The Rosie Project as an example of a three-act story

Spoiler alert: This article contains spoilers for The Rosie Project, by Graeme Simsion.

Beginning novelists are sometimes told their manuscripts need to be better ‘structured’. To brush up my skills in this area, I’ve recently been reading a couple of texts that describe the structure of the conventional three-act story, each coming at this from a slightly different angle. These texts are:

• Write Your Novel From The Middle by James Scott Bell, and
• Hooked by Les Edgerton

In the light of this reading, I thought it might be interesting to take a look at Graeme Simsion’s successful debut The Rosie Project to see how well, if at all, its structure matches the three-act model described by Bell and Edgerton.

The Bell/Edgerton model of the three-act story

Bell and Edgerton do not propose identical models of the three-act story, though their models are largely consistent with each other. And both authors appear to agree that a three act structure is an effective way of shaping a story aimed at a mass audience.

So what, broadly speaking, is their model of a three-act story?

In Bell’s account, a novel is a record of how a character fights with death, where this ‘death’ may be literal, professional, or psychological (Bell, p 8). Bell suggests even lighthearted stories feature characters who are dealing with issues that feel like life or death to them (Bell, p 10). Readers will relate to this record of a fight most easily if it is structured with a clearly delineated beginning, middle and end, each of which is analagous to a distinct act in a three-act play (Bell, p 14).

A novel using a three-act structure will begin with an inciting incident. This incident will:

• Create a surface problem for the protagonist, and
• Give the reader some hint as to the novel’s story-worthy problem.

The story-worthy problem will turn out to be a deeply unsettling psychological issue within the protagonist, one that will be so significant for her that it will force her on a journey of change (Edgerton, p 59). The protagonist will not initially recognise her story-worthy problem for what it is, although she may think that she does (Edgerton, p 71). It will be the surface problem arising via the inciting incident that the protagonist will have to deal with first, and this initial surface problem may well spawn other surface problems requiring the protagonist’s attention (Edgerton, p 13).

The first act of the novel concludes when the protagonist realises there is no means of avoiding the surface problems besetting him, and that the only way out is forward, not back (Bell, p 14). When the narrative reaches this point, readers feel that the story has got properly underway (Bell, p 15). Bell suggests that for a novel, this point should occur no later than a fifth of the way into the story (Bell, p 17).

Through the middle part of the story, the protagonist struggles with her antagonist, trying to solve her surface problems, while also struggling to solve her story-worthy problem, insofar as this has begun to emerge. These middle act struggles always end in failure (Edgerton, p 55), but through engaging in them the protagonist is learning what will ultimately help her solve her story-worthy problem (Edgerton, p 71).

After a longish period of unsuccessful struggle, a crisis occurs, or a clue is discovered, that make a final battle and resolution of both the surface problems and story-worthy problem unavoidable (Bell, p 19). The story will end with a visible demonstration of the inner psychological transformation that has (or hasn’t) taken place in the protagonist (Bell, p 37). This transformation is what the story is really all about (Bell, p 35). Edgerton suggests a truly satisfying resolution will include some elements of win and some elements of loss for the protagonist (Edgerton, p 14).

The Rosie Project

The Rosie Project, by Graeme Simsion, is a romantic comedy. Don Tillman, a post-doctoral researcher with Asperger’s syndrome, is trying to find a wife. He gets drawn into helping Rosie, a woman he judges to be an unsuitable wife candidate, to resolve a personal difficulty of her own. Rosie ultimately turns out to be just the person to help Don overcome his relationship difficulties.

Story-worthy problem

Contrary to what the Bell/Edgerton model predicts, we, as audience, understand clearly from the outset the nature of Don’s story-worthy problem. This is clear from the first sentence, when Don announces I may have found a solution to the Wife Problem. We’d have to be completely insensible not to hear in this that Don is someone who is likely to have trouble finding a romantic partner.

Don himself apparently sees this too. As early as page 3, he tells us

there is something about me that women find unappealing. I have never found it easy to make friends, and it seems that the deficiencies that caused this problem have also affected my attempts at romantic relationships.

As we will soon learn, however, Don’s insight into his ‘deficiencies’ is not, in itself, a solution. In the following 45 pages we watch Don alienate several women who show a clear interest in getting to know him better, one of whom even wants to have sex with him immediately. In the midst of these encounters, Don appears to be quite oblivious to the opportunities he is missing, the toes he is treading on.

Inciting incident

The inciting incident that triggers the novel’s events does not appear in the first few pages (where Edgerton suggests it typically belongs), but rather on page 15, where we learn that Daphne, an elderly widow whom Don has befriended, has told Don that he would make someone a wonderful husband.

Simsion has presumably delayed recounting this incident because he needs us to appreciate the likely impact of such a statement on a man like Don. We are much better able to appreciate this once we have witnessed Don’s social ineptitude over the 15 pages preceding Daphne’s remark.

First act curtain

A key feature of stories using a three-act structure is the arrival of a moment early in the story where it becomes clear to us, as readers, that the protagonist is committed to a high stakes contest with his antagonist from which there can be no easy withdrawal.

In The Rosie Project, this moment occurs on page 49, just inside the 50 page limit agents and publishers often impose on author submissions, and about one sixth of the way into the novel. It happens when Rosie, whom Don can see is quite unsuitable to be his wife on account of her lateness, her lack of cooking skills and her physical unfitness, confronts the heavies who have roughed up Don at a classy restaurant where Rosie used to work. Despite her misgivings about Don, Rosie flags down a taxi and they both go back to his place.

From this point on, we understand exactly what the story is going to be about. We’re obviously going to find out whether Don can change enough to allow a potential relationship with Rosie to flourish. All the setting-up needed to establish this as the novel’s high-stakes narrative questions is in place by page 49. The flagging down of the taxi is the novel’s ‘first act curtain’.

Surface problem vs story-worthy problem

Edgerton’s model of a three-act story draws a distinction between the surface problem(s) the protagonist will have to deal with in the course of the narrative, and the story-worthy problem that is the narrative’s true subject. Edgerton implies the protagonist will be engaged with the story’s surface problem and subsequent complications right from the outset. The Rosie Project‘s surface problem, however, does not emerge until page 61, when Rosie explains to Don that the ‘father’ who has raised her, and whom she doesn’t much like, is not her biological father, and that her real father must be one of the students her (now deceased) mother studied medicine with.

‘You’re saying your mother engaged in unprotected sex outside her primary relationship?’

‘With some other student,’ replied Rosie. ‘While she was dating my’ — at this point Rosie raised her hands and made a downward movement, twice, with the index and middle fingers of both hands — ‘father. My real dad’s a doctor. I just don’t know which one. Really, really pisses me off.’

Don, who has ready access to DNA testing equipment, immediately volunteers to help Rosie identify her true biological father.

Initially this task looks simple enough, as Rosie believes there is only one likely candidate. However, as Don and Rosie work together gathering DNA, eliminating first one candidate then another, the list of men who could be Rosie’s biological father expands to over sixty — an expansion that challenges Don to develop more and more creative solutions to solve Rosie’s problem.

As readers, we can see clearly that Don’s interest in helping Rosie identify her biological father is linked to his desire to spend time with her. To put this another way, we can see that the novel’s surface problem and story-worthy problem are connected. However, when Rosie asks Don explicitly about his motives in helping her collect and test DNA, he says ‘Presumably you think it’s in order to initiate a romantic relationship’ and denies that this is the case (p 127). Don is evidently not too sure about this, though, because when Rosie repeats the same question a few minutes later, Don answers ‘I don’t know’ (p 131). By maintaining at least some degree of ironic distance between Don’s understanding of the situation and our own, Simsion motivates us, as readers, to stick around to see what happens.

Role of surface problem in resolution of story-worthy problem

In suggesting that it is through struggling with his surface problem (how to identify Rosie’s biological father) that Don acquires the self-knowledge and ability to ‘go with the flow’ that will ultimately help him solve his story-worthy problem, The Rosie Project hews closely to the Bell/Edgerton model outlined above.

In one of the novel’s most memorable set-pieces, Don devises a plan to get DNA swabs from several dozen men who might be Rosie’s biological father by posing as a waiter-cum-bartender at a medical reunion. To prepare, Don hurriedly swots for a Responsible Service of Alcohol certificate, then uses his uniquely Asperger’s-ish powers of concentration to memorise the ingredients of an astonishing range of cocktails. At the reunion, Don uses his new-found knowledge so jubilantly and joyfully he becomes the life of the party, all the while helping Rosie collect DNA swabs from 41 of her might-be fathers.

It is through this and other episodes requiring social interaction while trying to identify Rosie’s biological father that Don becomes more ‘genteel’. As Don himself remarks when the search for Rosie’s biological father is nearly complete:

All this unaccustomed social interaction, plus that with Rosie, had dramatically improved my skills. (p 246).

Second act curtain

In any story using a three-act structure, a moment arrives when the inconclusive struggles that make up the second act conclude because something occurs that makes a final battle and resolution of both surface problem and story-worthy problem inevitable.

In The Rosie Project, this moment arrives for both the surface problem plot and the story-worthy problem plot in the same scene. Rosie has just heard Don confess, in relation to romantic movies:

Unlike… the majority of the human race, I am not emotionally affected by love stories. I don’t appear to be wired for that response. (p 232).

Although Rosie and Don have shared some good times during the quest to identify her true father, Rosie has Don’s lack of emotional response very much on her mind when she and Don meet to test the DNA of the last few men who might be her father. Don knows that once these tests are complete, he will have no further pretext for seeing Rosie. For a moment, Rosie seems briefly to raise the prospect of continuing their relationship, then just as suddenly rules this out.

‘You considered me as a partner?’

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Except for the fact that you have no idea of social behaviour, your life’s ruled by a whiteboard and you’re incapable of feeling love — you’re perfect.’

She walked out, slamming the door behind her. (p 240)

Only one paragraph later, Don’s nemesis, the departmental dean, walks in, springs Don using the DNA machine for private purposes, and tells him she will more than likely sack him for breaching departmental regulations.

Don looks to have lost his job, his means of identifying Rosie’s true father, and Rosie herself all in less than half a page. This moment represents a classic ‘second act curtain’.

The final act

The final act of The Rosie Project is not a single battle or contest as the model outlined above might appear to anticipate, but follows a pattern of (a) preparation for battle (b) battle resulting in near-miss (c) valley-of-despond moment, and (d) triumph.

Don starts the final act by consciously loosening his approach to life, hoping he can win Rosie by transforming himself inwardly. He relaxes his previously rigid food preparation schedule. He forces himself to adopt a more empathetic approach to a plagiarising student he has previously dealt with by the book. He also studies classic romantic movies for cues on how to interact socially.

With this preparation under his belt, Don picks a suitably romantic setting and proposes to Rosie, using an amalgam of lines he has gleaned from romantic movies. This seems to be going well until Rosie asks Don the critical question: does he really love her? Don answers ‘Actually, according to your definition, no.’ (p 272). Unsurprisingly, Rosie rejects his proposal.

That night, alone with a tumbler of tequilla, Don reflects on what he has learned through his (now ended) relationship with Rosie: that he need not be visibly odd; that he is capable of having a good time; that he really can enjoy the company of women. Unfortunately, however, he has also learned that he is not ‘wired to feel love’ (p. 280).

Fortunately for The Rosie Project, it turns out these aren’t Don’s final thoughts on the matter. By next morning, Don has concluded that he is in love with Rosie, in fact. He rushes to Rosie’s side, declares exactly this, and Rosie accepts him.

In a coda, we learn that Don and Rosie have moved from Melbourne to New York, where Rosie is studying to be a doctor. In the novel’s final paragraphs, we learn that Rosie’s biological father turns out to be the man who raised her as her father all along.

A mixed resolution?

Is this a wholly satisfying ending?

Edgerton suggests that a satisfying resolution of a three-act story will contain some elements of win and some elements of loss for the protagonist.

While it’s probably true that a real-life Rosie who married a real-life Don would experience some elements of loss in such a marriage, this is not the tack that Simsion chooses to take with his ending for The Rosie Project. The conclusion is wholly and ebulliently ‘up’.

Final thoughts

By now it should be clear that The Rosie Project adheres very closely to the three-act story model, with only minor divergences from this model as I’ve derived it from Bell and Edgerton.

I certainly wouldn’t suggest that this adherence, in and of itself, is a major reason for the novel’s popular and commercial success, which is probably attributable to a whole range of features I’ve not canvassed here. I do suspect, however, that structuring the novel in this way may have been a pre-requisite for its success (which is rather a different matter).

What do you think?

Is a three-act structure the only way of structuring a commercially successful novel these days? What other structures have you seen work well in commercial fiction?

Can you think of any examples of literary fiction that employ a three-act model?

What texts would you mostly highly recommend for their discussion of three-act structure, and perhaps of other interesting and effective ways of shaping a long narrative?