Existence in Stories: Why We Care About Characters Who Are, Not Just What They Do

When we talk about existence, the state of being present in a narrative with weight, history, and inner conflict. Also known as beingness, it’s what turns a character into someone you remember long after the last page. It’s not about how many battles they win or how fast they run. It’s about whether they feel like someone who woke up this morning, had a thought, felt something messy, and kept going. That’s the difference between a plot device and a person you can’t forget.

Look at the fantasy villains, antagonists whose power comes not from magic, but from deep, recognizable human flaws. Also known as dark lords, they haunt us because they mirror parts of ourselves we avoid. Sauron doesn’t just want to rule Middle-earth—he wants to erase choice. Voldemort fears death so much he splits his soul to escape it. These aren’t monsters. They’re twisted versions of people who lost their way in the struggle to exist meaningfully. That’s why they stick with you. And that’s why stories about personality development, how daily choices, relationships, and pain reshape who someone becomes over time. Also known as character formation, it’s the quiet engine behind every great story feel so real. We don’t read to escape life—we read to understand it better.

Existence shows up in quiet moments too. In cozy fantasy, where magic is woven into tea and neighborly kindness. In adventure girls who don’t wait to be saved but build their own path through doubt and courage. In Gen Z readers choosing books that speak to their inner chaos, not just their outer goals. Even in self-help books that promise transformation but rarely deliver—because real change doesn’t come from a checklist. It comes from showing up, day after day, even when nothing feels certain.

What makes a book unforgettable isn’t the world it builds. It’s the people inside it who feel like they’re still breathing after you close the cover. Whether it’s a teen figuring out who they are, a reader asking if 100 books a year even matters, or a villain terrified of being forgotten—these are all questions of existence. Below, you’ll find stories that don’t just happen. They linger. They haunt. They make you wonder: what does it mean to be here, right now, in this world, in this skin? And why does that question keep pulling us back to the page?