Every story is a flame – a flame with the potential to heal, or to harm. In the right hands, it’s a candle – gentle and guiding, lighting up the darkness. In the wrong hands, it’s a wildfire sweeping across everything in its path before anyone even notices the spark.
Stories are powerful tools. They shape our understanding of the world, influence our decisions, and touch the deepest parts of our emotions. They can warm, heal and inspire – or they can mislead, manipulate and destroy. And just like fire, it’s not the flame itself that decides the outcome – it’s how we use it.
Let’s explore how storytelling can either illuminate or incinerate, using some classic examples that have stood the test of time.
- Candles – Stories that Guide and Heal
- Wildfires – Stories that Mislead and Destroy
- Tending the Flame of Storytelling
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Candles – Stories that Guide and Heal.
You can think of good stories as candles. They don’t blind with brilliance or roar with heat, but offer a steady glow that guides, reassures and brings warmth. Candle-stories illuminate the path ahead, helping us make sense of ourselves and the world around us. These are tales that comfort us in hardship, inspire courage in uncertainty, and spark the imagination when all else feels dim.
Let’s look at some examples, beginning with one of the greatest storytellers who ever lived…
JRR Tolkien – A Light of Hope.
If ever there was a storyteller who tended his flame with care, it was JRR Tolkien. Although his world was filled with darkness and thick with shadow – wraiths, orcs, corrupt kings and a Dark Lord bent on domination – there was always a light flickering against it. Tolkien’s genius lies not in ignoring the darkness, but in showing how even the smallest flame can hold it at bay – the persistence of (somewhat) ordinary folk who refuse to surrender to despair.
One of the most iconic in-world examples of this comes from the small phial of light given to Frodo in The Fellowship of the Ring. Galadriel’s gift, a glass phial filled with water from her fountain, which encased some of the light of Eärendil’s star. This was offered with the words: “May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out.” It’s not a weapon of conquest, but a reminder that even in the deepest gloom, there’s still a way forward, with hope.
Tolkien returns to this theme time and time again. In fact, it’s a subject I looked into fairly extensively for Tolkien Reading Day 2021:
‘Now you go to sleep first, Mr. Frodo,’ he said. ‘It’s getting dark again. I reckon this day is nearly over.’
Frodo sighed and was asleep almost before the words were spoken. Sam struggled with his own weariness, and he took Frodo’s hand; and there he sat silent till deep night fell. Then at last, to keep himself awake, he crawled from the hiding-place and looked out. The land seemed full of creaking and cracking and sly noises, but there was no sound of voice or of foot. Far above the Ephel Duath in the West the night-sky was still dim and pale. There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up on the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.
JRR Tolkien – The Lord of the Rings – The Return of the King – Book Six, Chapter II – The Land of Shadow
Moments like these act as candles in the vast darkness of Middle-earth, not denying the existence of shadow, but kindling just enough light for the next step.
Tolkien’s stories offer us the quiet but vital lesson that hope persists, even in the face of overwhelming darkness. Like a candle, it steadies the heart and lights the way, encouraging reflection, inspiring courage, and reminding us that darkness is not the end of the story.
Beatrix Potter – An Ember of Imagination.
Beatrix Potter’s stories can also be likened to small but potent candles. Candles that softly glow and teach subtle lessons that children can easily understand. They nurture imagination, curiosity and empathy in young minds. Potter’s stories are not about epic battles or grand moral dilemmas, but rather, the simple lessons of life, cleverness and consequence, delivered through the curious and mischievous adventures of small countryside animals who feel just human enough to be relatable.
Take The Tale of Peter Rabbit (one of my childhood favourites, especially when old Nana G would read it…). On the surface, it’s the charming story of a rabbit who sneaks into Mr McGregor’s garden and narrowly escapes disaster with every nibble of lettuce and carrot.
Beneath the whimsical nature is a quiet candle of guidance. Children learn about risk, consequence and resourcefulness – not from a wagging finger, but from Peter Rabbit’s scrapes and narrow escapes. Lessons from the story are absorbed with laughter and tension, rather than through lectures.
Potter illuminates the world through the careful balance she strikes with her stories, which are never saccharine. The stories don’t pretend the world is free from danger – Mr McGregor genuinely does want to catch Peter for a pie – but the danger is always framed in a way children can process, with endings that always offer reassurance. The flame she tends is one of comfort and wonder, gently lighting the path of childhood exploration.
Moral threads and life lessons aside, Potter’s stories also heal in subtler ways. They nurture the imagination, offering children a safe space where animals can talk, adventures beckon, and the world is filled with curiosity – sparking the imagination whilst reassuring the heart. They demonstrate that the flame of storytelling doesn’t need to roar to matter.
We won’t mention how Beatrix Potter got so good at drawing her characters…
Aesop’s Fables – A Flame of Wisdom.
If Tolkien’s legendarium-filled tales are a light of hope, and Potter’s imagination-sparking stories are like candles, then Aesop’s Fables can be likened to matches – small and simple but endlessly portable.
These fables have been carried across centuries and cultures, passed from storyteller to listener and from page to memory, offering light wherever they go.
Consider The Tortoise and the Hare. The tale is deceptively simple – the overconfident hare, fast but lazy, is beaten by the slow and steady tortoise. Children and adults alike walk away with a clear lesson – perseverance and patience outlast arrogance. The flame here isn’t flashy – it’s steady and enduring.
Or The Boy Who Cried Wolf. A child learns the consequence of lying not because an adult tells him so, but because this poignant story holds its light high for all to see and shows him the cost of lost trust. After all, no child wants to be lectured. Or eaten by a wolf…
Something that makes Aesop’s candlelight so enduring is its adaptability. These fables aren’t tied to one culture, time or place. They distil human truths into the simplest of forms, ensuring the flame can be carried anywhere. The brevity of the stories makes them memorable, and their clarity makes them useful.
Aesop’s Fables show us that stories don’t need to be grand or lengthy to shine. Sometimes a few lines, well told, are enough to carry a flame across millennia.
Wildfires – Stories that Mislead and Destroy.
Fire is a strange phenomenon. The very same flame that warms can also consume, and with deadly consequence. Some stories spread like wildfires – fast, destructive, and impossible to contain once ignited. These are the tales of hysteria, deception or conspiracy that thrive on fear, suspicion and hatred. Rather than clarify, they cloud. Rather than heal, they harm.
Wildfire stories have been known to leave communities scorched, trust broken, and truth smothered in smoke and ash.
The Salem Witch Trials – A Blaze of Hysteria.
The Salem Witch Trials of 1692 demonstrate storytelling as wildfire, with what began as whispers of strange behaviour amongst a small group quickly ignited into a full-blown blaze of fear and paranoia – consuming all reason and justice.
The result was devastating. Neighbours turned against neighbours. Courts abandoned reason in favour of ‘spectral evidence’, believing stories about secret pacts, dark magic and supernatural influence. Ordinary disputes over land or family rivalries were cloaked in the language of witchcraft to weaponise the narrative against one’s enemies.
Dozens of lives were lost, not because of true crimes backed by evidence, but because the wildfire spread of fear-driven tales. Before long, more than 200 people were accused, 19 were hanged, one was pressed to death with stones, and others died in jail.
The tragedy of Salem wasn’t born from witchcraft. It was born from the misuse of the flame of storytelling. Fear-driven narratives were repeated until they gained the weight of truth, becoming a blaze of hysteria that turned whispers into verdicts and suspicion into execution. A once tight-knit community became a scorched shadow of its former self.
The Salem Witch Trials remind us that unchecked storytelling can become destructive and lethal when fear fuels the flame – burning and destroying as thoroughly as any wildfire consumes a forest.
Nero and the Great Fire of Rome – A Fire of Falsehood.
On the night of 18 July 64 AD, flames tore through the city of Rome. The fire raged for nearly a week, consuming temples, homes and marketplaces until much of the city lay in charred ruins. The devastation was so complete that suspicion quickly turned towards the emperor himself.
But why?
Before the fire, Nero had submitted plans to the Senate to demolish a third of the city so he could build a series of palaces and elaborate gardens adorned with monuments – the ‘Neropolis’. These plans were rejected, giving the tyrannical emperor a motive for causing the fire.
However, shifty Nero turned to storytelling as his escape route and pointed the finger at the Christians – a small and unpopular group at the time who were already regarded with mistrust. Nero’s story of Christians conspiring to destroy the great city of Rome spread like hungry flames in a dry forest. Blame shifted, suspicions grew, and backed by Nero’s cruelty and harsh public punishments, persecution followed.
Whether or not Nero truly ordered the fire remains uncertain – the surviving accounts were written decades later, each with their own contradictions. But one thing is certain, Nero did cause a deliberate and calculated wildfire that justified violence, oppression and suspicion until it consumed lives, reputations and trust.
By redirecting public anger, Nero not only protected his own reputation but also cemented the use of story as political weaponry with a single narrative of blame that became fuel for centuries of persecution.
Fake News & Conspiracy Theories – An Inferno of Mistrust.
Wildfires aren’t confined to history, ancient or otherwise. We live in an age where stories travel faster than ever. That’s why we use the word ‘viral’ to describe content (or stories) that spread quickly, echoing the way a biological virus spreads. There’s no coincidence that the word’s Latin root ‘virus’ originally meant poison or venom, which feels incredibly apt when applied to toxic narratives that infect their host.
There are numerous examples of fake or biased news on current events and conspiracy theories that demonstrate how quickly narratives can spread, and how destructive they can become. On countless occasions, such stories have affected people’s decisions on critical subjects such as healthcare, finances and even daily life.
Fake news and conspiracy theories provide some of the clearest modern examples of wildfire storytelling. They often begin as small sparks – a question raised, an unusual observation, or a provocative claim. Left unchecked, they’re carried by the winds of social media and word of mouth. Fuelled by uncertainty and mistrust, they twist perception, inflame suspicion, and set entire communities ablaze with doubt.
And once ignited, these narratives are notoriously difficult to extinguish. Facts rarely keep pace with the blaze, and even when disproven, the embers smoulder on. A debunked story can resurface years later in a new form, reigniting fear and mistrust in fresh audiences.
As Jan-Willem van Prooijen and Karen M Douglas note in their paper Belief in Conspiracy Theories: Basic Principles of an Emerging Research Domain, such narratives aren’t confined to ‘a few fringe groups or eccentric individuals,’ but are ‘widespread and have a major impact on society.’ The wildfire metaphor captures this modern reality – stories that spread rapidly, unpredictably, and often destructively.
Fake news and conspiracy theories clearly show that storytelling carries responsibility. Stories can either nurture understanding or scorch it. Used carelessly, they leave behind not fertile ground but ash, where trust and reason once stood.
Tending the Flame of Storytelling.
Stories are flames. They can bring a little light to a darkened world or scorch everything in their path. The difference isn’t in the flame itself – it’s in the storyteller and their motives. The care, intention and attention we bring to a story determine whether it warms hearts like a candle or rages like a wildfire.
Candles illuminate quietly, guiding us through moral, emotional or imaginative terrain. Wildfires, on the other hand, roar – consuming trust, reason and empathy. Every story we share is an opportunity to either nurture light or fuel destruction. In the end, it’s not the flame but the hand that wields it that shapes the outcome.
Long ago, the Vestal Virgins of Rome tended the sacred flame of Vesta, believing that the city’s fate depended on their vigilance. The flame was more than fire – it was continuity, meaning and life itself. It was sacred.
Storytellers today are the guardians of a similar kind of flame. The flame of storytelling is no less vital than the sacred fires of old. It carries the power to shape worlds, preserve cultures and pass light from one generation to the next. A community’s fate may also hang in the balance of the flamekeeper’s integrity.
The question is… are you tending your flame with care and dignity, so that it may burn brightly for generations to come?
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