Why Fiction Still Matters in a Data-Driven World

Long answer: Absolutely, deeply, and urgently yes!

Fiction isn’t just fluff. Nor is it merely an escape. It’s how humans work through emotions and make sense of life. It defines who we are, what we want, what scares us, and what we hope for.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and Trevor Noah are two African giants who inspire me deeply. They’re masters of their crafts: Chimamanda in storytelling, and Trevor in comedy, satire, and social commentary. When Trevor hosted Chimamanda on his podcast, What Now, you better believe I dropped everything to listen. And then I listened again.

(Okay, I’ve listened four times. Don’t judge me.)

If you haven’t tuned in yet, consider this your nudge. It’s one of those conversations that leaves fingerprints on your mind. But I digress…

The Power of Fiction

Chimamanda is the author of "Americanah," "Half of a Yellow Sun," and "Purple Hibiscus," among others. She is one of the greatest fiction writers of our time. In that podcast, she said something that stopped me in my tracks:

“Fiction is the last frontier.”

She didn’t say it wistfully. She said it with urgency and conviction. Fiction is one of the few places where we can stretch, bend, and break the rules of reality. It allows us to wander into discomfort and tell truths that don’t fit into headlines or hashtags. It’s a space where human imagination runs free. A space where we can grapple with complex emotions and explore truth in ways no algorithm can.

In a world engineered for efficiency, fiction feels rebellious. It doesn’t rush. It doesn’t optimize. It just is—a playground for empathy, meaning, and wild “what ifs.”

So today’s post is a love letter to fiction—and a reminder that even in the age of AI, stories still matter.

The Sandbox of the Soul

Fiction is the sandbox of the soul—where we build, destroy, and rebuild worlds to navigate our lives. It’s a place to experiment with possibility, test emotional reactions, rehearse failure, and flirt with hope. A story doesn’t demand solutions the way an email or strategy meeting does. It invites you to feel your way through.

It’s messy. And that’s the point.

Imagining AI-Generated Fiction

Now, picture this: You’re curled up with a novel. Maybe it’s a twisty thriller, a slow-burn romance, or a sci-fi epic that makes your brain do somersaults. Now imagine halfway through, you learn it was written not by a human with a tortured backstory and a favorite yellow tea mug, but by a large language model.

Would it change how you feel? Would it alter the emotions it evokes? More importantly, would it impact how you engage with similar issues in real life?

That’s the question staring down the future of fiction. And it’s making my mind do real somersaults!

Fiction Matters a LOT!

Fiction is more than just made-up stories. It’s a survival tool disguised as entertainment. Humans are wired for stories. Before we had science or spreadsheets, we had campfires and myths. Fiction helps us make sense of a chaotic world. Through someone else’s heartbreak, we find language for our own. Through dystopia, we confront injustice. Through joy, we are reminded that not everything is broken.

Fiction doesn’t lecture; it lingers. It doesn’t ask for agreement; it invites reflection. It doesn’t promise answers; it plants better questions.

And perhaps most powerfully, fiction connects us. Whether it’s a childhood bedtime story, a dog-eared novel passed between friends, or a quote that goes viral, stories give us shared language when everything else feels fragmented.

Possibility vs. Probability: What Happens When AI Joins the Storytelling Party?

Now here’s where it gets tricky. Fiction is about possibility. AI is about probability. While fiction explores, AI predicts. Fiction makes us feel uncertain. AI tries to resolve that uncertainty. And that difference matters!

AI can help authors churn out endless drafts, brainstorm, or explore alternate endings without sleepless nights. It can lower the barriers for new writers, non-native speakers, and neurodiverse creators.

But we have also seen AI spin up novels in minutes. It can create plot structures, develop character archetypes, or write in the voice of Ngugi wa Thiongo, Chinua Achebe, or Joan Thatiah. (Just throwing out some African authors because, why not?) Give it enough training data, and it’ll produce a passable facsimile.

The Issue of Passable Content

Here’s the catch: passable isn’t the same as powerful. So, where do we draw the line between tool and storyteller? If a machine can write a decent book, does it change our experience? More importantly, does it alter the role fiction plays in human relationships?

Fiction doesn’t just fill our shelves. It fills our silences. It helps us discuss challenging topics—grief, identity, power, longing, and belonging. It’s a way to connect without physical contact. It’s how we say, “Me too,” or, “I never thought of it that way.”

AI can assist in writing, sure. But it doesn’t know what it’s like to cry in the car, laugh at the wrong moment, or fall apart and rebuild. AI lacks the emotional depth to convey human experiences. That gap, between lived experience and language, is often where the magic resides.

Rethinking Originality

Human fiction hits differently. AI can write about heartbreak, but only humans can write from it. More importantly, AI plays by the rules it learned. Humans break them, leading to new genres, voices, and unforgettable characters. A story is more than a sequence of events; it reflects culture, context, and chaos.

Can a machine offer that shared spark of vulnerability? I’m not so sure.

The Danger of a Single Story

Chimamanda warns us about "The Danger of a Single Story," the idea that if we hear only one version of a people or experience, we risk oversimplifying complex human lives. “The single story creates stereotypes,” she says, “and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete.”

This danger also applies to AI-written stories. These models replicate patterns—what has been written before—while the best stories are often those that are unexpected. They open new windows rather than polish old mirrors.

As AI produces content at scale, we must consciously amplify diverse voices. If we rely on data-fed models trained mostly on Western perspectives, we create a new type of single story.

What if that happens? We not only lose originality, but also understanding. We risk becoming disconnected. Ultimately, outsourcing imagination to machines could cost us the nuances—the surprises, contradictions, and cultural contexts that can’t be searched or generated.

A Quiet Challenge

Here’s the question lingering in my mind:

In a world of fast, optimized, AI-generated everything… will we still choose the slow magic of human stories? Will we take the time to read something that unsettles, delights, and stretches us? Can we see fiction as more than entertainment, recognizing it as a way of being human—with each other and with ourselves?

If fiction truly is the last frontier, every story we read, each novel we share, and every character we fall for becomes an act of resistance. And perhaps, a necessary one.

Bonus Activity

Listen to Chimamanda and Trevor Noah’s conversation on What Now. I promise it’s worth your time.

Or pick up a novel you've been meaning to read. Let it challenge you. Let it comfort you. Let it remind you that no machine can replicate the experience of being moved by a story written from the heart.