A beautiful thing

Have readers ever interpreted your message differently than you expected?

by Dietrich

I’m aware of readers occasionally interpreting elements of my stories in ways that I hadn’t intended—sometimes funny, sometimes thoughtful, and always as a reminder that once a book is out there, it belongs to the reader as much as to the writer. It’s all good. It means somebody’s reading my books.

One thing that’s come up is how some readers end up rooting for the lowlifes, the schemers, the outright criminals who drive much of the action in my books. I don’t set out to make them heroes, but I do aim to give them depth, flaws, motivations, and even a twisted kind of charm. When a reader cheers for the marginal who’s the worst person in the room, or feels a pang of disappointment when justice finally catches up, it’s both satisfying and a little unsettling. It shows the characters have come alive on the page in ways that go beyond simple good-vs-evil lines. It reminds me how fiction can blur those moral boundaries, pulling readers into perspectives they wouldn’t embrace in real life. In the end, if someone’s invested enough to care—whether they’re hoping the character gets away with it or secretly wants them to crash and burn—then I’ve done my job.

One memorable moment came at a reading event where two audience members ended up in a friendly but animated disagreement about tone. One found the work I was reading from dark and bordering on grim. The other defended it as empathetic and funny. I just stood and listened, realizing both were right—depending on where you enter the story. The same scenes had one reader feel the weight of the characters’ bad choices, while the other cracked up at the sheer ridiculousness of how those choices played out. I hadn’t set out to split the room, but it showed how the mix of noir grit and wry humor can land differently person-to-person.

Under an Outlaw Moon was inspired by the real-life story of Bennie and Stella Mae Dickson, a couple pulling heists in the 1930s. Some readers focused on the romance and the thrill of the outlaw life, rooting for the protagonists as events spiraled. Others zeroed in on the historical desperation, the Hoover-era pursuit, and saw it as more tragic than adventurous. I intended both—the excitement of the road and the inevitable crash. Hearing how some saw it as a doomed love story while others read it as a cautionary tale about chasing quick scores made me appreciate how personal experience shapes what jumps off the page.

With Vancouver-set books, Ride the Lightning and Triggerfish, the city’s rain-soaked, laid-back-but-edgy atmosphere is a big part of the vibe. A reader unfamiliar with the city told me she pictured the settings so vividly she felt like she’d walked those streets—only to be surprised when I mentioned that certain details were composites or inventions. One reader from Germany wrote about the translated version of The Deadbeat Club, convinced a particular dive bar in Whistler was real and wanted to know its address so they could visit on an upcoming trip to the West Coast. I had to admit it was stitched together from a few places I’d known over the years. That kind of immersion is flattering, but it also shows how readers fill in the blanks with their own imaginations, sometimes more literally than I expected.

In The Get, where the criminal schemes are elaborate and the humor leans sharper, I got feedback from a reader who latched onto a side character’s motivations in ways I hadn’t anticipated. The reader read a certain betrayal as pure self-preservation; while I meant it as pure greed. Either interpretation worked within the story. That’s the beauty, and occasional surprise, of fiction: subtext and nuance invite multiple interpretations.

The takeaway for me has been that no two readers bring the same lens. What I write with a wink might hit someone as dead serious. What I layer with irony can come across as straight commentary. While I’ve never had anyone complain about a massive misreading that derailed the core message, the variations in emphasis keep things interesting. I love hearing those kinds of comments from readers at events, in emails, or reviews. It’s nice when the conversation doesn’t end when the book does.