In telling this, I the word “Meta-literature,” comes to mind. It is the only phrase I can imagine that accurately describes my discovery that I am not actually who I think I am: that I am a character in a children’s fairy story.
There are critics who say we are all characters, and aren’t we all just acting out our destinies as written for us by whomever, but those critics are speaking in a metaphysical sense. And also, they are real. As in they are really living people. I am not.
This is not a metaphor.
This is about scope. It’s about seeing the tiny threads within a tapestry one moment and seeing the whole design the next. So, it is a metaphor but also a conundrum.
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