Kishotenketsu is a 4-part narrative structure from East Asia, and over the years, it has slowly been making its way into Western writing communities. From Studio Ghibli's Spirited Away, to the award-winning horror film Parasite, to anime and manga like Demon Slayer topping the charts, and the climbing craze for k-dramas, many Westerners have fallen head over heels for the kishotenketsu (pronounced "kee-show-ten-ketsu") storytelling approach (whether they know it or not). Unfortunately, though, there have also been quite a few misunderstandings about what kishotenketsu actually is, and how it works, on its way to the West.
Last year, a student in my writing course asked me to comment on kishotenketsu. And while I will openly admit I'm not an expert on it, or East Asian culture, I'm not completely clueless either. Japan has long held a special place in my heart because my dad, brother, aunt, uncle, and cousins lived there. My best friend's dad did work there. And my other brother's close friend was half-Japanese--he'd sometimes share cool shows with us (fun fact: my first Studio Ghibli film was all in Japanese, no subtitles, thanks to this friend).
I wish I could say these people helped me write this article, but the truth is, they didn't; they haven't studied kishotenketsu or writing in depth . . . and with the research I've done, I know more than them on this topic now. (It probably also helps that I inhaled a lot of anime during my formative years 😉) With that said, I am open to hearing corrections from those who know more than me--I just ask they be given with kindness.
I am not East Asian, but what I am is a professional editor and writing instructor who has studied a lot about stories and their structures. I believe my thoughts on this topic are worth sharing. Also, I did look at sources that were actually East Asian, because I do prefer to learn straight from the originators. My references are listed below.
Let's get into it.
(*Notes: I sometimes use West and East in this article as generic terms; I'm aware they are imprecise, but this allows for simplicity. Based on the content of this article, I'm sure you'll get what I mean. Also, plurals are handled differently in English versus Japanese, so I've coined the word "tens" to reference multiple "ten" for clarity, for my audience--I'm aware this isn't how it's handled in Japanese.
Finally, because this ended up being a longer-than-normal post, I've included a table of contents 😊)
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Table of Contents
What is Kishotenketsu?
Kishotenketu's Short-form Origins
Kishotenketu Long-form Narratives
Example: My Neighbor Totoro
Example: Your Name
Kishotenketsu Visuals, Timing, and Variations
Kishotenketsu Fractals
Cultural Differences
Myth: Kishotenketsu has No Conflict
Similarities to Western Story Structures
Examples: Twilight (Sixth Sense & "The Lottery")
References
What is Kishotenketsu?
In short, kishotenketsu is a 4-part narrative structure that's found in China, Korea, Japan, and Vietnam. It is often described as being about a "twist." The word itself (or at least the word for it that's made it into our Western writing communities) is Japanese. It reflects the four parts.
Ki = Introduction
This is the setup, where the characters and world and any other significant information is introduced.
Sho = Development
This part expands and develops what was introduced. Often there is not a huge change here, but the narrative is building on what was set up.
Ten = Twist / Turn
This is considered the most important part of the structure. This is often referred to as a "twist" in English, which I personally feel is a misleading translation (more on why below). Here, there is an unexpected turn that changes the story. This is the "high point" of the structure.
Ketsu = Conclusion
After the turn, the narrative concludes. Often what happens in the previous three parts gets adequately explained or reconciled in some way in here, so we have a new understanding or interpretation of what happened.
The ending of kishotenketsu tends to be more open to various outcomes--it's not given that everything will be tied up in what Westerners would consider "satisfying." But it nonetheless ends the structure.
Kishotenketsu's Short-form Origins
One of the things that's worth mentioning is that kishotenketsu originated from short-form narratives--it originated from a type of 4-line Chinese poetry called qichengzhuanhe.
Qi = to start or bring into being
Cheng = to understand, handle, or process
Zhuan = to change or turn
He = result or unite
Here is an example:
"Goodbye" by Wang Wei.
After bidding farewell among the mountains,
the sun sets. I close the wooden gate.
With every spring the grass turns green again,
my friend, I wonder if you will be back when it happens.
The first line introduces a situation, a setting, and implies (at least) two entities (a farewell).
The second line develops or builds on that, as the speaker returns home.
The third line seems unrelated--why are we talking about green grass every spring?
The final line unites or connects them. The speaker is thinking about next spring, because he is wondering if the other person will return by then.
This poetic structure was adopted by Korea and later Japan.
Let's look at a Japanese poem.
Untitled by Rai San'yo
Itoya's daughters in Honmachi near Osaka,
the elder is 16, the younger 14.
Daimyo in various regions kill with bows and arrows,
Itoya's daughters kill with their gaze.
Once again, we see that the first line introduces the situation, the place and people. The second line builds on that, providing more info. The third line seems unrelated--it's a sudden change of topic, a turn. And the fourth line reconciles that, showing the relation.
In East Asia, this structure was integrated into other arts and practices. Everything from essays and video games, to painting and advertisements, and of course, manga, anime, film, novels, and stories in general. Even a Korean source related kishotenketsu to meals and museums.
I want to emphasize that the origins of this structure were short-form narratives, because I think some confusion and misconceptions happen when people try to apply it to long-form narratives.
Another short-form narrative that kishotenketsu shows up in, is in 4-paneled comics or yonkoma manga ("yonkoma" refers to the four panels, "manga" means comic.)
In his book How to Draw Manga, Osamu Tezuka provides this example:
Ki -- Panel 1: An old man encourages a toddler to walk.
Sho -- Panel 2: The man walks backward, and the toddler crawls nearer.
Ten -- Panel 3: Walking backward, the old man falls.
Ketsu -- Panel 4: Now battered, he crawls like a baby. The toddler, standing, applauds him.
The ten or turn, is that the old man falls, not the kid.
Still Eating Oranges also created this example:
Ki -- Panel 1: A girl pushes a button on a vending machine.
Sho -- Panel 2: A soda comes out.
Ten -- Panel 3: A boy sits on a ledge, looking around.
Ketsu -- Panel 4: The girl arrives and hands him the soda.
The ten is the boy, who seems completely unrelated to what we've seen before. The last panel unifies the disconnection, or rather, reconciles the change the audience experienced.
I also want to mention that just because this structure originates in East Asia, doesn't mean it doesn't exist in some form anywhere else. It's not unusual for Western urban legends to actually be told through this structure. Here is one famous example, "The Licked Hand":
A young girl is home alone for the first time, with her dog. On the news, she hears a killer is loose in her neighborhood, so she locks the house, but forgets about the basement window. She goes to bed, her dog staying in her room, under her bed. In the middle of the night, she wakes and hears a dripping sound coming from the bathroom, but too scared to check it, she simply puts her hand down toward her dog, who licks it. The next morning she goes to the bathroom to find her dog dead and mutilated. In blood is written "Humans can lick too."
The ten is that the dog is dead. The ketsu explains how her hand was licked--by the murderer.
Kishotenketsu also has some similarities to our jokes. A knock-knock joke is like kishotenketsu, but usually the ten and ketsu are combined.
Knock-knock
Who's there?
Boo
Boo who?
Everything is fine--no need to cry!
There is a turn with the boo-who and crying that immediately makes sense to us.
Interestingly, when researching, I found Youtuber The CynicClinic, who had looked up Japanese sources, which mentioned Little Red Riding Hood and The Tortoise and The Hare as kishotenketsu examples. I likewise found a Japanese website that used Little Red Riding Hood and Cinderella as kishotenketsu examples. In Little Red Riding Hood, the ten would be the wolf turning out to be the grandmother. In The Tortoise and The Hare, it would be the hare sleeping while the tortoise wins the race (quite an unexpected turn indeed). And in Cinderella, it would be when her spell wears off at the ball, and she rushes home.
And I want to acknowledge that I've heard kishotenketsu can vary from country to country, as it gets interpreted differently and filled in differently by each culture. Giseungjeongyeol is the name for the Korean version, and it is often used in Korean dramas. The jeon is the Korean version of the ten.
Author Kim Yoonmi writes about the jeon and ten here and here, mentioning they are often handled slightly differently, because of cultural differences. Rather than a "twist" at the ten, Korea's jeon tends to focus more on discovery or self-realization, or a "return" to what happened previously, while having a sudden emotional change. (I would explain it by saying it's usually centered on the internal plotline, while acknowledging that some, like Parasite, are not.)
Because I'm most familiar with Japanese storytelling (and "kishotenketsu" is Japanese), most of my research has been based on their perspective, but I did look at Korean and Chinese sources as well.
Kishotenketsu Long-form Narratives
As mentioned, kishotenketsu influenced many other societal aspects, and it was applied to long-form narratives. Most manga and anime follow kishotenketsu, and so do most of the Studio Ghibli films (and, as I just said, Korean dramas). So let's cover how kishotenketsu can show up on a larger scale, because if you are creating something longer than four lines of poetry, flash fiction, a short fable, or an urban legend, you may need a bit more guidance on how these parts break down. (With that said, though, many East Asian sources keep it rather simple and minimal (and you can see some Japanese ones here and here, and a Korean one here.)
So, let's build on what we've covered.
Ki = Introduction
This is the setup of the story. Relay when and where the story takes place. Introduce key characters and relationships, and probably any special skills or attributes.
Establish what's normal, or perhaps (I would argue) more accurately said, what's to be expected.
Convey the tone and genre. Some sources I looked at (Western and Eastern) mentioned conveying the atmosphere of the "world" or story in here. A few mentioned the importance of grabbing the audience's attention.
Sho = Development
In his booklet, Kishotenketsu: The Narrative Structure from Manga and Anime, Aldo Terminiello points out that other words that could be used here are "foundation," "construction," "progress," and "expansion."
As stated above, in sho you build and develop what was introduced in the ki section. The audience learns more about the "world" and how things work in it. Their understanding of the characters and relationships deepens. And new characters and relationships may appear. Complications arise as the plot thickens. Subtle foreshadowing may come into play. There may not be a huge contrast between ki and sho (at least on the surface level), but the story continues, and the audience gets a stronger sense of how this narrative is going to go.
Ten = Twist / Turn
The word ten means "to turn," "to change," or "switch directions." It also gets translated into "twist," which I feel can be misleading for us in the West, because most of us probably think of big plot twists when we hear that word in this context. The ten can be a plot twist (big or small), but it's more broadly speaking, a turn, a change. It also gets translated into "turning point," which I think is more accurate.
From my Western perspective, all twists are turning points (well, almost all anyway), but not all turning points are twists. Simplistically speaking, a turning point changes the direction of the story. A twist also changes the context of what happened previously, giving us a new understanding or interpretation. A ten can do that. But it doesn't have to. A ten may also simply be a reveal, where important information gets dropped.
Additionally, the ten can show up through a change in time, location, viewpoint, or focus. It often brings a more contrasting or chaotic element into the story.
However it shows up, something significantly changes the story here.
The ten is considered the most important part of the structure. It is usually what the previous parts of the story have been building up to, or at least preparing the audience for . . . though this is not strictly a necessity, as sometimes the ten can come out of nowhere (something Westerners don't always appreciate).
Interestingly, the "ten" in kishotenketsu also gets translated into "climax"--it's the "peak" moment of the story.
Ketsu = Conclusion
Another word that might fit here is "reconciliation." The story may or may not have a full resolution. Traditionally, the ketsu phase is about reconciling the ki and sho parts with the ten part (think of my short narrative examples above)--perhaps showing how they all link together, or explaining how they make sense. Or, maybe just showing what happens after the ten.
Like ten, ketsu can show up in a lot of different ways. It may, in fact, look like the denouement of most Western stories: conflicts resolved and loose ends tied up. Or, it may be very different. In kishotenketsu, it's perfectly acceptable for this part to be ambiguous, open-ended, and lack closure. It may also be more reflective, and/or contain moral or philosophical commentary. And it may sometimes even introduce new upheavals. This can make the story feel "off" to Westerners.
Kishotenketsu Example: My Neighbor Totoro
Ki = Introduction
The story opens with sisters, Satsuki and Mei, and their father moving into a new house that is rumored to be haunted. We get a sense of the "world" (one that is inhabited by sprites and spirits), as well as the tone of the story.
Sho = Development
The next part builds on what was introduced. We learn that they moved here because their mom is sick and in the hospital. The girls encounter other forest spirits, including Totoro. We get a sense of their day-to-day life, as they plant acorns and seeds, interact with Totoro, and spend time at school or with their dad.
Ten = Turn
After learning that their mom won't be coming home this weekend, Mei, heartbroken, runs off. She plans to go to the hospital and deliver the corn she picked to her mom, but tells no one. Satsuki can't find her, and she and the village panic. They create a search party for Mei.
Ketsu = Conclusion
Satsuki realizes she can turn to Totoro for help. He helps her find Mei, and with a ride from the cat bus, they go to the hospital and deliver the corn. Their mom is still sick, but we get the sense that things are going to be okay.
In this example, the ten is not really foreshadowed much, if at all, leading some viewers to feel like the sudden change "comes out of nowhere." It almost feels like a different story. And although the ten comes 82% into the story, to some Westerners, it almost feels like this is when the real story starts, because it's when the tension, conflict, and stakes (which have been low until this moment) get high.
Kishotenketsu Example: Your Name
(Warning: spoilers!)
In my research, Your Name came up repeatedly as an example. The ten is a big twist, yet it feels fitting because of the previous parts of the story, as well as the foreshadowing.
Ki = Introduction
We are introduced to high schoolers Taki and Mitsuha. Their lifestyles contrast with each other: Taki lives in a big, modern city (Tokyo), working part-time as a waiter, while Mitsuha lives in a rural town (Itomori), where she participates in traditions at a shrine.
At the beginning of the story, they wake up in swapped bodies. Taki must get through the day as a girl in Itomori, and Mitsuha must get through the day as a boy in Tokyo. They cause problems for each other, but believe it is all a dream.
Sho = Development
The characters wake up as themselves, and soon realize it wasn't a dream, as they deal with problems the other created for them. They continue to switch bodies 2 - 3 times a week, and begin to lay out ground rules and take notes for each other, so they can keep functioning in their day-to-day lives.
Taki also learns more about the shrine and how God has power over people's connections and over time. In Itomori, the autumn festival is coming up, and a comet is expected to pass really close during it.
After going on a date Mitsuha set up for him, Taki realizes he has feelings for Mitsuha instead. He tries to call her, but it seems the number is disconnected.
The body-switching inexplicably stops.
Ten = Turn
Taki finds he misses the swapping (or rather, Mitsuha), and wants to meet her, but no texts or calls go through. Using what he knows about the rural town, he tries to locate her. He sketches what the place looks like, and a ramen shop owner recognizes it, and takes him there. It has been completely destroyed.
Taki learns that a comet hit the town three years ago. Hundreds died, including Mitsuha.
Not only were they swapping bodies, but they were swapping timelines.
Ketsu = Conclusion
Taki finds a way to swap bodies once more, and wakes as Mitsuha on the day of the autumn festival. Taki enlists Mitsuha's friends to help with a mass evacuation. At twilight, he returns to his rightful body, his timeline intersecting with Mitsuha's, allowing them to communicate and properly meet (I'm simplifying).
Mitsuha finds that her father, the mayor, has instructed residents to stay put, despite her friends' attempts. But she eventually convinces him to evacuate everyone instead.
Both Mitsuha and Taki begin to lose memories of each other and the experience, but Taki feels inexplicably drawn to the story of a town evacuating just before a comet hits.
Years later, they run into each other in Tokyo and feel drawn together.
In this example, the ten is a big twist that was foreshadowed prior. It also hits right in the middle of the story.
Kishotenketsu Visuals, Timing, and Variations
Kishotenketsu has been diagrammed a few different ways, but the most popular one (well, popular in the West) comes from two manga editors, Mocchi and Taiyo, who talk about the kishotenketsu structure in a video (in Japanese and English).
They show it like this:
You can see their diagram is based on the audience's emotional engagement.
As for timing, the truth is . . . there isn't a consensus on the timing of the elements.
Some argue that each part should make up a quarter. Ki: 1-25%. Sho: 25-50%. Ten: 50-75%. and Ketsu: 75-100%. Your Name can fit into this pretty well, and so can Parasite.
Others say that the ten is quite literally the climax, and so it should show up near the end.
But in some stories, it seems to show up at the 75% mark.
In Kishotenketsu: The Narrative Structure from Manga and Anime, Terminiello offers these guidelines:
Ki -- about 12.5% of the story
Sho -- about 50% of the story
Ten -- about 25% of the story
Ketsu -- about 7.5% of the story
( . . . though this leaves us 5% short)
But he likewise goes on to say, it doesn't have a strict mathematical division.
A few sources I looked at, said not to make them equal sizes, because that makes ki too long, and the audience will lose interest. This page, which is specifically geared toward novels, suggests 10% for ki, 40% for sho, 40% for ten, and 10% for ketsu, but then also goes on to say there is no strict rule.
Mocchi and Taiyo argue in the above video that the timing is not as important as the impact on the audience, so you should place the ten where it's most powerful. They liken it to Goku's kamehameha in Dragon Ball--the story "charges up" (ka-me-ha-me) until it releases the ten at the ideal moment (-ha!).
In addition to all that, the structure itself is not strict either, so there is room for variations. For example, in advertising, one might follow a ketsu-sho-ten structure instead, so the audience gets the most important information first.
And when it comes to stories, sometimes the sho and ten get repeated. So a story may be like: ki-sho-ten-sho-ten-sho-ten-sho-ten-ketsu. Meaning, you may have a turn, then more development from that, then a turn, then more development from that, then a turn, then more development from that, then a turn, and then the end. In this case, the ten with the greatest power that initiates the final phase is usually seen as THE ten of the story. This can also show up as repeated tens, something like a ki-sho-ten-ten-ten-ketsu.
Kim Yoonmi has re-created Mocchi and Taiyo's diagram in a popular image here.
. . . And I admit, as a Westerner, when I first looked at this diagram, it felt distinctly foreign to me, but a few minutes later, I realized it actually didn't look that foreign at all . . . as it's very similar to the shape I use . . . this one just uses curved lines instead of straight ones (I'll talk about that more below).
In What is the Structure of Gisuengjeongyeol? Jang Han-byeol shares this diagram:
. . . which is also rather interesting . . . especially when you imagine it drawn with straight lines.
Another pleasant surprise was that kishotenketsu works in fractals (. . . which is also how I view story structure).
Kishotenketsu Fractals
In their video, Mocchi and Taiyo go on to talk about how kishotenketsu works as a fractal. While a long story will follow an overarching kishotenketsu, it will have smaller kishotenketsu within it. Each chapter in a manga should follow kishotenketsu.
Taiyo even translates the tens as "many climaxes." (Yeah, this sounds awfully familiar to me 😆.)
This website also talks about writing a big story by breaking it down into smaller kishotenketsu (a couple of my other sources did as well).
A similar thing can happen in anime, though sometimes there are changes as the manga gets adapted for screen (there is a bigger push to end on a cliffhanger).
For example, each saga of Dragon Ball Z follows kishotenketsu. In the Frieza saga, the ten is when Krillin dies and Goku turns Super Saiyan for the first time.
Yet if you watch the very first episode, it also follows kishotenketsu:
Ki --We are introduced to key characters in their day-to-day life: Goku and his family, and his friends gathering at Master Roshi's. We also have Raditz landing on planet Earth looking for Goku.
Sho -- Goku searches for his son, Gohan, then takes him to Master Roshi's, where he and his friends are having a reunion. They catch up. Raditz continues searching.
Ten -- Raditz arrives at Master Roshi's and reveals a shocker: Goku isn't human; he's a Saiyan, a violent group of people from another planet, and he was originally sent to Earth to destroy humanity. Raditz is his biological brother. This recolors Goku's entire life.
Ketsu -- When Goku resists him, Raditz easily attacks Goku, who falls to the beach in pain. Raditz turns his attention to Gohan, who might be more useful to his dark agenda than Goku.
Another popular manga/anime that regularly gets referenced with kishotenketsu working in fractals, is Attack on Titan (though I hear the adaptation changed some things).
Similarly, the first chapter of Demon Slayer also follows kishotenketsu, though arguably with variation, as it has multiple turns (the biggest perhaps being that a demon protects her brother--something that is unheard of in this "world").
Cultural Differences Found in Kishotenketsu
1. Low Conflict & Low Stakes
You may have noticed that when I went over kishotenketsu, I didn't mention conflict. Many Westerners state that kishotenketsu is conflict-less, which is a misconception that I'll address further down. It nonetheless can get away with low conflict, as well as low stakes.
The ten is the high point, and sort of the "punch" of the story. And so what writers may deem more important is creating a high contrast between the ki-sho and the ten, or simply preparing the audience for the ten through foreshadowing. Instead of focusing on conflict, the focus may be on what best "charges" up the story for the turn to land most impactfully.
We can look at My Neighbor Totoro and probably all agree that the story has low conflict and low stakes. It's even been called "plotless." Yet there is a significant contrast when the ten shows up as Mei missing.
2. No Drastic Changes From Phase 1 (Ki) to Phase 2 (Sho)
In many Western approaches, like The Hero's Journey or Save the Cat!, writers are encouraged to make a strong contrast or "break" between the beginning and the middle of the story--this often includes the character traveling to another "world" (literally or figuratively). The Hero's Journey calls this "place" the "special world," and Save the Cat! calls this the "antithesis world." But the idea that the beginning and middle have to have a sharp, obvious, surface-level contrast or break is a bit of a misconception in our Western writing communities. The reality is, the difference may be more subtle and internal--more of a state of being than a change of space (which, by the way, both of these approaches acknowledge).
Regardless though, this is often cited as a difference with kishotenketsu: It does not encourage a huge, obvious change to get to the middle. Rather, it deepens and expands what was introduced in the beginning.
A good example of this is Parasite. In the beginning, we are introduced to Kevin and his family. We see Kevin try for a tutoring position. Once he gets it, he immediately tries to get his sister hired. This transitions us from beginning (ki) to middle (sho). Rather than being a stark break, sho builds on ki, as we see each family member work to get another family member hired.
3. "Out-of-the-Blue" Turns (Ten)
In the West, we usually prefer our plot turns to be logical consequences of what happened before, or at least foreshadowed in some way. In fact, when a writer pulls something out of seemingly nowhere (and does so poorly), we often refer to it as the author pulling the idea out of his butt. In modern times, it even has a name--an "ass-pull." A concept similar to this is the deus ex machina, but an "ass-pull" has a broader meaning.
In kishotenketsu, "out-of-the-blue" plot turns are more accepted. Mei suddenly runs away? Yeah, okay, let's go with that.
Of course, though, the ten may also be a completely logical consequence, like L's fate in Death Note, or something carefully foreshadowed, like what we see in Your Name.
4. The Turn (Ten) May Be Mainly for the Audience
The ten may be more about turning the audience's perspective of the story, rather than the characters' plot. Technically, a ten can be a reveal to the audience of something the characters already know. Some of the short-form narrative examples I gave above work off this. Or, the ten may be something revealed only to the audience, that the characters may never know.
It might only be the audience's understanding that changes at ten and ketsu, not the characters'.
For example, in Trigun one of the final tens of the series, is the reveal of Vash's true nature--something he (the protagonist) and his opponent (the antagonist) already know . . . but something the audience does not.
This recolors the audience's understanding of the entire story. Not the characters'.
5. Atypical Endings
Most of us on this "side" of the globe, prefer endings that resolve (almost) all conflicts and tie (almost) all loose ends, while conveying a new "normal," so we can imagine what the distant future looks like for these characters. This is most satisfying.
In kishotenketsu, as stated above, conflicts may be left unresolved, ends not tied, the conclusion may be ambiguous, or something new may come along and upend the story. There may also simply be commentary about what we should learn from the character's experience.
If you've watched or read enough East Asian stories, you may recall how some of them sort of just ended, leaving you (assuming you're a Westerner) wanting a bit more--another scene, more explanation, more resolution, or just more information.
Trigun is an example of this, with many viewers yearning for a bit more closure: What happens next? Do two of the characters get together? Does the world find peace? While we can make assumptions, the ending feels abrupt and left "open" since a new "normal" isn't conveyed.
6. Slice-of-Life Character Stories
Many kishotenketsu stories aren't very concerned with a riveting, conflict-filled external plotline. Instead, they may be more focused on the character and chronicling her day-to-day life, like what we see in Totoro, or perhaps, arguably, Kiki's Delivery Service. The stories may be more interested in the internal plotline, or the characters' relationships.
Because the ten can show up in so many ways, it can keep an ordinary slice-of-life story interesting (despite low conflict) when executed well. Conflict may matter less, because what's interesting is how the ten gets reconciled with ki-sho in the end (ketsu).
7. The Protagonist May Not Change
Related is the fact that it's not unusual for the protagonist to not go through a big transformation. He can. But it's also fine if he doesn't.
In the West, we are often being told that our protagonists need to have big positive-change character arcs . . . which I feel is a dangerous misconception in our own communities, because quite frankly, there are plenty of famous characters who don't (and I wrote a whole series on writing such characters). However, I acknowledge that most writers here are taught they need to have this.
8. Atmospheric Scenes About "Nothing"
In East Asian stories, you may see more scenes, passages, or shots that simply show the setting/worldbuilding and/or convey a tone or atmosphere. They may not be important to the plot, character, or theme of the story.
For example, in one part in Spirited Away, Chihiro wakes up, and we watch her go through the bathhouse, go outside, and go across the bridge to her destination. We get big shots of the setting, and the story is in no rush. In American films, this would largely be cut. We might get an establishing shot or two of the setting, but it would be brief, and then we would jump right into the next important part of the story.
Generally speaking, play-by-plays like this example are considered a problem here. "Ideally," we want every moment to progress the narrative in some way. Of course, having downtime is important to pacing and structure, but our "downtime" is usually still serving character, plot, or theme.
In kishotenketsu, there may be more "breathing room," where frankly, "nothing" really happens. The characters may cook and eat a delicious meal, put up laundry to dry, stroll through the woods, or visit a shop.
Differences? Exceptions? Or Rule Breaks?
While you will find all of these things more frequently in kishotenketsu stories, I feel a lot of them have more to do with how Eastern and Western writers choose to fill in and flesh out their stories' structures, than with the story structure itself.
Sure, some things are more structure-based, like how you can use the ten to keep a slice-of-life story engaging.
But you can also find a lot of kishotenketsu stories that don't hit what's on this list.
For example, plenty of conflict-filled stories, like Attack on Titan and Dragon Ball, follow kishotenketsu. Many of these stories aren't quiet slice-of-life character pieces, but full of end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it stakes that emphasize the external plotline. The protagonist of Death Note does not stay the same, as he descends into a negative change arc. Plenty of tens are masterfully built in and foreshadowed--like the amazing twisty turn of Steins;Gate or the big reveals in Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.
Likewise, there are also popular Western stories that weren't written with kishotenketsu that have some of these features. Napoleon Dynamite is certainly a slice-of-life story with low conflict and stakes, and it's almost exclusively focused on the character. A Christmas Story has some similarities as well. Twilight arguably has its own "out-of-the-blue" ten, when the bad vampires show up out of nowhere, completely changing the story. And as for turns that focus on the audience, in Knives Out, the first major turn does just that, as it reveals to the audience (but not Detective Blanc) that Marta gave Harlan too much morphine (something Marta herself already knew).
Atypical endings aren't unheard of either. We can find ambiguous endings in Inception or A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or arguably, to some extent, Stranger Things season 5. Sometimes, a horror will not want to end with closure, because doing so leaves the audience too comfortable. And in The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, there is one recurring viewpoint with short passages that is all about capturing the wonder and atmosphere of the "world." It's not really important to plot, character, or theme.
So, it's often not necessarily that one approach requires this or that. The differences are more accurately described as this: What East Asian kishotenketsu considers normal and acceptable, we consider exceptions and rule breaks.
Myth: Kishotenketsu Has No Conflict
On its way to the West, kishotenketsu has been misleadingly labeled as "the story structure without conflict." But this is incorrect.
There is a difference between short-form narratives and long-form narratives.
A short-form kishotenketsu can get away with no conflict . . . just as short-form Western narratives can.
Let's return to this poem:
"Goodbye" by Wang Wei.
After bidding farewell among the mountains,
the sun sets. I close the wooden gate.
With every spring the grass turns green again,
my friend, I wonder if you will be back when it happens.
It's clear there is no conflict in this. Maybe there is some sadness, and perhaps you can argue there is some internal tension in that regard, but tension is not the same as conflict. Tension is the potential for things to go wrong (or in some situations, right). Tension is the potential for problems.
Conflict is the clash of problems actually happening.
In here, one may argue there is tension, since the speaker doesn't know when his friend will be back. But there is no conflict.
Similarly, we can look at what is considered to be the shortest story in the U.S.:
For sale: baby shoes, never worn.
- Unknown
Is there conflict? No. Is there tension? Maybe . . . arguably . . . Maybe the audience feels tension, but personally, I would argue there isn't.
Anyone can tell an interesting story that doesn't have conflict. I could sit down with you and tell you about my trip to a fancy beach where nothing went wrong. Or I could tell you about a presentation I gave that I totally nailed.
Sure, kishotenketsu can make a no-conflict story more interesting, by having a "twist."
But there is something no-conflict stories have in common: They're short.
Because the reality is, a long story with no conflict, often doesn't hold an audience.
This is the same reason that scenes with no conflict are almost always short.
It's conflict that keeps the audience engaged over long periods of time.
Some of you may be ready to argue with me on this, which brings me to my next point: Most people misunderstand what conflict actually is.
Often when people think of conflict, they think of violence, shouting matches, or angry interactions.
And while those are certainly types of conflict, they aren't the sum of conflict.
What conflict really is, is encountering an obstacle. It's encountering a force that makes what you are trying to do, more difficult.
In this sense, an unexpected gust of wind threatening to blow away your invitation is conflict.
A boulder blocking a path you want to go down is conflict.
And trying not to cough when you are giving a presentation with a cold is conflict.
Even slice-of-life stories that have been called "plotless," like Totoro, have conflict--it's just less dire and obvious, and sometimes less frequent.
It's essentially impossible to write a "good" long kishotenketsu that has no conflict.
Some will go on to argue that the difference is that in kishotenketsu, the story is not conflict-based, which . . . I can understand and maybe agree to, to a point. I mean, I get what they are saying, and their framework. Buuuuut . . .
I personally argue that no "good" plot is actually "conflict-based."
It's goal-based.
Conflict does not equal story. Or plot.
Goals do.
Conflict is an important part of long-form narratives.
But I would argue, it's not the foundation. Objectives are.
For example, you could have a story that has a lot of conflict: violence, shouting matches, angry interactions--but if it's not contextualized through an objective, it's pointless. It's conflict for the sake of conflict, and feels meaningless.
A story like that can be almost as boring as a story without any conflict.
It's goals that are the foundation of plot--which is one of the reasons Totoro is still such a success, because while it has low conflict and stakes, it consistently has goals.
We can even go back and look at my short-form narrative examples, and see most of them have or imply an objective--if not an obvious goal, at least an internal want.
- The speaker in "Goodbye" wants to see his friend sooner rather than later.
- In the "baby ad," whoever placed the ad, wanted a baby.
- In Osamu Tezuka's four-panel comic, the old man and toddler want the toddler to walk
- In the Still Eating Orange's example, the boy wants a drink.
So while I get and can respect these writerly arguments . . . part of me feels like they are based on inaccurate understandings of plot anyway.
Story does not actually equal conflict (and I say that as a Westerner).
And to take all that a step further, there is a difference between plot and story. Plot is a part of story, and story is a sum of its parts. You can technically have an enjoyable story, that has a "weak" plot. Not all great stories are "plot-centric," and that's okay.
Similarities to Western Story Structures
I want to preface this section by saying much of what is in here is based on my own observations, studies, interpretations of, and experiences with story structure (sort of how I went into my own arguments just above), so this is going to be different than what you would typically find under a heading like this, on other websites or in most writing communities. So with that out of the way . . .
Regardless of which modern, popular, Western story structure approach you use, when stripped of its "flesh" its structural "skeleton" likely looks like this:
Each quarter has a major turning point (also known as a plot turn or plot point), which we could think of as a smaller "climax."
The actual climax of any (long-form) story is a turning point. It's just that the climax is the one that definitively resolves the main conflict. Or, in other words, from another perspective, it's when the protagonist definitively gets or doesn't get his current goal (simplistically speaking).
Every great (long-form) story will have not just one turning point, but multiple. Each act will have a turning point, and commonly, there will be two for Act II, the middle--since it's usually the biggest and longest, it often gets split into two parts. (Though that isn't always the case.)
Depending on what approach you use, you may know these plot points by different names.
For example . . .
7 Point Story Structure calls this Plot Point 1
The Hero's Journey calls this Crossing the Threshold
Save the Cat! calls this Break into Two.
While they might want you to "flesh" this moment out in different ways, at the end of the day, it's simply a major turning point.
These approaches don't diagram the turns this way, but they are quite literally smaller (though still major) plot turns, just like the climax. There is also often a sense of escalation as the story nears them, and then a drop (to some degree) in tension and conflict just after them (like a smaller falling action). So, I diagram them like this.
Now, while I know kishotenketsu is not the exact same as these other approaches (and they all have some differences) . . . while looking at its most popular diagram . . . which came straight from professionals in Japan who work with kishotenketsu every day . . .
. . . I couldn't help but notice . . .
. . . A similar shape. . . .
It's just one has curved lines while the other has straight.
Sure, the percentages aren't the exact same, but 1) there is no consensus on percentages with kishotenketsu in long narratives and 2) the percentages have always been guidelines, not strict rules. Not even all the Western approaches have the same percentages. For example, Save the Cat! wants you to end Act I at ~20% while 7 Point Story Structure wants you to end it at ~25% (Most approaches say ~25%, and I prefer the even quarters, so that is what I usually use.)
But, but--some of you might be thinking--the kishotenketsu diagram is based on audience engagement--it's different!
To which I respond . . . is it? Is it really that different?
Our basic story structure shape measures tension (& conflict) and the release of it.
Is it not tension and conflict that most often lead to strong audience engagement? And isn't the audience most engaged at those turns (tens)?
 |
| (It should be noted that after major turns, some tension is always released, but not necessarily all tension.) |
And do we not, on average, tend to have a narrow view of what tension and conflict actually are? You don't need war battles, dragon fights, flying fists, or shouting matches to have tension and conflict. For tension, you just need potential for something to go wrong. Or, even in some rare situations (which we don't talk about enough) potential for something to go right (such as a romantic relationship).
Conflict is simply encountering obstacles, opposition, on the way to a goal.
(And, may I add, you need an objective in place in order to appreciate either conflict or tension?)
No, the diagram is not technically measuring tension and conflict, but I'm willing to bet that when there is audience engagement for any considerable length of time, those are going to be present.
And . . . if kishotenketsu can have smaller kishotenketsu inside it, and even be a ki-sho-ten-sho-ten-sho-ten-sho-ten-ketsu . . . doesn't it kind of suggest . . . those rises are tens (aka, turning points)? So maybe we could say that that diagram also has four major turns?
And . . . as for the parts . . . can we not also relabel my Western diagram differently? Out of these diagrams, the main difference is that in kishotenketsu, the falling action or conclusion is set apart.
Some argue that the ki should end earlier--10-12.5% . . . and interestingly, is that not often where the Western inciting incident happens? (Or at least, what I refer to as "Turn A" in here?)
Again, I'm not an expert on kishotenketsu, but when it comes to long-form narratives, I don't think it's that different when stripped to the bones.
Sure, it may encourage you to fill out those bones differently, just as some of our Western approaches do . . . but I can't help but question if it's not as different as many tend to think.
Likewise, our stories should also work as fractals.
Each act should have a rising action, climax, and falling action.
And each act is made up of scenes that do the same thing (usually--there are always exceptions in writing).
 |
| (You'll likely have more than four scenes in an act--it was just easiest for me to label it this way.) |
And let's not overlook this diagram from above:
Which looks very much like our basic diagram:
But with curved lines.
And should anyone be a little upset by what I'm saying, I found multiple East Asian sources that connected kishotenketsu to the Western 3-Act Structure.
Writing instructor Lee Locke compared it to the 3-Act Structure, and said they are largely the same. Kishotenketsu simply has more parts or "splits." He feels this makes it superior.
With that said, a few of the Japanese sources I looked at argued it was better to use 3-Act Structure. The criticism here comes from the fact that the ten can be illogical. Mocchi and Taiyo themselves said the structure can seem illogical, which can be seen as bad or a little immature. Writer Takumi Nakano argues the 3-Act Structure found in Hollywood scripts is superior to kishotenketsu for this reason. It seems the criticism that kishotenketsu leads to illogical results isn't rare in Japan . . . though that's more of a concern for when it's applied outside of storytelling.
This isn't to say it's disliked in Japan. Of course, it's still loved and used.
But it's not perfect, and it's not immune to criticism.
My only "real" concerns are that as it becomes more well-known in the West, writers will mistakenly think it means they can write a good novel with no conflict, or that they need to have a major twist in their stories. But these are misconceptions in the West.
I'm not here to tell you which approach is superior. I just find the comparisons interesting.
And because of their similarities, it's clear that both structures can coexist in the same story. In fact, I would argue that many long narratives written with kishotenketsu fit into basic Western structures, and likewise, many of our stories can fit into kishotenketsu. (Let's not forget the Little Red Riding Hood and Cinderella examples I mentioned above.) They're just different approaches, or ways of thinking.
As an example, previous to all this research, I did break Totoro down into Western structure.
And in fact, while researching and writing all this, after having done my Twilight deep-dive dissection . . . I realized that Twilight actually seems very kishotenketsu-esque, and it has much of what you might find in kishotenketsu stories.
Kishotenketsu Example: Twilight
Not only does Twilight's structure fit nicely into kishotenketsu, but it actually has a lot of the "cultural differences" I listed above. Let's look at it.
Ki = Introduction
We are introduced to Bella, who has recently moved to Forks, Washington. She attends school and meets Edward. They are off to a rocky start, but when Bella almost gets hit by a car, Edward swoops in and saves her with supernatural strength. She begins to develop feelings for him.
Sho = Development
The story builds on what was introduced, as the characters agree to be friends. Edward again rescues Bella, this time from some unsavory men in Port Angeles. After, at dinner, Edward begins to reveal his supernatural powers, and then confirms he is a vampire. He explains that he and his family refuse to feast on humans.
The two go on a date to the meadow and become a couple. Edward brings Bella over to his place to meet his family.
Ten = Turn
While Bella and the Cullens participate in a game of baseball, three more vampires show up, but they recognize Bella is human. James decides he wants to hunt her.
This greatly turns the story, as Bella is whisked away to safety, and James pursues.
Ketsu = Conclusion
In an effort to save her mother, Bella goes to James, who intends to torture and kill her, but Edward and the Cullens arrive to defeat him.
In the hospital, everything is set right (more or less) and later, Edward takes Bella to prom.
Other Similarities
- More of a focus on characters and relationships, with little attention spent on an external plotline (I even pointed out previously that there weren't really external plot elements until Act III, the end).
- One of my complaints in my dissection was that its Plot Point 1 (which is meant to take us from beginning to middle), feels rather weak, and even forgettable, and I felt it should have been more powerful. Instead, beginning sort of blends into middle.
- Another thing that has always felt off to me is that the bad guy vampires show up seemingly out of nowhere in the story. The film tried to fix this by adding foreshadowing and showing conflict-filled scenes with them prior, but in the book, everyone is just playing baseball, and then James and the others suddenly show up. It's totally out of the blue and yet completely turns and changes the remaining story. Like a ten might in kishotenketsu.
- The ending of the book was ambiguous (which the film "fixed"). In the last line, Edward puts his mouth to Bella's neck, and it was not clear to readers if it was a kiss or if he was biting her to turn her into a vampire (obviously, the second book clarified that when it came out). I remember wondering which was happening when I first read the story fresh out of high school.
- There is also a lot of slice-of-life stuff and play-by-plays where "nothing" really happens, which I considered a weakness. There is a scene where Bella just goes outside in the forest to read, and she falls asleep, and then wakes up and goes inside. It's not really important to the story.
- Sometimes I felt like Meyer spent too much time describing the setting, when it wasn't really that relevant to what was happening. However, it did convey the atmosphere around Forks and La Push.
. . . These are things I'd expect to see more in a Japanese story. . . . Maybe another reason Twilight was such a huge phenomenon, was that it was quite kishotenketsu-esque, which made it different to us?
I mean, I'm speculating here, but there could be something to all that.
(I'm also wondering if it would have been less criticized if it were.)
Another Western story that comes to mind for me is M. Night Shyamalan's Sixth Sense. It was a huge hit, specifically because of the big twist. While it does have an external plotline we are following, a lot of what gets shown is subtle foreshadowing for the big ten. Some scenes seem to be only there to foreshadow. And in fact, some people criticize the film for it largely just being a "trick." Much of what is in it, is used to "charge" the story and prepare the audience so that the twist hits with the most impact. Some critics have even argued that the story would be nothing without the twist (ten).
Perhaps Sixth Sense is also kishotenketsu-esque.
And one more story I've been reminded of is Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery." The whole story hinges on the twist of what the lottery really is, with little conflict prior to the ten.
Of course, though, as I mentioned near the opening, this storytelling approach is not nonexistent in the West, at least in the short form. It shouldn't surprise me that I see similarities in other stories as well.
As I wind down this article, there is one thing I want to mention, just so everyone knows. While kishotenketsu is very common in East Asia, it is not the only storytelling approach there. It's just the one that's made its way into the English language. Interestingly, some Chinese and Korean sources mentioned it's called "kishotenketsu" in the English language now.
It's likely kishotenketsu will continue to rise in popularity here.
And now you know what it is.
References:
Japanese Manga 101 with Mocchi and Taiyo [in Japanese & English]:
How to Apply Kishotenketsu to a Novel [Japanese]
How to Create a Story Structure with Kishotenketsu (Framework) [Japanese]
Kishotenketsu, ja.wikipedia.org [Japanese]
The Basics of Easy-to-Understand Sentence Structure: The Concept of "Kishotenketsu" [Japanese]
Kishotenketsu Goodbye. International Types for Constructing Logical Sentences [Japanese]
Giseungjeongyeol [Korean]
What is the Structure of Gisuengjeongyeol? [Korean]
Giseungjeongyeol is the Most Important Part of Composition [Korean]
Qichengzhuanhe, Baidu Encyclopedia [Chinese]
Qichengzhuanhe, zh.wikipedia.org [Chinese]
[Writing Advice] Qichengzhuanhe - 4-part Structure Writing Method [Chinese]
Kishotenketsu: The Narrative Structure from Manga and Anime by Aldo Terminiello [English booklet (references East Asian sources)]
Kishotenketsu: East Asia's Formulaic Secret To Unique Stories | 4 act story arc by Cloud Kitten Chronicles [English (creator researched Japanese sources)]
Kishoutenketsu - Anime's Hidden Story Structure by TheCynicClinic [English (creator researched Japanese sources)]
Author Kim Yoonmi [English]
The Significance of Plot without Conflict by Still Eating Oranges [English]
To see what others are saying about kishotenketsu, you may want to go here.
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