Here is something deep about all literature, whatever their formats or genres, whether opera or novels or poems or plays or whether comedy, tragedy or melodrama. All such works are either fanciful, in which case there is a fantastical story, full of implausibility and wonder and exaggerated figures, whereby an audience tries to find in that material and structure something that illuminates real life, as is the case when an Ovid myth is reread to let the reader understand that is about normal human emotions, as when Narcissus is preoccupied with himself, as any one of us can be, or else an audience or reader gets into the details of life presented so as to acquaint ourselves with real life so as to draw out archetypal figures and morals beyond the humdrum, as when “Death of a Salesman” resonates as a kind of grand tragedy worthy of the Greek tragedians. One of the other puts out its opposite, the audience or reader necessarily interpreting one as the other in order to make sense of it. That is the complexity and irony required of literature so that it can be literature. Even trivial stories such as Batman do the same thing, superheroes made human, played with to make them ordinary, Bruce Wayne turned into the Caped Crusader because of a childhood trauma when his parents are killed by criminals and so ingenious in his mastery of techniques whereby he is triumphant even if only over an underworld full of distorted criminals rather than god-like ogres and devils. Watch how the dynamics of literature work.