Narrative Choices and Perspective in Storytelling and Writing

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The way you frame a story, through voice, perspective, and intentional narrative choices, can transform it from a simple sequence of events into an emotionally immersive experience that deeply connects with your audience.

The way a story is told is often more important than the story itself. Well, maybe not more important, but definitely on par. Philip Pullman explores this idea deeply in ‘Daemon Voices’, a collection of his essays on storytelling. Pullman digs into how voice and perspective impact a story, shaping how the audience connects with it emotionally.

Pullman’s insights draw comparisons with David Mamet's ‘On Directing Film’, where simplicity and intention are key, and Alexander Mackendrick's ‘On Film-making’, which sees perspective as an unseen guide pointing the audience in the right direction.

Together, these experts show how the point of view you choose to tell your story, whether with the voice of the narrator in books, or the positioning of the camera in film, can enhance emotional depth, build immersion, and keep your audience engaged.

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The Narrator’s Voice

Pullman treats the narrator as the ‘reader’s guide’, carefully choosing their stance to direct how the story is experienced. He asks:

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“Who is telling the story? Whose words do we read? Whose voice do we hear?” (Daemon Voices, p. 24).

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For him, the narrator does more than just tell the story—they are the point of view that shapes the whole emotional and thematic tone of the narrative. Alexander Mackendrick backs this up, saying:

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“Choice of a story’s point of view very often determines the theme” (On Film-making, p. 57).

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Both writers believe that the narrator’s stance, its “voice” if you will, isn’t just for conveying information; it’s about building a relationship between the audience and the story’s events and characters. Pullman even defines “stance” as a blend of voice and point of view that reveals:

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“Where the camera is, so to speak, and where the sympathy lies” (Daemon Voices, p. 126).

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Striking the right balance between closeness and distance, sympathy and detachment, the known and the unknown, creates a rich world and an atmosphere for readers (or viewers) to get lost in.

Pullman’s use of an omniscient third person narrator in His Dark Materials is a great example of balancing intimacy and distance. True, the narrator does not have God-like omniscience, they do not know absolutely everything, but as Pullman puts it:

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"even if they’re not omniscient, they still know a damn sight more than the characters” (Daemon Voices, p. 25).

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Mackendrick writes:

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“A character is the personification of a point of view” (On Film-making, p. 58)

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Pullman’s narrator shifts perspectives, spending time in the heads of different characters, revealing some truths and concealing others, pulling readers into each character’s world while maintaining the bigger picture. This dance between close-ups and wide shots keeps readers engaged, feeling both deeply connected to characters and aware of the implications their thoughts and action have on the broader story.

The easiest choice of perspective for your story is the first person present. Like with a POV shot in film, it reduces the number of choices you have to make, but equally is reduces the amount you are saying.

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As Pullman says:

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“I always feel rather shifty and furtive about it. I know I’m doing it to avoid difficult choices, to avoid committing myself to this position or that, because the storytelling camera doesn’t only see in space, it sees in time, and that’s much harder to find the right place in. So I’m not surprised when writers choose the present tense, because it helps them to feel neutral, uncommitted, objective, and to avoid making the wrong choice of camera position. But you do make choices.” (Daemon Voices, p. 23)

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And you should make choices. So be bold and make those choices… Make your narrator’s perspective, or your camera choices, say something about the characters and the scene.

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“Reading a novel written entirely in the first person and the present tense seems to me like being in a room where they have those Venetian blinds that go up instead of across – you can only see out in vertical strips, and everything else is closed off to you. But young novelists are often anxious about choosing the best time position for the camera, so they stick to the present tense, which seems to be safe. Unfortunately, what it conveys more often than not is a nervous self-consciousness.” (Daemon Voices, p. 23)

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Don’t be self-conscious… say something!

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The Camera as Narrator

Pullman’s reflections on the narrator’s role fit perfectly with filmmaking, where the camera’s perspective acts like a narrator. Both Mamet and Mackendrick explore how the camera can shape an audience’s experience without direct instruction.

David Mamet, in On Directing Film, is all about simplicity.

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“Let the cut tell the story… otherwise, you’ve got narration instead of dramatic action” (On Directing Film, p. 2).

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“If you find that a point cannot be made without narration, it’s almost certainly unimportant to the story” (On Directing Film, p. 4).

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But as Pullman points out narration and the POV of the camera are the same thing. You can avoid narration in the sense of using a voice over or expositional dialogue by allowing the positioning of the camera to narrate the unsaid.

Mackendrick calls the camera the:

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“Invisible Imaginary Ubiquitous Winged Witness” (On Film-making, p. 222)

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…an observer guiding viewers’ emotions from a specific point of view. It’s a silent guide, leading viewers to feel without them even realising it. Pullman ties this back to storytelling in Daemon Voices, echoing the question Mamet thinks is the key to good filmmaking:

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“Where do I put the camera?” (Daemon Voices, p. 23/ On Directing Film, p. 1)

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In his case, it’s about deciding:

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“where to see the scene from, what to tell the reader about it, and what stance to take toward the characters” (Daemon Voices, p. 23).

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This idea: choosing the right perspective to bring the story and characters alive is central in both books and film. The camera is the narrator, the camera has an opinion, the camera judges the characters and their actions. The camera can look up to people, it can look down on people, it can make them look small, it can make them look big. The actor’s performance does a lot to convey emotion to the audience, but its their performance’s relationship with the camera that makes the audience feel those emotions.

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Keep it simple and Serve the Story’s Purpose

Pullman writes:

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“Around every subject, there are 360 degrees of space, and an infinity of positions from very close to very far, from very low to very high, at which you can put that camera” (Daemon Voices, p. 9).

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These “360 degrees” of perspective could let storytellers create a unique and immersive atmosphere, drawing the audience deeply into the world. Mamet’s focus on simplicity and Mackendrick’s “Witness” choosing the perfect “angle” means that even though you have near an infinite possible choices of where to place you camera, finding that right angle is often the simplest one. This is why throughout film history basic camera set-ups are used over and over again. Because they work. They convey the emotion and tell the story more effectively than some complex swirling twirling camera trick your cinematographer dreamt up in a pub!

Mackendrick’s concept of the Witness lines up with Pullman’s idea that perspective must serve the story. Pullman cites Fritz Lang, who believed that:

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“any camera movement must have a reason... to move a camera just to move it is wrong” (Daemon Voices, p. 141).

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Pullman echoes this, arguing that both voice and camera placement should be intentional, guiding the audience subtly without distracting from the story.

Mamet supports this too, saying:

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“The main questions a director must answer are “‘Where do I put the camera’ and ‘What do I tell the actors?’” (On Directing Film, p. 1).

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It’s all about staying focused on what’s essential to the story.

Mamet also warns that too much narration may be a sign that the point being made isn’t that important. Pullman’s approach reflects this idea. He uses narration sparingly, letting characters and plot emerge through selective detail instead of overloading the reader (or viewer) with pointless information.

For Mackendrick:

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“the Witness prompts the audience to feel” (On Film-making, p. 222).

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Suggesting that the right perspective guides the audience’s emotions without needing heavy explanation.

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For Pullman, Mamet, and Mackendrick, perspective isn’t just a technical choice; it’s the core of storytelling, setting the emotional tone and guiding the audience’s connection with the story. Voice and point of view are tools that add emotional depth, build suspense, and strengthen connections with characters.

Pullman and Mackendrick also focus on information flow to sustain suspense. Mackendrick’s Witness offers just enough detail to keep viewers on edge, holding back certain elements to build intrigue. Pullman references Alfred Hitchcock’s “bomb under the table” analogy, showing how carefully controlling what the audience knows keeps them engaged. Mackendrick’s advice on perspective aligns with this approach, treating point of view as a tool to prompt audience emotions and keep them invested.

And of course, there’s character connection. For Pullman, Mamet, and Mackendrick, voice and perspective aren’t just about tone or suspense; they are about creating a bond between the audience and the characters. Mackendrick’s Witness, that “Invisible Imaginary Ubiquitous Winged Witness,” lets viewers enter characters’ experiences without heavy-handed guidance. Pullman’s approach in His Dark Materials does the same, inviting readers to feel both inside and outside the characters’ heads, reaching the story’s emotional core.

For more in-depth information about writing characters, read this blog with 11 Proven Strategies for Writing Unforgetable Characters.

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Practical Applications for Storytellers and Filmmakers

1. Find Your Voice or Point of View ‍

Clarify the narrator’s role or camera’s perspective: Decide who is telling the story or where the audience is experiencing it from. Ask: 

• Is the narrator omniscient, limited, or first-person? 
• Does the camera adopt an objective or subjective stance?

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Align with your story’s core: Identify the central theme or emotion you want the audience to feel. Ensure the narrator’s tone or the camera’s angle reinforces this essence. 

Example: If your story is about innocence, use a narrator with a limited childish outlook or a camera that is beneath the eye line with a wide lens to make the world around look larger and more spacious.

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2. Use Perspective to Add Depth  

Experiment with shifting perspectives: For written stories, switch between characters’ viewpoints to reveal contrasting emotions. In lm, use a mix of closeups, wide shots, and dynamic camera angles to mirror character emotions and story tension. 

Example: Use a close-up of a character’s trembling hand to show fear and follow it with a wide shot of their environment making them look small to emphasise vulnerability. 

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Create layers of meaning: Show selective information to the audience. Withhold certain details from one perspective while revealing them through another to build suspense and emotional depth. 

Example: In a mystery, let the narrator hide key facts that are later revealed by another character’s point of view or through a dramatic camera reveal.

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3. Guide Your Audience with Purpose

Be intentional with every choice. Before writing a scene or filming a shot, ask: 

• What do I want the audience to think or feel here? 
• How can the narrator’s voice or camera placement achieve this?

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Simplify to amplify: Cut anything that doesn’t serve the story. Over-narration or over-complicated visuals can dilute the impact. Let actions, subtle details, or framing guide the audience’s emotions naturally. 

Example: Instead of saying, “Alexis felt trapped,” show Alexis looking out a small window as the camera pulls back to reveal a confined space. 

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Lead with perspective shifts: Use the narrator’s voice or the camera’s angle to subtly nudge the audience’s sympathy or judgment of a character. 

Example: Show an evil antagonist from below to emphasise dominance, then switch to a vulnerable close-up at eye level to humanise them and show their emotional change in another scene. 

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By clarifying your narrative voice, using perspective strategically, and guiding the audience deliberately, you can craft stories that resonate emotionally and create lasting impact.

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Conclusion

Pullman, Mamet, and Mackendrick show us that perspective and voice are not just technical decisions—they’re the heart and soul of storytelling. Pullman echoing Mamet’s question, “Where do I put the camera?” challenges storytellers to consider the narrator’s role, just as Mamet’s insistence on intention guides directors in film. Mackendrick’s Witness is a model for understanding that the camera, as the narrator, is more than just impartial, they are living characters themselves, with thoughts and opinions. They are not just the perspective but they have a perspective, helping the audience think and feel what you want them to think and feel, when you want them to think and feel it.

In the end, Pullman, Mamet, and Mackendrick reveal that voice and perspective are at the very heart of storytelling. They do more than just help tell your story, they are the story, and, if done well, they are as important as character, plot and theme. 

Where do you put your camera? Can you think of an example of a shot that stuck in your mind? Ask yourself: what was the shot doing, and why can I remember it?

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Want to read more about Philip Pullman's writing theories? Read this blog about Philip Pullman's thoughts on world building!