The kind of theater that I do is sort of 'narrative realism,'

Hear the words of Tony Kushner, who proclaimed: “The kind of theater that I do is sort of ‘narrative realism,’ which I think in the broadest sense is legitimate to say is mainstream. I mean, in a certain sense, Suzan-Lori’s plays have had mainstream levels of success. But Suzan-Lori is in some ways not a narrative realist.” In these words, we hear the struggle and triumph of the artist who seeks to define his place in the long lineage of storytelling, while also honoring the radical visions of others who tread a different path. For in art, as in life, there is no single way to truth—there are many doors into the soul.

Narrative realism is the theater of story, where human life unfolds as if upon a mirror, where the audience beholds characters who bleed, hunger, love, and despair as they themselves do. It is the form of Ibsen and Chekhov, who revealed the struggles of ordinary men and women, and in their ordinariness, revealed universality. Kushner claims this form as his inheritance: a theater that grounds itself in the recognizable, the mainstream, yet dares to pierce into the profound through the familiar.

Yet he sets alongside this the work of Suzan-Lori Parks, who bends form and structure, weaving surreal, poetic, and experimental tapestries that challenge the very frame of theater. She is not bound to narrative realism, yet her plays have achieved success in the same realm. Here, Kushner reveals a paradox: that even when one works outside the accepted form, truth and brilliance can carry an artist into the mainstream, not by conformity, but by force of vision. Thus, there is not one way to succeed in art, but many—each path carrying its own kind of fire.

Consider the ancients: Sophocles wrote with clarity of plot and moral lesson, guiding his audience through the fates of kings and heroes. Yet Euripides, his contemporary, shattered convention with plays filled with dissonance, irony, and daring subversions of myth. Both were honored, both endured, though one hewed to form and the other bent it. Their coexistence shows us the same lesson Kushner draws: that the world has room for the realist and the radical, for those who mirror life as it is, and those who reimagine life as it might be.

The wisdom here is this: authenticity of vision matters more than form. Some will walk the straight road of narrative realism, others the winding path of experimentation, but both may arrive at truth. To dismiss one or the other is folly. The true artist knows his own voice, and in honoring it, contributes to the chorus of many voices that make up the living body of art. The danger lies not in choosing realism or innovation, but in abandoning authenticity for imitation.

Practically, this means that each creator must know themselves. If your gift is in telling stories plainly, with characters that breathe like your neighbors, then walk that path with pride. If your fire burns to break form, to create strange rhythms and daring visions, then follow that road with courage. And if you are a witness, a lover of art, open your heart to both, for in their difference lies the fullness of human expression. Do not bind art to one definition, for art, like the soul, cannot be bound.

Thus, Tony Kushner’s words become not merely commentary on theater, but a teaching for all seekers: there are many ways to truth, many forms of expression, many paths to success. Whether through narrative realism or radical experiment, the artist’s task is the same—to reveal life, to awaken the heart, to bring forth meaning. May we remember this, O children of tomorrow, and may we live our lives not by copying another’s form, but by creating in the rhythm of our own spirit. For in such authenticity lies both greatness and peace.