
I am a teenage cancer, with a plan.
I am the black-out man.
I am the woman powerful as a zoo.

Or in Mark Levine’s “Work Song.” (Daniel Casey wrote about this echo in a

2009 essay on Debt) :

An electric fan blows

Beneath my black robe. I am dignity itself.
I am an ice machine.
I am an alp.
I stuff myself in the refrigerator
Wrapped in newsprint. With salt in my heart
I stay good for days.

In both examples, the “I” functions as personae, a cadre of emergent and

recessive selves, assuming and relinquishing the spotlight at the rate of a strobe.
Both “I”s make a project of accommodating seemingly unrelated or even
contradictory selves in the same stanza; they refuse a single descriptor. Rather,
a singular consciousness is transmitted through the accrual.

Carl Jung conceived of persona as the self assumed in order to play a social
role, one which suppresses a person’s true inner being, the anima.
“The mirror does not flatter,” he wrote, “it faithfully shows whatever looks into
it; namely, the face we never show to the world because we cover it with the
persona, the mask of the actor. But the mirror lies behind the mask and shows
the true face.”

I don’t personally believe in a “true face” any more that I believe in an objective
mirror, though I do agree that ephemerally-true faces are freer to emerge once
the rigid mask of social obedience is removed.

Meanwhile, other voices contend that the mask can serve as an access point to
the animae, who might, after all be faceless. Most famously, Oscar Wilde:
“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he
will tell you the truth.”
Unburdened of the ‘self’ and its attendant manners, anxieties, insecurities, and
social alliances, the poet is freer to speak in ways good sense or self-
preservation might preempt, whether or not those ways of speaking are ever
made public. It’s a bit like visiting the shrink, come to think of it. Not every
dream of excrement is fit for public consumption, but the poet’s ability to free
associate while drafting is vital, and a marker of good-health. I don’t often fall
in love with persona poems, but I do think the practice of writing them (as with
any formal constraint) can help unlock the imagination. A kind of calisthenics
for the Poetical Character.
“The Poetical Character has no character –it enjoys light and shade, it lives in
gusto, be it foul or fair, high or low, rich or poor, mean or elevated . . .  What
shocks the virtuous philosopher delights the chameleon Poet,” according
to John Keats.
Inconstancy: my deepest shame and greatest virtue. The Poetical Character,
capable of exploring and bearing the contradictions, uncertainties, and
inconsistencies that both compose the living world and make for complexity in
art. But, as Plato knew, not so useful to the State.
 

If it’s true that “what we resist, persists,” (Carl Jung again), that our disavowed
parts of self form shadows that are then projected on the environment. And if
we can extend this concept of the shadow to the collective body, to our
respective societies, where shadows assume the form of monsters and villains—
then the mask might help us exorcise those persistent resistances.
And hasn’t this long been a human practice? The collective body gathers and
invites its shadows into the formal constraint of ceremony. Masks are fashioned
in the likeness of misfits, cannibals, sexually voracious animals, masks of the
excluded and despised, of the cruelest Gods—all taken up and inhabited on
ritualized ground. The communal catharsis does not come because the shadow
undergoes transformation and rejoins the whole (though that might be a
byproduct of the play) rather, the objective is to see, and to allow ourselves to
be seen by these specters.
Mask, in Medieval Latin: Masca. “Specter or nightmare.”
For our purposes, the poem is the ritualized ground.

This is one of poetry’s powers, to pull the masks from the monsters and find out
what’s underneath, what made them, what are they connected to, how *might*
they transform and if not, why not?
We hear that to speak a thing aloud is to make it live, which is one truth.
Another truth, we hear less frequently, is that the unutterable steers our
attention, defenses and impulses, too. Put another way: to not speak a thing
aloud is to keep it alive.
Reproduced in part from: PoetryFoundation© 2023
Your turn!