When I purchased Buffy and the Art of Story I had a very different notion of what I was ordering verses what I got. It was an impulse buy, I admit. I love Buffy—okay, I love the first three season of Buffy with some select episodes from the other four. The book promises that I’ll be “writing better fiction by watching Buffy.”  

I expected the book to go through the entirety of the Buffy series, break down the character development, plot, motifs, symbolism, etc., all of this towards the goal of enhancing my writing abilities. It wasn’t until the book was in my hands that I realized it said “Season 1.”

When I made my cursory flip-through, I saw that it went through episode by episode. As I began reading, I learned it’s scope was very specific—structure, with some limited commentary of character development and story devices.

The disappointment was my fault. I misunderstood the scope and point of the book. I also got a bit too excited about the gimmick.

Gimmick really is the word here. One of the things that you start seeing with most of the how-to-write books is the reliance on gimmicks.

It makes sense. There are literally thousands of these kinds of books on Amazon alone. If you’re writing one of these books, you have to make yourself stand out.

For example, my own Adventures in Storytelling is, at its core, a how-to-write “book.” It’s gimmick is to share tips, tricks, and advice through the perspective of a personal odyssey.

Buffy and the Art of Story’s gimmick is Joss Whedon’s incredibly successful 1990s horror/comedy/drama television show, Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Buffy and the Art of Story, Season One by L. M. Lilly

Disclaimer: Per the introduction of Buffy and the Art of Story, the book is a transcript of a podcast by the same name. Because I review how-to-write books and not podcasts, I didn’t listen to it.   

Let’s start with the vampire in the room: this book is extremely niche.

I’ll be the first to admit that I shun fandom. I don’t like the cringy, obsessive, argumentative ways that some fandoms operate (particularly online). So, I’m really not sure if there is much of a modern Buffy fanbase—that is, younger generation fans, not Gen Xers and Millennials like me.

My first taste of Buffy was catching a random re-run some October while I was in high school. I began to borrow the DVDs from my local library, some of which didn’t work properly, so I never ended up finishing the entire series until COVID gave me a chance to sit down and binge.

Although I’m a “new” fan, I’m not really sure how many new fans there are out there. The first episode aired in 1997, I wasn’t even ten! My age bracket is probably the upper limits of someone who would even be familiar (that is, nostalgic) for the cheesy 90s’ and early 00s’.

Buffy and the Art of Story is clearly for established fans of the Vampire Slayer. There are no recaps or synopses at the beginning of each chapter. Lilly simply “dives into the Hellmouth.”

You must already know the basic story and characters of every episode in season 1 in order to get anything out of this book.

The chapters are named by episode, so if you want to skip around and examine specific episodes, you can. Each chapter is arranged the same, starting with some background information about the writers and director; listing the particular story elements the author wants to highlight; a chronological breakdown of the episode catching each one of Lilly’s seven-pointed plot structure; some spoilers and commentary; and finishing up with a list of questions for your writing.  

In the first chapter, Lilly gives us an introduction to her preferred story structure: “Key plot points and turns for your story.”

It’s solid, seven-pointed structure:

• Opening Conflict, which opens the story and draws the reader in.
• Story Spark (aka, Inciting Incident), the event that sets off the story at about 10% in.
• One-Quarter Twist, the first major plot point that “spins the story in a new direction” and typically comes from outside the protagonist.
• Midpoint, where the protagonist commits to the quest or suffers a major reversal.
• Three-Quarter Turn, the next major plot point that spins the story in a new direction but usually comes from within the characters. It usually comes in two-thirds through a story.
• Climax, the “culmination of the main plot.”
• Falling Action, the end of the story.

As I read the book, I found myself, for the most part, agreeing with Lilly’s use of the structure. However, this book has some serious flaws and it’s for that reason that I cannot recommend it.

I don’t like doing “negative reviews.” The goal of these essays has always been to help other writers find how-to-write books that might expand their horizons. But if that is my stated goal, then I have to be honest. 

Lilly’s seven-pointed structure is a good structure; it’s just not the only one. And it’s especially not the only structure Buffy uses.  

For example, a lot of Buffy’s one-off episodes—the monsters-of-the-week—do not fit neatly into this structure. Some of them use what I would call a “pulp structure.” The episode isn’t really about the characters changing or growing in any profound way, it’s about the characters overcoming obstacles.

This kind of structure is easily seen in any given Conan the Barbarian story. There is a goal and a series of hurdles that the character must overcome in order to achieve said goal. The story is in the lengths a character will go in order to achieve their ends.  

And while Lilly hits the mark for most of the episodes i.e. the two parts 1^st and 2^nd episodes (Welcome to Hellmouth/the Harvest); episode 7, Angel fits well within her structure; even the one-off I, Robot…You, Jane. She misfires by trying to squeeze every episode into her seven-pointed story structure.

That said, I think the structure is a strong one, it’s should be. It’s the Holy Trinty, the Tripod, better known as the Three Act Structure.

An ocean of ink has been spilled over the vagaries of plot structure and ultimately that’s the thing here. There are better books on plot structure.

But, there are also some problems in her analysis.   

Take her chapter on episode 6, the Pack.

It’s a standalone Xander-centric episode wherein Xander and a gang of obnoxious bullies are possessed by the demonic spirit of a hyena. Here’s a link to a quick summary and analysis if you’re unfamiliar or need a refresher.

The main problem with Lilly’s analysis is that she misplaces story beats because she’s misidentified the active protagonist as Buffy when it’s Xander. This doesn’t mean that Buffy and Willow aren’t active protagonists—they are, but it’s Xander who sets off the story, it’s Xander who commits, and it’s Xander who saves Willow.

Lilly misremembers that Xander is with the Pack when they eat the school mascot and I think this is the critical error in her analysis. This causes her to misplace her midpoint because “from a storytelling perspective [the pack] are not the protagonists.” In a way, she’s right. The four “packmates” aren’t the protagonists, but Xander is. He’s their leader.  

Another issue I have with Lilly’s analysis is episode Eight and I’ll admit that it’s somewhat a nit-pick, she says:

“…in addition to Moloch being this sort of mustache-twirling villain who is just evil for evil’s sake, we also have the people support this kind of demon apparently just for evil’s sake…

…so I know we were told from the beginning that Moloch preys upon the weak of mind. Also he’s the Corruptor, and that he has this way over people. So it’s probably unfair to say they are choosing to follow this demon. But it feels a bit like weak storytelling to me. It is less interesting to have a demon who just has this magic power of making people follow him rather than the followers having some reason. Some deep need the demon is filling, something that makes us understand why they would devote themselves to this demon.”

Buffy and the Art of Story, Pg. 168-169

There are several instances where I think Lilly’s grasp of symbolism and motif is woefully atrophied. And while this episode doesn’t have a great rap, I find it a wealth of almost painfully obvious symbolism.

Moloch is a demon, he preys on the lonely, he’s called the Corruptor, his name is Moloch.

Moloch is traditionally understood to be an ancient Canaanite deity, throughout the Bible the Israelites find themselves falling into idolatrous worship of him. Idolatry is best understood as misplaced love or corrupted love.  

I, Robot…You, Jane is one of those episodes that I feel falls a bit short of the lofty symbolism it’s playing with, in part because the symbolism is clunkily spoon-fed to the audience. Moloch is a symbol of the tension between the characters. Willow’s unrequited love of Xander; Buffy’s crush on Angel; Giles’ utter distrust of technology; Fritz obsession—idolization—of technology.

Lilly’s miss regarding this symbolism was when I truly realized that I couldn’t recommend this book.

Final Thoughts.

Story is more than tight structure, its more than making sure each chapter ends on a hook, its more than twists and turns and reversals.

If Lilly kept strictly to breaking down structure, leaving out any analysis of the characters or plot, it would still be a flawed book, but it would be one with some minor use for novice writers who are also Buffy fans.

As it stands, this book isn’t terrible, it’s just not useful.