If you’ve read fanfiction, you might be familiar with the term “escapism”. Fictional stories are often dismissed as a way to avoid the harshness of real life by immersing ourselves in curated, imagined worlds. Though what if instead of pulling us away from reality, fiction actually draws us closer to it? From the myths of ancient Greece and Rome to the stories of the morally complex narrative of Attack on Titan, this genre unravels the emotional architecture of the human experience. These tales cultivate empathy and anchor us deeper into the truths of our world rather than existing as pure entertainment.

Perhaps the stories we tell are the very things that teach us how to feel and connect. Greek and Roman mythology were once the foundation of entire civilizations’ religious frameworks. The stories of the Greek Gods and Goddesses were more than bedtime story characters to the people of ancient Rome. Instead, they were explanations of nature and models of virtue and vice to mirror humanity’s intricacies. For example, the story of Cronus eating his children to avoid being overthrown is a prime representation of how power corrupts our judgment and how fear drives the powerful to commit terrible acts against even those they should protect. This cycle of mythical Greek figures continues as Zeus, the God of Thunder, eats his wife to prevent the same prophecy of one of his children overthrowing him.

These myths allowed me to observe the consequences of paranoia and unchecked power from a safe distance and peer into the darker corners of human nature. Greek Gods were painted as good and virtuous beings, but also acted in ways that were morally questionable. From this, I gained a new level of understanding of viewing people from a multifaceted perspective, and to see things as more gray rather than black and white. From friends I deemed as inherently “good” people to individuals whose actions I judged for their lack of morality, I realized my perceptions of them were determined by preconceptions. By removing my expectations and biases, I was able to view actions objectively and see traits that fell outside the box I mistakenly put these people in. 

A Japanese manga and anime series written by Hajime Isayama called Attack on Titan represents similar themes in a different lens. The story is set in a world where humanity lives within three levels of walls to protect themselves from human-eating Titans.

The story begins when the outer wall is breached by a colossal Titan, leading to the death of Eren Yeager’s, the protagonist’s, mother. Eren and his friends Mikasa and Armin then join the military to fight the Titans, and the early story first appears to be a straightforward tale of humanity’s struggle against monsters.

Once Eren discovers he can transform into a Titan, the story becomes increasingly complex as this reveals that Titans are actually transformed humans, with some possessing special abilities. It is then revealed that Eren’s people, the Eldians, face severe persecution beyond the walls. A group of people called Marleyans are their oppressors and perpetuate a cycle of violence by training Eldian children for war combat and prepare them to inherit the titans with special powers.

What once was a battle for humanity’s survival turns into a nuanced examination of generational trauma and moral ambiguity. As viewers, we’re challenged to question if violence can ever fully resolve historical grievances since, even Eren, our said protagonist, commits atrocities like genocide and murder in pursuit of what he defines as freedom.

As I followed Eren’s quiet descent into extremism, it was confusing to mourn what Eren once represented while coming to terms with his development into someone who continued to perpetuate the cycle of violence that he so despised. I was forced into a moral gray zone where I couldn’t easily label Eren as a villain, yet couldn’t support his actions. This conflict persisted even after the show’s episodes ended, as I questioned whether I could have made different choices in his position. 

Although the story is quite violent, Hajime Isayama (the author) gave me an opportunity to peer into the hearts of each character in ways where I could humanize and relate to them. I cried with, feared with, and raged with Mikasa and Armin as they made the choice to kill Eren. Despite how much the setting of this story contrasted with the modern world, it captured the painful and raw emotions I felt at the end of a three year long relationship. As I said my final goodbye, I confronted the idealized version of the person in front of me I tried so hard to preserve. There’s something uniquely devastating about having to let go of someone you’ve built your world around. 

During the aftermath of my heartbreak, I found solace in the ways the surviving characters rebuilt their lives post war. Hate still existed after Eren’s decimation of 80% of the human population, reminding me that the world will never be perfect. Though, there was an admirable strength in each character’s ability to move forward while carrying the weight of the past on their shoulders. That resilience was a strange but comforting mirror to my healing.

In both Greek mythology and Attack on Titan, parallels exist in how leaders sacrifice their youth in cycles of violence. Through Marley’s Warrior program that consumes children’s futures and the cycle of power inheritance in the case of Chronos, we see how societies actually “devour” their young through war and ideological conflict, whilst claiming to protect them. These stories are separated by time, yet withstand the test of it to reveal our persistent struggles with the question of whether we are destined to repeat mistakes or if we can break free from the shackles of history.

Whether it’s a myth passed down through generations or a dystopian fantasy, fiction helps us build connections. It invites us to briefly walk in someone else’s shoes and see the world through different points of view. In doing so, it doesn’t pull us away from reality, but draws us to it. The characters and conflicts may be fictional, but the emotions they spark are real.

We have the privilege to experience cultures and experiences beyond our own, and can only begin to understand that feelings ranging from sadness to hope are most definitely universal. This challenges us to begin to question our beliefs and broaden our perspectives through inspecting our own experiences.

So, I argue that fiction reveals that we are much more similar than we are different by bringing us closer to what it truly means to be human. Attack on Titan didn’t offer the comfort of clear heroes and villains and demanded that I sit with the discomfort of understanding all sides while condemning the cycle of violence. This wasn’t fiction as escape. It was fiction as confrontation with the darker possibilities within us all, which challenged me to examine what principles I would compromise when faced with impossible choices. I could then truly see human nature in a way that no history book or news report could show through this uncomfortable mirror.